From the distance, the building made the city seem larger than it truly was, the eye and brain adding bulk to the blocks around it out of a sense of proportion. “I don’t want you to get insulted,” Dean told Qui as they parked. “But when we go in, I’m going to talk to him alone.” “I’m not insulted.” Qui took the key from the ignition and opened her door. There were more bicycles and motorbikes here than there were in Saigon, and many fewer cars. A large open square paved with pinkish brown stones sat before the municipal building at the center of town. Dean couldn’t remember being in Tam Ky during the war, but he was sure it wouldn’t have looked like this—bright and shining in the sun, the facades of the nearby buildings showing off new paint, the tree leaves so green they almost looked fake. There were no guards, and no receptionist in the lobby as they entered. The floors and walls were polished stone. “Second floor,” Rockman told Dean. “Near the back.”
