Edge of War

Bystander Killed in Hotel Melee

Boston (AP-Fox News) — A mother of two was killed by a stray bullet today as armed hotel guards broke up a robbery attempt outside the Boston Crown Hotel.

The guards, all off-duty policemen, are a common sight at business-class hotels in Boston and most major cities, as crime against businessmen has spiked. The robberies are seen as part of the general spike of crime and violence against the wealthy as the country’s economic downturn continues…

Germans May Disband Health Care

Berlin, Germany (World News Service) — The latest victim in the continuing worldwide depression may be one of the lynchpins of Germany’s welfare state, universal health care.

The continuing fiscal crisis, which has hit Europe particularly hard, is causing governments across the region to cut services. Nowhere are the fiscal problems more severe than in Germany, where the government has traditionally eschewed deficits and other so-called tricks of the trade…

1

A state of emergency had been declared in Ho Chi Minh City. The army as well as the police patrolled the streets, and a strict curfew had been imposed. Army units were gathered at different points along the highways; tanks were being dug in and other defenses prepared. Militia — in most cases little more than vigilantes with rifles older than they were — mustered at various municipal buildings and trolled the residential areas in pickups and the occasional van.

But the city itself seemed to be taking little notice of the crisis. Motorbikes, buses, cars, and trucks filled the highways in both directions; there was no mass panic or exodus.

Concerned that the regularly scheduled planes would be booked or even diverted, DeBiase had arranged for a plane to meet Mara and the others. The charter would then take them to Tokyo. Leased from a small Japanese airline named Goodwill Japan, the aircraft was one of several used on an occasional basis by the CIA.

The arrangement was straightforward. Mara would bring everyone to the airport, get through security, then go to the main terminal. She would page a ticket agent working for a regular airline but on the CIA payroll as a “friend.” The employee would help them through passport control and out to the flight, which was due to arrive no later than 5 p.m.

Two hours from now.

Josh was sleeping again. He’d have to wait until they landed in Tokyo to see a doctor. But it seemed like the best way to do things.

They bogged down in traffic about four miles from the airport, and Mara had Squeaky change places with her so she was behind the wheel. Kerfer beeped the horn at her as she ran around the truck. He tapped his ear, indicating that he wanted her to turn on her radio. She got the truck going again, then did so.

“What’s the game plan?” he asked.

“Straight to the airport, like I said.”

“No shit.”

“Just follow me.”

“Leave the radios on.”

“The batteries going to last?”

“We’re taking off in two hours, right? We got plenty of juice for that. Little Joe’s coming up to ride shotgun in the back.”

“Why?”

“ ‘Cause I’m fucking nervous, that’s why.”

Mara shook her head, but at this point there was nothing she could do about it. The SEAL hopped over the tailgate.

“Little Joe, you got your radio on?” she asked over the circuit.

“Big-time.”

“Keep your gun in the bag. We don’t want to be stopped.”

“We saw a lot of people with weapons.”

“They’re militia. And they’re not white.”

Mara saw a 757 lifting off in the distance as the traffic snaked forward. They’d be doing the same soon.

As they edged toward the exit for Ha Huy Giap to get down to the airport, Squeaky saw that the ramp was closed, blocked off by a pair of military vehicles. Mara decided to try and talk her way through. She pulled off in front of the trucks, angled so she might squeeze past if one pulled back. The soldiers went over to the passenger-side window, eying Little Joe in the back suspiciously.

Mara had to lean across the others to talk. She spoke in the quickest Vietnamese she could muster.

“We have to get to the airport,” she said. “I need to get on the highway.”

“The highway is closed,” said the sergeant in charge of the detail.

“But I need to get to the airport.”

“Not by this road. It’s closed.”

She pleaded some more, but the soldier and the two privates with him simply walked away. Mara had to edge back into traffic.

“Why didn’t you try bribing him?” asked Squeaky.

“I’m just about out of money,” she said. “We could maybe buy a few loaves of bread; that’s it.”

“Can’t grease a palm with spit,” said Squeaky philosophically.

The ramp to Highway 22 was closed as well. Mara continued in traffic for another mile and a half, well past the airport, until she saw an open emergency ramp that led down to a city street. She followed several cars off, then began wending through the crowded, narrow city streets back in the direction of the airport.

The traffic thickened steadily, gradually choking off to an unsteady crawl. When finally she came in sight of Tuong Son, the main road to the terminal, she saw why — the airport entrance was closed. Cars were being sent down the road to make U-turns before fighting their way back into traffic.

“Stay with the truck while I find out what’s going on,” said Mara, hopping out.

Kerfer got out as well, trotting up behind as she walked down the line of cars. A pair of armored personnel carriers sat in the middle of the airport entrance. Two military policemen were directing traffic — or rather, trying to wave it onward.

“How do you get into the airport?” Mara shouted.

One of the men held his hand up to his ear. Mara squeezed around the tangle of cars and ran over to him.

“I have a flight,” said Mara. “How do I get in?”

“No more flights today,” said the policeman.

“I just saw a plane take off.”

“No more flights.”

“I need to talk to someone in charge.”

The man ignored her.

“Hey!” she yelled.

He didn’t answer, turning instead to a nearby car whose driver was crying that she was lost.

“We can just walk in,” said Kerfer. He pointed to the lot across from them.

“What about the soldiers?” she asked.

“We duck around the side, back on the block where we turned. Near the end of that taxiway. There’s no one there.”

“You don’t think there are soldiers inside?”

“We worry about them when we find them.”

“It’s too risky. If we get arrested, we may never get out,” Mara told him. “Go back with Josh and the others. I’ll find the officer in charge here and find out what’s going on.”

“Not by yourself,” insisted Kerfer.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” she told him, starting toward the parking lot.

“And you’re a bitch,” said Kerfer, walking with her. “I’d say we’re made for each other.”

“Touch me and I’ll deck you.”

“I’d love to get physical.”

“I doubt I’m your type.”

“I’ll just throw a paper bag over your head.”

Mara would have decked him if they weren’t being watched.

Kerfer started to giggle like a thirteen-year-old.

Jerk.

The soldiers wouldn’t even listen to her questions. Mara walked parallel to the building, looking for an officer. She found a lieutenant having a cigarette on the sidewalk. He told her the airport was completely closed.

“I have a plane that’s meeting me,” Mara told him. “It’s a charter. I have a little girl and — ”

The officer cut her off, saying that she would need to take up her problems with the travel ministry. When she asked where the office was in the terminal, he replied that it was downtown, not here.

“Who can I talk to here?” she asked.

“No one,” he insisted. Mara pressed him for his commander’s name; the lieutenant finally gave her the name of a captain, who, he said, was back by the trucks where the traffic was being diverted.

“We can walk down that alley there, hop the fence, and get in,” said Kerfer as the lieutenant went back to his men. “Easier than this bullshit.”

“Yeah.”

“What time’s our flight?”

“It should be here in an hour,” said Mara. “But they’ll wait.”

The area around the perimeter of the airport was packed tightly with buildings. They were halfway through them, heading toward the fence at the end of the runway, when DeBiase called her on the sat phone.

“Bad news, angel. Your airport’s closed.”

“No shit,” said Mara. “Tell the pilot we’re going to hop the fence. Ask him where to meet.”

“You’re not following me. They can’t land. The Vietnamese closed the airport to civilian traffic. They mean business. There are armored cars on the runway. Word is they’re using it for fighter operations tonight.”

“You’re joking, right?” she said.

“I wish. Apparently they have a dozen MiGs left and they want to make it easy for the Chinese to blow them all up,” said DeBiase, as sarcastic as ever. “We’ll get you out, don’t worry. Why don’t you go get something to eat? Get some rooms and relax for a while.”

“You make it sound like we’re on vacation.”

“You’re not?”

2

This was not the way they taught it in civics class.

Then again, they didn’t teach civics anymore. They didn’t teach history, either. It was social studies, which was about as far from an accurate description as possible.

President Greene leaned forward against the long table in the White House Cabinet Room, trying to contain his anger as Admiral Matthews lectured him on the dangers presented to aircraft carriers by aircraft. This was just the latest round of whining, protest, and foot-dragging from the service Chiefs, who were determined to resist Greene’s efforts to help the Vietnamese. Most of their resistance was passive-aggressive — find that in the social studies textbooks under separation of powers — but it was no less effective because of that. As far as Greene was concerned, it was a small step away from mutiny.

A very small step.

But the lecture was especially galling coming at five o’clock in the morning, an ungodly hour undoubtedly selected by the service Chiefs to keep him off guard. The bastards always fought at night.

The president decided that it was time to put the admiral and his fellow members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in their place.

“Apparently, Admiral, you’ve forgotten that I was not only in the Navy for over twenty years, but that I was an aviator and flew off of aircraft carriers. And protected them, I might add.”

The admiral shut up. The generals around him looked — ”chastised” wasn’t the word.

“Peeved” was.

Pampered jackasses.

“Now listen to me,” said Greene. “You work for me. I understand the military damn well. I know pushback when I see it. I’m not going to stand for it.”

Tommy Stills, the commander of the Air Force and a personal friend, started to protest. Greene put up his hand to indicate he shouldn’t interrupt.

“I want U.S. ships close to the Vietnamese coast,” continued Greene. “I don’t give a crap about how the North Koreans are acting up, or how Russia’s alleged battle fleet needs to be looked after. Taiwan can rot in hell for the moment. I want ships close to the oil fields. Period. Now.”

“Do you want us to run the blockade?” asked Admiral Matthews. “That’s the bottom line.”

“I want us to ignore the blockade,” said Greene. “We had a submarine off Hai Phong. It was supporting a mission — why the hell was it ordered to leave?”

“It had another mission.”

“And that mission was more important?”

The admiral took a second before answering. Undoubtedly he was thinking of Greene’s rank at retirement — captain — and found it galling to be questioned by him.

When he finally did speak, Greene cut him off.

“I thought it prudent to — ”

“You thought it prudent?” Greene was having difficulty controlling himself. Showing his temper was counterproductive to the Chiefs. Outbursts only built resentment, which encouraged more backstabbing, greater foot-dragging, and even less candor later on. Any display of temper would surely be reported to Greene’s enemies in Congress — now the Chiefs’ best allies — within minutes of the session’s end.

But damn it, he was commander in chief.

“Look, I’m not asking for a shooting war here,” said Greene, trying to dial back his emotions and change tactics. “I want us to act like a superpower. That’s what we are. We’re the only ones who can stand up to this bully. Admiral, I know you feel the same way. This is pure Navy doctrine.”

Matthews nodded. Greene wasn’t really sure he did feel the same way. Matthews’s predecessor had been lambasted for acting too aggressively at several points during the Malaysian conflict. As the previous administration’s term wound down, he’d been dragged before not one but three different congressional committees and interrogated for his sins. The Army chief of staff, Renata Gold, had gone through the same process — one reason, Greene thought, that she hadn’t said a word the entire meeting.

It was often said that generals always refought their last war. In this case, the war they were fighting was the one their predecessors had lost in Congress.

But to be fair, Malaysia had been a real fiasco, with Greene’s predecessor caving disastrously toward the end of his term. The service Chiefs had no reason to see this any differently — there was no sense risking the lives of their people, or their careers, for a lost cause.

“You realize that this is 1939 all over again,” said Greene. “Or maybe 1937. Same thing. Vietnam is Czechoslovakia.”

“I don’t think anyone is suggesting we partition Vietnam,” said General Gold.

“Good.” Greene didn’t know what else to say. He turned back toward Admiral Matthews. “Tell the Kitty Hawk to turn up the steam. And let’s have that destroyer — which one was it?”

“USS McCampbell, sir. DDG-85.”

“Get it near the oil fields below Saigon,” said Greene. “Posthaste.”

“Aye, aye.”

“Aye, aye, yourself,” said Greene, trying, though failing, to inject a lighter mood. “More coffee, anyone?”

3

Jing Yo’s decision to stop chasing his quarry for the time being was not a surrender, but a recognition of the simple fact that he had to bow to fate. He must accept things as they were, bend like the tree in winter under the weight of the snow.

Nature made its own gesture, removing the rain that had made it difficult to drive and see. Jing Yo and Hyuen Bo stopped for a brief lunch, then set out again, moving at a good but not desperate pace. Considering the shelling an omen, he turned westward, reaching Route 14 in an hour. They passed several military convoys, but the soldiers took no notice of them, rushing north to meet the advancing Chinese army.

Jing Yo was able to buy gas in Buon Ho; they bought some vegetables as well as a snack. They stopped once more in Dong Nar, a small town north of Cat Tien National Park. With their gauge near empty and their reserves gone, they found the town’s only gas station closed.

Jing Yo drove down the quietest side street he could find. He found a row of cars parked behind some houses. He drove next to them, and within moments fuel was flowing down his tube to the scooter. But as he checked to see how close to full he was, a man came out from one of the houses and began shouting. Jing Yo yanked the tube out and whipped away, losing the scooter’s gas cap in the process.

It was nearly six before they came within sight of Ho Chi Minh City. Jing Yo made his way to the Go Vap district on the northern side of the city.

The area combined dense residential neighborhoods with farm fields close to the river. Jing Yo navigated toward a set of large fuel-storage tanks not far from the city university, crisscrossing through the traffic as he zigzagged toward them. Finally he turned down a dirt road that dead-ended at a field near the tanks. He turned down the lone intersection and drove to a large house that sat incongruously between small sweatshops and broken-down warehouses.

A wide five-bay garage sat at the side of a large gravel parking area before the house. A gray panel van with a single round window sat in front of the last bay. Jing Yo parked his bike next to the van. He knew he was being watched, though there was no sign of a watchman.

“You have to wait for me,” he told Hyuen Bo. “Just stay.”

The house was nearly two hundred years old, built in a European style with a two-story portico in front. Two men stood behind the pillars at the front. They held guns — not the AK-47s common in the Vietnamese army and militia, but newer and deadlier German submachine guns.

As Jing Yo came up the steps, a thin man in his forties opened the door and stood on the threshold. He wore a black pin-striped business suit, and looked more like a banker than a butler or doorman.

He was neither. His name was Tong, and he was one of a rotating group of assistants used by the woman Jing Yo had come to see.

“Can I help you?” asked Mr. Tong, using English.

“My name is Jing Yo. I have come to speak to Ms. Hu.”

Mr. Tong stepped back, letting Jing Yo in. Jing Yo had been here several times before, but if the man recognized him, he gave no hint of it.

“Sit here, please.”

Jing Yo remained standing. The building smelled of exotic spices, jasmine and vanilla mixing with star anise and an earthy pepper. The wooden inlay of a dragon peeked out from beneath two heavy rugs. The chairs Jing Yo had been bidden to use were more than a hundred years old, made in and imported from France, and covered with Chinese silk that looked brand new, though it was as old as the wood.

Mr. Tong returned. “This way.”

Jing Yo followed him through the central hall of the house, out onto a glass-enclosed patio, and from there into a garden at the back of the house. An older woman, known to Jing Yo only as Ms. Hu, sat at a small table near the center of the garden, sipping tea. Behind her, water bubbled in a large fountain. Statues lined the pebbled paths and grottoes in front of the trees, shrubs, and flowers that were arranged in the various beds: Here a Buddha sat under the tree after his rapture. There a Foo lion guarded the symbol of life.

“We have been expecting you, Jing Yo,” said Ms. Hu.

Jing Yo bowed his head. Ms. Hu was small, not quite five feet. She was thin, though not quite so thin as to seem fragile. Her skin was extremely white, almost bleached, and far smoother than normal for her age, which Jing Yo had been told was near sixty. She wore a long dress. While of modern design, it was cut in a way that suggested tradition.

Hu in Chinese meant “fox,” and Ms. Hu had all of the mythological characteristics associated with one. Jing was not in a position to know her exact responsibilities and duties, but he gathered that the petite woman ran a sizable portion of the Chinese spy network in Ho Chi Minh City, and perhaps all of Vietnam.

“They doubted you would make it by nightfall,” said Ms. Hu. “Did you have a difficult time?”

“It was easier than you would imagine.”

“Good.”

“You have information for me?”

“I have much information. Have some tea.”

A butler stepped forward from the nearby shrubs, a cup in his hand. Jing Yo waited while he poured. The light scent of jasmine tickled his nose.

“Thank you,” said Jing Yo before taking his cup.

“The man you are after is on his way to Ho Chi Minh City. We believe he was trying to get to the airport, but the authorities closed it a few hours ago. Where he will go from there we don’t know. Not yet.”

“I see.”

“Most likely he will go to District One and stay in one of the hotels,” continued Ms. Hu. “I have several men in the area, searching. We have people throughout the city.”

“Is he using his satellite phone?”

“He has. But it is not as easy to track in the city. The Americans have not been so kind as to share all of their technology with us.”

Ms. Hu took another sip of her tea. Her style was reminiscent of a cloistered medieval Chinese empress, concocting political plots behind the emperor’s back with understated finesse.

“I’m grateful for your help,” said Jing Yo.

“Do not take this as an insult, Jing Yo,” said Ms. Hu. “I admire your persistence. But it seems that you have not been your usual effective self. Not everyone is pleased with you.”

Jing Yo lowered his head. It was a warning more than an admonition.

“If our men are in position to kill him, they will do so,” continued Ms. Hu. “I mean no insult, but this is a matter of some importance. I have heard from the premier’s office directly.”

“I appreciate your assistance,” said Jing Yo again.

Ms. Hu nodded. “Why did they give you this mission?” she asked.

“I did not ask the question.”

“Sending you behind the lines on your own — does your commander not wish to see you return?”

“I could have selected men to accompany me.”

Ms. Hu took another sip of her tea. “You have someone with you,” she said. “A girl?”

“She helped me get out of Hanoi. She has been very useful.”

“She may prove to be a chain around your neck. You brought her here. That is not a good thing. Not for her.”

“I vouch for her.”

“I’m sure. Mr. Tong will give you an address where you can stay. Take the girl to the house and have her stay there. Mr. Tong has a phone for you as well. When we have information, you will be called.”

“I intend to continue searching for him,” said Jing Yo.

“Do as you wish. Just remember all that I have said.”

“Thank you, Ms. Hu,” said Jing Yo, rising. “I will.”

4

Most of the large foreign hotels were located in or near District 1, the heart of the city adjacent to the Saigon River. DeBiase arranged for rooms at the Renoir Riverside Hotel, a well-appointed skyscraper on the riverfront. Mara spent the last of her money buying some luggage and a few shirts at a secondhand store, hoping to make the SEALs look less like soldiers and more like tourists when they checked in.

“We don’t want to all check in together,” she told Kerfer as they cleaned up a bit in the back of small restaurant. “Why don’t you go in first, get a room, and make sure things look good.”

“No shit.”

“Don’t get pissy with me. I’m not the one who closed the airport.”

“They should have evaced us out of Hanoi,” said Kerfer. “Nobody’s got any balls.”

“Hey, the submarine belongs to the Navy, not us,” retorted Mara. “Where the hell was it?”

“I would have swum for it, if was up to me,” said Kerfer.

Back in the vehicles, they started hunting for a place to park. Mara wanted the truck and car near enough to the hotel so that they could retrieve them if they needed to, yet far enough away to avoid suspicion if the vehicles were discovered. By now, even Squeaky was getting cranky. As they circled through the crowded downtown area, he groused that the police had far better things to do than check for stolen registrations.

“The plates show where the cars come from,” Mara said. “Let’s not screw this up by getting lazy.”

“I’m not saying to get lazy.”

Mara finally found a place to park in a lot at the back of a row of small stores. She pushed the truck against a chain-link fence, and had everyone get out on the other side. Kerfer did the same thing he-hind her.

“We stay together until we get two blocks from the hotel,” said Kerfer. “Then Little Joe and I go ahead. We get our room, Joey comes down and gives the high sign. You, Josh, and the tyke go in, register. Then everyone else. Ones and twos. Sound good, lady?”

“It’ll do.”

“You with us, mad scientist?” Kerfer asked Josh.

“Hanging in there.”

At first, being out of the truck invigorated Josh. It felt good to move his legs. There was a gentle breeze, and the air, though damper than it had been up north, had a cool feel to it. But after a block, Josh felt his energy running down. His stomach and lower abdomen felt as if they were on fire. He struggled to keep up even with Mạ, who tugged at his hand as she walked.

“It’s not too far,” said Mara, slowing her pace.

“I’m okay,” he insisted.

“We can sit up ahead and rest. There’s a bench there.”

“Let’s just go to the hotel.”

