Shadows of War

Electronics Giant Stai-On Declares Bankruptcy Amid Japan Electronics Downturn

Tokyo, Japan (World News Service) — Japanese conglomerate Stai-On today officially filed for bankruptcy protection.

“This move will allow us to reemerge as a stronger, though smaller company,” said Masura Takai, company spokesman. “We expect to continue operations through this difficult period.”

The chairman of the company was found dead in his Tokyo apartment last week. Police have not revealed the cause of death. Rumors continue to circulate that he committed suicide in the face of the company’s financial crisis.

Stai-On, known for its exports of electronic consumer goods, has been in trouble since worldwide exports declined in 2009. Until then, Stai-On was the number one electronics exporter in Japan, besting the Sony Corporation by about $3 billion in exports annually.

Electronics purchases declined sharply in the U.S. beginning with the 2008–2009 recession. While sales were essentially flat in 2010 and 2011, an even sharper decline in 2012 drove many companies into financial disarray. Among the firms…

Congo Brushfire Spreads; Smoke Plume to Affect Climate Through Rest of Year

BUMBA, DEMOCRATIC REPUBLIC OF CONGO, CENTRAL AFRICA (AP-Fox News) — Firefighters reported today that two wildfires previously thought to have been brought under control have spread past firebreaks and are now racing toward the Congo River.

Approximately five thousand square kilometers of savannah and forest have been burned so far. Smoke from the fire now covers much of western Africa and is expected to linger in the atmosphere for several months.

Joseph Kituba, a local fire warden, said that the spread of the fires was fanned by unexpected winds that reached upwards of sixty kilometers per hour overnight.

“Under normal weather conditions, we would never see something like this,” said Kituba. “But the weather that we have had here the past few years has been anything but normal…”

1

The explosion threw Josh forward, tumbling him over Mạ into a heap of dirt at the side of the road.

It was too much, all too much.

For a second he gave up, capitulated to despair. He was dirt, dust — he lay there helpless, ready to let the Chinese take him, let them chew him up like everything else they were chewing up. He gave up completely, utterly.

Then Mạ moved beneath him, whimpering. He heard her, and for a moment he became the boy who’d run from the murderers at roughly her age — the scared, desperate little boy.

And then in the next moment he became the scientist again, and more. He became the man who was going to tell the world what was going on, who was going to help keep people from dying.

Josh pushed himself to his feet, aching, weakened by hunger and fatigue, by a thousand cuts and bruises. Mạ scrambled to her feet beneath him. He saw her face, the question in her eyes she didn’t have the words to ask.

“We’ll make it,” he told her.

He turned around. The truck was on fire. Mara lay in the road. The explosion had torn into the small rucksack on her back, battering the contents. Josh tore the pack off, looking for wounds. The mangled gear had apparently saved her life, preventing any of the shrapnel from entering her back.

Heavy gunfire ripped through the other side of the road only a few yards away. He bent and put his shoulder into her side, lifting her upward. He staggered under her weight, but made it to the side of the road.

Mạ was waiting.

“Take the gun,” he told her, letting go of Mara just long enough to point to the rifle on the ground.

The girl hesitated, then scooped up the weapon from the ground as if it were a piece of poisoned fruit. Josh started up the road, Mara on his back.

She groaned.

“Jesus you’re heavy,” he complained, still moving, but just barely, as he went up the incline. A few yards past the path to the mine he spotted another old, overgrown road. He kept going, pushing his legs forward despite the burn that spread from his thigh muscles to the rest of his legs. The mine was a trap; the Chinese would look there first.

He continued, moving slower and slower, until he spotted a narrow culvert running under the road. The cement pipe below contained a stream, which ran southward after crossing beneath the roadbed.

Josh veered toward the shallow embankment, heading toward the creek. Within three steps he lost his balance and fell on his side, slipping down into the water and losing Mara in the process.

Mạ ran to him to see if he was all right.

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” he told the girl. “It’s okay.”

“God,” groaned Mara on the ground a few feet away. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what the hell?”

Josh got to his knees and splashed water onto his face. Then he cupped his hands and took a few sips before rubbing the water on his eyes.

Mara remained dazed on the ground. The gunfire continued in the distance. Josh got to his feet and went to her.

“We have to keep moving,” he said. “Come on.”

“What the hell?” Her voice was a mumble, far away. “My bag? Where’s my bag?”

“It got blown up,” he said.

“God, my back hurts.”

“You’ll be all right. You’re not even bleeding.”

“Yeah.”

Josh took the gun from Mạ’s hand.

“If you could walk, it would be really good,” he told Mara. “I don’t think I can carry you anymore.”

“Walk,” she repeated as he helped her to her feet.

Mara was shaky, but she kept her balance as they started down the stream. Josh took the rear, figuring that was where the threat would come from.

“Where are we going?” asked Mara.

“We’re just going,” said Josh. “Keep moving. Go!”

2

The tracers flying out from the edge of the jungle told Jing Yo several things, the most important of which was that they were not fighting Vietnamese soldiers, or at least not regular soldiers. The gunfire was much more carefully aimed and coordinated, the shots purposeful even when they missed. The tracers weren’t being used to help the soldiers aim; rather, the rounds told the gunner he was nearing the end of his box. As he stopped to reload, another took up the fire, so that there was never a break in the gunfire that could be exploited.

The sound of the weapons was also telling — it was tinnier than an AK-47’s. Yet it was deeper than the slish-slish a SCAR would make — an indication, Jing Yo thought, that these men were not Americans.

Perhaps not, though they had at least one thing in common with the American SEALs Jing Yo had briefly trained with at the start of his career — they were turning an incredibly minute tactical advantage into a commanding position. They had the road completely covered, yet Jing Yo believed they had no more than six men, and most likely only four. They even used the destruction of their vehicles to their advantage, using the covering smoke to launch brief feints to stall a counterattack.

The helicopter gunships were impotent. The enemy force was so close to Jing Yo’s men that they couldn’t fire their rockets without either exposing themselves to more grenade fire or risking a miss that would kill their own troops.

“Couple of grenades there and we can push whoever’s holding that spot back,” said Sergeant Wu, crouching near Jing Yo. He pointed left to the north side of the road, where a slight rise gave the enemy just enough of a vantage to keep the commandos in place. “We can gang up on them. Sweep around once we’re on that side of the road and beyond their trucks.”

“Hmmm.”

The gunfire continued, controlled bursts plowing through the jungle anytime Jing Yo’s men tried to move.

“We get that side, we can roll them up,” said Wu, elaborating on his plan. “We push them back from the road. Helicopters can come in and pick up the wounded from the crash.”

Jing Yo didn’t answer.

“You want to wait until the reinforcements get here?” Wu asked. Soldiers from the unit that had been at the farm had landed up the road and were marching up the road. “They’ll be here in five minutes. That’ll work, too.”

“Why do you think the enemy is still firing?” Jing Yo asked his sergeant.

“What do you mean?”

“If we were holding that position, we would have moved back by now. We would try to get away before our enemy could bring in many reinforcements. We would expect reinforcements.”

“Maybe they don’t. Or maybe they’re stupid.”

“They’re not stupid.” Jing Yo shifted his rifle. “They are covering a retreat.”

“All right. But we can’t deal with that until we deal with them.”

“Yes.”

The soldiers must have gotten the scientist; it was the only reason they could be here.

Which way was he going? Directly behind them? Or somewhere else?

There was no way to know. The safest line of retreat would be behind the defenses. Jing Yo would have to try that way first.

The enemy would naturally expect the attack the sergeant had suggested, since they would know or at least suspect that was the direction the reinforcements would come from. He would therefore pretend to launch the assault there, but instead come up from the other side, the southwestern corner, across the road. The defenders would either retreat immediately, or be caught in place as the reinforcements arrived.

“I will take Ai Gua and Private Kim with me,” Jing Yo told Wu, outlining his plan. “We will circle around and launch an attack from the southeast, behind the position at that point in the road.”

“The jungle is pretty thick there.”

“Yes, they may be counting on that. You will launch your grenades at the northern point, and make them think we are concentrating on them there.”

Sergeant Wu nodded.

“Take the radio from Ai Gua. Have the helicopters take some of the regular troops to the farming area beyond the jungle,” Jing Yo told Wu. “And tell them to continue patrolling above. Give us ten minutes to get into position, then launch your attack.”

As Jing Yo leaped up, a fresh fusillade of bullets crashed into the jungle near him, forcing him to dive headfirst into the brush to his right. He crawled nearly ten meters on his belly before rising again, running in a crouch as he started to arc into position.

Ai Gua and Kim, meanwhile, withdrew from their spots near the shoulder of the road. They met Jing Yo about fifteen meters from the curve just opposite the enemy’s southernmost position. They moved another fifty meters farther west, crossing the road near a stream culvert.

