Trah Bing is standing beside the reception desk on the first floor of the hotel. He’s a tall, forty-something man compared to the other Thai men working behind the long, translucent acrylic counter. He wears a lightweight blue suit and tie. His thick dark hair is slicked back on his head with product. To Sam Savage, he seems like a confident man who is proud of the services he is providing at the hotel.

“Can I help you, sir?” Trah Bing asks with a pleasant smile.

But, of course, Trah knows precisely who Sam is and why he’s standing before him in his jeans, lace-up jungle boots, and khaki work-shirt with the sleeves rolled all the way up to his thick biceps. Sam glances over both shoulders at the wide-open hotel lobby. If he were an architect, he’d describe the décor and set-up as post-modern with lots of glass, stainless steel, acrylic counters, and black leather chairs. The women employed by the hotel are exquisite in appearance. They wear tight blue dresses that show off their petite, but somehow voluptuous, curves. Their dark hair is pinned up in back, their eyes dark, exotic, and inviting.

Sam locks eyes with Trah Bing.

“I was wondering if you might help me with something,” Sam says, somewhat under his breath. “Is it possible you can tell me the room presently being occupied by a young man named Channy Lin?”

Trah smiles politely. “It is not company policy for us to reveal the room numbers of our guests, sir,” he says.

That’s an obvious attempt to cover his ass should a coworker overhear the conversation, Sam thinks.

“My boss, Mr. Dater, said you’d gladly make an exception,” Sam says, reaching into his pocket, discreetly peeling five twenties from the stack of U.S. greenbacks before he sets them onto the counter under his hand. “There will, of course, be a larger tip if you help me out with a few items I’ll be requiring during my stay.”

Trah looks one way and then the other. No doubt the proceedings are being filmed via CCTV, but then, what harm is there in offering a nice tip to a helpful concierge? Or so Sam believes.

“Naturally,” Trah say, his smile having morphed into a serious but eager to please expression. He refocuses his eyes on the laptop computer set before him, taps a few keys and waits. “The person with whom you’ve inquired is presently staying in room five-zero-seven.”

Sam thinks it over for a long beat. His room is already located on the fifth floor, but he needs to have access directly next door to Channy.

“Would five-zero-six or five-zero-eight happen to be vacant, Mr. Bing?” Sam inquires.

Trah gazes into the Sky Marshal’s eyes as if to tell say, I fully expected you to ask me that.

“But is your present room not to your liking, Mr. Savage?”

Sam offers the concierge wink.

“My room is fine for sleeping, Mr. Bing,” he says. “The additional room I’m looking to book would be for work purposes.”

Trah Bing taps a few more keys on the laptop. Sam watches the intense man’s eyes as he goes through the motions of confirming one of the requested room’s availability.

“It just so happens, five-zero-six is available,” Trah confirms.

Of course, is it, Sam thinks. It was always available. Available for me, that is.

He taps a few more keys as though securing the room for Sam. Then, locking on Sam’s eyes again, “Will there be any special requests or amenities required of the room, Mr. Savage?”

In his head, Sam pictures the small hole that will have to be drilled into the adjoining wall while he and Channy are enjoying their massages. He pictures the micro camera that will be installed in the hole and the audio feed that will be Blue Toothed directly to his computer.

“I believe Mr. Dater has already forwarded a list of my special needs, Mr. Bing.”

Trah Bing types something else into his computer and grins.

“Indeed, he has,” he replies. “We’ll need some time to prepare everything for you.”

Just then, the elevator opens, and Channy Lin steps out. He’s wearing coral colored shorts, sandals, and a loose plain white t-shirt. He left his Yankees baseball hat back in the room, Sam observes, but the terrorist’s thick dark hair is neatly combed, his mustache and goatee trimmed.

“Hey, Channy,” Sam barks. “Did you have a good rest, my friend? Ready for a little of the good life?” He pulls the card from his pocket. “I have one free massage. I’m offering it up to you as a gift.”

“You are too kind, Sam,” Channy says in his even-toned voice.

Sam turns back to Trah Bing.

“Thank you very much for your help, sir,” he says while digging a few more twenties out of his pocket and placing them in the concierge’s hand.

Trah nods in appreciation, brings his hands together like he’s praying.

“Peace to you, sir,” he says. “Please enjoy your evening.”

Now facing Channy. “Let’s go get happy, buddy,” Sam says.

“Happy, happy,” Channy says. “Happy, happy.”

Massages by Cindy is located across the street behind a tuck-tuck stand. Channy and Sam walk side by side toward the parlor. The evening is humid and hot, and even though he is on duty, Sam can’t wait for another cold beer. They head inside the two-story concrete structure and are greeted by an attractive young woman standing behind a counter, a ceiling fan blowing cool air on her.

Sam hands her the card for the free massage. The young woman glances at it.

“One free massage,” she announces while glancing into Sam’s eyes. “And that will be for?”

Sam’s built-in shit detector kicks in.

She gets it, he says to himself. She knows exactly who I am . . . who I work for.

“My friend here is taking that one,” Sam says. “His name is Channy.”

“Excellent,” the young woman smiles.