“We’re going to make sure it’s safe first.” She put her hand to his forehead. “You’re not as hot as you were.”

“Good. Your hand feels nice.”

“Are you hungry?”

“No. It hurts.”

“Where?”

“Here. When I eat. And everything.”

“Here, let’s sit on this bench.”

She took his elbow and guided him to the bench. Josh folded his arms in front of his chest, wishing away whatever it was that had gotten into his system. He closed his eyes.

He thought of the train, then the hand poking from the ground…

A siren wailing nearby jarred him. He jerked up, alert, worried. A police van rushed by, then another — they were at the head of a group of black Mercedes sedans. A pair of motorcycles escorted them. A troop truck took up the rear.

“What was that?” Josh asked.

“Just a diplomat,” said Mara. “Can you walk?”

Josh got up, legs stiff. Mạ looked at him doubtfully.

“Just two blocks,” said Mara. She hooked her arm in his. Mạ took his other hand.

Mara was nearly as tall as he was, far taller than any woman he’d ever dated.

“The hotel’s up there,” said Mara. “I’ll talk.”

Was he attracted to her? Or just feeling lonely?

He wasn’t lonely. Sick, yes. Tired. Not lonely.

The grip of her arm was reassuring.

“Okay?” she asked. “I’ll get the room.”

“Of course.”

DeBiase had arranged to forward money through the hotel’s international parent, but the hotel would disperse only a few hundred dollars cash. The clerk told Mara that the banks were still operating, and he gave her a list of nearby ATMs. She sensed that he was just trying to get rid of her.

She took Josh and Mạ up to the suite room. Mạ threw herself on the couch and immediately dozed off. Josh insisted he was fine, but Mara told him to go to bed. DeBiase had arranged for a doctor; as soon as she was sure all of the SEALs were squared away — they were all in rooms on the same floor, Kerfer right next door — she called his office.

He was there a half hour later. He introduced himself as Dr. Jacques. His accent seemed more Russian than French, but Mara wasn’t about to question him. He took Josh’s temperature, then sent him to the bathroom with a cup for what he delicately called “le sample.”

“You’ve had sex?” the doctor asked.

“No,” said Josh. “Not recently.”

The doctor looked at Mara.

“I don’t know if he had sex,” said Mara. “And it wasn’t with me.”

“You have a urinary infection,” the doctor told Josh.

“What about my stomach?”

“There, too.”

Jacques opened the battered North Face backpack he used as a medicine bag. He took a prescription pad out. “This is an antibiotic,” he said. “The hotel can help you get it filled.”

He wrote out the prescription and handed it to Josh. Then he wrote another one and gave it to Mara.

“What’s this?” Mara asked. “A backup?”

“Both people need them.”

“We didn’t have sex.”

The doctor zipped up his bag without saying anything else.

Kerfer stayed with Josh while Mara went down to the desk to see about getting the prescription filled. After giving it to the concierge, she took a walk around the hotel, getting a feel for what was going on. The atrium lounge, normally fairly busy at this time of day, was almost empty; the only guests were a nervous-looking European woman and two small children, who were fidgeting on a couch packed with suitcases.

The hotel’s Kabin Chinese Restaurant was considered one of the best in Southeast Asia; Peter Lucas raved about its fish and dim sum. It was about a quarter full. Upstairs at the Club Lounge on the penthouse level, all of the tables overlooking the river were empty; the few patrons in the place were huddled near the bar.

The sun had just set. Ordinarily, the view of the river and nearby city would have been spectacular, lights beginning to glow everywhere, ships passing below. But now the view was one of a darkened city. Boats passed as shadows below in the waning light. The far bank looked like a cluster of cards set down on an uneven table, waiting for players to arrive.

A waiter approached as Mara scanned the horizon. “The lights will be turned off very soon,” he warned in English, “because of the war restrictions. Would you like a drink?”

“No, I’m good,” she said, though she instantly craved one. “I was just leaving.”

Josh and Kerfer were watching television when she got back to the room. The newscaster was telling a story about how the “glorious forces” had won a “courageous victory” against the “dastardly invaders.” The newscast was in Vietnamese, but an English translation, more or less accurate, rolled across the bottom of the screen.

“Things must be worse off than we thought,” said Kerfer, “if they’re already declaring victory.”

He drained the beer he had in his hand and went to the minifridge to fetch another.

“Better go easy on that,” said Mara.

“I’m not driving.”

The can opened with a loud pop. Kerfer took a swig, then went over to the desk and took a pad of paper from the top drawer.

Place bugged? he wrote.

“Maybe,” answered Mara.

“When do we get out of here?”

Good question, she thought. She bent over and wrote, I have to call home in a few minutes. I’ll find out.

“Good,” said Kerfer.

It will take a few minutes. I have to find a good place to call where I won’t be overhead.

Kerfer put his hand on her back. She almost jumped.

“Sooner we’re out of here, the better,” he whispered.

Mara straightened. “Yes.”

Kerfer pulled over the pad. You want me to go with you?

“I can manage,” she said.

“She ain’t that bad-looking,” Kerfer told Josh after Mara left.

“I didn’t say she was.”

“But that’s what you were thinking. You go for the brainy type, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t have a type.”

“Sure you do. Everybody’s got a type.”

“What’s your type?”

“Naked and drunk. In that order.” Kerfer laughed and sat down in his chair. “I think she likes me. What do you think?”

Josh shrugged.

“You want her for yourself, huh?” Kerfer laughed again. “Don’t worry, Josh. If it turns out we’re going to be here for a while, we’ll find somebody for you. Plenty of girls in this town.”

“Uh-huh.”

“That how you got sick?” “No.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Probably from something you drank,” said Kerfer. “Shame, though. You gotta pay the price, you oughta at least enjoy the meal.”

Mara crossed the street in front of the hotel and began walking north along the edge of the park bordering the river. A naval patrol craft was tied up at the landing nearby. She walked past it, catching glimpses of the ship through the trees.

Mara spotted a bench as she neared the entrance to the ferry slip across the Saigon River. There was no one else nearby, so she sat down and took out the phone.

DeBiase answered as soon as she called. “I hope they fluffed the pillows for you,” he told her.

“First-class service,” she said. “What’s the deal on our flight?”

“We’re still working on it. We’re trying to stay under the radar.”

“Damn it, Jess, this is bullshit. Just get us the hell out of here.”

DeBiase took a long, slow breath, the sort he always took before putting on his sturdy professional voice. Sure enough, his next words were almost surreally calm.

“We’ll get you out. There’s a lot of politics involved, Mara. Not just there, but at home.”

“Crap on the politics.”

“I know you’re tired. Keep it together.”

“I’m not tired,” she said. “Josh is sick. He’s got some sort of urinary tract infection. The doctor said it might be in his kidneys. We have to get him out.”

“Did you get him medicine?”

“I’m working on it. That’s not the point.”

“Tomorrow the airport will reopen. The airplane will come in. You’ll go out. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep? That’s what you need.”

Politics. Mara wondered if maybe some people in the agency didn’t want them to get out. Maybe they wanted to see Vietnam crushed. Or maybe a few dead Americans would help whatever cause they were pushing.

Maybe somebody’s father or uncle or brother had been killed during the Vietnam War. Ancient history to most people — but not if the war took someone close to you. Personal grudges had a lot more to do with what happened in the geopolitical world than people thought.

“You’re still with me, Mara?”

“I’m here.”

“Listen, I’m getting pinged,” he said, using one of his slang expressions for receiving a message over the secure text message system. “Lucas wants to talk to you. He needs to talk to Josh, too. He’s in D.C.”

“Josh isn’t with me.”

“That’s okay. Can you get him?”

“I don’t know. He may be sleeping. I told you, he’s sick.”

“I know… Why don’t you see if you can get him, though? We’ll call you in a half hour.”

“When you call, tell me when the airplane is going to pick us up,” she said.

“I’m doing my best.”

5

Ms. Hu’s assistant Mr. Tong gave Jing Yo the key to an apartment in District 5, better known as Cholon, or Chinatown. The area would not have been Jing Yo’s first choice. But he was not in a position to argue.

A notice was posted in the entrance hallway to the building declaring that the city was under complete blackout rules as of 8 p.m. All patriotic citizens were expected to comply. A similar handbill had been pushed under the door of the apartment.

The unit was spacious, with two bedrooms besides a large living room and kitchen. There were a few pieces of furniture, low couches and tables in the Vietnamese style, as well as two Western-style easy chairs.

“Some tea?” Jing Yo asked.

Hyuen Bo went to the kitchen to make it. Jing Yo followed.

“I don’t want this tea,” said Jing Yo loudly, inspecting the cupboard. “I’ve had this tea — it is always disagreeable.”

Hyuen Bo looked at him, confused.

“Let’s see if there’s a shop on the street,” he told her. “It should take only a minute. Come.”

She followed him out silently. He explained on the street.

“It is likely our conversations will he overheard by spies,” Jing Yo told her. “I should have realized this before. You must be very careful. Talk very little.”

“How long are we staying?”

“I’m not sure,” said Jing Yo truthfully.

His phone rang. It was Mr. Tong.

“Your subject is in District One. Near the river. We will give you more details shortly.”

The line went dead.

“I have to go see someone,” Jing Yo told Hyuen Bo. “I’ll be back.”

“When?”

“Soon. I’m not sure. In the meantime, trust no one.”

“I trust you.”

Jing Yo felt a pang. He was the last person she should trust, though he didn’t have the heart to tell her.

6

Kerfer insisted that Josh eat something and had a burger and fries sent up from room service. As a precaution he had it delivered to Little Joe’s room, but it still got to Josh steaming hot.

The grilled meat tasted far better than Josh had thought it would, and he quickly finished it, surprised at how hungry he was.

“One thing you have to learn, kid, is keep your strength up.” Kerfer nursed his beer. “Your body’s a furnace. Keep it hot.”

“Isn’t that how I got sick? Eating stuff?”

“You just ate the wrong stuff. Besides, who cares how you got sick? You work on getting better. War is an endurance race,” added Kerfer. “It’s a marathon. You’re a scientist. You ought to know this shit.”

“I have allergies. I can’t eat certain things.”

“Like burgers?”

“Burgers I can eat.”

“Then you’re good. What kind of allergies?” Kerfer asked. “Like hay fever?”

“Yeah. It has to do with the enzymes. They’re the same as in the pollen. I can’t eat apples. Nuts.”

“Beer?”

“Beer I’m okay with.”

Kerfer went over to the minifridge.

“You have your choice of a Foster’s that looks like it’s been in the fridge since Saigon belonged to the French, or a Tsing Tao. Chinese beer. Foster’s is a can,” added Kerfer, “Tsing Tao is a bottle.”

“Bottle.”

“Reasonable choice.” Kerfer took it out.

“Doesn’t seem to twist off,” said Josh, after nearly tearing his hand on it.

“Gimme.”

Josh handed it over. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the SEAL had used his teeth to rip the top off. But his solution was much more elegant, not to mention dentally hygienic — he placed the cap against his belt buckle and popped it off.

“You’ll feel better in a few,” said Kerfer, handing it over.

Josh took a small sip. The cold liquid was bitter in his mouth.

Mạ was sleeping on the couch. Kerfer had put a blanket over her.

“Wish I could sleep like that,” said Josh.

“You do. You just don’t realize it,” said Kerfer. He pulled over the chair and leaned back. “You like being a scientist?”

“Scientist? Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Always find something new.”

“About the weather?”

“About how plants interact with it. And how we interact with plants.”

“We eat them.”

“If there are any.”

“Plenty of plants, kid.”

“Not really. That’s what this war is about.”

“It’s about oil, kid. You notice how cheap gas is here compared to anywhere else? Hell, you can fill up a car with less than a hundred bucks.”

“The government subsidizes it.”

“Sure, because they’re Commies. But the reason they can do that is they have the oil fields offshore. You know what gas goes for back in the States. You think we could subsidize it?”

“No. But we’re not Communists.”

“Not yet,” said Kerfer.

“Really, it is about food,” said Josh. “China’s in a drought. Their crop production has been cut in half each year over the past three. That’s a huge amount of rice.”

“And?”

“Vietnam is getting two and three crops a year.”

“That’s because of the weather?”

“Partly. And changes in the seeds and the way they grow. That’s what the war’s about. Food.”

There was a knock on the door. Kerfer went over, pistol out. “Yeah?”

“It’s Mara. Let me in.”

He cracked the door open, peeking into the hallway before letting her in.

“What are you doing with a beer?” demanded Mara as soon as she saw Josh. “You’re supposed to be sick.”

“Don’t go schoolmarm on the poor kid, for Christ’s sake,” said Kerfer. “He’s trying to get better.”

“What is that, SEAL medicine?”

Kerfer smiled. But Mara remained cross.

“They told me downstairs the prescription came,” said Mara.

“Little Joe brought it up,” said Josh.

“Let me see the pills.”

“Man, you are a schoolmarm,” said Kerfer.

Josh handed over the bottle.

“They’re some sort of penicillin thing,” said Kerfer. “I checked them. You think I’m going to let him take poison?”

“You have him drinking beer.”

“It’s good for him.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “Put the beer down. We have to go for a walk,” she told Josh. “Do you feel up to it?”

“I can walk.”

“What’s up?” asked Kerfer.

Mara pointed to her mouth. Josh guessed that she was reminding them that the room might be bugged. Then she pulled the headset out of her collar, indicating she’d have the radio on. Meanwhile, Josh pulled on his shoes.

Stevens and Little Joe were sitting in the lobby when Josh and Mara came down. The SEALs shadowed them out of the hotel, staying a few yards back as they crossed the street.

Night had fallen, and most if not all of the buildings in the city were observing the blackout rules. But with a clear sky, there was enough light to see through the trees to the river. A few people walked along the sidewalks, passing them quickly, heads down. But as they walked northward, Josh spotted groups of people gathered near the riverbank, talking among themselves, or occasionally staring at the water. A few young couples held hands.

“Let’s go back the other way,” said Mara. “There are more people than before.”

They turned around and went back, walking past a naval ship tied up at the dock. Mara took his hand, wrapping her fingers in his. Then she leaned toward him.

“Are you okay?” she whispered.

“Yeah.”

“You’re slowing down.”

“I’m okay.”

“I want a spot where it’s not easy to hear us,” she said. “All right?”

“Okay.”

“You have to talk to my boss. Peter. Is that all right?”

“Sure.”

Mara guided him through the trees to a cluster of rocks on the shoreline. As soon as they sat down, she took out her phone. Josh leaned back, elbows against a rock, trying to look at ease.

He definitely felt a little better than he had earlier. Maybe Kerfer was right about the beer.

A small fishing boat moved across the river in their direction. As it drew near, a woman pushed out from under the canvas tent at the middle of the boat and went to the prow. She had something in her hand, and Josh felt a moment of anxiety, worried that she might have a gun. But it was just a line; she was getting ready to tie up at the dock about thirty yards to his right.

“Peter wants to talk to you,” said Mara, handing Josh the satellite phone.

“Yes?”

“Josh, how are you?” said Peter Lucas.

“I’m okay,” Josh told him. “A little tired.”

“I’ve heard what’s on the video, the files you gave Mara. It’s incredible,” said the CIA officer. “Everything.”

“I hope it can help.”

“It will help,” said Lucas. “I have someone here who’d like to speak to you. All right?”

“Sure, I guess.”

The phone clicked. A new voice came on, a little louder and clearer.

“Josh MacArthur?”

“I’m here.”

“This is George Greene. Are our people taking care of you?”

“Mr. President? President Greene?”

“I’m here. Are you getting good care?”

“Yes. She’s, they’re — I’m doing fine.”

“Good. I heard what happened. It’s a terrible tragedy. Horrible.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have pictures and video?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you tell me where you got them?”

“Um, well, I had this little Flip 5 video camera. It’s not very good quality, but it’s good for snapshots and little videos.”

“Where were you when you took the video, Josh?” asked the president.

“I don’t — see, that’s our base camp. But the others… I had to go through this village. I don’t know how far away I went.”

“But it was definitely in Vietnam?”

“Yes, sir. We were pretty far from the border. I mean, a couple of miles. You know — I don’t know. Five?” Josh felt he was making a fool of himself by being so tongue-tied. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate. “It was definitely inside Vietnam. I went — that night, I think it was, I found the border to the north. I was always in Vietnam. There was a big fence. And guards. And then these trucks came down. They looked like Vietnamese trucks but — ”

“Was there resistance at the science camp?” asked the president.

“No, sir. Well — I started to sneeze and I woke, and I had, uh, I had to uh, uh — ”

“Nature called,” said the president drily.

“Yes, sir. Anyway, I walked away from the camp, and then I was sneezing and I wanted not to wake anyone. So I went a little deeper into the jungle. The next thing I knew there was gunfire.”

“The scientists didn’t have guns, did they?”

“No, sir. Not that I know of. We had a couple of Vietnamese soldiers with us, but they’d gone to bed.”

There was a pause. For a second, Josh thought the line had gone dead.

“Josh, we’re looking forward to talking to you when you get back,” said Peter Lucas, coming back on the line. “All right?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“You’re going to be home real soon. Please give me Mara.”

“Okay. Uh, thanks.”

“No, thank you.”

7

Dauntless in Battle.

A nice phrase, surely; the perfect motto for a warship. But they were just words until put to the test.

Commander Dirk “Hurricane” Silas thought about his ship’s motto as he strode across the bridge, casting a wary eye on the helmsman and the long row of controls and instruments necessary for her to do her job. Like all members of his family — including and especially the nine-thousand-ton guided-missile destroyer that held them — the petty officer was dedicated and squared away. Her eyes were focused, her hair very neatly trimmed.

Silas stopped and peered forward through the destroyer’s bridge windows, into the dark, vast emptiness before him. To all appearances, the McCampbell was alone on the ocean, alone in the universe, a solitary ship making close to thirty knots, a hair off its listed top speed.

But appearances were deceiving. A Chinese cruiser and frigate were just beyond the horizon to his right, shadowing his course. The cruiser was one of the most accomplished vessels in the Chinese fleet, aside from the country’s two recently completed aircraft carriers. Commissioned as the Wen Jiabao and named after a recently deceased premier, it was an extensively refitted Ukrainian ship, the Moskva, sold to China ostensibly as scrap two years before. At 186 meters long and nearly 21 meters at beam, it was a good bit bigger than the McCampbell. The Wen carried at least sixteen long-range P-500 Bazalts, known to NATO as SS-N-12s, antiship cruise missiles with a range of roughly 550 kilometers or about 340 miles.

The weapons posed a formidable challenge, easily capable of sinking most ships. But the McCampbell’s Aegis system had been specifically designed to handle this sort of threat. Like her sister Arleigh Burkes, she could put three or four SM2 Block IV missiles into the air against each P-500 in less than a minute. It would be a serious workout, but one the DDG could probably handle.

Silas would love to see it try.

He stepped out of the enclosed bridge onto the deck. There was something about standing here, high above the waves, that still seemed magical some twenty years after his first “real” ocean voyage. It was more than the physical sensation of the wind and the light, salt-mixed spray in the air. Silas felt a link to the men he’d grown up reading about, the old captains and seadogs who put themselves on the line, warriors whose every breath seemed to inspire heroic deeds.

Looking back on the stories from the perspective of an adult, he knew that they had glossed over many things — hardships for one, failures for another. No man facing the sea was always courageous, and no one facing an enemy’s gun could claim that his stomach didn’t occasionally hint of mutiny. But the omissions were unimportant; on the whole, those stories told a greater truth about human nature than a meticulously accurate log ever could.

Or at least what Silas thought human nature should be.

Unfortunately, the days of heroes were gone. The Navy wasn’t anything like it had been during the cold war, let alone back in the days when the crisp crack of a sail filling with wind told a sailor all he needed to know about the weather. The idea that a single captain and crew could take destiny into their own hands was a quaint, even forlorn notion. The McCampbell was connected to the rest of the world by a suite of communications systems and sensors. Silas’s commander could look at a screen and know instantly where the destroyer was.

So could half the Pentagon.

The day was not far off, the captain believed, when the Tomahawks and enhanced Standard missiles in his vertical launching tubes would be fired by some desk admiral in the basement of the Pentagon.

“Captain, you have a minute?”

Silas turned and saw his executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Dorothy Li.

“Sneaking up on me, Exec?”

“No, sir.”

Silas sensed trouble in Li’s voice. She wasn’t usually half this formal with him.

“Shoot,” he told her.

