The women exchanged looks, this time to see if one of them knew. None did. "He left with the Chinese," volunteered a second woman.

Bolan's worst fears materialized.

"If you want to know about your brother, you must speak to the headman," said the first woman. "Your brother lived in his house."

"Is the headman home?" he asked.

The first woman nodded.

"Are there any Chinese in the village?"

"They left," said the second woman. The others nodded in agreement.

"O sister," Bolan said, addressing the first woman, "help me find my brother. Take me to the headman so I can ask him."

She signaled to a younger woman to accompany her, and they set out, Bolan following.

They descended into the village and walked quickly past yapping dogs and bare-bottomed children. Women ran out of doorways to look at him, and someone shouted a greeting, mistaking him for Nark. In the Orient, white men look alike.

They came to the headman's hut, the elder woman coughed — knocking being rude in their culture — and Bolan followed her across the threshold. Inside was a typical Montagnard abode, dark, windowless and smelling of dampness from the earthen floor.

By an open fire, on low stools, two men in baggy black mountain suits sat smoking water pipes. One of the men was a thin individual with tiny, almost reptilian eyes. The woman spoke to him. He came up to Bolan. They exchanged bows and shook hands. The others left, and Bolan and the headman took seats by the fire.

"I am Colonel John Phoenix," Bolan introduced himself. "Did Nark tell you about me?"

"Yes," the headman said. "He told us you were coming." He spoke in English.

"What happened to Nark?" asked Bolan. By coming straight to the point he was ignoring Montagnard etiquette, but time was short and the headman knew Western ways, so it was unlikely he would be offended.

"Bad things," said the headman. "Mr, Nark betrayed by the shaman's son. The son was spy for Tiger."