Jing Yo slid down into the crevice cut by the stream. The streambed formed an easy path southward, keeping the brush at bay. He trotted down it for twenty meters, then went up the embankment, leading his men into the jungle at a slow but steady pace. They could hear the enemy gunner firing his rounds, but the vegetation was so thick they couldn’t see him.

Both men were on his left, Ai Gua a few yards away, Kim closer to the road. Jing Yo signaled to them to stay put, then began slipping forward through the brush, moving as quietly as he could. Stealth was an animal virtue; he imagined himself a tiger, passing through the stalks and branches with less sound than a raindrop slipping between the leaves of a tree.

The gunfire was very close.

A dark shadow shifted on his left, moving ever so slightly.

The enemy, twelve yards away, temporarily protected by a tree.

Wu’s grenades exploded to the north near the road. The gunfire stoked into a thunderstorm.

Jing Yo waited for the shadow he was watching to move. He didn’t, nor did he fire.

Very disciplined.

Sergeant Wu’s attack continued with a fresh round of grenades. Jing Yo heard the man near him say something, undoubtedly speaking into a radio, and start to move to his right.

Jing Yo raised his rifle, then fired a three-shot burst into the middle of the moving green blur. It didn’t stop.

Bulletproof vest.

Jing Yo adjusted his aim lower, but there was so much vegetation and debris that he couldn’t be sure of what he was aiming at. The soldier crashed farther into the jungle, moving eastward.

The others were, too. Jing Yo got up to start after them, then realized the danger.

“Down!” he yelled as loud as he could, hoping his voice would reach not just Ai Gua and Kim but Wu and the others. “Down!”

His warning was cut off by a tremendous explosion. The enemy had planted an IED or improvised explosive device at the edge of their position, exploding it to cover their trail.

“Come on!” he yelled to Ai Gua and Kim. “They’re running away!”

3

Only a few airports in the world could handle the U.S. Air Force’s RT-1, the official designation of the hypersonic transport. None of them were in Vietnam.

The airport at Bangkok in Thailand had a long enough runway and was relatively close to Vietnam, but was known to be under surveillance by Chinese agents. So was the airport at U-Tapao, the Thailand naval air base that doubled as a sparsely used international airport. But U-Tapao’s regular military use made it a little easier to camouflage the ultimate destination of the plane’s passengers, and so it was chosen as the RT-1’s destination.

Zeus Murphy had never been aboard the hypersonic aircraft. Though the outer hull of the plane was large — lengthwise, it rivaled stretched versions of the 747 — the interior cabin was about the size of a corporate jet. It was nowhere near as luxurious. While the Air Force used the RT, as everyone called it, exclusively as a VIP transport, Congress had severely limited the amount of money that could be used for the aircraft’s amenities. That meant the cabin looked a lot like what would be found in the first-class section of a circa-2000 Boeing 777. Not bad by any means, but not ultrafancy.

The stewards, all male, left something to be desired, but that was another story.

The flight itself was so quick — just over two hours — that Zeus hardly had time to finish his PowerPoint presentation for the Vietnamese. The general’s translator, a Vietnamese national on contract to the Defense Department, worked on a translation page by page on a piece of paper next to him as they flew. He hadn’t even had a chance to type it into the computer when the steward came back and said they were landing.

“The captain requests that you buckle your seat belts,” said the steward. “General? I’m afraid your seat has to be upright for the landing.”

“Yes, thank you, Sergeant,” said Perry, fixing his seat.

While the RT could fly at roughly ten times the speed of sound, the flight was extremely smooth, without the nosebleed, gut-punching acceleration of a fighter, let alone a spacecraft. For the passengers, taking off felt no different from what they’d experience in a Boeing Dreamliner, and the acceleration was gradual. On most flights, the same might be said of landing. In this case, however, with time at a premium — and no concerns about a sonic boom over the ocean — the landing was relatively abrupt. Zeus felt himself straining against his seat belt as the plane began to drop. The strain continued, increasing as the plane lowered itself toward the runway.

Even so, landing seemed to take forever. The RT lacked windows, so Zeus had no way of knowing how close to the ground they actually were. The noise of the engines continued to increase; inertia kept pushing him against the seat belt. Zeus felt as if he were stuck in a bizarre amusement park ride that would never end.

Finally the plane jerked up, then back down, the tires screeching. Despite huge shock absorbers that dampened the impact, the vibration could be felt throughout the entire craft as it slowed to a stop on the tarmac.

Zeus undid his belt and picked up his briefcase, waiting for General Perry to lead the way out of the cabin. Win Christian studiously avoided his gaze — just fine by Zeus.

General Perry paused in front of the door as the steward cracked it open.

“Smile, you’re on Candid Camera,” said the general, jokingly reminding them that Chinese spies were probably watching. Then Perry stepped quickly out of the plane, practically running down the moving stairway that had been rolled out to meet them. Christian did the same, springing down the steps as if he were jogging toward a reception.

Zeus had never been to Thailand before — in fact, his only tour in Asia had been a very brief temporary duty in South Korea — and he decided that he was going to take his time, savoring the moment and absorbing as much of the scene as possible.

The first thing he absorbed was the tremendous heat. Everyone said that Southeast Asia was warm and muggy; everyone was right. Zeus felt as if his clothes — he was in his Class A, look-your-best-because-you’re-meeting-the-top-brass, dress uniform — absorbed a gallon of water in his first step off the plane.

They’d been directed to a relatively secluded area of the airport, not so much to avoid prying eyes as to stay away from the simply curious. The RT sat at the center of a large expanse of concrete. The nearest buildings were a pair of hangars about a hundred yards away. A U.S. Navy Orion electronic intelligence-gathering, or ELINT, aircraft was being refueled in front of one of them, guarded by several sailors. A small civilian airliner was rolling on a ramp beyond the hangars, passing rows of warehouses and a fenced-off area used for ammunition storage by the Thai Navy.

A pair of large Korean Hyundai sedans stood with their doors open about twenty yards from the aircraft. Flanked by a handful of marines and sandwiched between two Hummers, the limos had their doors open, waiting for the general and his party.

Zeus got into the second car, sitting with the general’s administrative assistant, a prim but extremely efficient middle-aged woman with the unfortunate nickname of Candy.

If “Candy” fit any woman in the world, it was surely not this one. For Zeus, the name evoked images of a gum-cracking, lipstick-smearing woman whose clothes were always a size too tight. This Candy wore a skirt that came to her calves and glasses so thickly framed that even a librarian would have found them unfashionable.

Staying on her good side was highly advisable, since practically everything the general did went through her or Christian. And cultivating Christian was not an option.

“Hot, huh?” said Zeus as the doors were closed.

“I expected worse.”

“So, how long have you worked for the general?”

Candy turned and gave him a look that implied he had just asked a question requiring code-word clearance.

“A while, huh?” he said when she didn’t answer.

“A while.”

“Good boss?”

“My boss is the U.S. taxpayer.”

“Good answer,” offered Zeus, ending his stab at making conversation. Not even Rosen could have charmed this battle-ax.

The procession drove a few hundred yards down the concrete, passing behind an empty military bus before stopping in front of a Thai Navy helicopter. Zeus got out and followed the others into the helicopter. The chopper took off before he even got seated, rising quickly and turning hard.

“Wow,” said Zeus as he bumped against Christian, who was seated next to him. Though it was used as a VIP transport, the accommodations on the chopper were cramped and basic. The seat cushion had less foam in it than a cheap throwaway sunshade.

“Antiterrorist tactic, Major,” said Perry, who was sitting in front of him. “We’re in a war zone. Have to get used to that.”

“Yes, sir.”

The base didn’t look as if it was ramping up for war, particularly. A number of warships — patrol craft sized, mostly — sat tied up at their docks, all nestled together: an easy target for an enemy. And the traffic on the field looked no heavier than what one might see at a base in Alaska on a Sunday afternoon in July.

The port-area industries gave way to jungle as they moved inland. Suddenly the helo tipped hard to the right. The trees seemed to part, and a large green field appeared. They put down quickly, then scrambled out the door to another waiting chopper, this one a Sikorsky with no markings. In seconds they were airborne, and rushing to the northeast.

Their destination was Korat, a Thai air force base where a Korean Airlines jet waited on the tarmac for them. The jet was an actual Korean Airlines plane, leased by the U.S. so the arrival in Vietnam would be low-key. The pilots were U.S. Air Force captains, and shortly after takeoff they called General Perry into the cockpit to brief him on their flight plan.

Perry had Christian and Zeus go up with him. The cockpit was cramped, tighter than Zeus had imagined it would be — it was the first time he’d ever been in a cockpit of anything other than a C-130 or a helicopter.

Originally, they had planned to land in Da Nang — the old U.S. Marine base was now a Vietnamese airport — since it was one of the few airports in the country that had not been damaged by Chinese bombing. But the Vietnamese had done some emergency repairs to the Hanoi airport, and had passed the word that they preferred the delegation to land there.

