He'd inserted Vietnamese visas into both his and Nate's passports in the lavatory of their previous flight just before landing in Bangkok. He'd used a palm-sized stamping kit to apply the appropriate dates, then studied his forgeries to make sure everything looked correct.
The ploy had worked in Bangkok, where they had to show a valid Vietnamese visa in order to pick up their tickets. But that had just been a Thai Airways employee. Now that they were in Ho Chi Minh City, they had to deal with the Vietnamese themselves.
Quinn put his passport in his shirt pocket and pulled his bag out of the storage bin above his seat. With Nate right behind him, he joined the line of passengers making their way off the plane.
'You've gotta be kidding me,' Nate said just loud enough for Quinn to hear as they reached the exit.
There was no covered ramp on the other side of the door leading into the terminal. Instead, passengers disembarked the old-fashioned way, via a wheel-up staircase.
Quinn gave his apprentice a quick, hard look.
'Sorry,' Nate said.
Without another word, they made their way down the ramp, then proceeded to walk across the tarmac to customs. Quinn made sure they inserted themselves into the middle of the pack of departing passengers.
'They won't ask,' Quinn said, 'but if they do, we're here on business. Researching investment opportunities. I'll do the talking, though. You just look serious. Businesslike.'
The terminal building reminded Quinn of a large warehouse. It was old and dingy, cavernous, with mold growing on the walls. There was none of the polish or amenities of Western airports.
Inside, the first thing they came to was passport control. Though there were several stations set up, only two were open, and the lines were long. To be safe, Quinn chose the one with the more bored-looking official. As they neared, he slipped twenty
U.S. dollars, a tidy sum in Vietnam, into his passport next to his visa.
He looked over his shoulder at Nate. 'We can only go up one at a time,' he said. 'Try not to say anything. Not even hello. If there's a problem, just motion for me to come back and I'll take care of it.'
'Okay,' Nate said, his voice less confident than Quinn would have liked.
The woman ahead of them finished, and Quinn walked up to the desk. He placed his passport on the counter and held the cover down until the official took it from him. The man opened the passport, glanced up at Quinn, then quickly slipped the twenty into his own pocket. Grabbing a rubber stamp, he pushed it into an inkpad and stamped one of the pages in Quinn's passport. When he finished, he put the booklet back on the counter without a word. Quinn nodded politely as he retrieved it, then moved on.
He stopped twenty feet away, pretending to search for something in one of his pockets. He looked back as Nate handed his passport to the official. The man seemed to be taking a lot more time than he had with Quinn.
Nate glanced at his mentor, a trace of nervousness in his eyes. But a moment later, the official stamped the booklet and put it back on the counter.
Next was customs, but that was even easier. Nate went first, taking less than a minute to get his bag checked. Quinn's turn went just as quickly.
The humidity of the Vietnamese morning, even in January, was stifling. Sweat had begun to form on Quinn's brow the moment he stepped off the plane, and now his shirt was plastered to his back.
Just outside the terminal's front exit was a waist-high fence that ran parallel to the plate-glass windows of the building, creating a walkway about ten feet wide. Not your typical airport exit, but it was easy to see why it was necessary. On the other side of the fence were hundreds and hundreds of people, standing five and six deep. They were pushing and shoving each other, trying to get closer to the front. They shouted as each new passenger exited the terminal, calling out to them with offers of sodas and water and fruit and taxi rides.
At the end of the fence, the path opened onto a parking lot. There were still many people about, but not nearly as many as lined the gauntlet Quinn and Nate had just come down. A young boy approached them – dark hair, big smile, clothes clean but worn.
'Bag,' the boy said in heavily accented English. He pointed to Quinn's suitcase. 'I help.'
'That's okay,' Quinn replied. 'I got it.'
But the boy either was ignoring him or didn't understand. He reached for the bag. Quinn moved it out of the boy's range. 'I said no.'
Undaunted, the boy quickly changed tactics, turning his attention to Quinn's traveling companion. Before Nate even realized what was going on, the boy had a hand firmly latched to the handle of his bag.
'Hey,' Nate said, trying to pull the bag away.
'I help. I help,' the boy said.
'I don't need your help.'
'Mister. No problem. I help.'
Nate pulled on his bag again. 'Come on. Let go.'
But the boy held on tight. Quinn watch the tugof-war for a moment longer, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a dollar bill.
'Kid,' Quinn said.
Both Nate and the boy looked over. Quinn held out the dollar. The boy's eyes brightened. He reached out to grab it with his free hand. Before he could, Quinn pulled it back.
'No help,' Quinn said, nodding at the bag, 'and I give to you. Okay?' The boy let go of the bag immediately. 'Okay. No help.'
