This is a story about a Good Samaritan from Solvay and a cat litter executive from Illinois and the strange power of coincidence.

It's also about a mission, crossed paths and long-buried histories.

We begin in an outdoor market in Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon), Vietnam, in August 2001. V.R. "Swede" Roskam and his wife, Martha, are there on Swede's business with Oil-Dri Corp. of Chicago. They've taken a break to shop for inexpensive jewelry and old coins.

Martha sees a bundle of old metal GI dog tags on top of a basket of coins. She's drawn to them, and so is Swede, once Martha points to the little stamped ovals the military's supposed to wear around the neck on a chain.

Swede knows dog tags. He's a veteran of the Korean War. His hang close to his desk in his Chicago office. "I told my wife to go back and pay whatever she had to pay to get them. They're important," he recalled for me last week. "We got 36 dog tags for $20. The woman who had them for sale couldn't speak English so all we know is that they came from the Central Highlands of Vietnam."

The Roskams returned to their home in Wheaton, Ill., a Chicago suburb, with the tags, a challenge and what may turn out to be a book of memories they never would have dreamed they'd open.

This Friday, more than two and a-half years later, Martha and Swede will travel from Illinois to the Veterans Administration Medical Center in Syracuse to meet a Vietnam veteran from Solvay named Jack H. Jones. Before they leave town, Jack will have the Army dog tag he hasn't seen since he got home from the war 35 years ago.

"It's a near miracle, that's what I call it," Jack told me last week in the living room of his home near Westvale Plaza. "Where was it all these years? It's unbelievable. I think this is happening for a reason." The Roskams and Jack will be part of a presentation ceremony at the medical center Friday morning arranged by the VA staff, including Gordon Sclar of the public affairs office. Jack's an out-patient at the center.