“That’s where we’re landing then,” said Perry.

“It’s still very vulnerable to a Chinese attack,” said Christian. “And it’s got to be in their crosshairs.”

“We’re not going to score any points by landing in Da Nang,” said Perry. “And we’re going to need all the points we can get. We’re here to help them, but make no mistake, gentlemen: from their point of view, we’re the ones who aren’t to be trusted.”

That was the end of the conversation.

While the holes on the runway had been patched, the damage to the airport was considerable. There were still fires burning as the jet prepared to land, and much of Zeus’s view of the city and nearby countryside was obscured by coils of thick black smoke. The landing was so bumpy he was sure they were going to crash.

A Vietnamese army captain met them on the tarmac. The officer’s low rank could have been interpreted as a snub, but Perry took it in stride. Nor did he balk at riding in the open jeep waiting for him.

Except for Captain Ford — Perry’s personal bodyguard and the head of the security detail — the rest of the small delegation had to follow in a bus. Christian started grumbling about the lack of proper protocol as soon as they were moving. Zeus was more concerned by the amount of damage he saw as they headed toward the city.

When most people thought of the damage wrought by a bombing, they tended to think in absolutes — whole cities or at least swaths of them wiped out. Images from history, especially World War II, reinforced this notion; the mind tended to remember the images of block after block of rubble.

But the reality of modern warfare was somewhat different. Smart weapons such as laser- and GPS-guided missiles were more discreet than the free-falling bombs dropped by B-17’s during World War II. The destruction they wrought, especially in the early stages of a conflict, tended to be confined to specific places, and generally these were military targets.

When planners talked about this, they tended to focus on how desirable it was to limit collateral damage. Civilians, they would say, were not the targets and should be spared. The main lesson of World War II — that there are no real noncombatants in a war — was an inconvenient and irrelevant point.

Zeus looked at the matter differently. Waging a war was like running a budget. Missiles, GPS bombs, even unguided iron bombs, were all very expensive. The side that got the most bang for its buck — pun only partially intended — usually won. So you didn’t waste your weapons destroying apartment buildings, or killing civilians for that matter. You used them on high-value targets, targets that played a direct role in your enemy’s ability to wage war.

The airport runways were an example, as were its fuel farms and the hangars where its military aircraft were stored. All had been hit. So had the small industrial parks just outside the airport, which was where most of the fires were still raging. These were of lesser immediate value, especially since few if any made anything related to the military.

But to attack the hotels and apartment buildings lining the highway to Hanoi? Building after building had been torn in half. Some looked as if they had been bitten by a large monster; others were little more than rubble. They hadn’t been accidentally targeted, either; too many were in ruins for that.

This told Zeus two things about the men running the war: (1) they were absolutely ruthless, probably determined to kill as many Vietnamese as possible and scare the rest, and (2) they had a large amount of resources at their disposal, much more than Zeus had anticipated.

Much more than the Red Dragon simulation called for. And China was practically unbeatable there.

Zeus kept his conclusions to himself as they drove through the city. They stopped in front of the Sofitel Metropole Hotel, one of the most famous and oldest of the hotels in the city. It had escaped the bombing unscathed.

The American ambassador was waiting for General Perry just outside the door, to the evident discomfort of her security detail. There were no Vietnamese army or police, plainclothes or otherwise, nearby. In fact, the entire street seemed deserted, even though it was the middle of the day.

“General, I’m glad your flight was a good one,” said the ambassador, shaking his hand. “A good decision to land in Hanoi.”

Ambassador Melanie Behrens was a short woman, barely five feet. A leather pocketbook hung by a strap from her shoulder. She clutched one end of it the way a soldier might hold a gun.

“Is this where they’re putting us up?” asked the general.

“No. You’ll stay at the embassy. Most of the government buildings were bombed overnight. They’ve moved some of the operations here.”

“Shouldn’t they be in bunkers?” asked Christian.

“All of the important operations are. This is where they wanted to meet.”

“We’re being tested,” Perry told Zeus before following the ambassador inside.

Perry’s assessment seemed at least partially true, but as the meeting with the assistant deputy in charge of defense began, Zeus got the impression that the Vietnamese had no expectation that the Americans would really help them. This was probably because their memory of the American Vietnam War was still very fresh, even for the men, like the deputy, who were too young to have experienced it firsthand.

The deputy, Hai Ba, was roughly the equivalent of an undersecretary of defense. Only a few years older than Zeus, he moved with a stiff and very formal gait. He also spoke English well enough to dispense with a translator, though one remained discreetly behind him during the meeting.

“We are grateful for your interest,” he told Perry and the others after they were shown into a small conference room on the first floor. “It is a difficult time.”

“We believe we can help,” said Perry. “The president wants you to know that he is extremely interested in assisting Vietnam at this critical point, and that he wishes to help in any way possible. He told me this himself. Personally.”

“That is appreciated.”

The conversation continued like that for a while, until the ambassador interrupted to say that America was ready to make its goodwill tangible. The president was willing to provide real assistance, including military intelligence, if the Vietnamese wanted it.

“What conditions?” asked the deputy.

“No conditions,” said Behrens. “None.”

“A man that was held prisoner by us now wants to become our friend?”

“In the president’s view, Mr. Deputy, Vietnam is just the first of many states that will be attacked by the Chinese,” said Perry. “He wants to stop the attack here.”

“It has been a ferocious attack so far,” said Ba.

“And it’s going to get worse. We have an idea about where the Chinese are going,” added the general. “And we have a plan to stop them.”

“I see.”

Hai Ba listened as Perry and the ambassador outlined what other things American aid would mean — and what it wouldn’t mean. No loss of Vietnamese sovereignty, no large formations of American troops on its soil. America would be a guest, a helpful guest, ready to leave when requested.

And in exchange?

“In exchange you stop these bastards here, now,” said Perry. “It’s a fair deal for us. A very fair deal.”

The deputy soon excused himself, presumably to report back to his boss. A succession of army officials joined them for discussions that were basically variations of the one they had had with Ba: generalities, never specifics. Zeus was mostly an observer during these conversations, and an unimportant one at that.

Not one of the Vietnamese asked what sort of plan the Americans thought would stop the Chinese. Perry mentioned several times that he had brought along “experts” who had studied the Chinese tactical situation; each time the Vietnamese nodded politely before moving on to other subjects.

Deputy Ba reappeared about two hours later. Zeus noticed for the first time that he was walking with a limp. Looking at his leg, Zeus realized that there was a bandage or a brace on it.

“The premier would be pleased if you could see him,” Ba said.

“It would be my pleasure.”

The jeep and bus were waiting out front.

“Nothing like treating VIPs in style,” said Christian.

A police car had been added to the convoy. Its siren rebounded off the buildings as they sped through the center of town. Whole blocks had been wiped out, reduced to nothing but rubble, while the next street appeared completely unscathed.

“They’ll get the rest tonight,” said Christian. “Hopefully we’ll be out of here by then.”

The Vietnamese took them a few miles south of the city, past a suburban section to an area of farms. They passed a large military base, where soldiers were mustering into trucks and armored vehicles; they sped by so fast Zeus didn’t get a good enough look to guesstimate how big the unit was.

Two miles farther down, they veered off the highway onto a dirt road. It looked like a mistake — the area ahead was an open field. Two motorcycles raced out of nowhere, overtaking them as if they were standing still. Two more appeared, slowing and flanking the military vehicles at the front of the convoy. As the land dipped down, a wall topped by barbed wire came into view. There were warning signs in front of the wall: the area was mined. The wall itself was lined with soldiers and flanked by two tanks, both of them ancient T-54’s.

Passing through a pair of gates, the convoy swerved slowly in an S pattern around a set of concrete barriers designed to slow a would-be suicide bomber. A second wall, this one much higher and also topped by barbed wire, sat beyond the first. A pair of men held open the gate at its center.

Zeus counted more than thirty men standing on his side of the road after they passed through the gate. Mobile antiair missiles and guns were positioned around a wide dirt courtyard. A half dozen small, low-slung buildings sat in the middle of the dust.

The structures were entrances to an underground bunker complex. Far from elaborate, they consisted of large concrete slabs that sheltered wide stairways. These steps, about twice as wide as the bus Perry’s party had taken, ended in a narrow hall that had a passage at the side leading downward. The passage was so narrow only one person could go down at a time.

A pair of guards waited at the bottom of the ramp. Each one of the Americans was checked for weapons with a detector rod.

‘‘Your communication devices will not work here,” Hai Ba told them, watching as the checks were completed. “Just so you know.”

“Of course,” said Perry.

“The nonessential members of your party should stay behind,” added the deputy minister, glancing at the four Delta Force sergeants who were part of the security team. Perry told Ford that only officers would accompany him to the meeting. Ford nodded without comment; the order meant that only he would stay with Perry.

