reports and explaining things to committees. But he had returned for this special day. He confirmed that Senator Bowry had been arrested and that the CIA had solemnly sworn to conduct a full inquiry into the manufacture and use of this mysterious super napalm and other illegal activities during the last few years of the war. Dr. Yamaguchi had delayed his return flight in order to have a holiday and to attend today’s splendid affair. Rhyme had stayed on because he needed these photographs to complete his Pulitzer piece.
The award would be presented on the small stage in the corner of the canteen at the Ministry of Education. Under normal circumstances, the Civilian Medal for an Outstanding Contribution to the Security and Development of the People’s Democratic Republic of Laos: Second Tier, would be handed over by a member of the Politburo in the public gallery at government house. But given the short notice and the “delicacy of the matter,” none was available to preside. The ministers of Justice and Information and Culture had refused point-blank and only the Vice-Minister of Education had wisdom enough to see value in the exercise. But even though he’d agreed to present the medal he had insisted on no more than two photographs. Neither was to appear in a publication available inside Laos.
John Johnson and General Suvan were in full military dress uniform. Of the two, the American looked less like a postal worker. Siri and Daeng, Phosy and Dtui, Civilai and his wife Mrs. Noy were in a cluster. Each held but did not drink from non-matching glasses with tissue paper jackets. The vessels contained some unlikely glow-in-the- dark Agent Orange concoction. Auntie Bpoo, dressed like a respectable lady undertaker, joked with Dr. Yamaguchi. Also in uniform was Commander Lit who, Dtui pointed out to her husband, looked particularly dashing. He’d done something to his hair to make it slick back and he’d left his glasses in his top pocket, which might have explained why he was constantly bumping into everyone.
“He looks a lot like Payao Poontarat today,” Dtui said.
“The bath water salesman?”
“Olympic boxer. Very elegant.”
“You’re right. He does have that beaten and bruised look about him.”
“I don’t see Peach around anywhere,” said Dtui, scanning the room. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Siri and Civilai exchange a glance. It was enough to make her aware that, not for the first time, she was trailing behind the herd.
“What? What happened to her?” Dtui asked.
“Ooh, nothing, I expect,” said Siri.
“Probably sealing insurgency donation envelopes with Mummy and Daddy in Indiana,” said Civilai.
“In Indiana? She’s gone back?”
“Yes,” Siri nodded.
Dtui was bemused. “But she hated America.”
“Probably not quite as much as she had us believe,” Siri said.
“All right.” Dtui put up her hands. “Let’s not do the subtle, Inspector Migraine explanation of events. Just tell me what I’ve missed.”
“She was denied the continuation of her visa,” said Siri. “And it’s Maigret.”
“Did they give her a reason?”
“They told her she needed a university degree to work in the education sector. But that was only to cover up the actual reason.”
“Which was?”
“Spying.”
Dtui coughed. “Spying? Who for?”
“The CIA.”
Dtui laughed.
“The CIA’s recruiting seventeen-year-old daughters of missionaries?”
“No.”
“Peach is under eighteen.”
“Peach is under eighteen,” Siri agreed. “But the girl who came with us to Phonsavan was a completely different fruit.”
“Banana?”
“Cherry.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The fruit family in Luang Prabang had four children,” Siri explained. “Peach was the youngest. Cherry the oldest. Two boys in between. Cherry left Laos when she was fourteen to continue her education in the States. She went to university. Before she graduated, she was recruited by a CIA desperate for smart people with Asian languages. She also had the good fortune of looking younger than her age.”
“Not unlike me,” said Civilai.
“That would only be true if you were actually 130,” said Siri, and continued. “When the fruit family was asked to leave, the consulate orchestrated an audacious switch. When they passed through Vientiane, unbeknownst to the family, the consular office issued a second passport to Cherry under the name and age of Peach. Thus, as nobody knew the girls in Vientiane, Cherry became her little sister. She claimed that she didn’t want to go to America. Wanted to stay to help the new regime. She tore up her air ticket in a display of national loyalty and was allowed to teach small classes at the lycee. When the mission came around, the Americans requested this new Peach as their interpreter.”
“Which explains why, despite all the available bilingual half-breeds with decades of experience under their belts, they opted for a slip of a girl,” said Civilai. “The evil CIA very badly wanted one of their own on this mission and they assumed we’d be sure to approve an innocent teenager with anti-American leanings.”
“Amazing,” said Dtui.
“And it worked,” said Daeng.
“It worked until the good doctor here asked for an investigation into the whereabouts of the older sister,” said Civilai.
“How could you have known?” Dtui asked.
“Didn’t know, exactly,” said Siri. “More an instinct. Henry James said that in the case of a young American woman, poise comes from good breeding and a solid education. I didn’t see Peach’s abilities coming from home- schooling in a remote village in the north of Laos.”
“Not even from missionary parents?”
“Especially not from missionary parents. She was too fluent in central Lao dialect. Too worldly. Too diplomatic. I felt certain she’d studied overseas.”
“What a mind. When did you bust her?” Dtui asked.
“Shortly after they approved my team selection,” Siri told her.
“But that was before we left.”
“A week before.”
“So why wasn’t she kicked off the mission?”
“Aha, enter the intelligence division,” said Civilai. “More commonly known as the limited intelligence division. After a lengthy meeting in a secret location, the LID decided it would be of huge national interest to allow her along and feed her with false information which she would pass on to her superiors. And who better to be entrusted with this duty than Comrade False Information himself, Judge Haeng? Assuming she was now completely full of both the judge and the information, they let her go. It’s being hailed as a huge espionage coup at the LID. I went by there yesterday. They were having a party to celebrate.”
“How did you know where to go?” Daeng asked.
“What?”
“If they meet at secret locations….”
“There’s a wooden sign in front.”
“Not surprised.”
And talking, as they were, of the devil, Siri noticed Judge Haeng at the table of inedible snacks. He excused himself from the group.
“Be kind,” said Madame Daeng.
“Ah, Siri,” said Haeng when the doctor arrived beside him. “I was about to come and talk to you. You’ll be pleased to hear I’ve solved that little problem you told me about. I explained to the air force command that, given