“Captain, as I understand our orders, we’re to proceed toward Cam Ranh Bay, staying in international waters. Correct?”

“You know the orders as well as I do.”

“Permission to speak freely.”

“Hell, Dorie, you don’t have to be so formal. What’s up?”

“Back channel on this is not that good.” She shook her head. The stiff tone remained in her voice, and it was obvious she was choosing her words very carefully. “Desron’s passing along orders, but flashing stop signs everywhere. Dirk, I think we’re being set up for something political.”

Desron referred to the destroyer squadron the McCampbell was assigned to. Li had spent considerable time working under the squadron’s commander before joining the McCampbell as its new executive officer four months ago. Silas had no doubt that she was able to hear things that he wasn’t — that was pretty much her job description as the ship’s second in command.

“All right. So tell me. What exactly is the back channel?” Silas asked.

“Well.” Li paused and looked behind her, making sure there were no other sailors within earshot. “A lot of people think the president is itching for a war. The Chinese have announced a blockade of Vietnam. Our orders are basically to test it.”

“That’s not in the orders.”

“No, not in so many words. But the words that are there add up to that.”

Silas turned to starboard. “You see that over there, Dorie?”

“I don’t see anything.”

“There are two Chinese ships over there, shadowing us.”

“I realize that.”

“A few hundred miles farther north, they have a carrier task force.”

“Uh-huh.”

“The captains on those ships know that we know they’re there. But they haven’t attacked us. You know why?”

“Because we’re not at war.”

“Because they know if they try to attack us, we’ll sink them both. It’s about force, Dor. They know we’re stronger than they are. That’s why they don’t attack. That’s the reason we sail to Cam Ranh. And beyond if we have to.”

“I’m missing you, Cap. I don’t get the logic.”

“We have to show them we’re not afraid. Or a year from now, maybe six months, they won’t hesitate to attack us. And then there’ll be real problems.”

8

Jing Yo was not surprised that the American would go to the Dong Khoi district, the downtown area that contained not only most of the large foreign hotels, but also the most familiar tourist landmarks. It was an area that would have the most foreigners, and make it harder to spot him.

The traffic was extremely light, and until Jing Yo left Cholon he saw few police officers or soldiers on the streets. Near the river the number of policemen multiplied exponentially. Several streets were blocked off. When Jing Yo reached Nguyen Thi Minh Khai — one of the main thoroughfares through the district — he was stopped by a roadblock.

“Why are you out driving?” demanded the policeman who stopped his scooter. “You should be home.”

“I’m going to work,” said Jing Yo. “My wife said the same thing.”

“Where do you work?”

“Bun Cha Hanoi,” he said, naming a famous restaurant in the area.

“I am sure the restaurant is closed,” said the policeman, but he waved Jing Yo through without even bothering to look at his papers.

The area Mr. Tong had directed him to was over a mile long, and without more information it would be extremely difficult to locate the scientist. Jing Yo decided he would cruise along the waterfront, not so much in hopes of finding him but so that he was likely to be nearby when Tong called with more information.

He got less than halfway before meeting another roadblock. A pair of army trucks had been parked across Ben Chuong Duong, the main road running near the water. Here there was no possibility of being let through, so Jing Yo turned back westward, found a place to park, then set out on foot.

He’d gone a block when his phone rang.

“He is near Bach Dang Jetty,” said Mr. Tong. “They are still talking.”

Jing Yo resisted the urge to run. He was already walking in the right direction, just three blocks from the jetty itself.

Jing Yo walked across Ben Chuong Duong, normally choked with traffic at this hour. Small groups of Vietnamese were standing on the opposite side, clustered around the park that ran along the riverfront. There were more in the park itself, close to the water, almost as if they were gathering for a performance or some entertainment — fireworks, perhaps. Jing Yo caught bits of their conversation as he passed. They gossiped not about the war or the danger they were in, but about trivial matters — work, an in-law’s boorish manners.

Jing Yo had seen the photographs of the scientist from the UN Web sites, but he wasn’t sure whom Josh MacArthur was with. Soldiers had helped rescue him from behind the lines, but how many was impossible to say.

A half dozen, he thought, had been involved in the firefight when the scientist managed to escape. Jing Yo assumed they would be with him now.

The bodyguards would not stop him from achieving his mission. On the contrary, if they were with him they would make the scientist easier to spot — most foreigners stood several inches taller than Vietnamese, and a cluster of them would stand out from the others.

Jing Yo walked all the way north to the ferry station without spotting anyone who might be his subject. He turned back, wending his way closer to the clusters of people this time.

If MacArthur was calling from this area, it was likely that he was staying in one of the nearby hotels. A number lined the block, and there were more scattered behind them. Jing Yo decided he would check out each of them after one more pass between the jetty and the ferry terminal.

The difficulty of his mission gnawed at him. He tried to clear his mind, to focus on the task at hand.

Instead, he thought of Hyuen Bo.

It had been a mistake to bring her with him to see Ms. Hu.

She might be in danger — she was in danger. Ms. Hu had made that clear enough.

This might be a ruse to get him away from the apartment. It had to be.

Just as the idea occurred to him, he saw a pair of figures climbing off the nearby rocks. They were tall, foreign. One was putting away a phone.

He was too far away to see, but immediately he assumed it was Josh MacArthur.

“What do we do Josh asked Mara as they started up from the riverbank.

“We get some sleep,” she said. “Our flight should be here first thing in the morning. How are you feeling?”

“Well, I kinda gotta pee.”

“Kinda gotta?” She laughed.

“Yeah. I’m just — my stomach and my sides are sore, but I feel better than I was.”

Mara threw her hand up, catching Josh in the chest.

“Hold on,” she told him.

Jing Yo realized one of the people was a woman.

That couldn’t be right.

He was three or four meters away. The shadows made it hard to see faces.

The pistol was in his belt, beneath his shirt.

Two people? Just two? A man and a woman?

His instinct was clearly wrong.

And yet, it felt right.

Desire, tricking him.

Jing Yo saw them stop. He stopped himself, then decided he would walk as close to them as possible. But as he took his first step, someone bumped into him from the back, shoving him to the ground.

“Hey!” shouted the man in English, very loudly. “Watch where you’re going! What are you doing?”

Jing Yo rolled over. The man was an American, smelly and obnoxious.

“My wallet!” yelled the man. “Help! My wallet!”

His instinct must have been right — this could only be a member of the scientist’s security team, posing as a tourist.

Jing Yo looked to the right — the man and the woman had fled.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Jing Yo, holding up his hands as he got up. He spoke in English as well. “Sorry, mister. Sorry, sorry.”

He backed away as the man continued to shout.

Mara steered Josh out of the park as Little Joe continued to shout behind them.

“What’s going on?” asked Josh.

“Keep moving.”

Squeaky was near the street. “We’re clear,” he said over the team radio. “Spook?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” answered Mara. “You see us?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Stevens is on your left.”

“All right, I see him. I’m hiding the radio,” she added, sticking it down under her collar. “We’re going to the hotel. You see anyone else?”

“Negative. Get inside. We’re watching.”

They went in a back entrance to the hotel, trotting up fifteen flights of stairs because Mara didn’t want to risk the elevator. By the time they reached their floor, Josh looked pale.

Kerfer met them at the room. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” said Mara.

Kerfer got the pad and gave it to her.

Little Joe thought the guy was following us, she wrote.

One guy? wrote Kerfer.

Maybe there were more.

You see him?

No, but Little Joe bumped into him. He’ll have a description.

We shouldn’t stay here, wrote Kerfer.

I agree.

Wow, no argument?

“Give me a break, Navy,” said Mara.

She went to the bathroom and ran some water on her face. Mara doubted the man was anything but a random stranger who’d had the misfortune of walking a little too close to them, but there was no point in dropping their guard now. He could easily be a spy. Saigon was full of them.

Back in the suite room, Mara took one of her paper maps of Vietnam and sat in a chair. They could retrieve the cars and drive to the Cambodian border. Embassy staff in Cambodia could help them get to Phnom Penh; from there they could fly to Thailand and then back home.

“Whatcha doing with the map?” asked Kerfer.

Mara shook her head. She didn’t want to say anything, in case the room was bugged.

“There’s a club on the roof.” Kerfer motioned that they could talk up there. “Want some air?”

“Sure.” Mara looked at Josh, who was lying on the bed. “You want to come?” she asked.

“I don’t want to leave Mạ.”

“We’ll take her,” said Kerfer. He went over and picked the little girl up in his arms.

Josh got off the bed slowly. They went up in two elevators.

“Easier to protect you if we’re all together,” Kerfer explained as they reached the club.

Technically, the club was closed. But about a dozen guests were there, milling around tables that were lit by small candles in dark-colored vases. Mara led the way to a glass door she’d seen earlier. The door opened onto a narrow terrace overlooking the riverfront.

“Nice night,” said Kerfer.

“It’s a beaut.” Mara walked toward the edge of the large patio. A pair of lovers stared into the southern distance on the opposite end of the roof terrace. Otherwise, the Americans and Mạ were the only ones here.

“So what are you thinking?” Kerfer asked.

“Maybe we should just get the hell out of here,” she told him. “Drive over the border. We can probably get there in a couple of hours.”

“You don’t think there’s going to be all sorts of refugees lining up?” asked Kerfer. “It’ll be nuts. Especially now that they closed the airport.”

“I don’t think so. It doesn’t look like they’re taking the war too seriously here. They’re ignoring it.”

“Can you get gas?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Bangkok can find some.”

Little Joe, Squeaky, and Stevens came up to the terrace with an armful of food and beer. They’d walked around half the town to make sure they weren’t followed, buying supplies before returning.

“Don’t go too crazy with the beer,” said Kerfer, grabbing a pair out of the bag. “We may be moving out tonight.”

“Who was the guy in the park?” Mara asked.

“Just some slant-eye local,” said Little Joe. “But he was kind of close. I didn’t like it.”

“You just wanted to hit somebody,” said Squeaky.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t call him a slant-eye,” said Mara.

Kerfer smirked.

“So we leaving, skip, or what?” Stevens asked.

“Me and the spook are working that out,” said Kerfer. “Why don’t you guys go get a little rest? Be ready to leave in an hour.”

“Fuck, an hour,” said Stevens. “Ain’t worth taking a nap.”

“Go get some rest. We’ll wake you up if we have to. Take Josh and Junior down, too.” Kerfer turned to Josh. “Okay? You get some sleep. We’ll wake you up if we’re moving.”

“All right,” said Josh.

“What was so funny?” Mara asked when they had left.

“Which?”

“Slant-eye.”

“Ah, give it a rest, spook.”

Mara saw a dark line growing at the edge of the sky behind him. She stared at it for a moment, not comprehending what she was seeing. It was as if the sky had a fold in it, and the fold was moving, arcing. It dropped sharply below the building.

Kerfer turned around to see what she was staring at.

The city flashed white where the black line had fallen. The sound of the blast came a moment later. The hotel shook with the force.

“Shit,” he said. “More of them, there.”

The missiles were all aimed at the airport. Three more exploded in rapid succession. A massive orange and red flame erupted in the distance.

Mara heard the sound of jets in the distance. They were following up the missile raid with bombs. Antiaircraft batteries began to fire. There were large flares in the distance — missile launches, Mara guessed. Sirens began to wail.

“Gonna be a lot harder for these people to ignore the war now,” said Kerfer.

8

Peter Lucas hated being at Loony Corners, his nickname for CIA headquarters. It was his impression that no matter what else was going on in the world, the top priority for everyone in the building was internal politics.

With the exception of the people on the top floor, who were concerned with administration politics as well.

But having been summoned from the field, Lucas did his best to play his role as grizzled field agent, recalled to reinforce whatever opinions were current for the day.

Lucas walked down the glass-lined hallway toward the Starbucks on the first floor. There was free coffee upstairs where he was working, but he preferred the harsher brew Starbucks served.

That and he wanted the walk from the stifling surroundings.

“How’s it going?” Ken Combs asked as he got on line.

“Not bad,” Lucas told Combs, surprised to see him at headquarters. “How about yourself?”

“I could tell stories. But they won’t get me anywhere.”

Lucas knew a few of the stories Combs could tell. They had both been in Baghdad when a conflict with the FBI cost two Americans their lives. Combs had blamed himself for following procedure and notifying the FBI of the situation. Of course, if he hadn’t done that, he would have been fired — and the Americans would probably still have been killed.

“Back for a while?” Lucas asked.

“Back for a bit. Yourself?”

“Not sure.”

“Maybe we should have a beer sometime.”

“Sounds good.”

Lucas bought his coffee, then went back to his desk to prepare a briefing paper for the agency chief, Peter Frost. Lucas liked Frost, largely because he was an unlikely choice for the job: Frost had been a field officer, then rose through the ranks to become the deputy director of operations — the head of covert activity — before retiring. A personal friend of the president, he had been appointed DCI — director, central intelligence — as soon as Greene came into office. While it was certainly a political appointment, Frost was the first director in quite a while to have such an extensive operational pedigree.

On the other hand, Frost had served in Asia two decades before, covering a lot of the ground Lucas did now. Frost’s experiences colored his perceptions, and he tended to micromanage based on things that were dead and buried years ago.

Lucas was worried about Mara. Getting her out of Ho Chi Minh City had looked like a no-brainer just twelve hours before. Now the reports said the country’s situation was deteriorating rapidly. The airport had just been bombed, and the border up near Cambodia was a mess. Vietnamese troops had reportedly been shooting at people trying to flee over the border. Cambodian border guards had done the same.

Lucas returned to the small cubicle he’d been given to prepare his report. With his coffee cooling, he reviewed the military updates from the past hour. When he did, he realized that the destroyer McCampbell was steaming on a direct line for Ho Chi Minh City. It was still far off — but almost close enough, he thought, to send a helicopter to pick Mara and company up.

With a little work, some prompting and arm-twisting.

Lucas jumped up and started for the Secure Communications Room. The phone on his desk rang as he turned back for his coffee.

It was undoubtedly one of Frost’s assistants, asking when the briefing was going to be ready.

“Soon,” said Lucas, grabbing the coffee and rushing to the hall.

10

Jing Yo sipped his cup of tea pensively, staring across the plain of darkness before him. The flashes of bombs and secondary explosions turned the night into a cityscape of white staccato. The light seemed to be attacking from below, cracking through the surface. The gunboat on the river behind him began firing its weapons. The bullets were undoubtedly useless, but Jing Yo understood the impulse, the need to respond in some way, to show that you were not merely a victim.

It was another manifestation of ego, an empty gesture born from the temporary world, not the permanent Way. And yet, at this moment he felt closer to the men firing those guns than to the commander who had sent him here.

The monks would nod sagaciously at that.

Jing Yo thought of Hyuen Bo. The apartment he had left her in was southwest of where he was sitting, to his left. The attacks were to the north, concentrating on the airport and military facilities nearby.

The ground rumbled with a trio of salvos. A great red glow erupted in the distance. Jing Yo turned his gaze toward it, losing himself in meditation as if staring at the flame of a candle. Conscious thought floated away. His mind became a cloud, easing toward a hilltop, filtering into the trees, assimilating everything.

He would have his target. He was somewhere nearby.

The satellite phone rang. Jing Yo reached for it mechanically.

“Yes,” he said.

“Did you find him?” asked Mr. Tong, speaking Chinese.

“He was in the park at the river, with a woman and at least two other Americans,” said Jing Yo. “I lost him. But he remains nearby. I can sense it.”

“Where are you?” asked Mr. Tong.

“I am across from the Renoir Hotel.”

“You should be in a shelter.”

Jing Yo didn’t answer.

“Go to the basement of a building, and stay there until the attack ends,” said Mr. Tong.

Again, Jing Yo didn’t answer.

“Our people will help you find him,” said Mr. Tong, whose voice rose with his anxiety. “It is dangerous at the moment. Not just because of the attack. If the soldiers see you outside, they’ll think you’re crazy. They could lock you up as an insane person. You should not be outside.”

“As you wish,” said Jing Yo, ending the call.

Hyuen Bo was still sitting on the floor of the apartment when he returned. She’d left the door unlocked.

Jing Yo sat next to her. By now the bombing had stopped. The stars and moon gave enough light for him to see the smooth curve of her cheek as it glided toward her mouth. Her skin was that of a doll, unblemished, its pale hue glowing.

“I saw my mother,” she said. “She came to me with her hand outstretched. She needed food.”

“What did you do?”

“I had nothing for her.”

“You’re with me now.”

He put his arm around her. Hyuen Bo’s body folded into his, becoming another arm and leg. Their lungs filled in a tight rhythm, his breathing hers.

The ground shook. More missiles were striking the city. This time the explosions were closer. Jing Yo guessed that the government buildings were being attacked. They were barely a mile away. The walls seemed to heave with the loud claps of the explosives as they ignited. A baby cried somewhere nearby.

Hyuen Bo’s body trembled against his. Gently, he pushed her to the floor and they began to make love.

11

“Message for you, sir.”

Commander Silas grunted into the phone, then hung it up. Some things about being in the Navy never changed — no matter when it was you went to bed, someone was bound to wake you up.

In this case, it was Washington.

Or actually, suburban Maryland. When Silas keyed up the secure e-mail system, he found a message requesting that he contact the CIA officer supervising Southeast Asia on a secure line as soon as possible.

Which got his attention. A few minutes later, he found himself talking to Peter Lucas.

“We have people in Ho Chi Minh we need to get out,” said Lucas. “They were coming out by plane but it looks like the airport may be closed down permanently. Could you pick them up?”

“I’ll have to check the Saigon port facilities,” said Silas. “But it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“How long will it take?” Lucas asked finally.

Silas did a mental calculation. “Less than twenty-four hours, more than eighteen,” he said finally. “We may be able to shave — ”

“That may be too long. I want to get them out of there by daybreak.”

“Daybreak?”

“Saigon’s been bombed. The Chinese navy is moving down the coast. The sooner we can get them out of there, the better.”

“We have a pair of Seahawks,” said Silas. “I may be able to get close enough to the coast to have them there early in the morning. Not quite dawn. But by noon.”

“That’ll have to do. I’ll find a landing strip and call you back.”

12

Things had gone to hell in less than an hour. The attack on the airport had been bad enough, but the strike on the downtown government buildings had provoked a panic. Mara, looking out the window facing north, counted eight different fires and knew there would be many more to the west. Army, militia, and police vehicles raced up and down, without a discernible pattern. Sporadic gunfire rang through the streets. The city had gone mad.

The hotel staff began going door to door, telling the guests that they must meet for “special instructions” on the emergency, and escorting them down to the hotel’s grand ballroom. Kerfer suggested they bug out of the hotel immediately, but Mara decided it would be wiser to see exactly what the authorities were up to. The street didn’t seem to be a particularly safe place at the moment.

The ballroom wasn’t as crowded as she’d thought it would be. Fewer than two hundred guests were still at the Renoir, somewhere between half and a third of its normal complement. Management had rolled out a table with pastries and cookies, along with an array of nonalcoholic beverages. Mạ, clinging to josh, grabbed a fistful of cookies and stuffed them in her mouth.

Senior staff walked through the room, trying to make light chatter. The only thing guests wanted to talk about was the possibility of leaving the city, but this was the one thing the staffers couldn’t address. The stillborn conversations simply increased the anxiety. Mara stayed next to Josh and Mạ. Little Joe and Stevens huddled next to them, taking turns making faces at the little girl. Kerfer and the rest of the SEALs filtered out through the room, always circling nearby to keep an eye on them.

A young Australian couple introduced themselves to Mara and Josh, the woman swearing she had seen them at breakfast.

“Oh, uh-huh,” said Mara. She was certain that the pair must be intelligence agents of some sort, most likely curious about whether they were as well. “How long have you been in Saigon?”

“Just a few days,” said the Australian wife. “We got here before the war started. I didn’t think it was real until this evening. And how long have you been here?”

“Two weeks,” said Mara. “My husband is a scientist.”

“What do you do?” asked the woman.

“He’s a biologist,” said Mara, purposely misunderstanding. “He’s not feeling very well tonight. Something he ate.”

“Is this your daughter?” she asked.

Mạ hid her face.

“She’s adopted,” said Mara.

“She’s very cute.”

“Thank you.”

“She was an orphan,” said Josh protectively.

Mara sharpened her gaze, trying to remind him to keep the details fuzzy.

“Ladies and gentlemens, please,” said the manager, speaking at a small mobile podium at the front of the ballroom. “If I could have everyone’s attention.”