While Perry was still making all of the expected diplomatic noises, Zeus could tell the general was starting to get a little annoyed. This was even more obvious at the next security station, which was down another set of steps. Perry held his arms out with a frown Zeus recognized from their war games; he was probably one bad poke away from losing his patience.

The ambassador made a joke that the security was almost as bad as going to a Washington Nationals game. Perry didn’t laugh.

They were led to yet another set of stairs, these much wider. The stairwell had low-energy fluorescents that gave it a pure white glow, almost surrealistic under the circumstances.

A tall man dressed in a Western-style business suit met them at the base of the stairs. He was the foreign minister, and after greeting them he began talking to Behrens in Vietnamese. Despite the circumstances, both smiled broadly, chatting as they walked down the hall.

A thin industrial-style carpet covered the floor; the walls and floor of the passage were smooth concrete. A single steel door sat at the far end of the hall. A guard, armed with a Russian-made submachine gun, stood at attention in front of it. He moved to the side as they approached, watching the Americans warily.

The room behind the door looked like a staff room, dominated by two large tables pushed together. Simple wooden chairs were arranged around them; the chairs were slightly askew, as if a meeting had broken up a short while ago and no one had had a chance to put them back in place. There was nothing on the walls: no maps, no charts, no whiteboards or projection equipment. The only thing breaking the monotony of the dull white concrete was two doors on either side of the room. Both were solid steel, gray and featureless.

The foreign minister gestured to one side of the table. General Perry and the ambassador took seats at the center. Zeus, Christian, and Candy sat to their left; Perry’s translator and Captain Ford sat to the right. Zeus was closest to the door.

The foreign minister sat opposite them.

“Tell me now why you’ve come,” said the foreign minister. His English was not quite as sharp as the deputy defense minister’s, the accent heavy.

Perry repeated basically the same speech that he had given earlier. He was about halfway through when one of the doors behind them opened.

The foreign minister rose; the Americans followed his lead. Zeus turned and saw Vietnam’s premier, Lein Thap, shuffling around the side of the room, walking slowly to the Vietnamese side of the table. He was an old man, well past seventy, and his gray hair and stoop made him appear almost ghostlike.

Perry began recounting his offer, this time beginning with the president’s pledge. Their translator went to work, putting each of Perry’s sentences into Vietnamese. Thap raised his finger after only a few words.

“Yes, sir?” said the general.

“I know of your president, and have met him,” said the premier, speaking in Vietnamese. “He was our prisoner during the war.”

“Yes, sir,” said the general after the words were translated.

“The United States has been China’s ally for many years now.”

“America is a trading partner with China,” interjected the ambassador, first in Vietnamese and then in English. “Just as we are partners with Vietnam. We have no defense or aid agreements with the Chinese.”

The premier let the comment pass. Perry continued, laying out what the U.S. could do, gesturing toward Zeus to say that a series of suggestions had been prepared as well as intelligence.

“The strategy has been extensively gamed,” added Perry. “We are confident of its success.”

Zeus winced internally at the exaggeration.

“What does “gamed” mean?” asked the Vietnamese foreign minister in English. “The translation is… difficult.”

“Tested. By computer,” said Perry.

The foreign minister leaned close to the premier, whispering the explanation in his ear. If the premier was impressed — or even moved at all — it didn’t show on his face.

If the Vietnamese turned down U.S. assistance, what would happen next?

Zeus hadn’t even thought that possible. Surely the Vietnamese wanted help. But as he studied the premier’s expression, he realized that they might not.

If the Vietnamese were overrun, every other country in Asia would think there was nothing to be gained by opposing the Chinese at all; capitulation would at least spare their people immediate pain.

And then Zeus realized they might be overrun in any event. What happened then?

“It is a strong man who can help those who were once his enemy,” said the premier finally He looked at Zeus. “You will speak to General Trung. If he believes he can use your help, he will do so.”

4

Josh walked behind Mara and Mạ, urging them on as gently as he could, until finally he decided that they were far enough away from the road and possible pursuers that he could lead the way. He slipped between them, carrying Mạ for a few hundred meters before setting her back down and urging her to keep up.

Pulling Mara away from the burning wreck seemed to have given him new energy. Or maybe it had restored his pride, weakened by the ordeal in the mine shaft. He’d been ready to die there — he hadn’t cared anymore.

Despair was the one unforgivable sin, he’d always thought; he hadn’t despaired that day long ago when his parents had been murdered. It was the most important lesson he’d gained, a hard-earned one. But now it seemed the line was not precise — one moment of weakness did not eliminate the sum of who he was and what he did. He was a survivor, not a victim, a man who tried to do something rather than giving up. Even when it had seemed hopeless, he had tried to go out with action rather than lying down. And that was a better, more precise measure of real despair.

The jungle closed in as they walked, until the vegetation became so thick that the stream was nearly impossible to see. The water gradually turned from a narrow channel perhaps six inches deep to a mushy, widespread marsh marked by a few rocks and dead trees.

Bugs swarmed thickly over the narrow swamp. Josh had become so used to the insects that usually he barely noticed them, but these swarms were impossible to ignore. They got into his eyes and nose, his mouth when he opened it. Finally, he decided they had no choice but to leave the soggy ground. This wasn’t easy — pushing through the weeds and brush felt like pushing through a foam-filled room. A bush would give way to a thicker bush; a momentary hole would lead to a tree trunk. Once they were away from the worst of the insects, Josh tried to move parallel to the stream, but after a while had to give it up and go where the jungle was thinnest.

“We stop here,” said Mara when they finally broke into a small clearing around three large intertwined trees. “Rest.”

“We have to keep moving,” said Josh. “They’re probably following.”

“We stop and figure out where the hell we are,” she told him. “And we need to rest.”

Josh looked down at Mạ. She had a vacant expression on her face, a desperate blankness.

“You’re right. We should stop,” he said.

He crouched next to Mạ and gestured that she should sit. He sat down against the nearby tree, patting the ground next to him, but Mạ remained standing.

Mara leaned against the tree, looking upward. “I think I can climb this,” she said.

“I thought you were tired.”

She frowned but then started upward, slowly at first but gradually gaining speed.

Josh recognized her type — college jock, probably played soccer, a tomboy who felt like a fish out of water once graduation came around. She’d probably looked into joining the army, then settled on the spy business. Maybe she was gay. Most likely.

Not that it was an issue. He wasn’t attracted to her in any event.

He looked at the bushes, examining the leaves. If it had been a different time of year, they’d be full of berries and there’d be nuts on the trees — they’d have something to eat.

“There’s a hill about a half mile that way,” Mara told him as she slid back down to the ground. “There are a lot of trees. The ground should be a little easier to move through.”

“Are they following us?”

“I couldn’t see them. Doesn’t mean they’re not.”

“Do you have your phone?”

“That’s about all I have.”

“Are you going to call for help?” Josh asked.

“The only help we’re likely to get was shooting it out with the Chinese back at the road,” said Mara. “And if they were homing in on you, they may be able to home in on me. Come on — if they’re following us, it will be easy for them to see the trail we cut through the brush.”

“We didn’t cut a trail.”

“The vegetation was pushed to the side. Look — it’s pretty easy to see the way we’ve gone.”

She was right. Josh got up and took Mạ by the hand, following as Mara led the way to the hill she’d seen. For a while, the brush was just as thick as before, maybe even thicker. But after nearly twenty minutes they began moving uphill. As the incline steepened, the vegetation began to thin out.

The summit was an uneven saddle framed by a group of young trees. The land to the south had been clear-cut of timber within the past two or three years; rotted carcasses of trees that had been taken down but not harvested dotted the new growth. A rutted logging trail meandered off to the southeast.

Mara climbed another of the trees to try and scout the area, but the thin trunk bent before she was high enough to get much of a view.

“All right. I’ll check in,” Mara told Josh after she shimmied down. She took out her phone and walked a few yards away.

Josh debated whether to follow her, and decided he should. She frowned but said nothing to him as the call went through.

“Yeah, it’s me. A whole shitload of trouble,” she told whoever was on the other side of the line. “The Chinese had helicopters. Jimmy’s people got mixed up in the firelight. We split up. I have the scientist. He’s got a kid with him. What can you do for us?”

Josh folded his arms in front of his chest. He didn’t like the way she’d mentioned Mạ, as if he’d been expected to make a business presentation and had shown up with a kid in tow.

Mara turned to him, apparently in response to a question from whoever was on the line.

“You do have the tape, right?” she asked.

“I got it.”

“We’re good,” she told the phone.

She listened some more.

“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll try.”

“What are we going to try?” asked Josh after she hung up abruptly.

“To stay alive. Come on. That trail leads to a road, and there’s a deserted village a mile off it that the Chinese haven’t occupied yet.”

“How do you know?”

“I just had them look at a satellite image. Come on.”