She picks up the phone and dials a number. Bringing the extension to her ear, she speaks something in her native Thai. A door opens at the far end of the room, and another pretty young woman appears. She’s not wearing much more than a pair of shorts and a black t-shirt that fits her tightly. She’s a knockout, or so Sam can’t help but notice.

“This is Sapphire,” Young Woman says. “She is for Mr. Channy.”

Sam pats the suspected terrorist on the back.

“Go to it, bro,” he says. “With a name like Sapphire, how can you go wrong?”

Channy nods politely at the masseuse, and together they disappear behind that same door at the far end of the room. Sam turns back to Young Woman.

“Cindy is waiting for you upstairs, Mr. Savage,” she says. “Go now.”

Sam spots the staircase that leads to the second floor. Nodding at Young Woman, he makes his way to the back of the room and climbs the staircase.

He opens the door at the top of the stairs and enters a dark, windowless room containing a half dozen thin bedrolls laid out on the floor. Three ceiling fans circulate the warm, humid air around the long room. The odor of the room is surprisingly pleasant—like rose petals.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Savage,” comes the voice of a woman.

Sam quickly peers over his left shoulder. He spots a woman seated in a wicker chair in the far corner. It’s dark, so it’s difficult to make out her face. But he can see that her legs are bare, and the black cut-off t-shirt she wears is identical to the one Sapphire was wearing. Her ebony hair is also pulled back into a bun held together with several long pins.

“I’m Cindy,” she says, slowly rising from her chair. She walks toward him.

The closer she comes to Sam, the more he can see just how beautiful the forty-something woman is. No, not beautiful, Sam thinks. Stunning. Stunning is the better word for her.

“Take your clothes off,” she commands.

“You work fast,” Sam says, not without a grin.

She hands him a pair of very thin blue pajama shorts.

“Put these on,” she adds.

“What’s the fun in that?” he says.

“You’re here for work,” she says. “Not fun.”

Sam undresses in front of her. She watches him the entire time, her arms crossed over her chest. Dutifully, he puts on his blue pajama shorts. There’s a cloth belt attached to the waist of the shorts which he ties in a square knot.

“Happy?” he says.

“Very,” Cindy says, the corner of her lips turning up into a smirk. Then, “Lie down on your stomach. Stretch out your arms.”

“Your English is great,” he says, dropping to his knees on the mattress and immediately falling onto his stomach. “No accent at all. And a name like Cindy. Very western.”

“I was raised in the States,” she says. “California. West LA. But you probably know that already.”

“What brings you here? Far cry from Beverly Hills.”

“There was a placement to fill. They saw me as the round peg that fits into the round hole.” She giggles. “No pun, of course.”

Sam didn’t want to say too much, in case they were being listened to. The last thing Cindy needed was her cover to be blown. “They, huh?” He had a hunch who they were, and they likely had the initials CIA.

He hears a commotion and realizes she’s lowering herself onto his back, knees first. The pressure of her knees pushes into his lower back, and when she takes hold of both his wrists and pulls his arms back, a grunting noise that sounds like his muscles are tearing eminates.

“Hope I’m not hurting you,” she says.

“Hurts so good,” Sam utters through gritted teeth.

She pulls and stretches the muscles in his shoulders and gnaws at the muscles in his arms with her stronger than expected fingers.

“You’re very tight, Mr. Savage,” she says. “Too much weight lifting, I think.”

“I gotta keep up with the younger guys,” he says, his voice straining from the sting of the deep tissue massage.

“Age is the great equalizer. You work too hard at trying to stay young. Youth is so very fleeting, and death inevitable.”

“Age is just a number, Cindy. But it eventually catches up to you.” Another grunt. “Now, if we’re done with the dueling clichés, do you have anything else I need to know that doesn’t involve my fading youth?”

She releases his arms and gets back up to her feet before making her way to a shelf a few steps away. She fools with something stored there. Classic rock n’roll begins to fill the room from speakers Sam can’t see that must be installed within the walls. Or so he deduces.

While David Bowie sings about his China Girl, Cindy returns to Sam. Once again, she drops to her knees and begins working on his neck, kneading the muscles that surround his upper spine and throat as if they were bread dough. He feels her shift once more, bending her body until the edge of her lips grazes his neck.

“They just exploded a bomb outside the American embassy in Beijing,” she whispers into his ear. The fact that she’s turned on music and is whispering tells Sam there are spies listening everywhere, even when it appears they are alone. “Not even the press has jumped on the story yet. If the NVC take credit, it will prove their reach extends beyond Vietnam.”

NVC . . . New Viet Cong, Sam thinks. Despite the massage, his muscles tighten at the news.

“Any casualties?” he asks quietly.

I feel a wreck without, my little China girl, David Bowie sings.

“None I know of,” Cindy informs. “But soon, the news reports will come in and so will a statement of responsibility, and then we’ll know for sure what’s happening.”

“Channy’s got somewhat of an alibi,” Sam says. “He’s been here with me the entire time, other than the few hours after we got off the plane. But even then, he’s still a hell of a long way from Beijing.”

“His army is not large, but it is growing. He has suppliers in Bangkok who are sympathetic to his cause.”