Mara pushed Josh gently to the side, edging away from the Australians. She reached for Mạ, who reluctantly climbed over to her.

“You’re getting heavy,” Mara whispered in Vietnamese.

“Can we have more cookies?” replied Mạ.

“Sshhh. I’ll get some.”

“You are all aware that there has been an attack — two attacks — on the city,” said the manager. His English was heavily accented, and Mara had to concentrate to understand what he was saying. “I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused. Please under-sand that this attack is a terrible breach of international law and we are doing everything we can to avenge it. Our forces are pushing the Chinese back this very moment…”

The manager kept glancing toward two men in business suits near the doors. It wasn’t too hard to guess that these were party or government officials, and the real audience of the manager’s speech.

“Tan Son Nhat International Airport will reopen in the morning,” continued the manager. “At that time, we will be providing free buses to the airport. The buses will be accompanied by some of our finest troops and police officers. There will be not reason for concern or alarm. Your safety is our utmost. Thank you. Thank you for staying with us. Please enjoy our snacks and beverages.”

Guests began shouting questions. The manager started away from the podium. Glancing at the men in the back, he changed his mind and returned to answer the questions. But most were about things he had no answer for — when the phones would be working, where the Chinese troops were, how planes would be available at the airport.

Mara felt her satellite phone beginning to vibrate.

“Come on,” she told Josh, signaling with her eyes.

One of the men in the suits called to them as they reached the hall. His English was crisp and, while accented, clear.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“We have to go to the women’s room,” said Mara. She held Mạ up slightly, as if she were the reason. Mạ kept her face buried in Mara’s shoulder.

“And you?”

“Me, too. To the men’s,” said Josh.

The man frowned but said nothing else. Mara heard his footsteps behind them as she walked across the reception area toward the hall where the restrooms were. She didn’t want to split up, but she had no choice; the man in the suit would most likely follow Josh into the restroom.

“Go to the last stall,” she told him. “I’ll tell Kerfer you’re there.”

“I do have to pee,” said Josh.

“Good,” said Mara. “Just go. Act normal.”

“Is she okay?”

“Just go.”

Mara gave him a peck on the cheek in case their follower had reached the corner. Then she pushed into the ladies’ room, took the first stall, and put Mạ down.

“Kerfer — if you can hear me — Josh is in the men’s. Send someone.”

She pulled the earset up just in time to hear him growl that they were already on it.

Mara pulled out her phone and dialed Bangkok. DeBiase came on the line immediately.

“Bad timing?” he asked.

“Hotel management is explaining how Vietnam is winning the war,” she said.

“How long will it take you to get down to Vung Tau?” he asked.

“Where?”

“The peninsula. Down where you picked up Starry when we were trying to get those RPGS over to — ”

“Okay, okay, yeah. I can get there. The airport?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s open? It’s got a really short runway.”

“That’s not a problem.”

“I don’t know when we can leave,” Mara told him. “They’re enforcing the curfew. We’ve heard gunfire outside on the streets. One of the SEALs heard rumors that the Chinese were sending paratroopers.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“I realize that.” Mara looked down at Mạ. The tired girl clutched Mara’s pants leg, her fingers squeezing the cloth so tightly her knuckles were white. “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get gas. Or that our cars are still going to be there.”

“I have fresh cars for you.”

“How?”

“They’re clean, don’t worry.”

“Jess, I don’t know. That guy in the park — ”

“Mara, I’m every bit as paranoid as you are,” said DeBiase. “Waiting around in Saigon isn’t a great idea.”

No shit, Mara wanted to scream.

“We’ll have a big party when you get back,” added DeBiase. “Maybe I’ll even get my hernia done.”

“Tell me where the cars are,” she said finally. “I’m not sure when I’m leaving. I have to think about it. We’ll get there eventually.”

“I’m sure you will, darling.” DeBiase’s voice flickered with concern. Then he added lightly, “You gotta make the call. Go when you’re comfortable.”

Josh’s cheek stung where Mara had kissed him, as if her lips had somehow short-circuited his nerves there. He sat on the commode, waiting while the Vietnamese official pretended to wash his hands. Or maybe he really did wash his hands — the dryer whooshed on three times before the man left the restroom. A moment later, Kerfer came in, humming a tune.

“Going to the chapel, gonna get ma-a-ar-ried.”

It was such an incongruous song for the grizzled lieutenant that Josh started to laugh.

“Gonna get mah-ah-ahrried,” repeated Kerfer, going over to the urinals.

“Hey,” said Josh.

“Don’t forget to flush.”

Josh came out and washed his hands.

“Where’re the girls?” asked Kerfer.

“Went next door.”

“If you guys want to have a quickie, remember to hand the kid off to Squeaky first.”

Josh felt his face flush. He waved his hands under the dryer.

“Still hurt when you pee?” said Kerfer.

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead out,” said Kerfer, going to the dryer. “Squeaky’s out in the hall.”

“You think you have to stick this close?”

“Gives the guys something to do,” said Kerfer. “Otherwise they’ll end up with the same thing you got.”

“I say we get the hell out of here,” said Kerfer. “Sooner the better.”

Mara reached down to the banquet table at the back of the ballroom. The manager had been replaced by a small string ensemble playing something by Mozart. Fifty or sixty guests remained, including the Australian couple, who were busy chatting up a tall Frenchman on the other side of the room.

“We’re going to have to wait until morning to leave,” said Mara. “They’re enforcing the curfew on the streets.”

Kerfer made a face.

“I know you don’t think much of the Vietnamese,” Mara said. “But their guns have real bullets.”

“Once we’re outside of the city limits, it’ll be easy,” said the SEAL. “And my guess is that they’re only patrolling here, calming the tourists. Or cowing them.”

“What’s the gunfire about then?”

“Idiots panicking,” said Kerfer. “Where are these cars?”

“Across the river. I’m sure the bridges will be blocked.”

“We go by water then.”

“The ferry isn’t running. You want to swim?”

“I’ve swum a lot farther,” he said. “We’ll put you, Junior, and the kid in a life raft and tow you across.”

“You probably would.”

They stayed in the ballroom for another half hour. Stevens reported that guests were being barred from the lobby area, and that guards had been posted at all of the doorways. He’d tried to get upstairs to the lounge, but the doors were all locked.

“And they cut the electricity above this floor,” said Stevens. “We gotta walk up to our rooms.”

“Probably a miracle that there’s electricity anyway,” said Kerfer. “I’d like to get up to the roof and see what’s going on.”

“Club’s locked, Cap.”

“Spook can get us in,” said Kerfer. “Right, beautiful?”

“Maybe if you stop calling me beautiful.”

“Okay, ugly puss.”

“You don’t give up, do you?”

“Not in my vocabulary.”

The video surveillance cameras worked off the electricity, and with no electricity they weren’t operating. Mara had to get through two locks to get them into the club and out to the terrace. Neither was very difficult. Little Joe and Stevens stayed below as lookouts; everyone else came up. Squeaky carried Mạ, who’d fallen asleep. She looked almost like a doll in the big man’s arms.

A huge fire was burning only a few blocks from the hotel. Its glow was so intense that the nearby streets seemed to have turned orange, as if the sun had set between the buildings.

“Balmy night,” said Kerfer.

“Picture perfect,” replied Mara.

“What’s on fire?” Josh asked.

“That’s the airport in the distance,” said Mara. “They probably set the fuel stores on fire. Closer in, I’m guessing government buildings. Those over there are natural-gas fires. That’s just a big building.”

“You an expert on fires?” said Kerfer.

“I’ve seen more than a few.”

Mara walked over to the edge, scanning the river. The gunboat that had been tied up nearby had moved northward to the middle of the channel. A smattering of small boats were docked on the far shore, but otherwise the river was empty. The street in front of the hotel was empty. A troop truck sat in the nearby intersection, but Mara couldn’t see any soldiers.

“I’m gettin’ kinda tired,” said Josh. “Are we goin’ back to our rooms or what?”

“Maybe we’d better,” said Mara. “We’ll leave in the morning.”

She started for the doorway to get back into the enclosed area.

“Hold on,” said Kerfer, his hand over his radio earphone. “Someone’s coming up the steps.”

11

Jing Yo had dozed off on the mat where they’d made love, falling into a dreamless sleep. He missed the final round of attacks, which struck fuel supplies north of the city as well as a military base to the west, and slept through the roar of the fire engines and military vehicles racing to deal with the destruction. He woke more than an hour later, in the quietest part of the night, with no reason to wake but the internal mechanisms of his mind. When he woke, he was refreshed, as calm and alert as on any of several thousand mornings as a young man in the mountains, studying to become an adept. He woke with his mind decided on what to do:

After he completed his mission, he would take Hyuen Bo and escape to Myanmar. There were countless places to escape there, and as long as his mission was completed the government wouldn’t press too hard to find him.

Colonel Sun might. But that was a separate problem.

Hyuen Bo was sleeping next to him. He put his hand down on her back, pressing it gently. He realized now that their fates were intertwined. He was not seeking to escape his karma, but fulfilling it.

The phone Mr. Tong had given him began to ring. Jing Yo rose, and took it with him to the kitchen.

“This is Jing Yo,” he said.

“We have located your subject.”

“Where?”

“Meet us behind the Rex Hotel as quickly as you can.”

“I’m on my way,” he said, though the connection had already been broken.

When Jing Yo looked up from the phone, he saw Hyuen Bo standing at the door to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I’ll be back.”

“I want to go with you.”

“No.”

He started past her. She clutched at his chest. “Please.”

“It won’t be safe. I’ll be back in an hour.”

“You’re lying,” she said. “You told me you never lie.”

“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” Jing Yo felt ashamed for lying, but he simply couldn’t allow her to come. “I will be back. Be ready to leave.”

“Will they let us?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, putting his finger to his lips.

The location sounded wrong to Jing Yo — it was in the center of the city, far from where he had seen the Americans earlier. And to get there, he would have to pass through part of the city that had been bombed earlier.

The more he considered it, the more he told himself that he must take Hyuen Bo with him.

Not that there was any question of her staying in any event.

He thought of running then, of leaving the country and going to Myanmar. But he had no proof of their treachery, and in the end, Jing Yo decided he must at least try to do his duty.

The Rex Hotel was to the northwest, more than two miles away. Hand in hand, they left the building where they were staying and went down the street. Within a block, Jing Yo began to trot. Hyuen Bo kept pace.

His plan was simple. He would hide her near the building when they arrived, then come for her when he was done. They would leave immediately, never to return.

They’d gone only a few blocks when Jing Yo heard the sound of trucks approaching. He pulled Hyuen Bo back into an alley they’d just passed, and pushed her behind some garbage cans to hide. Then he ducked next to her, craning his neck to see.

Two pickup trucks drove by, the beds crammed with militiamen in street clothes, red rags and bandannas on their arms and heads to identify themselves, at least to one another.

As soon as the trucks passed, Jing Yo ran up to the corner. He watched as the trucks pulled into the middle of the intersection ahead. The men at the rear jumped out.

One of them yelled angrily. Several lifted their rifles and began to fire, spraying the nearby buildings with slugs. Men spread out in each direction, shouting and walking, firing indiscriminately at the buildings.

“They’re saying the Chinese citizens are traitors,” whispered Hyuen Bo. She’d come up so quietly that he hadn’t heard her. “They’re taking revenge for the attacks. This is Chinatown.”

“I heard them,” said Jing Yo. “Why aren’t you hiding?”

“I need to be with you.”

“The people who live here are Vietnamese.”

“Not in their eyes.”

Two of the men approached down the block. Jing Yo eased Hyuen Bo back against the wall, tucking her into the shadows, then edged to the corner.

Even if they both hid behind the garbage cans, the militiamen would have no trouble seeing them if they walked down the alley. Escape would be impossible.

Jing Yo would have the advantage if he struck them as they walked past, but doing that might bring the attention of the others.

Let them walk past? What if they turned at the last second and saw him?

Too much of a risk, Jing Yo decided as the first man drew parallel to the alley. The second followed a half moment later.

“Traitors!” yelled the first man, lifting his gun to the sky.

Jing Yo’s foot caught him in the throat as he leapt into him. Rolling off the kick, Jing Yo caught the second man with hard punch to his startled face. A second chop rendered him unconscious, collapsing his windpipe and making it impossible to breathe.

Jing Yo grabbed the man’s rifle as it clattered to the ground. Then he ran to the first man and with a fast kick to his forehead sent him to eternity.

“Stay!” Jing Yo hissed to Hyuen Bo, tossing her the gun. “Wait for me!”

He grabbed one of the bandannas, then ran down the block, in the direction of the trucks.

The other militiamen were too busy shooting their weapons to pay much attention to what was happening to their comrades down the street. The two men detailed to guard the trucks had their own pressing project — breaking into a small liquor store near the corner. They left the trucks to the drivers and began looting it.

The drivers had parked the trucks so they could talk to each other. They leaned out their windows, chatting, as Jing Yo ran toward them.

“What are you doing?” snapped one.

Jing Yo shot from the hip as he ran. His first bullets sailed right, but he pulled the gun back smoothly, and with three bursts killed both men.

The guards came out of the liquor store just as he reached the back of the nearest truck. Their arms were filled with bottles. Jing Yo stopped, turned, and fired, cutting both of them down with the last bullets in the magazine.

Jing Yo ran to the bodies, searching for more bullets and grabbing a bandanna for Hyuen Bo. As he did, he heard her shriek a warning from down the block.

He threw himself down, tumbling as the slugs from a militiaman’s rifle shot overhead. The man let go of the trigger and took a step forward, lowering his rifle.

A single shot rang out. Hyuen Bo had killed the man.

14

Josh knelt by the side of the table, waiting with Mạ behind the others for whoever was coming up the stairs. He was tired — beyond tired. His eyelids felt as if they were on fire.

And he was angry. He wanted to just get the hell out of there, to go home.

And he was frustrated. He wanted to help — he was still awed by the president’s words, by the fact that the president himself had spoken to him. But sitting here, on the roof of a hotel, hiding — it was a waste of time.

“Here we go,” whispered Kerfer.

Josh wrapped Mạ in his arms. “Gonna be okay,” he whispered.

The door opened. A man with a pair of night goggles appeared in the doorway.

A light shone in his face — a flashlight blinding him. Before he could react, Kerfer had leapt from the side and run his knife across the man’s throat. He dragged him out of the doorway, blood gurgling from the slit in his throat.

Josh kept Mạ’s face buried in his chest.

Mara took the man’s gun. It was a Chang Feng — a small 9 mm Chinese submachine gun.

“Those goggles may be handy, too,” said Kerfer. “Still think this place is safe?”

“I didn’t say it was safe,” snapped Mara.

Mara put her hand to her ear, listening to something over the radio.

“Two more on the stairs,” she said. “Josh, let’s go. You okay with her?”

“I’m okay.”

Mara said something to the girl in Vietnamese. Mạ didn’t react.

Kerfer went to the door. Mara knelt on the other side, waiting.

Josh knelt next to Mara. He felt his mind empty, as if it were a dump truck and the back had just tilted up to let go of its load. He waited, sure that he would kill someone if it came to that, but not in the least having an idea how that would be done. His first job was to protect the girl.

The door opened slowly. It seemed to take an hour for it to move the first inch, then another hour for the second. Suddenly it was flung open.

Nothing happened. A minute passed. To Josh it felt like an entire day passing.

Then there was a yell, and one of the men leaped inside.

Kerfer took him out with a single shot to the head. Mara rolled on her shoulder, firing the small gun she had taken from the other man into the stairwell.

There was a quick burst in the stairwell below.

“Clear!” yelled Stevens.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Kerfer, grabbing the night glasses from the dead man and starting down the stairs.

Josh scooped up the fallen man’s submachine gun, then followed Mara down the steps.

15

Jing Yo took the truck, speeding down the street before the rest of the militiamen realized what was going on.

“Put the bandanna on,” he told Hyuen Bo.

As he passed the alley, he saw the bodies of the men he had killed and got another idea. He stopped, grabbed the smaller of the two men, and threw him into the back of the truck. A few blocks later, he stopped again.

“Put his shirt and cap on,” he told Hyuen Bo. “Tuck your hair up. You’ll look more like one of them.”

She did so. It worked — to a point.

The soldiers manning the first blockade they came to accepted them as militiamen, but would not let them through.

“Our orders are no one, not even government officials,” said the sergeant who stopped them.

Jing Yo backed the truck away without arguing. He went down the block and took a turn toward the river. There were soldiers on the corners, but no roadblocks until Dien Bien Phu. Here a policeman waved him to the right without bothering to question them, recognizing the vehicle as one of the militia trucks.

A crowd of soldiers massed at Ho Ky Hoa Park, and the overflow extended down toward the main roads, with military jeeps and trucks blocking sidewalks. Jing Yo drove around the back of a row of stores and found a place to park in a small yard next to a garage.

“Stay close to me,” he told Hyuen Bo, leading her across the back alley to the row of small buildings on the opposite side. He helped her onto the roof of a small shed at the back of one of the buildings, then brought over a garbage can for a boost and climbed up. From there they made their way to a fire escape that went up four stories to the back of the tallest building on the block.

Jing Yo surveyed the downtown area from the roof. There were several fires to the west and the north, in the general vicinity of the government buildings. By contrast, the area near the river, where he had seen the scientist earlier, was dark.

Had he been sent in the wrong direction? Were the spies so confident of their position that they would purposely risk his capture?

Or was the scientist actually where they said?

He didn’t have the luxury of puzzling it out. He had to act. Jing Yo decided to look by the river, where he had seen him earlier.

If he didn’t find him, he would cross the water and take Hyuen Bo to a new hiding place. The old one was in too dangerous an area, even if he had not been betrayed.

16

Mara edged down the stairway, right hand on the wall. The night glasses were not quite as good as American models, with a very fuzzy grain. But in the pitch-black darkness, they were a godsend.

Stevens was waiting at the first landing below the club level. The man he had killed was crumpled against the wall. He was wearing dark clothes, and had no identification on him. Like the others, he was armed with a Chang Feng.

Stevens had already taken the goggles and was two floors below. Kerfer sent Squeaky and Little Joe to round up the others and meet them in the basement.

“We’ll take the stairs down,” Kerfer told Mara. “I say we hurry.”

“I want to see if he has a wallet,” said Mara, rifling the dead man’s pockets.

“What are you going to do, steal his credit cards?”

“I want to see who it is who’s out to kill us,” said Mara.

“Gotta be Chink spies,” said Kerfer. “Don’tcha think?”

Mara ignored him. The man’s pockets were empty. It was possible he was just a thief, but Kerfer’s theory — minus the ethnic slurs — made the most sense to Mara.

“Josh, you okay?” she asked.

“I’m good. Feeling better.”

“How’s Mạ?”

“Okay.” He had his hand covering the back of her head, pressing gently so her face stayed toward his shoulder. Given everything she’d seen earlier, though, it was doubtful he was protecting her from very much.

“Do you have your medicine?” Mara asked.

“I, uh — ”

“You left it in the room,” said Mara.

“Yeah.”

“We ain’t goin’ back to get it,” said Kerfer.

“I’ll get it,” said Mara.

Kerfer grabbed her arm as she started down the steps. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You think they sent only three people into the hotel?”

“I don’t know how many they sent,” said Mara. “But we’re only one floor away. He needs the damn medicine.”

“We’ll get more once we’re out of here.”

“Who knows when that will be?”

Mara knew she was being stubborn, but she pushed on anyway, going down to the next level and cautiously opening the door. The battery-fed emergency lights had come on, bathing the hallway in a pale yellow. She pulled the goggles down around her neck and eased out into the hall.

“Clear,” she whispered.

“We’re staying here,” said Kerfer.

“That’s fine.”

Mara slipped into the hallway. She started to tiptoe, then realized that made no sense. She walked slowly, sliding against the wall as she came to the elevators. One of them had stopped on the floor, door open; it was empty.

She eased past and walked to the room, taking the key card out of her pocket.

The nearby emergency light would frame her as she entered. She backed over to it, then reached up with the butt of the gun and broke both bulbs.

Most likely, there was no one in the room, she told herself.

Most likely.

Mara got down on one knee, her body against the wall, and reached over to put the card in the lock. She plunged it down.

The lock’s LED didn’t light. Apparently emergency power wasn’t routed to the locks.

Mara put her hand on the door handle and pressed down. It didn’t budge. Even without power, it remained locked.

Mara pulled out her wallet and retrieved a thin piece of metal from behind the credit cards. She slid it into the lock space, positioned the hard surface of her fist against it, and gave it a sharp rap, opening the lock.