5

President Greene glanced across the Oval Office at a portrait of one of his predecessors before taking the call. He’d ordered the painting of FDR placed where he could see it a few months before. Never a big Roosevelt admirer, he’d come to appreciate the Democrat more and more over the past year.

“Mrs. Prime Minister, thank you for returning my call,” President Greene told Ivory Chatham as he retrieved the British prime minister from hold. “I trust you’re well.”

“Tolerably well,” she told him. “The weather here has been just awful. Even for England.”

“I’m sorry to hear.” Mandatory chitchat finished, Greene plunged into the reason he’d placed the call. “I’ve been speaking to both my secretary of state and my national security adviser about your concerns.”

“I’m going to save you the embarrassment, George,” said the prime minister, cutting him short. “His Majesty’s government is not currently in a position to help you on the resolution.”

Greene stifled a growl. “Why not?”

“I’m sorry, George. The financial situation is very difficult here.”

“You’re not going to succumb to blackmail, are you? This is a critical point. Crucial.”

“I know. The financial situation is very precarious right now,” added Chatham. “And I’m afraid that my government would not be able to sustain a challenge.”

“I hadn’t realized the situation was so… precarious.” Greene shifted in his chair. Part of the problem, he believed, was that Chatham faced a no-confidence vote in the Parliament in a few days. She had barely survived the last, and undoubtedly didn’t want to do anything to tip more votes against her.

“It’s the bonds, George. The Chinese have been very clear that they will withdraw their deposits.”

“They’ve hinted the same to us. It will hurt them more than us. Certainly in the long run.”

“You’re not in the position I am. And frankly, the Chinese have public sentiment on their side. People think the Vietnamese are getting what they deserve. I’m surprised that’s not the case in your country.”

It probably was, though Greene had made it a point to avoid looking at any public opinion polls on the matter.

“People have seen the photos the Chinese have spread around,” added the prime minister. “I know what you’ve said about them, but they’re very convincing. Very, very convincing.”

“What if we had proof that the Chinese staged the entire incident? That the Vietnamese never launched an attack.”

“Of course we suspect that.”

“But if the public had proof. Would it make a difference to you?”

“Well, if we had public opinion on our side, in that case…”

“Then let me ask you a favor. Do nothing. For a few days — take no stand on the resolution.”

“You have proof?”

“We’re working on it,” said Greene.

6

Jing Yo had been following the enemy soldiers for nearly ten minutes before he spotted the blood. It was a bright splotch on a long blade of grass. He stopped and crouched, wondering if the enemy had managed to set another ambush nearby. When he saw nothing, he moved forward again, staying as low to the ground as he could.

More blood. A big splotch and a little one.

Two more steps and there were three drops, all very large.

The brush got thicker. More branches were broken as they passed, the enemy’s haste making its path easier to follow.

It might be a trap. They’d been very clever so far.

Jing Yo moved ahead carefully, his eyes straining to see through the brush. There was a shadow ahead.

Stealthily, he crept toward it. It wasn’t until he was three meters away that he was sure it was just a tree.

A few steps beyond the shadow, the scattered splotches of blood became a steady line, thin and narrow, then wider. After a few strides, Jing Yo heard a groan ahead.

He strongly suspected a trap. He circled to his right, moving quietly through a group of trees. The enemy soldier had fallen against a bush and was leaning there, half suspended, facedown.

But he was still alive. His hand was clawing at the ground, as if he were a turtle trying to right itself.

Jing Yo sprang forward, rushing toward the man. The enemy soldier had dropped his rifle on the ground.

The gun was Chinese. He wore Chinese uniform pants and top under a bulletproof vest and a regular-issue camo tac vest.

Was he Chinese? What was going on?

Jing Yo reached him just as the soldier managed to push himself faceup.

He looked Chinese.

“Who are you?” demanded Jing Yo, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him. “Comrade, what unit are you?”

The man grimaced, clearly in pain. His eyes opened and closed. He was barely conscious.

Jing Yo squatted down. The bulletproof vest was not Chinese; it was cut higher and was thinner. The inserts seemed to be made of a thousand spheres rather than the stiff plates used by the Chinese and most other militaries.

His radio was foreign as well. He had German-made field glasses, unusual in Asia.

Jing Yo’s bullets had caught him in the thigh and groin, tearing apart the flesh. Not serious at first, the wound had been made much worse by the soldier’s exertions running through the jungle. Blood was now oozing out onto his uniform at a steady pace.

“Who are you?” Jing Yo asked again.

The man groaned.

“Tell me your name. What unit are you with? Or are you with the Vietnamese? Tên anh là gì?” he added, switching to Vietnamese as he asked him his name again.

The man didn’t respond.

“You’re American?” Jing Yo asked. “Are you CIA?”

No answer.

“Where is the scientist?”

The man yelled in anguish. Jing Yo reached to his vest and took out his morphine injector. He removed the cap, then plunged the needle into the man’s leg.

“Lieutenant, what’s this?” asked Ai Gua, plunging out of the brush.

“Our enemy is wearing our uniform.”

Sergeant Wu and three other commandos came up behind Ai Gua. Though the explosion had been fearsome, the IED had wounded only two men, both lightly. Wu had left two of his soldiers to care for them.

“Are they Vietnamese?” asked Wu, looking at the man.

“I don’t think so, but it’s possible,” said Jing Yo. Years of intrigue had taught him not to rule out any possibility; though remote, there was even a chance the man was actually Chinese.

“They must have gotten the uniforms from whoever they stole the trucks from,” said Wu.

“Yes,” said Jing Yo. “We’ll continue to pursue them. The best odds are that the scientist is with them, or behind them somewhere.”

“If they reach the road they’ll be gone,” said Wu.

“The helicopters will continue to patrol the area,” said Jing Yo. “It’s the best we can do.”

Ai Gua had dressed the man’s wounds and checked him for identification. He had none, not even a wallet. But he did have money — nearly a hundred Vietnamese five-hundred-thousand-dong notes were wadded in his pants.

Not a bad amount of cash for a soldier wearing a private’s uniform.

“Who are you?” Jing Yo asked the man.

The man began to babble. If he was speaking coherently, it wasn’t in a language Jing Yo recognized.

“Stay with him,” Jing Yo told Ai Gua. “We’ll go after the others. Kim, you’re with me.”

As Jing Yo started back through the jungle, he tried to visualize where the various forces were. The enemy soldiers had retreated eastward; both he and Wu were moving in the same direction and parallel to each other, separated by about a hundred meters. They covered a wide area, but there was still room to lose their enemy. The jungle to Jing Yo’s right was thick, and from the satellite maps was almost impassable farther south. The area where Wu was moving was sparser, and backed into a series of farm fields about a kilometer away. Jing Yo had sent troops there before heading to the area of the mine shaft; they should be in place by now, though they had yet to report any contact.

The jungle pitched upward abruptly at a set of rocks that swung in a diagonal to the north. Jing Yo stopped, examining the ridge carefully. It was a perfect ambush point, with a good line of sight to the north.

Just as he started moving to his right, a gunshot cracked through the jungle. He raced forward, throwing himself against the rocks as the gunfire suddenly thickened.

It took him a few seconds to realize that the firefight was at least a hundred meters away. Wu and his men must be under fire.

Jing Yo told Kim to move left, sending the private sweeping around his flank. Then he climbed up the rocks, digging his fingers into the thick moss and hauling himself through the bushes at the top. He rose and started to trot, jogging forward as the gunfire continued. When he had run nearly a hundred meters, he saw something running to his right. He raised his rifle and fired off a burst, then threw himself down. The answering fire came from two distinct directions, right in front of him and to his right.

The one on the right began to run through the jungle.

The enemy had split up. Most likely the man running was with the scientist.

Assuming the scientist was with them at all.

Jing Yo took a few steps back, then started moving to his right. There was a loud pop, and something flew through the trees.

“Grenade!” he yelled, throwing himself down.

The grenade soared over his head and exploded. Jing Yo started moving again, tamping down the impulse to run. He picked his way through the bushes, trying to stay low.

Something green moved through the trees about fifty meters ahead. Jing Yo went down to his knee and fired two bursts.

There was a scream.

Jing Yo leapt to his feet and ran. There was no need for stealth now, no sense in trying to blend into the jungle. It was a race — he had to get to the man before he recovered enough to shoot back.

He saw him lying on the ground, writhing in pain, half groaning, half screaming. He was dressed in black fatigues — no Chinese uniform.

Something about his agony touched Jing Yo, provoking sympathy. He stopped, suddenly filled with compassion.

The man rolled over onto his back. He had a weapon — an FN 40 mm grenade launcher.

Jing Yo leapt to his right as the grenade fired. The projectile passed so close that he felt the wind rushing past, the breath of a dragon provoked from its lair.

