PROLOGUE

      They were beating the Korean to death in the next room, all attempts to break him down having failed completely. He was a stubborn man and, like most of his countrymen, held the Chinese in a kind of contempt and they reacted accordingly. The fact that Republic of Korea troops had the highest kill ratio in Vietnam at that time didn’t exactly help matters.

      There were footsteps outside, the door opened and a young Chinese officer appeared. He snapped his fingers and I got up like a good dog and went to heel. A couple of guards were dragging the Korean away by the feet, a blanket wrapped about his head to keep the blood off the floor. The officer paused to light a cigarette, ignoring me completely, then walked along the corridor and I shuffled after him.

      We passed the interrogation room, which was something to be thankful for, and stopped outside the camp commandant’s office at the far end. The young officer knocked, pushed me inside and closed the door.

      Colonel Chen-Kuen was writing away busily at his desk. He ignored me for quite some time, then put down his pen and got to his feet. He walked to the window and glanced outside.

      ‘The rains are late this year.’

      I couldn’t think of anything to say in answer to that pearl of wisdom, didn’t even know if it was expected. In any event, he didn’t give me a chance to make small talk and carried straight on, still keeping his back to me.

      ‘I am afraid I have some bad news for you, Ellis. I have finally received instructions from Central Committee in Hanoi. Both you and General St Claire are to be executed this morning.’

      He turned, his face grave, concerned and said a whole lot more, though whether or not he was expressing his personal regret, I could not be sure for it was as if I had cut the wires, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly and I didn’t hear a word.

      He left me. In fact, it was the last time I ever saw him. When the door opened next I thought it might be the guards come to take me, but it wasn’t. It was Madame Ny.

      She was wearing a uniform that looked anything but People’s Republic and had obviously been tailored by someone who knew his business. Leather boots, khaki shirt and a tunic which had been cut to show off those good breasts of hers to the best advantage. The dark eyes were wet with tears, tragic in the white face.

      She said, ‘I’m sorry, Ellis.’

      Funny, but I almost believed her. Almost, but not quite. I moved in close so that I wouldn’t miss, spat right in her face, opened the door and went out.

      The young officer