Then she threw herself down as bullets exploded through the wood.

A second later, something protruded from the door.

A head.

A gunshot rang out from down the hall. The man went down. A second man, behind him, fired a burst, then retreated.

“You shoulda opened it from the side,” grunted Kerfer, running up next to her. His gun stank of cordite.

The man he’d shot had fallen against the door, propping it open. Mara, submachine gun ready, slid down on her belly and eased toward the room, angling slightly toward the opposite wall.

Whoever was inside had retreated into the bedroom at the right or into the bath area on the left. It was impossible to tell which one.

There was no way to get inside without exposing herself.

It wasn’t worth it.

“What are we doing?” Kerfer asked.

Mara was just about to start backing out when she heard something on her left.

The bathroom.

She threw herself forward, firing two bursts at the door.

There was no answering fire. She got up.

“Mara!” hissed Kerfer.

“Stay,” she commanded. She kicked at the door just below the handle, fired a burst into the empty room.

The bullets shattered the commode and part of the sink, but they were unnecessary. The Chinese agent was lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor, already dead.

“What the fuck, ‘stay’?” said Kerfer behind her. “You think I’m a dog?”

“Ask Josh where his medicine is,” she told him.

He growled into the radio. Mara spotted the bottle on the ledge above the sink before anyone responded. She grabbed it.

“Bathroom above the sink,” said Kerfer. “Come on, let’s go. We got people coming up from the stairs. Shit.”

Mara heard the sound of gunfire below.

“They’re coming up the stairs, six of them,” said Kerfer as they reached the hall. “We’ll have to go back to the roof.”

Mara passed the elevator, then went back to it and looked in the car. There was a trapdoor in the ceiling, an escape hatch.

“We can take the elevator shaft,” she yelled. “One of the cars is here.”

“There’s no electricity.”

“I know. We’ll climb down.”

“Now you’re using your head.”

Mara waited by the elevator as Josh and Stevens came out from the stairwell.

“The medicine wasn’t worth this,” said Kerfer.

“If it weren’t for the medicine, we would have run right into them,” said Mara. “Where’s the rest of the team?”

“They’re on floor five.”

“Tell them to meet us outside.”

“We may need them,” said Kerfer.

“Give me a boost,” she said, standing under the trapdoor.

Kerfer stepped over, cradling his hands together. Mara climbed up.

“You’re heavy,” said the SEAL.

“Are you going to criticize everything about me?”

She pushed the door open and pulled herself up into the space, then pulled the goggles up to her eyes.

Josh came up behind her, then reached down for Mạ. Mara handed him the pills.

“I’m sorry I forgot them,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it. Can you see anything?”

“No.”

“Just stay here. You’re two feet from the edge.”

“Okay.”

Mara leaned over. “It’s going to be okay,” she told Mạ in Vietnamese.

“Yes,” said the girl in a voice so soft Mara could barely hear it.

The two elevator shafts were separated by a set of girders that were easy to pass through. The next car was several stories below, though Mara couldn’t tell exactly how far. Maintenance ladders were mounted in raceways on the far side of the opposite shaft, as well as the near side here. The easiest thing to do was to climb down the ladder in this shaft and look for a maintenance door, hopefully in the basement. From there, they could get out.

But first they needed to collect the rest of the SEALs, who now found themselves trapped on floor 5 between the Chinese and three Vietnamese policemen who’d responded to the call of gunfire. Kerfer told them to go to the elevator and try to open it. But with nothing to use as a lever, even Squeaky couldn’t pry the doors apart. Worse, more black-clad gunmen appeared as he tried. The SEALs managed to get to the stairway, but they were taking gunfire from both above and below.

“The best we can do is come up behind them,” said Mara. “We climb down, get over to the other elevator car, get out there, and then ambush them in the stairs. How many are there below them?”

Kerfer asked his men. They weren’t sure. Two or three.

“Are they sure they’re Vietnamese?” Mara asked.

“They didn’t ask for IDs.”

Kerfer went to the side ladder and began climbing down.

The rungs of the ladder were covered with a greasy grime, and there was considerable dust in the air. Mạ, her arms around Josh’s neck, clung to him as he descended. The submachine gun hung off his back, occasionally swinging out with his momentum and then smacking him in the kidneys as he climbed back.

Josh felt a sneeze coming on. He tried holding his breath to snuff it out, but finally it exploded. His whole body shook.

“God bless you,” said Stevens above him.

Josh sneezed again. He moved his foot down to the next rung, but started to slip. He caught his balance and buried his face in his shoulder as he sneezed again.

“Hope that ain’t catchin’,” said Stevens.

“Allergies. Dust.”

“You okay, Josh?” asked Mara below him. “Let me take her.”

“No, I’m okay,” he said, sneezing again.

The space from the side of the elevator shaft to the cables at the center was too wide to get across easily, so Kerfer kept going all the way to the basement. He waited until Mara reached him before trying the small hatchway door.

It was locked.

“Little Joe, how are you guys doing?” Kerfer asked over the radio.

“We have them pinned down near the stairs.”

“Make some noise when I count three, all right?”

“Bullets?”

“Unless you got a foghorn.” Kerfer looked at Mara. “On three, we kick this thing out.”

“All right,” she told him, moving over.

“They may be waiting,” he said. “You have right, I have left. Be ready.”

Mara positioned the submachine gun. She had about half the magazine left.

Josh was still sneezing above them. Mara heard Mạ starting to whimper.

“One,” said Kerfer, counting over the radio.

As soon as he hit three, the SEALs on floor 5 began shooting. Mara kicked at the door with her heel. It gave way easily, flying open. She uncurled herself and dove into the basement, rolling in a thicket of spiderwebs.

Kerfer jumped in after her. Her side of the basement was clear; the only things on the wide floor were support pillars.

“Stevens will stay with you,” said Kerfer. “Get across the river as quickly as you can.”

“We can back you up.”

“No, get the hell out of here. We’ll keep them busy.”

“Listen — ”

“Do your job, spook. You got a baby and the mad scientist to worry about.”

Mara frowned at him. But he was right. Her job was to take Josh out alive.

And Mạ. Though now she regretted not finding her an orphanage.

“You stop sneezing?” she asked.

“For now,” said Josh, sniffling into his arm.

“You’re allergic to dust?”

“And about a million other things.”

“Come with me,” she said, taking hold of his arm. “How are you doing?”

“My bladder feels like it’s on fire,” confessed Josh.

“Stay close to me.”

“There’s no light.”

“Hold my shirt.”

She tugged him along as she explored the basement, looking for a way out. A large freight elevator sat at the north side of the complex, apparently connecting to the backstage area of the ballroom above. There was a large steel door on the wall diagonally across from it, but it was chained shut.

“We can shoot off the lock,” said Stevens, raising his gun.

“They may hear it upstairs and realize someone’s down here,” said Mara. “They’ll catch your captain from the back.”

“You’re right. Okay.”

Mara inspected the freight elevator. It was large and simple, open on both sides and the top. A set of rungs extended up the right side. The first opening was two floors up and protected by a metal cage that looked as if it would swing out when the elevator arrived.

Or maybe it was locked. There was some sort of mechanism near the shaft.

There was only one way to find out. Mara began climbing.

She could hear Kerfer’s heavy breathing on the radio.

“You out yet?” he whispered.

“We’re working on it,” said Mara.

“Well get it going.”

The cage was made of mesh. Mara could barely get her fingertips in. There was a small lip on the floor where it met the shaft, but this was only three inches wide. She eased out toward a cross-member, pushing gently, then a little harder. It didn’t budge.

The screen extended only halfway up the opening, and Mara thought she could squeeze over it and get down on the other side. The problem was, she didn’t think Josh could. And Stevens would never fit.

“The gate is a mesh fence,” she told Stevens. “It’s locked. I’m going to try climbing over it and then find the lock. Hold on. It’s very hard to climb.”

“I can do it,” said the SEAL.

“Your fingers are fatter than mine,” she told him. “Just relax.”

Mara managed to get a few feet up, then quickly slid down. Her fingers were just too big for the holes.

She looked at the locking mechanism. It was a simple lever, but there didn’t seem to be a way to reach it from this side.

“What about the kid?” asked Stevens.

“You mean have her climb over?” asked Josh.

Mara looked at Mạ. Was she strong enough to climb over?

The girl was tired, and just a few minutes ago had been crying.

“I don’t think so,” said Mara.

Josh looked at Mạ. The girl sensed that they were talking about her, though since she didn’t speak English, she had no idea what they were saying.

Could she climb up over the fence?

He’d seen her dash through the jungle, swinging like Tarzan on some of the vines. But this was different.

They could catch her if she fell on this side, but on the other side, she’d be hurt.

No worse than if the Chinese caught them. If the Chinese caught them, she’d be dead.

“We gotta do something,” said Stevens.

“Josh — do you think she could?” asked Mara.

“I don’t know.”

“You said she was tough in the jungle.”

“Ask her,” he said, dropping to his knee and putting her feet on the ground. “Ask her.”

Mara repeated her question twice. Mạ didn’t answer.

“Like this,” said Mara, putting her fingers against the grid.

Mạ leaned away from Josh, her left hand still on his shoulder. It was almost as if she were protecting him, not the other way around.

She put her right hand on the fence. Then her left. Josh gave her a boost.

In seconds, she was at the top.

Mara held her breath as the child flipped over. Her feet couldn’t find a grip.

“Against the fence,” Mara told her in Vietnamese. “Like you went up.”

Mạ finally started down. It was harder — tears came to her eyes from the pain, but the little girl made it.

“Push the latch,” said Mara, motioning.

The door unlatched. Mara slid it to the side and pushed the gate upward. They were in.

Josh scooped Mạ into his arms. They all hugged the girl. Mara kissed her.

“Way to go, little SEAL!” Stevens told her.

“Now all we have to do is figure out where the hell we are,” said Mara. “Stay here.”

Rows of boxes sat on steel shelves directly in front of them. About fifty feet long, the room was some sort of storage area. Mara walked to her right slowly, her eyes still adjusting to the goggles. The shelves ended in an aisle that led to more shelves. The boxes gave way to a large row of white plates; the storeroom, she concluded, was for the restaurant. Sure enough, she found a pair of swinging doors leading into the kitchen, visible through windows in the top panels. The doors were key-locked from both sides, but Mara had little difficulty picking the lock. She eased the doors open into the dark room, then crawled in, moving past a large walk-in freezer and a row of smaller refrigerators and dishwashers.

Mara heard a low murmur of voices in the distance. She crawled steadily through the kitchen, down a row of stoves and prep tables. As she turned the corner, she saw two red marbles staring at her from the corner.

A rat.

Mara shuddered. She continued to one of the doors, still on her hands and knees. There was no window on the door, and while Mara suspected it led directly to the dining room, she couldn’t tell. She rose to a sitting position and listened. The voices were indistinct, and it was impossible to tell if they were in the next room, and if they were, where in the room they might be.

Mara crawled to the next door, hoping that this one would have a window, but it did not.

She got up and put her hand on the door, easing it open ever so gently and slowly. A faint glow came through the crack — candlelight, she thought.

Mara eased the door open a tiny bit more. Her view was blocked by a screen separating the kitchen from the actual dining area. She pushed the door open a little farther, and saw that the screen covered a long wait station, where extra silverware, trays, and plates were kept.

Mara moved back from the door.

“There may be someone in the dining room,” she told Stevens. “Can you move up here?”

“Be right there,” said Stevens.

“Get by the stoves. You’ll be able to ambush anyone if it comes to that.”

Stevens, Josh, and Mạ moved up silently, crouching about ten feet away.

Mara took the night glasses off and eased back into the dining room, listening from behind the screen. Two men were talking, but it wasn’t clear what they were saying. She heard the word “militia” and something about “control,” but the men were at the far end of the room and she couldn’t make out every word.

She spread out on her belly and began crawling. As she reached the edge of the screen, gunfire erupted above.

One of the men shouted. Mara leaned out in time to see their feet disappearing.

“Let’s go!” she hissed. “It’s clear.”

Josh banged against the door in the dark. He pushed into the dimly lit dining room and saw Mara standing a few feet away, gun ready, waving at them to hurry.

“The atrium is that way,” she said, pointing in the direction of the doors. Beyond them was a balcony that overlooked the lobby and registration area. “There are people down there. I think we’ll have an easier time going through the patio this way. We’re on the third level, but there should be some way to get down.”

“What about the others?” asked Josh. Mạ clung to his side.

“They’re creating a diversion.”

“Are they going to be okay?”

Mara frowned.

“We can’t just leave them,” said Josh.

“Don’t worry about the skipper,” said Stevens. “He can take care of himself.”

That wasn’t the point, thought Josh as Mara led them to a glass door.

The outside air, warm and damp, invigorated Josh. He took a deep breath, as if he’d been breathing stale air for days.

“Two soldiers, near the intersection,” said Stevens, checking over the wall. “Nobody directly in front of us.”

“There’s a stairwell here,” said Mara.

She paused, put her hand to her ear.

“What’s going on?” Josh asked.

“Kerfer’s got somebody behind him.”

“We gotta bail him out,” said Josh.

Mara didn’t say anything.

“I’ll go,” said Stevens. “You guys get across the road with Mạ.”

“No,” said Mara, frowning. She took off the glasses and handed them to Josh. “I’m going to have to go through the lobby. If someone sees me, I can tell them I’m an employee. You won’t be able to understand what they’re saying.”

“How are you going to hide the gun?” asked Stevens.

“Josh is going to give me his shirt. I’ll make it look like a bag.”

Josh pulled off his shirt and handed it to her. Mara folded down the stock on the submachine gun, then rigged the shirt around it. It wasn’t the most fashionable bag, but it wasn’t obviously a gun, either.

“Get across the river and wait there,” Mara said. “Worst case, meet the helicopter.”

“All right,” said Stevens, still reluctant.

“I think we should back her up,” said Josh as soon as she left.

“I don’t know. We got the little girl to worry about.”

“We can go back the way we came, get up the elevator shaft the way Kerfer did. We’ll be right behind whoever’s behind him.”

“It’ll be too confusing. And I got to keep you two safe. You’re more important than anyone else. Come on — let’s see about getting across the road.”

Mara caught her breath at the closed door separating the restaurant from the balcony overlooking the atrium. She pulled the radio up and asked Kerfer if he was okay.

“Get out of the hotel,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper.

“I’m up here near the restaurant. The people who are shooting at you — where are they?”

“Get the hell out of the hotel.”

“Ric. I didn’t goddamn come back for you to blow me off. Come on.”

“They’re two floors below me. On the sixth. The Chinese are on the fifth and seventh, in the stairwell. At least two top and bottom. They have police uniforms, but they must be Chinese.”

“Anybody above you?”

“Negative at the moment. There’s hotel security somewhere, but I haven’t seen them.”

“Whose side are the Vietnamese on?”

“No one’s. One of them got shot on floor five when the Chinks opened up on my guys.”

“You sure they’re Chinese? Not Vietnamese police?”

“I didn’t ask for passports. That was what they were speaking.”

Mara took the submachine gun out of the shirt-bag and slipped it to her side. Then she took a deep breath, brushed her hair back from her forehead with her left hand, and stepped out through the doors.

Candles had been placed in several spots below, and at each end of the hall, providing just enough light to see. She walked swiftly to the right, heading past the elevators to the staircase, which was located around a corner. She turned it quickly and found herself behind two policemen, who had their pistols drawn. The door to the stairs was propped open beyond them.

“What are you doing?” she snapped in Vietnamese.

Startled, the men turned around.

“Who are you?”

“Security for the prince,” she said, keeping the gun down against her leg. “What’s going on?”

“There are thieves in the hotel,” said one of the policemen. “There was a gunfight. We have them trapped in the staircase.”

“Are they thieves or assassins?” she demanded.

“Thieves in black broke into the hotel,” said one of the men. “Some police have come in. Reinforcements are on the way.”

“They’re after the prince,” said Mara. “We have to get him out.”

The security man closest to her started to say that help was only a few minutes away, but Mara cut him off. She couldn’t afford a conversation, and knew that if she gave them time to think — or even ask which prince she was talking about — she would be in trouble.

“Come,” she said, starting up. She took two steps, then stopped. “Are you coming?” she demanded.

Sheepishly, the men started up behind her. The staircase came up to a level of convention rooms on the third floor. Mara was now two floors below the SEALs and one floor below the closest group of Chinese.

“This way,” she said, pointing to the door.

Neither man moved.

“Squeaky, can you hear me?” said Mara over the radio.

“Yeah.”

“I’m two floors below you. I’m coming up a flight. Get the attention of whoever is below you. I’ll take them out.”

Gunfire rattled in the stairs. Mara put her shoulder to the door and pushed open. There were two shadows on the landing above.

She fired until she had no more bullets. The stairway filled with smoke and the acrid fumes of spent ammo. The policemen huddled below, unsure what to do.

“Clear!” she told Squeaky. “Kerfer?”

“Guys? On three…”

The stairway exploded with gunfire as Kerfer began firing from above. With the Chinese sandwiched between them, the SEALs below him used the distraction to run up the steps. Within seconds, the two Chinese agents were sprawled in the staircase, dead.

“Kerfer?” said Mara.

“Coming, Mother.”

Mara trotted down the stairs, leaned out the door, and spotted the two policemen. “The prince is leaving,” she told them sternly. “Make sure the lobby is secure.”

17

Jing Yo recognized the van, or more specifically its round window at the side. It was a Ford, relatively rare in Vietnam, a twin of the van he had seen at Ms. Hu’s. Or the same one.

“There are soldiers there, on the corner,” Jing Yo told Hyuen Bo, pointing to the truck whose gray sides grew black as the red fires behind them flickered in the night. “I’m going to move up the street, away from their view, then cross. I’ll get into the building from the back. You wait for me here.”

“They’ll ask why you’re at the hotel,” she said. “I should go with you — we’ll say we are looking for a place to stay. We can say our house burned down.”

It was a good idea. And it would keep her with him. Safer.

“All right. Come on,” said Jing Yo.

They walked back up the side street before crossing. Jing Yo took Hyuen Bo’s hand, tugging her gently as he started across the street.

His leg muscles stiffened as he reached the other side. He shrugged off the fatigue and started down the street, toward the van. As they approached, Jing Yo realized someone was sitting in the passenger seat.

Mr. Tong.

He must confront him. Fate had placed them together here. To ignore it was too dangerous.

“Stay here,” Jing Yo told Hyuen Bo, letting go of her hand.

Mr. Tong didn’t see him until he was only a few feet from the truck. Surprise flickered across his face, then resignation. He lowered the window as Jing Yo approached.

“Why are you here?” Jing Yo asked.

“You’re the one I should ask,” said Mr. Tong. “Why have you not apprehended your man?”

Jing Yo caught a glimpse of the pistol rising from Mr. Tong’s lap. He shot his arm forward, fist smashing into Mr. Tong’s jaw. The blow cracked his windpipe.

A second punch broke Mr. Tong’s nose. He started to fall forward in the seat.

A chop to the back of his neck killed him.

Jing Yo reached into the truck and took the gun.

So it was clear now. There was no room for questions or doubt.

There was a commotion around the corner, at the front of the hotel. Jing Yo unlocked the door and climbed into the van, pushing Mr. Tong’s limp body into the back. He slid into the driver’s seat. The keys were in the ignition.

A sawed-off shotgun sat in a holster next to the central console. Directly behind the passenger seat was a case with two rocket-propelled grenades, and a pair of submachine guns, along with a backpack filled with ammunition. There was a handgun and grenades as well.

Enough for a small army. Or one commando.

Hyuen Bo ran to the van and climbed into the passenger seat as Jing Yo started the engine. He drove up the block and back around, just in time to see half a dozen men running across the street to the park. The soldiers in the distance made no effort to stop them.

The men were taller than average Vietnamese were. One of them, Jing Yo knew, must be the scientist.

He continued down the block, driving slowly but steadily past the soldiers. He nodded at them, trusting — hoping, really — that the militia bandanna he was still wearing would spare any questions. Apparently it did; the soldiers didn’t say anything.

He was just turning up the street, back toward the heart of the city, when Hyuen Bo grabbed his hand.

“We can’t go back to the apartment,” she said.

“I know,” said Jing Yo.

“We should leave Saigon. There must be many ways out of the country.”

“I can’t just leave. I have a mission.”

“We should leave,” she said.