He hit the ground hard, rolling as the grenade exploded in the trees some eighty meters away. Jing Yo got to his feet and, before he took a full breath, killed the man who had tried to kill him, crushing his windpipe with the heel of his foot.

The monks had taught him this lesson long ago — save your compassion for the appropriate moment. In battle, it is weakness.

The dead man had no ID, but like the other man, he had a considerable bankroll of Vietnamese money. He was out of bullets and had no more grenades. His face, big and gruff looking, seemed European; in any event, he was clearly not a Chinese or Vietnamese native.

Was he the scientist?

He was dressed like a warrior, with combat boots. He looked nothing like the man Jing Yo had seen the first night, or what Jing Yo imagined a scientist would look like, it was much more likely that he was one of the rescuers.

The stutter of automatic weapons interrupted his thoughts. Jing Yo put a fresh magazine in his gun, gazing back to his left. He waited, watching for movement, but there was none. Finally the gunfire stopped.

“Lieutenant!” yelled Wu. “Lieutenant!”

“Here!” answered Jing Yo, finally allowing himself to relax. “It’s clear!”

“We got two of them,” said Wu when he arrived a few minutes later.

“I have a third,” said Jing Yo.

“Only four men held us off?” said Wu. “There must have been more.”

Jing Yo said nothing. The soldiers had been very skilled. Certainly there must be more, someone with the scientist. But where?

“The scientist has to be farther along,” said Wu. “Should we pursue?”

“Yes,” said Jing Yo, but even as the word left his mouth he realized he had made a mistake. The scientist had escaped down the stream; the enemy had distracted him, and he had done the logical thing, pursuing them rather than his target.

7

The president flipped off the television and turned to his national security director, Walter Jackson.

“I cannot believe such a bald-faced lie can possibly succeed in the General Assembly,” said Greene.

“They’re scared they’ll be next.”

“That’s an excuse for Malaysia, not Germany.”

“It’s not the Chinese they’re worried about. The Russians want Poland.”

“They may get it if the Chinese aren’t stopped.”

“Vietnam is lost, Ches. The Chinese are pouring armies across the border. The Vietnamese don’t know it yet, but they’re toast. We have to face that reality.”

“We have to help them,” Greene told Jackson.

“General Perry should be there shortly. If they take us up on the offer of advisers, we can have people inside the country in a matter of hours.”

“That’s not enough. They need more than pictures and at-a-boys.”

“You want to send troops?” Jackson asked.

“I know I said I wouldn’t.”

“If you do anything sizable, you’ll need an authorization from Congress. They’ll never pass one. God, Ches, you’d be lucky to get half of your own party behind it. Especially after what’s going on in the UN today.”

The phone buzzed, preventing Greene from unleashing his full and candid view of Congress.

“Mr. President, the director of the CIA is on the line.”

“Put him through.”

Peter Frost always sounded a little hoarse when he began a conversation, as if he’d just come inside the building. “Mr. President, there’s something up in Vietnam I think you should know about. Something we’ve been working on.”

“Go on.”

“We have a witness who saw the Chinese staging the attack they used as a pretense to invade Vietnam. He has a video showing the massacre of a village by Chinese soldiers the day before the attack,” continued Frost. “And he saw the Chinese staging the incursion.”

“What?”

The president listened as Frost told him about Josh MacArthur and the scientific team. He told him everything, including the fact that one member of the team — not MacArthur — had been persuaded to spy for the U.S. That fact, if it ever came out, might compromise MacArthur’s testimony. But if he had a video, his credibility would be nearly unassailable.

“We’ve been working on getting him out,” said Frost. “But we’ve run into trouble.”

Greene put the call on speaker. He knew Vietnam well enough to know the area Frost was talking about. It was a very long way from the coast, and sufficiently far from the border with Laos to make retrieval from that direction difficult as well.

And then there was the little matter of the Chinese wanting to keep Josh MacArthur for themselves.

“How do we get him out?” asked Greene.

“I have a CIA officer with him, someone who was in the country already. But to get him out, we’re going to need to take a bigger risk. We need U.S. personnel. It’s the only way now.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“It involves a SEAL team.”

“Do it,” said Greene. “Do it now.”

8

After seeing the spartan bunker where the head of the government was working, Zeus was not surprised to find that General Minh Trung was working in an office that couldn’t have been much more than eight feet wide and ten long.

What was surprising was that he wasn’t in a bunker; instead, his headquarters was in a barracks building in the middle of an army base about a mile from the bunker complex. The general was conferring with several aides when Zeus arrived. The lieutenant who had escorted him from Hanoi directed him to wait in the hallway, then disappeared.

There were no chairs. The door to the office was open, and while the men inside were speaking softly, Zeus could easily hear the discussion. Unfortunately, it was in Vietnamese, and the translator had stayed with General Perry and the ambassador.

Zeus stared at the light gray wall, visualizing a map of Vietnam and the route the Chinese army was taking. The Vietnamese did not have very long to implement his plan; if the Chinese got beyond the reservoir, it wouldn’t work.

They might even be there by now. His last intelligence update was before they left Washington, several hours ago.

Zeus began to pace, trying to conjure a follow-up plan. In Red Dragon, he could have bombed the hell out of their supply line and hit their spearhead with medium-range missiles. But that wasn’t an option for the Vietnamese. They lacked missiles and a strategic bomber fleet. The few MiGs that they could have used as attack aircraft had been heavily targeted by the Chinese already, and the remainder would undoubtedly be shot down if they attempted an attack.

“Major?”

Zeus looked up. General Trung was standing in the corridor.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. Um — I am Major Murphy, sir — ”

“I know who you are,” said the general. “Come.”

The general was thin, like many Vietnamese, and very tall — an inch or two taller than Zeus. His close-cropped hair was gray around his temples, but otherwise he looked youthful, even younger than the fifty-one years Zeus remembered from the briefing paper on Vietnam’s military leadership.

“I’m Major Murphy from the U.S.,” Zeus told the officers who were crowded into the room. “I, um, I’m afraid I have to use English, because I can’t speak Vietnamese. My translator is with General Perry.”

Trung nodded.

“I’ve analyzed the intelligence and I have a presentation on my laptop,” said Zeus. As he started to unclasp his briefcase, General Trung put his hand on it to stop him.

“We have no electricity.”

“It’s a laptop. My battery — ”

“Tell us in your own words.”

Zeus spotted a map of the country on the wall and walked over to it.

“I admit my intelligence is a few hours old,” said Zeus. “From what I heard last, the Chinese took the airport at Na San and were consolidating for a fresh push — we believe toward Ninh Binh and the south.” He stopped for a moment, locating the point on the map. The Vietnamese characters made it hard to read, but there was only one airstrip in that part of the country He put his finger on it, then traced a path southeastward, following the mountains and river valleys until he came to the massive reservoir.

“We would recommend breaking the reservoir at Hoa Binh and attempting to block their path,” said Zeus. “At that point, they would have to redirect their attack toward Hanoi, and you get a chance to fight them on your own terms. Otherwise they simply take over the rest of the country and bomb Hanoi into submission.”

One of the officers in the room, a colonel, said something to General Trung in Vietnamese. The general held out his hand, encouraging him to speak directly to Zeus.

“Why do we want them to attack toward Hanoi?” said the colonel.

“Two reasons. One, it’s not their plan, and two, that’s where you have your best defenses. If they go south, which is what I believe they’re planning to do, you’ll be swamped.”

“The capital would be destroyed in an all-out attack,” said the colonel. “Our job is to protect it.”

“It will be subject to bombing in any event,” said Zeus. “But you can bottleneck the tanks if you wipe out the reservoir. They’ll have a hard time getting over the Da — you can hit the bridges, try piecemeal attacks. Get them a little at a time. And if you can get them to come after you, you’ll have a chance to use your dug-in defenses. They’re trying to avoid them. They’ve stayed away from all of your serious troop concentrations. This is a game plan straight out of Shock and Awe — our campaign against the Iraqis. They’ve been studying it for years.”

The general’s lieutenants started talking among themselves in Vietnamese. General Trung said nothing. He stood perfectly erect and motionless. While he couldn’t have helped hearing what they were saying, he didn’t react to it in the slightest way.

“What makes you think we could hold out against the Chinese?” asked another of the officers finally.

“I don’t know that you can,” said Zeus. “Maybe not without help. But you did hold out against us forty years ago. You won that one.”

None of the officers smiled. They continued discussing the idea for a few minutes until, one by one, they stopped and looked at the general.

“I have a question, Major,” said Trung. He pointed to the map, running his finger below the reservoir. “The people that die when the reservoir is flooded, the people who live in these villages here — what will I tell their families?”

“They died for Vietnam.”

General Trung nodded. Zeus’s answer had been automatic. In truth, he hadn’t thought of the civilians at all. He just assumed they could be evacuated in time.

Civilians were never a factor in the simulations.

