Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty: Never Say Die / Presumed Guilty

“When she tells the truth.” Turning, he walked out.

“Hang in,” Guy muttered. “We’ll get you out of here yet.” He followed the officer into the next room, slamming the door behind him.

The arguing went on for ten minutes. She could hear them shouting behind the door. At least Guy still had the strength to shout; she could barely hold her head up.

When Guy returned at last, she could see from his look of disgust that he’d gotten nowhere. He dropped wearily onto the bench beside her and rubbed his eyes.

“What do they want from me?” she asked. “Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

“I get the feeling they’re waiting for something. Some sort of approval…”

“Whose?”

“Hell if I know.”

A rolled up newspaper whacked the table. Willy looked over and saw the guard flick away another dead roach. She shuddered.

It was midnight.

At 1:00 a.m., Mr. Ainh appeared, looking as sallow as an old bed sheet. Willy was too numb to move from the bench. She simply sat there, propped against Guy’s shoulder, and let the two men do the talking.

“We are very sorry for the inconvenience,” said Ainh, sounding genuinely contrite. “But you must understand—”

“Inconvenience?” Guy snapped. “Ms. Maitland was nearly killed earlier tonight, and she’s been kept here for three hours now. What the hell’s going on?”

“The situation is…unusual. A robbery attempt—on a foreigner, no less—well…” He shrugged helplessly.

Guy was incredulous. “You’re calling this an attempted robbery?”

“What would you call it?”

“A cover-up.”

Ainh shuffled uneasily. Turning, he exchanged a few words in Vietnamese with the guard. Then he gave Willy a polite bow. “The police say you are free to leave, Miss Maitland. On behalf of the Vietnamese government, I apologize for your most unfortunate experience. What happened does not in any way reflect on our high regard and warm feelings for the American people. We hope this will not spoil the remainder of your visit.”

Guy couldn’t help a laugh. “Why should it? It was just a little murder attempt.”

“In the morning,” Ainh went on quickly, “you are free to continue your tour.”

“Subject to what restrictions?” Guy asked.

“No restrictions.” Ainh cleared his throat and made a feeble attempt to smile. “Contrary to your government propaganda, Mr. Barnard, we are a reasonable people. We have nothing to hide.”

To which Guy answered flatly, “Or so it seems.”

“I DON’T GET IT. First they run you through the wringer. Then they hand you the keys to the country. It doesn’t make sense.”

Willy stared out the taxi window as the streets of Saigon glided past. Here and there, a lantern flickered in the darkness. A noodle vendor huddled on the sidewalk beside his steaming cart. In an open doorway, a beaded curtain shuddered, and in the dim room beyond, sleeping children could be seen, curled up like kittens on their mats.

“Nothing makes sense,” she whispered. “Not this country. Or the people. Or anything that’s happened…”

She was trembling. The horror of everything that had happened that night suddenly burst through the numbing dam of exhaustion. Even Guy’s arm, which had magically materialized around her shoulders, couldn’t keep away the unnamed terrors of the night.

He pulled her against his chest, and only when she inhaled that comfortable smell of fatigue, felt the slow and steady beat of his heart, did her trembling finally stop. He kept whispering, “It’s all right, Willy. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She felt his kiss, gentle as rain, on her forehead.

When the driver stopped in front of the hotel, Guy had to coax her out of the car. He led her through the nightmarish glare of the lobby. He was the pillar that supported her in the elevator. And it was his arm that guided her down the shadowed walkway and past the air-conditioning vent, now ominously silent. He didn’t even ask her if she wanted his company for the night; he simply opened the door to his room, led her inside and sat her down on his bed. Then he locked the door and slid a chair in front of it.

In the bathroom, he soaked a washcloth with warm water. Then he came back out, sat down beside her on the bed and gently wiped her smudged face. Her cheeks were pale. He had the insane urge to kiss her, to breathe some semblance of life back into her body. He knew she wouldn’t fight him; she didn’t have the strength. But it wouldn’t be right, and he wasn’t the kind of man who’d take advantage of the situation, of her.

“There,” he murmured, brushing back her hair. “All better.”

She stirred and gazed up at him with wide, stunned eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For…” She paused, searching for the right words. “For being here.”

He touched her face. “I’ll be here all night. I won’t leave you alone. If that’s what you want.”

She nodded. It hurt him to see her look so tired, so defeated. She’s getting to me, he thought. This isn’t supposed to happen. This isn’t what I expected.

He could see, from the brightness of her eyes, that she was trying not to cry. He slid his arm around her shoulders.

“You’ll be safe, Willy,” he whispered into the softness of her hair. “You’ll be going home in the morning. Even if I have to strap you into that plane myself, you’ll be going home.”

She shook her head. “I can’t.”

“What do you mean, you can’t?”

“My father…”

“Forget him. It isn’t worth it.”

“I made a promise…”

“All you promised your mother was an answer. Not a body. Not some official report, stamped and certified. Just a simple answer. So give her one. Tell her he’s dead, tell her he died in the crash. It’s probably the truth.”

“I can’t lie to her.”

“You have to.” He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Willy, someone’s trying to kill you. They’ve flubbed it twice. But what happens the third time? The fourth?”

She shook her head. “I’m not worth killing. I don’t know anything!”

“Maybe it’s not what you know. It’s what you might find out.”

Sniffling, she looked up in bewilderment. “That my father’s dead? Or alive? What difference does it make to anyone?”

He sighed, a sound of overwhelming weariness. “I don’t know. If we could talk to Oliver, find out who he works for—”