For the first time since he had returned, Jing Yo heard pleading in her voice. And pain. Great pain.

“Aren’t they trying to kill you?” she asked. “Wasn’t this the van of the people you went to see?”

Mr. Tong had tried to kill him. Jing Yo had to assume that Ms. Hu wanted him dead.

But that didn’t relieve him of his duty. He had let the scientist escape. He had to fulfill his obligations.

Beijing might know nothing of the plots here. And in any event, they were irrelevant.

“I’m sorry,” he told Hyuen Bo. “I must do my duty. Whatever the cost.”

They were silent for a moment.

“And then I will be free,” he added, though the words sounded false, even to him.

18

Josh and Stevens waited with Mạ in a low clump of brush just south of the ferry station as the others ran across the road. The soldiers at the end of the block made no move to stop them.

“We’re all here,” said Kerfer, trotting over. They’d sustained a few cuts and bruises among them, but no serious injuries. “All right, next problem: Stevens, how we getting across?”

“The ferry will have lifeboats,” said Josh. “We can take them.”

“Smart,” said Kerfer, starting toward the building. “Must be why you’re a scientist.”

Josh picked up Mạ and followed as the team ran to the ferry house. Two of the vessels were tied up inside. The building and ships were deserted. There were two rafts tied to the side of the vessel above the main deck.

“Why don’t we just grab the whole ferry?” said Kerfer as Stevens and Little Joe climbed up to release the rafts. “We can sail it downriver.”

“Do you think we can get past the gunboat?” asked Mara.

“Why not? They’re not going to stop us if we look like we know what we’re doing.”

“There’s probably an order against using the river,” said Mara.

“You just convinced two policemen you were protecting a prince,” said Kerfer. “You don’t think you can talk your way around a bunch of sailors?”

“Can you get the engines started?” Mara asked.

“Piece of cake.”

As Kerfer had predicted, the gunboat didn’t bother with them, apparently assuming that a craft as large and official as a ferry would not be moving without orders. Josh made a makeshift bed for Mạ in the passenger cabin. Mara joined Kerfer and Little Joe on the bridge as they guided the ferry into the river channel and moved southward. Kerfer took the wheel himself, smiling broadly as he steered downriver. There was enough light to make out the shoreline and the larger vessels along the way, but Kerfer posted his men as lookouts at the bow to watch for small boats or obstructions.

The ferry wasn’t particularly fast — eight knots looked like their top speed, even with the engines at full — but it was stable and big. If they had to get off it quickly, they could sail toward shore and swim for it.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Mara turned on the radio, listening for transmissions. There was a cacophony of military traffic, but none of it seemed to be coming from the river, and it didn’t appear that any was directed at them.

The sat phone rang — DeBiase, looking for an update.

The transmissions — that must be how the Chinese were tracking them.

Mara turned the radio off without answering.

A mile beyond the patrol boat they passed another naval ship that had been hit by a missile and was burning. A dozen smaller boats moved around it, some taking survivors to shore, others trying to put out the fire. An array of barges sat farther on, tied up in front of warehouses and wharfs filled with goods. Mara guessed that they would be the targets of the next wave of Chinese missiles.

A pair of junks and several small craft were tied together at the edge of the channel. Some had small lamps hung beneath the tentlike canvas sheltering the families and goods aboard. Others were completely dark. But there were people on all of them, watching silently as the ferry chugged along, one of the few craft moving on the river.

The river bent northward, then twisted back south toward Phu My Bridge.

“Missile boat, port side,” yelled Little Joe as they sailed toward the mouth to the Nha Be River.

The Vietnamese naval craft was protecting an oil refinery and storage area on the Nha Be. They stayed clear, heading southward, just barely clearing some rocks at the sharp corner of the peninsula.

The ferry’s radio came to life with a challenge.

Mara picked up the microphone.

“This is Sai Gon Ferry Two,” she said. “We have been ordered to report to Dong Hoa to take soldiers to reinforce the city.”

“We will speak to the captain,” said the voice on the radio.

“I am the captain,” said Mara.

“What is your name?”

“Speak to the general who sent me it you have questions,” said Mara. “Call central command.”

“What command?”

“Division command. I am not one to question orders,” she added. “If you think you can override a general, then do as you please.”

She snapped off the microphone and looked at Kerfer.

“Sounded bitchy to me.” Kerfer nodded. “They following us?”

She went across and stepped out onto the narrow deck that ran along the port side.

“They’re not moving,” she told him.

“Good.”

The Vietnamese ship didn’t have to follow to blow them up; a salvo of missiles would send them to the bottom in seconds. Mara climbed up the ladder that ran up topside to benches used by passengers on clear days. The river smelled like rotting fish, and she was sure that if she looked closely at the water, she would see plenty of beady eyes like those she’d seen in the storehouse- the Saigon River was legendary for its swimming rats.

The missile boat was lost in shadows behind them, its ominous tubes and the gun at the bow blurring into the mass of blackness.

“How long before we get to Vung Tau?” asked Josh, coming up from below.

“A couple of hours,” said Mara.

“What happens there?”

“We find the airport, helicopter comes to rescue us. You anxious to get home?”

“I wouldn’t mind it.”

“Your parents are probably worried.”

“My parents…” Josh’s voice trailed off. “My parents died when I was little. They, uh… It was a bizarre thing. Like a serial killer. Like In Cold Blood.”

“Oh.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, Josh filled the awkward silence.

“I was raised by my uncle and his family. They’re farmers.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. They seem to be doing pretty well with the climate change. That’s The irony of it. Some places make out. Of course, who knows — a couple of years, their farm may be a desert.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. It’s funny: change the amount of rainfall just a few inches, one way or another — the effect can be tremendous. There are so many things in play. Look at Vietnam. This country is suddenly the most arable land in Asia. Those fields we’re passing — they were swamps two or three years ago. Now they’re industrial rice farms.”

“I’m not sure I’d eat the rice,” said Mara, thinking of the sewage smell in the river.

“You probably already have.”

“Looks like something’s following us,” said Little Joe, who was standing a few feet away, looking toward the stern. “One of those little mama-san boats.”

Mara walked aft. Little Joe gave her his night goggles, but Mara couldn’t quite make out what he was talking about. She increased the magnification to max but still couldn’t see anything that approximated a boat.

“How fast can those little boats go?”

“Mama-san boats? Eh, if they got a motor, couple of knots. Twelve tops.”

“What’s a mama-san boat?” asked Josh.

“Little craft they use to get around with. Sometimes people live in them and stuff,” said Little Joe. “Smaller than a junk. Narrow. Longer than a skiff. Mostly they push ‘em around with these long poles. But a lot of ‘em have engines.”

Mara went back to the bridge. Kerfer had already heard from Little Joe over the radio.

“Probably nothing,” he said.

“You don’t really think that, do you?” asked Mara.

Kerfer smiled, and turned his attention back to the river.

19

The ferry’s size made it easy to see, even in the dim light of the river, but the small motor on the side of the boat Jing Yo had stolen couldn’t drive them fast. They fell behind steadily, little by little, until at last Jing Yo couldn’t see them at all.

Where would they go?

Perhaps a safe house somewhere farther south. Or perhaps out to a boat waiting in the mouth of the river, at Soi Rap.

He had to think like his enemy if he was going to succeed. Jing Yo lowered his head, concentrating.

They were smart, and there were several of them. Half dozen at least.

Clever people. Worthy enemies, not the vulnerable prey he had assumed earlier.

His mistake. One he kept repeating.

The ferry would have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Planning to take it would have been too difficult — too many contingencies. It had been an opportunity that presented itself.

And what did that tell him?

That they had a destination somewhere south. That it was far enough away to risk taking a large boat.

“We are coming close to shore!”

Jing Yo slid his hand on the tiller, taking them back toward the middle of the channel.

“I’m sorry,” he told Hyuen Bo.

She leaned back over the bow, keeping lookout.

Most likely, the scientist had come to Ho Chi Minh City to meet an airplane. When the airport had been bombed, he had changed his plans.

The most logical thing to do would be to find another airport.

“Is there an airport south of here?” he asked Hyuen Bo.

“Vung Tau?” she suggested tentatively. “It’s small.”

Vung Tau was on a small peninsula that jutted out from Ganh Rai Bay. Some years before, it had been a tourist area, but the discovery of oil offshore had altered its complexion. Large platforms lined the shallow waters near the shore, extending well into the ocean. The airstrip at Bai Sau was not a large one — it didn’t appear on many maps — but it would be big enough to accommodate a propeller-driven aircraft or a helicopter.

It was a destination at least. He would follow down the river, and if he didn’t see the ferry, he would head in that direction.

20

“Cruiser is increasing speed, skipper. New speed is fifteen knots.”

Commander Silas glanced around the ship’s combat information center. Not one head was turned toward him; every sailor in the compartment was working his or her gear.

Absolutely as it should be.

“Their distance?” Silas asked.

“Fifty-two miles,” said his executive officer. “On that heading, they should be within sight in two hours. If they keep their speed up.”

“I’ll be on the bridge,” said Silas, making his voice firm and sharp, if not a little curt.

He could feel the adrenaline starting to build. They were in the open water, and there was no reason for the two Chinese ships — besides the cruiser, there was a smaller frigate about a quarter mile to the northeast — to challenge them, much less fire on them. But Silas sensed they would. He knew it the way he knew how to walk.

So maybe the old ways weren’t completely dead.

His orders from fleet were to avoid conflict and to remain in international waters. Those were his only orders — the request to pick up the CIA officer had not been passed on through official channels.

Which could be interpreted in many different ways, unless you were an old Navy hand, in which case there was only one way to see it: the admirals didn’t want to get caught with the splatter if things went wrong.

21

Quach Van Dhut took a long drag on his cigarette, then blew the smoke out in a cloud that engulfed his head. “Eight Zodiac boats is the entire inventory,” he told Zeus. “You are lucky that they are all here.”

“Eight?” Zeus couldn’t believe it. “The Vietnamese navy has only eight rigid-hulled boats?”

“They are marine boats,” said Quach. “The navy has none.”

“You’re sure?”

Quach turned to the colonel whose unit had been assigned to supply the manpower for the mission and said something to him in Vietnamese. Quach, a short, thin man in his early fifties, was a member of the intelligence service, and unlike the others, was dressed in civilian clothes. He hadn’t given his title, but he clearly had status — Zeus had noticed how even the senior officers straightened when he walked by.

But status wasn’t what they needed at the moment. Zeus, tired — he’d been working on this all night, and it was now nearly dawn — rubbed his forehead and looked back at the map. It was roughly 120 miles across the Gulf of Bac Bo to Hainan; while the water was generally calm, that was a long way to go in the small open boats. They weren’t the largest models, either — barely seventeen feet long, the tiny craft were designed for seven men and were intended as utility boats, the sort of little runabouts that might be used off cabin cruisers or maybe to host a diving party. The debris that Zeus needed to bring — the entire reason for the mission — would add considerable weight; even divided up among the eight boats, there’d only be room for two or at most three people aboard each.

“The colonel assures me there are no other boats,” Quach told Zeus. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too.”

Zeus glanced around the conference table. The colonel had brought three aides to the meeting; besides them, there was an officer from the general staff and another member of the intelligence service. The room stank of tea and cigarette smoke. Ordinarily, Zeus didn’t like tobacco of any kind, especially the stale remains of cigarettes. But right now he was glad for the stimulant.

“They have done exercises like this before,” said Quach. “And I have been put ashore from one of the craft. I believe they will work.”

“I guess they’ll have to.”

The inflatables weren’t the only limitation. The marines didn’t have night glasses, short-range radios, or GPS systems. Zeus had a satcom he could use to get intelligence from the data that was being sent to Vietnam’s army headquarters, but he’d have to use it sparingly, on the assumption that the Chinese would be able to detect, though not decrypt, the signal. Just knowing someone was in the middle of the gulf might increase the alert status on Hainan; everything depended on things remaining calm there.

Still, it was doable. The marines had Chinese police uniforms, which might come in handy. And the unit had received considerable training in infiltration and sabotage.

They worked for a bit longer, sketching out contingencies.

“We’re going to need a contact here,” Zeus said. “A contact at headquarters I can talk to directly if the shit hits the fan.”

“Shit?”

“If there’s a problem,” Zeus told Quach. “Someone who can stay on the phone with me. And get things done.”

“The colonel,” suggested Quach.

“He’s gotta speak English.”

Quach and the colonel spoke again in Vietnamese. Finally, the colonel turned to one of his aides. The aide seemed to be arguing, but then finally put his head down.

“Tien will be happy to help,” said Quach. “His English is very good.”

“Why is he frowning?” Zeus asked.

Quach said something in Vietnamese to the captain. Tien shrugged. Quach said something else. Tien looked toward the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Zeus asked Tien, deciding that if he spoke English, there was no need for a translator.

Tien rose, bowing his head slightly in what impressed Zeus as an overly subservient display. “Working as your translator here means I cannot go on the mission,” said Tien.

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No one else on the staff speaks English,” said Tien. “It is unfortunate.”

“Well, maybe Mr. Quach can act as the coordinator here,” said Zeus.

“That will not be possible,” said Quach. “I am going with you.”

Zeus looked at Quach. He was perhaps five four, and weighed no more than 110. And that was counting the packs of cigarettes he had in his shirt pocket.

“I don’t know,” said Zeus.

“I speak Chinese, and have been to the island many times. We will have one other of my agents with us,” added Quach. “This is a difficult plan as it is, Major. You would not do well without people who know the island and can speak the language.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Zeus. “But you’re — ”

“Old?”

“Well — ”

Quach smiled. “That is not considered a handicap in Vietnam.”

“It may be, out on the water. We have to swim to the ships to set the charges.”

“I believe you will find that when the time comes, I will perform adequately,” said Quach. He pulled on his cigarette, right down to the filler. “And if we find ourselves too much in the water before we reach the harbor, there will be other problems to worry about greater than my age.”

They broke up the meeting a half hour later. Zeus waited to speak to Tien.

“I know what it feels like,” he told the captain. “I’d rather be with my men.”

“We all have a role,” said Tien stoically.

“Your English is good.”

“Thank you. I have studied since I was eight.” Tien took out a cigarette and offered the pack to Zeus.

“No thanks.”

“You Americans invented cigarettes,” said Tien. “Now you give it up.”

“Funny, huh?”

“We are very grateful for your assistance,” Tien said. “Your strike at the dam was legendary.”

“I didn’t hit it myself,” said Zeus. “I just came up with the idea.”

“Vietnam is grateful. You saved us.”

The praise made Zeus a little uncomfortable. The strike had stopped the Chinese advance, but surely that wouldn’t last.

As for this operation… the odds of success were stacked very much against it.

Still, there was no sense dashing the captain’s hopes or enthusiasm. They spoke for a few minutes about what Zeus might need. Tien gave him some pointers about working with the marines. He also suggested that he look at the boats himself.

“Just because they say they are there does not always mean it is so,” said Tien. “I would go myself and make sure.”

“All the way to Hai Phong?”

“Yes.”

“All right.”

“One of my sergeants would be able to drive you,” offered Tien.

“I’d have to leave soon,” said Zeus. “Right away if I could. I have a lot of other things to do.”

“The sergeant will be at your disposal.”

“Great.” Zeus stuck out his hand, deciding he would leave right away. Then he remembered Mara Duncan’s cell phone. “Damn.”

“Major?”

“I need — one of my friends may need some help. Probably not at this point.”

Zeus explained that he had a cell phone. He was as vague as possible, saying only that his friend was trying to get out of the country, and he had promised to give her information on the Chinese advance if necessary. But he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t in Hanoi.

Tien offered to help.

“Nothing classified,” Zeus said. “But if she needs to find an open airport or highway or something.”

“I would certainly help a friend of yours,” said Tien, taking the phone.

22

The Ne River was a calm, meandering stream, gradually widening as it made its way to the ocean. It took them nearly six hours to get down to near Soi Rap and the delta. Mara spent much of the time walking back and forth across the top deck, watching for other ships. As they approached the coast, Kerfer called her down to the bridge to listen to the radio. A Vietnamese navy patrol boat was challenging vessels near the mouth of the river. Which gave Mara an idea.

The SEALs rigged the ferry so that it would continue to sail on its own at about six knots. Then they took the lifeboats and, after veering temporarily toward the eastern side of the river’s mouth, snuck off the boat, taking advantage of the lingering dawn’s early shadows. They paddled away as silently as possible, hoping to escape notice, at least until the patrol boat approached the ferry.

Kerfer was the last one off, waiting until the others were away and then steering the ferry back to the middle of the channel. He made sure it was headed directly for the patrol boat before going off the side. The current pushed him toward the life rafts, which had stopped near the dark part of the shore to wait for the Vietnamese ship to take the bait.

Kerfer had to swim a considerable distance, and for a while Mara fretted that he wouldn’t make it. A jittery anxiety took over. She felt her hands shaking as she dipped her paddle into the water, holding the small raft steady.

It was ironic, she thought — he’d been almost a total jerk toward her since they’d met, yet here she was, actually worried that he was dead.

Of course, she thought; he was part of the team, and she would be concerned about all of the members of the team.

But it was more than that. And as much as she wanted to distance herself from any sort of sexual attraction — the idea was revolting — she still felt exhilarated when she spotted his head bobbing in the waves thirty yards from their boat.

“This way!” she called.

He gave a wave and continued swimming, not toward her boat but to the other, which was a little closer to shore and farther from him.

She felt disappointed.

“All right,” she told the others in the boat. “Let’s move south along the shoreline. Hold off the motor until we’re beyond the patrol boat.”

“How long before we get to the airport, you think?” asked Josh, who was sitting across from her with Mạ.

“If we can get across the bay before daylight, we’ll be less than a mile,” Mara told him. “If we have to put into shore before then, it may take longer. We’re going to make it, Josh. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried.”

“How’s your stomach?”

“Good.”

She could tell he was lying. “Are you okay to paddle?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted. He put his paddle into the water, making a show of pushing off.

“You’re not sneezing,” Mara said.

“Yeah, I’m not allergic to seawater, I guess. I’ve never had problems with that.”

She put her hand against his forehead. “Your fever’s gone,” she told him.

“Fear,” he said. “Miracle cure.”

Josh felt the coolness of Mara’s fingers on his forehead long after she had taken her hand away. He tried to focus on the water in front of them, avoiding her gaze. He was definitely attracted to her, but of course the circumstances made that completely inappropriate — impossible, really.

His body still ached, though not as badly. Soon they’d be the hell out of here, he thought.

Then what?

Then he’d be talking to the president of the United States, telling him what the Chinese had done.

And would he tell him about the Vietnamese soldiers they’d killed? Or the men in the hotel?

The men in the hotel had been Chinese agents. He was pretty sure of that. They definitely had meant to kill him. So killing them in turn had clearly been justified.

But the soldiers, the Vietnamese…

What would he tell God, if he died now?

It didn’t work that way, not like the old-fashioned books claimed, where you stood in front of Saint Peter or God himself and answered for each sin.

Mạ shifted against him. The poor little girl was so tired she was sleeping again.

He’d have to find her a home. Maybe his uncle would adopt her.

So what would he tell God about the soldiers? If it did work that way, if he did have to account, metaphorically or literally, what would he say?

I didn’t kill them.

That was true. But not exactly the entire story.

Those men deserved to die so that I could live?

So that Mạ could live.

Don’t blame it on her.

What of the soldiers he had killed? The Chinese captain whose head he’d bashed in?

Were the extra blows justifiable? Were they relevant at all?

“Zoning out on us?” asked Squeaky.

“No, I’m here,” said Josh, realizing that he hadn’t paddled for several minutes. He pushed his oar back into the water.

“You do a J-stroke, right?” said Squeaky.

“I guess.”

“You know what I’m talking about?”

“Kinda. If we were in a canoe, we’d be steering it.”

“Exactly.”

“I was a Boy Scout,” said Josh. “For a little while.”

“There you go.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?” said Josh.

“What’s that?”

“When you shot those people — does it bother you?”

“Which ones?”

“The guys in the train.”

“Better us than them,” answered Little Joe, who was in front of Mara.

“Yeah,” said Josh.

“It’s true,” said Squeaky.

“I had to — I killed a couple of the Chinese soldiers behind the lines, before you guys got to me,” said Josh. “I think it was the right thing to do.”

“It absolutely was,” said Mara.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to second-guess yourself, Josh,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “We’re in survival mode here. You’re getting back and telling the world what’s really going on. It’s going to make a big difference. Believe me.”