“How soon can you blow up the reservoir?” the general asked.

“Me? The U.S.? I thought your army would — ”

“There are no explosives in place, and time is of the essence,” said the general. “How soon can you blow it up?”

9

Colonel Sun listened patiently as Jing Yo made the case for adding manpower to his team so he could pursue the scientist. The colonel did not require much persuasion. The premier himself had ordered that the scientist be found, and it would be foolish not to use any resource possible.

But Sun did not think the young lieutenant was heading in the proper direction. He wanted to go south rather than east — away from the path the others had taken, and indirectly toward the Chinese lines.

“You are overthinking this, Jing Yo,” he said finally. “You are acting as if you were facing another commando. You are not. The man you are pursuing is a frightened scientist. He can’t last in the jungle. You should have no trouble finding him.”

“I’m not sure how many people are still helping him,” said Jing Yo. “We’ve killed three and captured one. But there may be more.”

“Yes, yes, you said. Of course you can have the troops. I’ll have some assigned.” Colonel Sun waved at his aide, who was approaching with a fresh round of dispatches. “But you have to search east.”

“I believe — ”

“You are thinking too much. Here, let me see my map. He’ll head for the nearest village and look for help there. A Hmong village, I would imagine. Let me see from the reports which ones have not been abandoned.”

10

President Greene leaned his chin on his hand. Though filled, the White House Situation Room was as quiet and silent as it had ever been during his administration.

“Mr. President?”

Greene looked up at the screen at the other end of the room. General Perry was participating in the videoconference from the ambassador’s secure suite at the U.S. embassy in Hanoi.

“You’re asking an incredible thing,” Greene told the general. “Using our missiles to blow up a Vietnamese dam.”

“That’s what they’ve asked us to do, sir. I couldn’t believe it myself.”

“I have been assured by the foreign minister that it is a serious request,” said Ambassador Behrens, who was standing next to Perry. “Time is of the essence, and they don’t have the proper munitions in place.”

“They can’t just put a truckload of dynamite at the base of the dam?” asked the defense secretary.

“I’m told it’s more complicated than that,” answered Perry. “The engineers have called for a set of exact explosions across the dam area. Translating that into Tomahawk hits, I’m told it would take at least six hits to cause a fissure, and at least eight to do the kind of damage that needs to be done.”

Greene leaned back in his seat. Not even in his worst days at the Hanoi Hilton had he contemplated doing something like this. “This is the best military plan we could come up with?”

“Sir, I can call the major over,” said Perry. “He’s working on the details with some of the Navy staff people. But yes, the answer is, this is his plan. I trust him, sir. If you want to talk to him yourself — ”

Greene waved his hand, dismissing the idea. There wasn’t time to second-guess the details of the plan. He had to give them either a go or a no-go.

The Vietnamese might very well turn around and use the attack against the U.S. Who would believe that they had requested it themselves? Especially if many of their own people died.

And at least a thousand people lived in the shadow of the dam.

A small number compared to the millions who would die if China continued its onslaught. But still…

“I want the area below the dam evacuated,” said the president. “That is my condition.”

“Sir, to be effective, the attack should be launched immediately. Even then —

“That is my condition,” said Greene. “When it’s done, I will personally give the order to fire.”

11

The logging trail followed a seemingly endless series of switchbacks before arriving at a wide, hard-packed dirt road. The road wound through an area of fields, now temporarily fallow, which had been cleared from the jungle only recently. Within a mile, the view opened up, revealing an emerald green valley stretching for miles in the distance. It was a beautiful sight, so pretty Mara felt as if she were walking into a postcard.

The road was made of soft dirt. Mara glanced down and realized little bits of bright yellow clay were clinging to her boots as she walked. Even Mạ left light impressions in the road.

“We need to get off the road,” she told the others, erasing the tracks as best she could before joining them on the shoulder.

After they’d walked for ten minutes, the village came into view. The tin-roofed buildings glinted in the distance, six of them clustered close to the road at the center of the fields. These were large pole barns, open at the bottoms, used by the community to hold crops, machinery, and tools. The houses sat off to the side, on a small rise beyond a circular orchard of orange trees.

Lucas had told her it was unoccupied, but Mara wasn’t about to trust his surveillance. She angled for a wide streambed that ran in a semicircle around the village. Used to irrigate the fields, during the rainy season it was a wide and deep body of water, more a river than a stream. Now, though, the water flowed lazily across the rocks, no deeper than a few inches. Beds of silt were covered with green weeds.

They walked up one of the irrigation ditches toward the field closest to the houses, then crossed into a grove of small orange trees.

Except for a headache, Mara had recovered from the blast. She tried not to think about Jimmy Choi and his people, whom she’d last seen firing at the Chinese from across the road. There was nothing she could do for them now.

The house near the orange grove was small, with a very high-pitched roof. Mara stopped twenty yards away. “Give me your rifle,” she told Josh.

“Why?”

“I want to check out the house.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You’re a scientist. Give me the gun.”

“I can handle a gun.”

“Stop being so damn defensive,” she told him. “Crap, you’d think I was castrating you.”

Josh scowled, then held the rifle out. There were five bullets in the magazine.

“You have an extra mag?” she asked.

He shook his head. His lips were pursed — he was mad, but she didn’t have time to play psychologist.

Mara made sure the weapon was selected for single fire, then slipped through the trees and trotted to the back of the house. There was a curtain at the window: she couldn’t see inside.

She smashed the window with the rifle butt, ducking down quickly in case someone was hiding inside and fired at her. When nothing happened, she cleared the glass, then cautiously poked the rifle barrel past the curtain and peeked in.

The room was empty. Mara hoisted herself inside, gingerly avoiding the shards of glass still in the window.

The house had been abandoned sometime during the night, quickly, but not in a panic. The beds were undone, but otherwise the place was neat. Its owners had taken many of their possessions with them, but there was some rice in a storage closet in the kitchen. There was no running water in the hut; the only jugs were empty, but Josh found a pump near the orange grove and filled it up.

“I say we boil this if possible,” suggested Josh. “The septics smell.”

The oven was an old gas stove, modified to use bottled gas. The fire flared when Mara lit the stove. Mạ leapt from the floor and ran out of the hut screaming.

Mara tried adjusting the fire while Josh went after the girl. The knob on the stove was broken; the flame had to be adjusted by the handle on the tank, which itself was very loose and slipped after a few seconds if it wasn’t held.

Mara managed to get the water and rice simmering without burning down the house. Josh came back, carrying Mạ in his arms.

“She ran all the way back to the ditch. I wasn’t sure I was going to find her,” he said, setting her down. “I’m going to go check the other huts. I’ll be back.”

“Good idea.”

He reached over to take the rifle. Mara grabbed it.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Leave me the gun.”

“Why? You afraid?”

“No,” she said, but she didn’t let go.

Fear wasn’t the reason she wanted the gun. She was the professional, the one trained to use it.

But maybe there was some fear there as well.

He looked like he was going to say something, but didn’t, turning to leave instead.

“Thank you for saving me,” she told him.

“Yeah. We’re even.”

Not quite, thought Mara, though the ledger wasn’t nearly as unbalanced as before.

A tirade poured through Josh’s head as he stalked to the nearest hut. He hadn’t expected the CIA officer who’d come for him to be a nice guy, exactly, but neither had he thought he’d be a complete jerkoff.

Guy.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Mara had a chip on her shoulder because she was a woman.

And she was a spook. What kind of person became a CIA agent? Doing renditions and all that crap? Water torture. She probably pulled that shit herself.

Maybe rescuing him was her punishment.

The way he saw it, she had screwed up. The rescue had been botched big-time.

That wasn’t exactly fair; the Chinese had been closing in, and really, it was her people who’d taken the brunt of it. They were probably dead. If not for them, Josh would probably by lying in the back of one of the Chinese trucks right now, zipped up in a body bag.

He stopped at the threshold of the hut, reminding himself that he wasn’t on a scientific expedition. People with guns, and a lot of them, were looking for him. He couldn’t afford to act like a prima donna; the world really didn’t care if a woman got his nose all bent out of joint because she was a jerk. The world cared about what he had seen, and the evidence of it on his little camera.

That was like science, wasn’t it? Science was the pursuit of truth, and truth didn’t care whether you had a cold or whether you were hunting a grant or hoping for some killing when your patent got approved. Truth was the bottom line, and if you let your ego get in the way, then it was lost.

Damn, he was hungry. That was what was in his way now.

The door had no lock. What kind of place was this where you didn’t need a lock?

A poor place.

Josh slipped inside quietly, as if he was afraid of waking someone in the front room. It was empty. Just like the other house, the people who had been here appeared to have taken most of what they had before going; certainly anything that was valuable was gone.

So was the food, if there had been any. There was no rice, and not even a dried leaf in the bins near the basin in what he guessed was the kitchen. The stove was even more primitive than the one in the other house, just a metal box attached to a stovepipe.

