“Lieutenant colonel!” Chhuon corrected himself. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” Nui said amiably. “Come, I wish you to meet someone.”
Hang Tung followed Chhuon and Lieutenant Colonel Nui between offices separated by woven-palm walls to a large central rear room. On two walls were maps, on the third large framed pictures of Norodom Sihanouk and Ho Chi Minh, and on the fourth small black-and-white photographs. In the center there was a low, flat sand table with a detailed model of Stung Treng City. Immediately a wave of fear flashed through Chhuon—the terror of having entered a forbidden sanctum. The model city seemed to leap from the table and seize him. His brother’s warehouse, his home, pulsating like alarm lights, details so specific Chhuon felt he could be reduced and live in the mode