“Mạ, too.”

“And her. But you’re an adult. And a scientist. A reliable witness. People will believe what you say.”

“I hope so,” said Josh.

She smiled at him, then let go of his arm. He wished he could lean across and kiss her.

“They’re taking the bait,” said Squeaky, pointing to the Vietnamese navy ship. It had changed course and was heading for the ferry, which had started to angle itself slightly toward the western end of the channel.

Two sharp blasts of the patrol ship’s horn rent the air. A moment later, its forward gun cracked.

“Let’s start up the motor and get out of here,” said Mara.

They steered close to land as they rounded the peninsula near Dong Hoa, tucking into Ganh Rai Bay near Cao Gio. Aside from a pair of ancient fishing boats, the bay seemed deserted. The sun peeked over the land to the east, edging upward like a child stealing into his parents’ room on Christmas morning. Smoke rose in a pair of funnel clouds to the south, an ominous reminder that they were not yet free of China’s reach.

Mara needed to talk to DeBiase to arrange a time for the helicopter to pick them up, but she didn’t trust the sat phone anymore. She still had the cell phones.

She turned one of them on, and was surprised to get a signal.

Should she use it to call DeBiase? Assuming the call went through, it wouldn’t be encrypted. And the cell phone could be traced as easily as the sat phone.

But they wouldn’t know to look for it. Even if all communications were being routinely monitored, it might take hours for the information to reach someone who could act on it.

Mara dialed one of the access numbers for Bangkok.

“This is an open line,” she said as soon as an operator picked up, even though it would be obvious. “I need the Million Dollar Man.”

DeBiase came on a few seconds later. “Is this my favorite niece?”

“I need a time.”

“We’re still working on it.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“Call me a half hour before it happens,” said Mara. “Use my old number.”

She hung up, then tossed the phone into the water.

23

Jing Yo’s boat had two spare cans of gasoline, but even so, he had to stop twice for fuel, quickly stealing gas from wharfside pumps. The second time he stopped, he spotted a small fiberglass speedboat tied to the dock near the pump. He was able to start the engine without too much trouble. He and Hyuen Bo transferred their gas cans and things to the new boat and took it south, moving much faster than before.

They drew in sight of the ferry just in time to see the Vietnamese navy ship send a round from its deck gun into the wheelhouse. The ferry, its wheel and steering mechanism damaged, veered sharply toward shore.

The next shot landed in the large passenger compartment. At first, it seemed to have passed straight through without causing much damage. Then a thin finger of black smoke rose from the side where the shell had entered. Within moments, flames were leaping from the hole.

“Prepare to be boarded!” declared a loudspeaker. A rigid-hulled inflatable with four or five men left the side of the patrol boat and headed toward the ferry.

Jing Yo idled the engine and waited in the shadows of the shoreline, watching the boarders clamber onto the battered ferry. Two of the Vietnamese sailors climbed to the top deck of the ferry. They waved their arms at the patrol boat and fired into the air.

All clear.

So the scientist had gotten away.

Jing Yo glanced down at Hyuen Bo, curled against the side of the boat, sleeping. He felt a pang of both love and shame, for putting her into so much jeopardy.

Jing Yo eased his engines up, starting across the channel to the far shore. He was almost past the warship when he heard a challenge over the radio, a broadcast on the emergency band that told him to stop.

That was the last thing he was going to do. He pushed the throttle to max. The boat jerked its bow upward and began speeding downriver.

The patrol boat replied with a long blast from its horn. Jing Yo lowered his head, as if he could urge the speedboat faster. A second later, a geyser erupted to his right.

The ship had fired one of its guns.

The speedboat rocked violently through the roiling waves, pitching its nose down and its stern east simultaneously. Jing Yo fought to hold the wheel steady, plowing sideways in the water. He put his hand on the throttle, hoping to force it faster. A direct hit would kill them.

Hyuen Bo rose from the deck, hooking her arms around his waist.

“Hold tight,” he said, regaining control of the craft.

This time he heard the crack of the gun, and the shriek as the shell flew overhead. It hit the water two hundred yards ahead. Jing Yo jerked farther out into the channel, a feint to trick the patrol boat while lessening the impact of the swell as it rocked them sideways. Then he spun the wheel back hard to take the boat closer to shore. A third shell landed in the middle of the channel, this time behind them.

The ocean lay before them. Jing Yo turned hard to port, heading eastward beyond Dong Hoa. The patrol boat fired several more shells, but these landed far behind them, the angry flailing of a neighbor yelling at children who had fled his yard after making mischief.

“Was that a Chinese ship?” asked Hyuen Bo when they were clear.

“It was Vietnamese.”

“Why are they trying to sink us?”

“The world’s gone crazy,” he said.

With the scientist having abandoned the ferry, Jing Yo could only guess where he had gone.

The airfield near Vung Tau seemed the most likely possibility, but it would be just as easy for him to find another boat or ship and sail out to sea, where a ship might be waiting to pick him up.

What would Jing Yo do then? Follow him to America?

Easier to run. He could take a boat himself.

But the monks had taught him that there was no way to escape one’s fate. The Way could not be avoided, any more than air could not be breathed.

The sat phone’s sharp peal startled him. Jing Yo took it from his pack. He had not expected it to ring. Indeed, he thought he’d turned it off.

Hyuen Bo looked at him but said nothing.

He picked up the phone and answered it. “This is Jing Yo.”

“What is your status, Lieutenant?”

It was Colonel Sun.

“The Chinese network in Ho Chi Minh City attempted to assassinate me,” Jing Yo told him.

“You’re sure of this?” said Sun.

“An operative named Mr. Tong sent me into an area of the city where he hoped to have me apprehended. When that didn’t work, he pulled a gun on me and tried to assassinate me. He was not successful.”

“I trust that he paid for that mistake with his life,” said Sun.

Jing Yo didn’t answer. Was Sun acting surprised? This might be a trick.

Surely it was a trick.

“Where is the scientist?” the colonel asked.

“He took a ferry to the Soi Rap mouth,” said Jing Yo. “A Vietnamese patrol boat tried to stop him, but he escaped into the water. Where exactly he is at the moment, I am not sure.”

“We have his satellite phone frequency under surveillance,” said the colonel. “When he transmits again, I will give you the exact location. Have nothing more to do with any spies of any force.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Tell me — did Ms. Hu know of this?”

Jing Yo was surprised that Sun mentioned the spymistress.

“I am not sure.”

“I do not believe that she did,” said Sun. “But I will find out.”

The colonel killed the line.

“Who was that?” Hyuen Bo asked.

“A friend,” said Jing Yo. “Or an enemy. I am not sure which.”

24

“They’re asking our intentions, skipper.”

“My intention is to sail the open sea,” replied Commander Silas.

“Sir?”

“Lieutenant Commander Li, have a message sent to the Chinese captain,” said Silas, his tone formal and strong. He was speaking for the record.

For posterity, if necessary.

“Inform the Chinese commander that I intend to sail the open sea,” said Silas.

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

The sun was just creeping over the horizon behind them, throwing steel gray shadows across the ocean. The cruiser was a quarter mile off the starboard bow. Silas could see men on her forward deck, near the gun. His own people were at general quarters — their battle stations.

“How’s the Seahawk?”

“Aircraft is prepped, crew aboard. Engine start on your order.”

They needed to get a few more miles before the chopper could take off. Silas had spoken personally to the helo pilots, making sure they understood the mission, and getting his own sense of how close they had to be to have adequate reserves. He would continue east after they launched, making it easier for them on the return trip. Still, the helicopters were gas-guzzlers at high speed, and this mission called for as much speed as they could muster. The launch point had been calculated down to the meter to make sure they had enough fuel.

The Chinese cruiser’s how turned toward the McCampbell. But it was the frigate that drew the Americans’ attention — it set a course directly for them.

The commanding officer aboard the cruiser was sending the smaller frigate to do its dirty work, Silas realized. The cruiser would stay just close enough to fire if necessary.

They’d love that, Silas thought. Undoubtedly they’d have video cameras rolling. Very possibly there was a live, direct link back to Beijing. As soon as the first missile or shell flew, it would be posted for the world to see.

“They want to ram us!” yelled one of the extra lookouts the captain had posted.

“Steady as she goes,” said Silas.

This was the way it was done — in a calm voice, a prepared voice.

Outside. Inside, a voice was screaming: Try it, motherfucker!

“Sir, the Chinese ship is on a collision course,” said the helmsman. “We will hit them if — ”

“Steady!” commanded Silas.

Silas knew he was playing more than a simple game of chicken. His primary concern was to accomplish his mission. At the same time, he had to do so without starting a war. Sinking the frigate and the cruiser would be personally satisfying — would it ever — but would have an immense impact on geopolitics.

Even firing a warning shot would be considered an act of war under the circumstances. Indeed, it could easily backfire, as the cruiser’s dual water-cooled 130s on the forecastle might actually give it an edge in a quick gun battle. Silas had to be prepared to fight, but under the circumstances couldn’t take the first shot himself.

On the other hand, Silas couldn’t appear to back down. And he certainly wasn’t about to let his ship get rammed.

Chicken indeed.

“Crew, we’re going right by the Chinese,” said the captain over the ship’s 1MC system. “They’re trying to bluff us. Be very prepared to fire back. If they give us just cause, we will sink them. Until that point, we must not, and we shall not, blink.”

The frigate was churning through the water. Silas drew a breath, mentally calculating the angle.

No doubt at this point. They were going to hit.

The video cameras aboard ship were rolling. They could show that the Chinese had caused this. But would he be able to get close enough to launch the helicopter, then recover it?

“Helm, stand by,” said Silas.

“He’s heaving to!” yelled the watchman.

“Give me everything, engine room,” said Silas, though in fact the engines were already at 110 percent. “Helm, avoid collision. Maintain us as close to course as possible.”

The Chinese frigate turned off, but its momentum was such that Silas could have reached out and spit on the crewmen.

He was tempted.

“Captain, we are within range for helicopter launch,” said the exec ten minutes later.

“Get ‘em off the ship,” said Silas.

By then, the Chinese frigate had moved off to a more comfortable distance. The cruiser was now almost alongside her. Silas pulled up his binoculars, watching the missile launcher on the cruiser carefully. The Seahawk was an easy target at this range, even staying low and using the McCampbell as a screen.

One missile launch and he’d sink the cruiser. And the frigate.

If their crews were any good, they’d get a few shots in on their own. At this range, on the open sea, anything could happen.

Anything.

He was ready.

“Seahawk is away, sir!”

“Steady,” said Silas. “Steady.”

A moment later, he knew the Chinese weren’t going to interfere. He’d won. This battle, at least.

“Helicopter is out of range of their antiair weapons,” said Lieutenant Commander Li a minute later. Her voice was noticeably calmer — not casual, but no longer tense. “Pilot reports they are on course and on schedule.”

“Steady as she goes, Commander. Remind the crew that we have more to do.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

25

Mara’s boat was in the lead as they started across the bay. A breeze kicked up, sending sprays of water across the bow. She angled her face to dull some of the effects of the wind.

The inner bay area was still a major tourist spot, a favorite of many residents from the Ho Chi Minh area who drove down on weekends to enjoy the sand and sun. But the oil boom was steadily encroaching on paradise, and for a few years now the eastern end of the large cove had been dominated by an oil-storage area and a small refinery. Three ships sat at harbor, taking on fuel for export. To the south, barges were stacked two deep in a line extending along a half-mile pier, waiting to disgorge raw petroleum collected from offshore platforms. Workboats were parked in another line against the wharf, some idling, others seemingly abandoned.

It was nearly 8 a.m., and in theory the workday should be well under way. But the war had disrupted regular routines, and Mara saw few people on the wharf.

Once they were across the bay, they took the boats back to the west, cruising past a swampy delta area toward an inlet populated by fishermen and their families. Only about half the fleet had gone out, leaving the channel glutted but passable. The two boats moved slowly, crossing the occasional swell from a nearby motorboat.

On the shoreline, buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other. A few were large, solid-looking structures, metal-sided warehouses and small fish-processing factories. But most were shacks, small houses built fifty or sixty years earlier, witness to several generations’ worth of hardships and war.

A handful of children watched them come in, staring in curiosity.

Mạ stared at them as if they were animals she had never seen before.

“Wave,” said Josh.

He prodded her to raise her hand. When she didn’t, he waved his own. The children ran away.

What kind of life is she going to have? thought Mara. What kind of life are any of those kids going to have?

They found a place to tie up at the southeast, forty or fifty feet from the road.

“The airport’s a mile that way,” said Mara, pointing to the east. “Let’s start walking.”

The first quarter mile took them around the outskirts of the residential area. The swamp to their left had only recently been filled for new construction; two buildings had been started but not yet completed.

They took a turn to the right and entered a dense pack of houses, crisscrossed by narrow roads and even tighter alleys. Unlike the houses they had passed before landing, these were vacation homes. On the whole their owners were much better off than the fishermen farther to the west. Four- and five-story buildings dotted the area.

The SEALs had tucked their weapons back into their rucksacks, but people stared at them as they passed. It was clear that they were out of place.

“What do you figure someone’s going to call the cops on us?” Kerfer asked, catching up to Mara.

“We look like oil workers,” said Mara. “There are plenty of Russians around.”

“With a kid?”

“What do you want to do, stuff her into one of the rucks?”

“I thought of that.”

“If the police come, I’ll do the talking,” said Mara.

He frowned at her.

“What do you want me to tell you?” said Mara, exasperated. “We won’t be bothered?”

“Don’t get bitchy on me.”

“You’re the one that’s being bitchy,” she told him. “Just relax. If we can find a motel, we can check in.”

“What are we using for money? Your good looks?”

“Get us further than yours,” said Josh behind them.

The SEALs laughed. Mara felt her face flush slightly.

There were no police or soldiers in front of the airport, and while Mara initially took that as a good sign, it turned out to be the opposite. The doors to the terminal were locked; a handwritten message taped to one of them declared that it had been closed, and that only military flights would be using the strip for the near future. Sure enough, there were a small number of soldiers in the back, working on helicopters and guarding a pair of MiG fighters near the hangars. Mara decided they’d be better off finding a different place to wait.

There was a hotel across the highway from the airport. From the outside, at least, it looked on par with a Motel 6 back in the States. The architecture was similar, and the rooms were spread out among three buildings.

Mara left the others outside and went in with Little Joe, whose clothes seemed the neatest. The clerk eyed them dubiously.

“Some of my friends and I need rooms for the night,” she said in Vietnamese.

The clerk held up his hands and said they had none.

“You have no rooms?” said Mara.

“Many reservations.”

“There are no rooms for anyone?”

“Very sorry.”

The reception area was small, with a pair of Western-style couches and some fake flowers. There was no one inside, but of course that didn’t mean the hotel was empty. Still, Mara had a hard time believing that there were no rooms available.

“I know hotels sometimes keep places for special guests,” she said. “Perhaps if we paid extra.”

“No. I’m very sorry,” said the man. “All rooms are reserved.”

“Is there a place where we could shower?” she asked.

“I’m sorry.”

Mara thought of using Mạ, whom she’d left outside, to plead her case. But she worried that Kerfer was right about the girl making people more suspicious.

“Could you recommend another hotel?” Mara asked.

“We are all booked,” said the man. “Because of the war.”

“There’s nothing else?”

“No. I am sorry.”

Mara gradually wheedled more information out of him. The oil companies had booked the hotel rooms for their employees, whom they were trying to evacuate. A cruise ship was supposed to be on its way to take them away.

The only problem was that the cruise ship was two days overdue.

Mara decided it wasn’t worth going to each hotel to hear the same message. Instead, she took Josh, Mạ, and the SEALs up the road to an athletic club, where she spent the last of her Vietnamese money buying them a day pass to the tennis court in the back. She didn’t care about tennis; she wanted the showers.

The shower helped Josh as much as the pills had, though pulling on his sweaty clothes took some of the edge off his improved mood.

Little Joe had liberated some snacks from a vending machine and shared them with the others. Josh didn’t realize how hungry he was until he ripped into a bag of soy-soaked strips of puffed rice and gobbled them down. But the food only stoked his hunger.

Mara met them outside near the entrance. She’d changed into a flowery shirt that fell to her thighs.

“I found it,” she told Josh. “What do you think?”

“Nice.”

“It’s a dress. It’s a little tight, but it works.”

“Stealing clothes,” said Kerfer.

“It was a barter. Heft mine.”

Mạ, meanwhile, had found a tennis ball. The SEALs took turns playing with her, improvising a game of little kid soccer as they walked back toward the airport. She smiled and even laughed as they played with her.

“Maybe there’s hope for her,” said Mara.

Josh glanced at the CIA officer gazing intently at the little girl he’d rescued. He knew exactly what she meant, but was surprised she was thinking that. Mara had seemed… not uncaring, but focused on her job.

It made him like her even more.

They walked down along the western side of the airport, along the far end of the runway. Only a field separated them from the concrete strip, and they had a clear view of the back of the complex.

The airport’s main runway was a thousand meters, long enough for a turboprop or perhaps a small jet. But most of the aircraft that used it were helicopters. Three large Russian choppers — civilian Mil Mi-58s — sat in front of hangars.

“Maybe we oughta take our own chopper,” said Kerfer.

“Can you fly it?” asked Josh.

“Don’t get funny with me, kid.”

“I’m serious.”

“Flying lessons are next month,” said Kerfer.

There was no fence at the far end of the field; they could have walked straight onto the runway if they’d wanted. Instead, they walked down the long shrub-lined boulevard that marked the southern edge of the complex, passing a row of new but seemingly deserted warehouses. Josh wondered if they had been abandoned because of the war, or if they were just unused; there was no way to tell. Near the end of the block they saw another hotel complex. Mara went over to see if there were rooms, but soon came out saying there weren’t.

“What is it with Vietnam and tennis courts?” asked Squeaky as they began walking again. “Tennis courts all over the place here.”

“It was a big sport when the French were here,” said Josh. “And it was associated with being rich. So when people in the country started having money, they started paying a lot of attention to it.”

“You’re a big tennis fan?” asked Kerfer.

“One of our translators gave me the whole story,” said Josh, thinking of Li Huy, who’d told him how good his son was at the sport.

His ten-year-old son. Now fatherless. As Huy said he had been after what he called the American war.

Josh glanced down at Mạ.

“Police car, six o’clock,” said Squeaky.

Mara acted as if the police officers were godsends, speaking as quickly as she could manage, saying they had been told to come here by their company only to find that there were no rooms. The men were oil workers, expecting to get off by ship, but unsure when it was arriving. She and her daughter — they were careful to keep Mạ back by Josh and Kerfer — had come to visit her father and grandfather and were now hoping to get out with the rest of the workers.

Mara leaned into the car as she spoke, practically pressing her boobs into the nearest officer’s face.

“Is there a hotel where we could stay?” Mara asked. “Our company will pay the best prices.”

The policemen began talking among themselves. Mara pressed closer until the cop started to roll up the window.

She stepped back.

“Throw yourself at him, why don’t you?” said Kerfer.

“Don’t speak English,” said Mara in a stage whisper.

The police car began backing away slowly. Mara put a disappointed look on her face, pretending to be sad that they couldn’t help.

“What happened?” asked Josh.

“I think they were afraid that we were going to ask for a favor that they couldn’t grant,” said Mara. “Or maybe they have an emergency somewhere else. Whatever — they’re gone. For now. We ought to find a better place to hang out.”

“When the fuck is that helo coming?” asked Kerfer. “They said daybreak.”

“They said after daybreak. Maybe not until noon.”

“It’s after daybreak. As far as I’m concerned, it’s going on noon.”

“It’s a Navy helicopter,” said Mara. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Call them.”

“Every time I call, the Chinese show up,” said Mara.

She spotted a grove of trees near the highway that ran along the eastern end of the runway, and began walking toward it. Mạ, who was walking with Josh and Little Joe, began sobbing and holding her stomach.

“What’s with the kid?” Kerfer asked.

Mara bent and spoke to her. Mạ said she was hungry.

“We oughta get her some food,” said Kerfer. “How much money you guys got?”

They dug through their pockets, but the only one with cash was Josh, who found two twenty-thousand-dong notes — about two dollars.

“The problem is finding someplace to get food,” said Mara. “We haven’t passed anything.”

“I’m kinda hungry myself,” said Squeaky.

“You got money you ain’t tellin’ us about?” asked Stevens.

“I’m just saying.”

“Maybe we can trade something for food,” said Josh.