“What exactly is he buying here?”

“Guns,” she says, working on the mid-section of his spine. “Explosives. Ammunition.”

“How’s he paying for all that?” Sam asks.

“The NVC has backers in the U.S. Left-wing radical outfits mostly. Their pockets are very deep. They believe in destroying any vestige of U.S. and Chinese capitalist imperialism.”

“And this hotel Channy wants to attack in Ho Chi Minh . . . do we have an exact address for it yet? Can we even be sure the attack will be taking place in Ho Chi Minh?”

“We can’t. But then, that’s one of the reasons why you’re here,” she says. “To find out which hotel in which city and when.”

“Channy will be careful not to make mention of it on the internet,” Sam adds. “It might be next to impossible to find out without snatching him up and interrogating him.”

“We need to observe him first. Find out his contacts and his leads. We need information that can only be obtained on the ground. Do you understand?”

I stumble into town just like a sacred cow, visions of swastikas in my head . . .

She unstraddles his waist and starts working on the backs of his thighs. It hurts, but it also feels like heaven.

“I do,” Sam affirms. “Problem is, I’m more of a security guy than a spook. This is all a little new to me.”

“I’ll be your asset on this mission. I will help you the entire way.”

Sam lifts his head and tries to get a look at her over his shoulder.

“You’re coming with me?” he asks.

“Channy will be speaking with his people tonight. We’ll listen in on his conversation together from the hotel room next door. It’s all being arranged right now, as you already know. Tonight, after you have a few drinks, Channy will make an excuse for skipping dinner, and he’ll retire to his room. I’ll text you when it’s safe, and then you can meet me in room five-zero-six.”

“The surveillance room,” Sam says.

“Exactly,” she replies. Then, “Now, please turn over.”

Sam is aware just how red his face is. The loose-fitting pajamas are sticking up like a pup tent.

“Happy to see me, are we, Mr. Savage?” Cindy asks.

“Maybe it’s time you refer to me as Sam,” he says.

“Okay, Sam,” she says. “Tell you what. I think it’s time to take the pajama bottoms off, don’t you?”

“Thought you’d never ask,” he says with a half-cocked grin.

Oh, baby, just you shut your mouth . . .

After untying the knot on Sam’s shorts, Cindy slowly pulls down the pajama bottoms, exposing his full staff. Removing her t-shirt, she reaches around her back, unsnaps her bra, allows it to fall to the mattress. She then unbuttons her shorts and pulls them, along with her panties down to her knees. She slips them off and then straddles Sam once more across his thighs this time. He lustfully gazes at her body—her pert breasts, her long hard nipples reaching toward him, her flat belly, and her trimmed dark pussy. He can feel himself growing harder if that’s at all possible.

She takes his erection in her capable hands and begins to pump it, slowly at first but then faster and faster. Sam knows if she keeps the pace up, the fun will end before it really starts. He reaches out, grabs hold of her waist, and flips her onto her back. Their mouths collide, and their tongues play with one another. His hands explore her firm body and her pert breasts.

“I want you inside me, Sam,” she whispers. “I need you inside me.”

Sam does as he’s instructed without hesitation. Her warm tightness surrounds him, and he tries to be gentle and tender, but she pleads with him to go faster and harder.

“Don’t stop,” she begs. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

Sam kisses her and holds her as tightly as he can without breaking her. When he knows she’s reaching the point of ecstasy from which there is no return, he releases everything that’s been building inside him. She begins to scream, and he has no choice but to place his hand over her mouth while he thrusts himself against her until he’s emptied and she, too, is finished. When they have both exhausted themselves, he slowly, carefully, removes his hand from her mouth, and he rolls over onto his back. Staring at the ceiling fan, he catches his breath. For the first time, he’s aware of the sweat that coats his body. He slips his hand around her hand and squeezes.

“Is that your idea of a happy ending?” he says, after a time, not without a laugh. “Because if it is, I want another.”

She releases his hand, rolls onto her side and faces him. With one hand propping her head, she uses the other to tickle him.

“You owe extra for big boom boom,” she says in a mock Thai voice.

“I’ll be sure to put in for it at the agency,” he says. “Naturally, I’ll need a receipt.”

“Per department SOP,” she says, giggling. Then, looking at her watch. “Our boy, Channy, should have had his own happy ending by now,” she says. “Time for you to go back to being his BFF,” she adds with a teasing tone.

They both get up and get dressed.

“I’ll see you in a couple hours,” he says. “In the meantime, how do I get a hold of you? I don’t have a phone number or email.”

She pulls her hair up and reapplies the pins to keep it in place.

“Like I told you, I’ll get in touch with you,” she instructs.

“Wham bam see you, Sam,” Sam says, wide-eyed. “I think I’m in love with my coworker.”

He pulls her to him and steals one last kiss. But she pushes him off, smiling wryly.

“Another department rule,” she says. “No falling in love with the asset.”

Sam turns for the door. “But there’s nothing that says I can’t fall for the asset’s ass,” he says. “Get it?”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head as she points him out the door with a smile. “Go.”

Opening the door, he descends the stairs to the reception area, one happy go lucky Sky Marshal.