"Look at these, Remo," Smith said, pulling a sheaf of glossy photographs from his briefcase. "You too, Master of Sinanju."
Remo looked at the top photo. It showed a misty pattern of green.
"What does that look like to you?" Smith asked.
"An electron-microscope slide of romaine lettuce," Remo said dismissively.
"Yes," Chiun said firmly, "Remo is exactly correct. This is romaine lettuce. I can see the leaf pattern clearly. "
"No, these are reconnaissance satellite photos."
"Of romaine lettuce," Chiun added hopefully. Smith shook his head no.
"No! Remo," Chiun scolded, "you are wrong. And your wrongness influenced my judgment. You will have to forgive him, Emperor, he has been agitated all day. I do not know what the problem is."
"You both know what the problem is," Remo snapped, jumping to his feet. "I told you the problem. I left a friend back in Vietnam. I thought he was dead. Now I know he's still there."
"Only this morning, you were firm in your belief that none of your Army friends remained in Vietnam," reminded Chiun.
"That was before I saw Dick Youngblood's name written on that Vietnamese guy's back. Youngblood was the friend I left behind."
"I have Youngblood's file right here, Remo. Please tell me your story again."
Remo slapped the photograph onto the table.
"Dick Youngblood served with me in I Corps. He and I rotated in together. We served our whole tour together. I guess you could say he was the only true friend I had in those days. We were scheduled to return to the world the same week. I was choppered to a rear area first. I hung around waiting for him to catch up. We were planning to take the same C-130 transport back. Then the VC infiltrated our base camp and we had to dig in. An NVA battalion moved in and started hitting us with rockets. We had to evacuate. I was one of the last ones out. I never saw Dick again. Later they told me that his helicopter was shot down and he was presumed dead. I believed them, so I came home. End of freaking story."
"Did you understand a word he said?" Chiun asked Smith.
"Yes. "
"Then could you please translate? I do not understand all the VC's and NVA's and other alphabet nonsense. "
"Later," Smith said.
Chiun's mouth puckered. He watched Remo with concern.
"You left the Republic of Vietnam on April 28, 1968," Smith said, glancing at the file. "Is that correct?"
"Sounds right."
"I have the file of a Sergeant Richard Youngblood, reported as missing in action on the twenty-sixth of that month in the province of la Drang. A marine. A black. This is his service photo."
Remo took the photo silently. He stared at it a long time.
"That's him. That's sure him," Remo said stonily. "They told me he was dead. Not captured. Dead."
"It's possible they were mistaken," Smith admitted. Remo threw the photo down and started pacing again. "Dammit, Smitty. They were wrong! I know they're wrong. That was Dick's signature on the back of that gook. "
Chiun started. His papery lips silently formed the word "gook."
"You are quite certain?"
"He was my best friend," Remo shouted. "Don't you understand? My best friend. I know his signature. He was my best friend and I left him behind!"
Suddenly, without any warning, Remo slumped against the window. He tore down the shade and pressed his face and fists to the dying sunlight coming in through the glass. His eyes were squeezed tight. His shoulders shook.
"He was my best friend and I left him to rot in that stinking place." Remo's voice was twisted, hurt.
The Master of Sinanju caught Smith's eye. "He has not been himself since this afternoon," he whispered. "Why is he acting like this?"
"Let me handle this," Smith said quietly.
"Remo," Smith began, walking over to the window.
"The reconnaissance photo I showed you is of a section of the Vietnam-Cambodian border. It shows evidence of a temporary camp on that site. It is one of several such sites our government has been monitoring as possible POW encampments."
"So?" Remo said bitterly.
"This second photo, if you care to look at it, is of the same site. There is no trace of the camp. This photo was taken three weeks ago. After the approximate time the refugee Phong claimed the camp he was incarcerated in had been moved."
Remo opened his eyes and examined the photo. "It doesn't tell us much, does it?" he said.
"This third one does, however." Smith handed it to Remo. Chiun crowded close, his eyes switching from Remo's face to the photo.
"This site is similar to the first one," Smith continued. "Not exactly, but similar. Notice the ring of huts here. And the latrine trench there. The layout is very similar. "
"You think it's the same camp?"
"But moved to a new location, yes. We've determined that no other suspected site has been moved in the same time frame."
Remo looked up at Smith's face. "Then we know where to look."
"Yes. Unfortunately, this new location is on the other side of the border. In Cambodia."
"They're still fighting there."
"It's winding down, but yes, they're still fighting."
"Then we have to get him out of there."
"Patience, Remo. There's more to this story."
"Yes, Remo, there's more to this story," Chiun said gently. "Listen to your emperor."
"I discussed this matter with the President at great length. He informs me that for several months now our government has been in back-channel communication with Hanoi over normalizing relations. There has been movement in the last two months. Considerable movement. The Vietnamese want us to lift economic sanctions as a prerequisite to restoring diplomatic ties. We in turn are demanding a full accounting of all American servicemen known to be missing in action. The Vietnamese officials involved in the negotiations have been dropping hints that they have more than just the remains of our people, but when we press for details, they back off. "
"They've got some, all right," Remo said grimly. "I know. That gook's back was covered with names. If he hadn't had so many rounds shot through him, we'd have a list of them. Phong was telling the truth about American POW's. He had them sign their names on his back. That was his proof. I told you that over the phone. "
"I expect to receive a full autopsy report and morgue photos later," Smith said. "That will go a long way toward establishing the validity of the signature you saw. "
"He wrote 'Semper Fi' at the bottom," Remo said distantly. "That was so like him. Imagine him remembering to do that after all these years."
"My American slang is not good," Chiun told Smith. "I am not familiar with 'Semper Fi.' "
"Short for 'Semper Fidelis,' " Smith said. "Latin for 'Always Faithful.' It's the motto of the Marine Corps."
"Oh," said Chiun, his face puckering. "Army stuff."
"Okay, Smith," Remo snapped suddenly. "You wait for your autopsy report. But while you're waiting, book a flight for Chiun and me. We're going to Vietnam."
"I'm afraid not, Remo," Smith said quietly.
"If you're going to tell me to sit tight while some tight-assed politician negotiates them out, forget it. Dick's been there too damn long as it is. He's not spending any more time in that camp than it will take me to find him."
"We're close to a breakthrough, Remo. The President feels that the POW's may have been moved to Cambodia for some political purpose. The reasoning is that the Vietnamese can't bring them forward without having to admit they've been holding prisoners this long after the war. It's possible they intend to claim our people were found wandering the jungle during the pacification of Cambodia. If we're correct, they could come out any day now."
"I've heard that light-at-the-end-of-the-tunnel speech before. I heard it before I went over there. I heard it after I left. And now you're trying to feed it to me again. Stuff it. This is personal. I'm going in."