“Yeah, like we won’t shoot you if you give us food,” said Little Joe.

The others laughed.

“Not a good idea,” said Mara.

“Relax,” said Kerfer.

Mara’s sat phone rang before she could say anything else.

“This better be good news,” she told DeBiase.

“Helicopter is inbound. It’ll land in forty-five minutes.”

“Tell him there’s a concrete turning area at the eastern end of runway thirty,” said Mara, looking directly at it. “It’s kind of between the ends of the two runways.”

“Okay.”

“We’ll meet him there. The terminal is closed and there are soldiers by the hangars.”

“I can stay on the line,” offered DeBiase. “In case — ”

Mara snapped the phone off.

“Forty-five minutes to pickup,” she told the others.

“Good,” said Kerfer. He looked down at Mạ and patted her head. “When we get back to the ship, kid, you and me are having the biggest damn bowl of ice cream we can find. I promise you that.”

26

“He’s near the airport,” Colonel Sun told Jing Yo. “There is an American ship offshore that has just defied the blockade. Most likely he is to meet them. Either they will go to the port, or send a helicopter.”

“I will do my duty,” said Jing Yo.

“Ms. Hu had nothing to do with it,” Sun added. “Colonel?”

“I believe her. But don’t trust her, nonetheless.”

The colonel cut the connection.

Jing Yo steered his boat to the southeastern end of the peninsula, where the beach backed into a golf course. The airport was roughly a mile from the water to his north, on the other side of a highway. There were few houses nearby, and fewer people to ask questions.

“Stay on the beach, near the boat,” Jing Yo told Hyuen Bo after he pulled the boat up onto the sand. “I will be back very soon.”

“Yo.” She took hold of his arm as he slung the bag containing the grenades and extra ammunition he had taken from Tong’s van over his shoulder.

“You have to stay,” Jing Yo told her. “Hold on to the shotgun — hide it in the sand in case you need it.”

“We must escape together.”

“We will,” said Jing Yo.

The rocket grenade launchers were in metal boxes. They were cumbersome, since he had to carry the case by the handle as if it were a long suitcase, but it wouldn’t attract as much attention if anyone saw it. He kept one launcher and loaded two of the spare grenades into its box.

Hyuen Bo wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his neck.

“I love you,” she said.

“I must do this,” he told her, steeling himself. “I will be back. And we will be together. I promise.”

Gently, he pushed her away, then quickly started up the beach. It wasn’t until he reached the golf course that he realized his shirt was wet with her tears.

27

The SEALs spread out in the fields surrounding the edge of the airport property, establishing a perimeter to keep the area under surveillance. With only forty-five minutes before pickup, they didn’t want to let their guard down. Mara, Kerfer, and Josh stayed out of sight with Mạ, waiting near the tree.

Mara adjusted the volume on her earset, glanced at her watch, then looked toward the southern horizon. Forty-five minutes. Now forty-four.

She knew from experience they were going to be among the longest of her life. She wished she could just fast-forward through them. Or better, take them and save them for some other time she wanted to move slowly. Undoubtedly, on her deathbed she was going to want them back.

Assuming, of course, that she died in bed. Not likely, given her profession.

“Company,” said Little Joe over the radio.

“What?” Mara asked.

“Army guys in one of those Chinese Hummer trucks. Comin’ at you.”

“How many?” asked Kerfer.

“Two. Officer and a driver. Cops must’ve sent them.”

“We’re better off trying not to be seen,” said Mara. “If they send reinforcements, the helo may have a tough time landing.”

“Truck behind them. Looks like it’s full,” said Little Joe.

“Stay down,” said Mara. “I think I have a solution.”

“What?” asked Josh.

“Stay down,” said Kerfer. “Keep Mạ quiet. All right?”

Josh put his fingers to his lips, then ducked down. Mạ did the same.

Meanwhile, Mara took out one of the cell phones she’d bought in Hanoi and pressed the speed dial for Zeus. But instead of Zeus, another voice came on the line.

“Hello?”

“I need Zeus.”

“He is not here.”

“You have his phone.”

“Major Murphy told me to do whatever you asked,” said the man. “What do you need?”

Mara hesitated. Would Zeus really have given over the phone?

“Troops are getting out,” said Little Joe. “A dozen at least.”

“Where is Major Murphy?” Mara asked.

“He’s on an important assignment. I am his liaison. I can help.”

Mara could see the truck. It wouldn’t take long for the soldiers to get too close for comfort.

“There’s a unit at Bai Sau Airport that must be pulled back, into the city, away from the airport. Right now. Immediately.”

“This moment.”

“Absolutely now.”

“It will be done,” said the man.

Mara hung up.

“Twenty yards,” said Squeaky.

“Hold your fire,” said Mara.

“You got a plan here, lady?” asked Kerfer. He had taken his gun out and squatted next to her, ready.

“A friend is going to pull them hack.”

“He is, huh?”

The soldiers walked through the field slowly. Stevens dropped back behind a warehouse to avoid detection. Meanwhile, a second troop truck arrived, parking up by the buildings across from the airport. Those soldiers began searching there.

The commander of the unit, a Vietnamese lieutenant, walked on a beeline toward the tree. A communications man walked with him, while a pair of soldiers lagged behind, rifles in hand.

“If we can grab the louey, maybe we can set up a hostage situation,” said Kerfer.

“Just hold on,” said Mara.

“I don’t know that that’s going to work, spook.” Kerfer put down his gun and took out his knife. He turned to Josh. “You know how to use that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Just hold on,” said Mara.

The soldiers were ten yards away when the communications man suddenly stopped and reached for the controls of his field radio. The private listened for a moment, then handed the radiophone to the lieutenant. He was so close Mara could see his face, even smell his sweat. If the wind shifted suddenly, he’d smell theirs.

“Tôi hiêu!” he said loudly. I understand!

He reached for his pistol. Mara felt her stomach knot.

The lieutenant fired into the air. Mara felt Kerfer’s body coiling, ready to attack.

“Back to the truck!” the lieutenant shouted in Vietnamese. He turned abruptly. “We are needed at the port! Back to the truck!”

Stepping onto the golf course was like stepping onto a mattress. Jing Yo’s feet sprang up with each step, his energy increasing.

He worked to control it. Too much excitement would cloud his mind.

Jing Yo took his submachine gun out of his backpack, trying to balance caution against readiness. Then he ran into the woods lining the northern edge of the course. He spotted a building to his left, a large mansion or clubhouse. He changed course to avoid it, trotting through an open field, then past a narrow band of trees to the highway.

The road was empty. The airport sat a half mile beyond, at the top of the hill above a patchwork of fields and houses.

Jing Yo readjusted the strap holding his submachine gun, making it easier to tuck down near his leg behind the RPG box, then dashed across the road.

“Why didn’t you use that magic cell phone before?” Kerfer asked.

“We didn’t need it until now,” Mara told him. “I might have used it on the train, if you’d given me a chance.”

He scowled at her, then began checking in with his men, making sure the soldiers had gone.

Thirty-two more minutes, thought Mara, checking her watch. A few lifetimes.

“You feeling good now?” she asked Josh.

“I’m ready.”

Mara leaned over to Mạ and asked her in Vietnamese if she was all right.

“Vâng,” said Mạ. Yes.

“The helicopter I told you about — it’s coming. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“We will fly to a new home. Okay?”

“Josh,” said Mạ, grabbing him. “He will come with us?”

“Yes,” said Mara. “Okay?”

“Yes. I am ready.”

“We won’t let the bad men hurt you,” said Mara.

Mạ’s chin began to quiver. Mara glanced at Josh, who tucked Mạ close to him.

“We got somebody moving up through the fields,” said Stevens over the radio.

“A soldier?” asked Kerfer.

“I don’t know. Maybe a militia guy — has a lighter shirt. Khaki. Carrying something. Could have a weapon. I don’t have an angle. Ducking into one of the lanes. Shit, I lost him.”

“Hold your position,” said Kerfer.

“Where is he?” Mara asked.

Kerfer pointed toward the house that sat on the edge of the hill to their right. “Gotta be looking for us,” he said.

“I agree.”

“Probably avoiding the rice paddy,” he said. “If he keeps going straight, he comes out right over there, across from the houses. Stevens is back this way.” He pointed to the left, meaning beyond the rice paddy.

Mara glanced at her watch. If they took him out now, would the helicopter arrive before the police? Or before whoever had just helped them changed his mind?

“He may just be a scout,” said Kerfer. “If he’s not armed and alone. We should still take him out, though.”

“Shooting him will complicate things,” said Mara. “Is he close enough to grab?”

Kerfer touched his radio control to transmit. “Hey, Stevens, can you grab this guy without too much fuss?”

“Negative. He’s out of sight. Good fifty yards away anyway.”

“Can you sneak up behind him?”

“If he’s armed, what do you want me to do?”

Kerfer turned to Mara.

“Watch him until the helicopter gets closer,” she said. “Or until he’s a threat. There’s too much time for the soldiers to come back.”

“Yeah, okay, I agree,” said Kerfer. He hit the radio. “Stevens, can you parallel him?”

“Yeah, I’m on it.”

“All right. Keep him in sight.”

“See, you can cooperate,” Mara told Kerfer.

“Don’t get too comfortable with it.”

Jing Yo heard the dog yapping in the backyard as he turned out of the alley. He had been planning to go over the fence there but decided to try the next yard instead.

His heart was pounding. He needed to calm down. He needed to work out a plan.

He’d get onto the airport grounds, find a place to hide the grenades and stow the guns. Then he would go to the terminal. He’d go inside, posing as a maintenance worker.

First, he needed a uniform.

He’d find a worker outside. He’d kill him quickly, with his hands. He’d take his shirt, and pants if necessary.

They’d be in the terminal. He could take them there, or he could take them on the helicopter when it arrived.

Either way.

A grenade into the motor of the chopper as it took off would be very efficient.

Two grenades into the terminal would be almost as easy.

And then?

Should he go to Hyuen Bo? They might be able to escape in the boat.

Difficult.

It would be easier for her if he disappeared. She would be killed if the Vietnamese caught him.

Getting out of the terminal might be hard. Hitting the helicopter as it took off presented its own difficulties, however. He’d have to be pretty close to ensure that he hit it.

Jing Yo saw a lane to his right. He started down it, saw a pair of children playing in the nearby yard. There was another lane, a dirt driveway, to his left. He turned, avoiding the kids, then saw a clear path to the road.

As he started to trot across the road, he spotted a man crouched near some bushes about a hundred meters ahead, up the hill.

A member of the scientist’s security team.

He threw himself down.

“Totally fucking lost him,” cursed Stevens.

Mara turned to Kerfer. The SEAL commander frowned but said nothing.

“He probably lives in one of the houses,” said Mara. She checked her watch. “We have twenty-five minutes. Let’s start pulling back and get up closer to the runway.”

“Twenty-five minutes is a long time.”

“It’s a quarter mile from the perimeter access road to the landing pad, and we have to get past two warehouses,” said Mara. “That’s ten minutes, crawling.”

“Sixty seconds, running.”

“You really want to wait until the last minute? Besides, everybody’s getting restless. You can hear it in their voices.”

Kerfer touched his radio. “Start pulling back very slowly. You got ten minutes to get back to the tree.”

Jing Yo watched the American begin to back up the hill slowly. Had he been spotted?

He craned his head, but he couldn’t see very far in either direction without getting up, and he dared not do that.

The American stopped. Jing Yo held his breath, waiting. Finally the man began to move again. Jing Yo slid his body to the left, edging backward at the same time. He dragged the case with him, pushing through the rough grass and dirt.

If the American hadn’t seen him, where would he be going?

He was obviously posted as a perimeter guard. He’d be pulling back to the terminal building.

Why?

Because it was time to leave, and he was being evaced as well.

Except the American didn’t seem to be moving toward the terminal. Rather, he was moving toward high ground near the end of the runway.

For a better view? Simply a guard rotation?

Jing Yo edged upward, crawling on his belly, then stopping as the American rose and jogged about twenty meters before diving back to the ground, out of sight.

There was another guard on Jing Yo’s left, a hundred meters away, stalking through the field.

Jing Yo breathed slowly, relaxing, readying himself. They’d seen him; they were coming for him.

The man had a submachine gun.

Jing Yo heard him say something. His ear was unaccustomed to English, so he had trouble deciphering the words.

Clear. That’s what he thought the man said. Clear.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. It meant he wasn’t spotted. It also meant the guards would relax now, easing their watch.

Time to advance.

Jing Yo took another breath. Patience was critical. And yet if he waited too long, he would lose his chance.

Now, he told himself, and started moving up the hill again. He spotted a group of boulders on his left. He rose on his hands and knees, then scrambled toward them.

A culvert extended across the access road below, up the slope, and over to the end of the runway. If he could get into the ditch, he could move in the direction the Americans were going without being seen. He’d also have a path to the runway.

Of course, there might be someone in it already.

The only way to find out was to run there.

Jing Yo emptied his lungs, pressing the stale air out.

He got up and ran to the ditch, diving in, not sure if he had just run into the enemy’s sights, ready, gun in hand. Ready.

The ditch was empty.

Stevens was the last of the team to arrive. Just as he dove in next to Kerfer, Josh heard the sound of helicopter rotors in the distance.

“You think that’s them?” asked Josh.

“I hope,” said Mara. She glanced at her watch. “They’re early.”

“How far off, you figure?”

“Couple of minutes,” said Kerfer. “Navy Seahawk. You’ll know when it’s real close. Ground starts to shake. We wait until then. It shakes, we go. You got the girl?”

Josh put his arm around Mạ. He felt a surge of relief. He’d been through so much. It was almost over.

“All right, let’s wait, and make sure this is it,” said Mara. She looked at Josh. “When we see it, we run straight across the road, across the end of the runway, to the cement pad. Got it?”

“Memorized,” said Josh.

“Make sure you’re locked and loaded,” said Kerfer. “You, too, Junior, Mara. If we need them, we’re going to want them right away.”

“You have maybe six rounds left,” Mara told Josh.

“Yeah, I know.”

None of them had much ammunition. But they didn’t need it now. The helicopter’s rotors were getting louder and louder.

“Seahawk,” said Stevens, pointing.

Kerfer held his hand up, watching for a few seconds.

“Go,” he said.

Jing Yo could feel the beat of the helicopter as it approached the airport.

This was it.

He snapped open the grenade launcher. The 40 mm shell had an effective range of roughly three hundred meters. The end of the runway was easily within that. But what if it landed farther down, away from him?

He’d run to get closer. He wanted to get it just after it took off, just after the scientist was aboard.

He’d have only one chance. He’d have to run as closely as he could. He’d run with both legs, as the monks said.

Jing Yo picked up the launcher. He wished he’d taken the other. Reloading for a second shot would take time; having the second launcher would have been easier.

Just make sure you don’t miss, he told himself.

He checked the strap on the submachine gun, ready to fire. The rucksack was on his back. He’d need it later, for the extra bullets, for the escape.

There’d be no escape. That was not his fate.

The helicopter flew over the beach on his right, heading for the runway. Jing Yo took another long breath.

They were running!

The scientist was right there, running, not fifty yards away.

The woman he’d seen in Hanoi. And… a girl.

A girl?

Mara ran next to Josh and Mạ, the center of the circle as the SEALs hustled toward the landing spot. This was the sort of thing the shooters practiced time and again, and the team ran as one, swarming across the scrub and leaping over the ditch like a well-trained dance company moving across the stage.

As they reached the asphalt apron around the runway, they dropped their pace. The three SEALs at the back of the group turned to make sure no one was sneaking behind them.

Squeaky suddenly shouted. “Man, man — I got a man!”

Then he started to fire.

Jing Yo saw the muzzle flash. Instinctively, he raised his weapon and fired.

The grenade hit the man shooting at him square in the chest and exploded.

Josh felt himself launched into the air. He didn’t know what had happened. He couldn’t hear — it was as if someone had clapped his hands on Josh’s ears.

He landed in the dirt.

A sneeze welled up from deep in his chest.

Someone grabbed him, pulling him.

Mara.

“What?”

If she said anything, he couldn’t hear what it was.

Mạ?

The girl had been behind him. He twisted around, thinking she was under him.

She wasn’t.

Oh God, after this, after all she had been through — was she going to die? It couldn’t work that way.

But of course it could.

He saw Mạ lying in the field, a few feet away.

God! God! Why!

He ran to her, tears welling in his eyes.

“Josh?” she muttered, starting to rise.

He grabbed her. The helicopter was turning toward them, turning toward the cement pad. He began to run for it.

Jing Yo dropped his grenade launcher and grabbed his submachine gun. But even as he pressed the trigger, the ditch erupted with a hail of bullets. He threw himself down, waiting for a break in the storm.

Mara pushed Josh and Mạ toward the chopper, then turned back to see where the others were. Stevens, Eric, and Silvestri were firing from their knees, covering the ditch. Little Joe, Kerfer, and Squeaky were down.

Squeaky was more than down. The grenade, had ripped through his chest and severed his head, which lay on the ground a few yards away.

Mara jerked her head back toward the ditch.

“Get that motherfucker/” yelled Stevens.

Something moved. Mara fired. Her bullets sped through the gun; within seconds she had no more.

The others must be almost out as well.

“Get to the helicopter!” she shouted at them.

She ran to Kerfer, who was lying faceup. There was blood all over his chest.

“Hey,” he said.

“Come on.” Mara reached down and tried to pull him up, but Kerfer didn’t budge.

“Go. Get the hell out of here.”

Mara grabbed his submachine gun.

“Come on,” she told Kerfer. “On my back.”

“Ain’t worth it, spook lady. Go!”

Mara reached down and scooped him up as one of the SEALs started firing again. She ran a few yards toward Little Joe, intending to help him up as well, but as she got close, she realized he wasn’t getting up — the exploding grenade had blown his leg off, leaving his body in a pool of blood. His eyes were closed, as if in sleep, but it was clear he was already dead.

“To the helicopter!” she yelled. “Go! Go!”

Jing Yo raised his head, then quickly ducked back as the Americans began firing again.

There were more grenades in the case. He needed them.

The gunfire stopped. He grabbed the box, opened it, then reached for his launcher. But when he tried putting the grenade in, he saw that the barrel had been hit by bullets. It wouldn’t accept the grenade.

He’d have to take them with the submachine gun.

He punched out the old magazine, even though it was half full. Slamming a new box in, he grabbed two more, then jumped up and began running toward the helicopter.

Josh turned a few feet from the chopper, looking back for the others. He saw Mara, dragging Kerfer on her back. Eric ran to her and helped.

Where was Squeaky? Where was he?

One of the chopper crewmen jumped to the ground.

“Take the girl,” Josh yelled, pushing Mạ toward him. “Go!”

Josh let go of Mạ, then spun and started to run for the others.

Eric took hold of Kerfer as Mara stumbled toward him. Silvestri took the other side. Mara twisted out from under them and spun back.

The bastard who’d been following them was jumping out of the ditch.

She squeezed the trigger on Kerfer’s gun.

He was out of bullets, too.

Josh saw the man in the ditch lowering his gun to fire. He pressed the trigger, but without good aim, his bullets went low, striking the dirt in front of the man.

But it was enough. He went down.

“Into the helicopter!” Josh screamed, turning back for the helo. “Into the helicopter!”

Jing Yo collapsed as the ground erupted in front of him. He couldn’t lose now.

He raised his weapon to fire. But there was someone behind the scientist, a sailor from the helicopter, shooting with an M-4. The fire was so intense he had to stay down. He dug his chin into the dirt, waiting for the fusillade to lift.

Just as he reached the nose of the helicopter, Josh saw something from the corner of his eye. He stopped and turned. There was a small figure with a gun, two guns — a grenade launcher, he thought.

He raised his weapon. This time his aim was true, striking the figure in the midsection.

“Into the chopper!” screamed Mara, grabbing his back. “Go! Go! Go!”

They dove headfirst into the body of the Seahawk. Before Josh could get to his feet, they were off the ground.

28

Jing Yo rose as the helicopter rose, emptying his gun at the fuselage. But the helicopter was charging away, up the runway and back toward the sea. He started to run, screaming at it in frustration.

And then, with the Seahawk banking hard to the southeast, he saw the body of his lover, prone in the field, hunched over the grenade launcher.

If he had been truly a man of duty, he would have scooped up the launcher at that moment and tried somehow to down the helicopter, even though it was out of range.

But he would have had to be a man of stone to do that.

Jing sank to his knees, bent over Hyuen Bo’s dead body, and wept.