The barns would be where the food was.

And maybe a farm truck?

He trotted up the road, convinced that he was going to find something. But the barns had no trucks, and no food. One was used as a furniture workshop; several small chairs and bookcases were in various stages of production. Two of the other buildings were used to store wood. The last had probably held vehicles, but they were gone; the bins for food or maybe seeds were empty. There was a chicken coop at the back, with nothing but feathers and one long-broken egg in the nests. The villagers must have taken the birds with them when they’d fled.

Josh eyed the eggshell hungrily before moving on.

A power line ran from the road up to a shed between the barns; lines went from there to the barns, but not the houses. There was also a power generator in the shed, a backup that stank of kerosene. There was an oil lamp next to it, probably meant as an emergency light for someone troubleshooting in the dark. Josh took the lamp with him and went to the north side of the hamlet, where there were three more huts, along with a good-sized toolshed.

He went to the shed first. Besides the plows and a mower, there were a few rusted hand tools. Josh found a machete with a nicked but sharp blade. He took it, then went to see if there was anything of value in the houses. But all three were like the others, stripped of just about anything useful.

He sat down on a bench in the last house, trying to think of where else he might look. It made sense that they would take the vehicles, but all the food, too?

Maybe they hadn’t had all that much.

He kicked at a bed mat, then rolled it back with his foot. The floor of the hut, like the others, was wood.

So was the floor in the toolshed.

Why wasn’t it dirt? The floors in the barn were all dirt.

Josh got up from the bed and left the house. He started back toward the hut where he’d left Mara and Mạ, then altered his course to swing by the toolshed.

The walls looked all of a piece, though, everything together, fifty or more years old, and worn. There was a rug on the floor, a woven bamboo rug, almost brand-new, beneath one of the plows.

Why use a new rug to protect a plow?

Josh pushed the mower and another plow out of the way. The plow holding the rug in place was heavy, close to a hundred pounds, he guessed. That might account for the rug — they needed something to make it easy to push across the floor.

But as Josh pulled it back, the plow blade hung up on the lip of something.

A trapdoor.

Josh pushed the plows and the mower out of the way, then carefully pulled back the rest of the rug to reveal a cutout. It was difficult to get a grip — there were holes where he thought a handle had been, but no handle. He started to use the machete to help pry it open, then realized he was likely to break the blade. A rusted hoe worked much better. He pried up the door and found a set of steps.

The door covered a large cellar storage area stuffed with crates. It was too dark to see much, even with the lamp, but there were dozens and dozens of boxes stacked down there, along with some clothes and tools.

He decided to go back and tell Mara what he had found. The idea of food pushed him to run — he was hungry beyond belief.

He’d taken a few steps across the compound when he heard the sound in the distance:

Helicopters.

Mara was tending to the rice when Josh came running into the hut.

“Choppers!” he yelled. “The Chinese are coming!”

“We have to hide in the jungle,” she said, turning off the stove.

She grabbed the rice pot, using her shirttail as a pot holder. Then she realized that if any soldiers came inside, they’d see the stove was hot and know someone was hiding nearby. She grabbed the water jug, dousing the burner area. The water sizzled off. By the time they got here it would be cold.

“We gotta get out,” Josh told her, grabbing Mạ and leading her outside. “They’re coming. Come on.”

The helicopters were still some distance off, not yet visible in the sky. Mara pulled the door closed behind her, then started after him.

They’d never make it to the jungle. The irrigation ditches were closer, but what then? There were several helicopters; she could tell from the sound. They’d leave one circling the area, looking.

“We have to find a place to hide,” Mara said. “The helicopters are too close.”

Josh’s face went blank, as if he were having trouble processing the information. For a second, Mara thought he had frozen on her.

“This way then,” he said, darting toward the barns. “I know the perfect place.”

12

Jing Yo pressed his hands together, folding the tips of his fingers against each other and pulling outward. His biceps tightened; the muscles in his shoulders and neck went taut.

Balance is all. A man who is balanced stands at the center of the ever-changing swirl. A man balanced is unchanged by chaos. He does not know catastrophe. He is the eye of the storm.

“We’re landing, Lieutenant,” said Wu, standing over him as the helicopter touched down. “We are at the village.”

Jing Yo got up from the bench. They had already searched an abandoned hamlet farther north, the Hmong settlement Colonel Sun had directed him to. As soon as he saw that it was empty, he had reboarded the helicopter and directed the bulk of his force here — back south of the creek, contrary to the colonel’s orders. It was a gamble, but he thought it justified by the circumstances.

Or at least by his gut sense.

The settlement was a small farming commune, with cottages on either side of a central barn area. Jing Yo sent half of the regular army troops to watch the perimeter, then split the remainder in half, sending one group to search the huts at the north and tasking one group on the huts at the south. He and his commandos went to the barns.

“You seem tired,” said Sergeant Wu as they walked toward the first building.

“Just thinking.”

“You shouldn’t do that.”

Jing Yo smiled, thinking it was a joke. Wu was serious.

“If you worry too much about losing men, you can’t do your job,” he said.

Jing Yo nodded.

“They were good, those people,” said Wu.

“Very.”

“Mercenaries. Working for the Americans, I would bet. Or Americans themselves. They’re a mongrel race. You can never tell where they come from.”

The man Jing Yo had wounded was probably back at the medical unit at the forward helicopter base by now. Jing Yo would talk to him eventually. Hopefully after they had apprehended the scientist.

The barn was empty. The commandos moved inside quickly, silently, securing it, then moving on.

“The peasants here make furniture,” said Wu dismissively, surveying the interior. “Cheap furniture for Americans, I bet.”

Jing Yo walked around the interior perimeter, rechecking the areas his men had already looked at. There were no hiding places; it was a plain, simple building without interior walls or a loft.

The next building was a twin of the first, except that it contained piles of rough wood rather than furniture.

If the scientist wasn’t here, then most likely the colonel was right, Jing Yo realized as he surveyed the second barn. He was likely to be cowering in the jungle somewhere, hiding like a scared rabbit.

Overestimating an enemy could be nearly as bad as underestimating him. Because he was an American, Jing Yo was preconditioned to see him as almost a superman, when in reality he was no different from anyone else.

Jing Yo returned to the door. Stepping outside, he caught the scent of burning wood on the wind. He thought for a moment that the village wasn’t abandoned after all, that someone was making dinner. Then he turned and saw that one of the cottages had been set on fire.

They’ve found someone and are smoking him out, he thought.

“This way, quickly,” he called to the others, who were just about to go into one of the smaller buildings nearby.

As they ran across the compound, Jing Yo signaled to them to spread out. Then he noticed that the soldiers nearby weren’t watching the building, but searching the others.

A soldier lit a bundle of dried weeds and held it to the roof of the nearby cottage.

“What are you doing?” Jing Yo shouted. He ran over and grabbed the man’s arm as he tried to light another part of the roof.

“Orders, Lieutenant.”

“What orders?”

“The captain’s.”

“No more fires,” said Jing Yo.

The unit captain was surprised when Jing Yo confronted him. “My invasion orders said I was to fire any building that wasn’t useful,” he said. “So that’s what we’re doing. What’s the problem?”

“Where did those orders come from?”

“Division.”

“I don’t want the house burned,” said Jing Yo. “Don’t burn any more.”

“The order came from division,” said the captain. “That means the general, and your colonel, who’s his chief of staff. If you want to ask them to rescind it, that’s okay with me. But the general has a reputation, and I don’t want to cross him. I’m sure you’re on better terms, being a commando as well.”

Jing Yo knew he could get the order rescinded, but it would take talking to Sun. If he did that, inevitably he would have to say where he was, The colonel would not like the fact that he had disobeyed his orders on where to search.

What difference did it make if the buildings were burned? The people had already run away

“My people will finish searching the houses,” said Jing Yo. “You take the barns. You can burn them after you’ve searched — but only when you’re certain there’s no one inside.”

“I’m not a barbarian,” said the captain, rounding up his men.

“We’re next!” hissed Josh, running over from the door where he’d been watching the troops search the barn buildings. He dodged the two plows Mara had placed near the opening and ducked onto the steps next to her, sliding the rug over the top of the trapdoor.

“Get down,” she told him. “One, two, three.”

On three, Mara ducked down next to him, closing the door over the space. At the same time, she pulled hard on the rope she had in her hand, dragging the mower over the trapdoor. She had tied a very loose knot, trusting that it would come free as she yanked. The idea was that the mower would roll over the space, making it easy to overlook, just as they had originally.

Except the rope didn’t untie. As Mara flattened herself on the stairs, it got hung up beneath the panel, keeping the door open a crack and practically drawing an arrow toward where they were.

“Jesus.”

Mara put her shoulder against the top of the door and pulled. The mower had rolled over the door, and was just heavy enough to make it impossible to move the rope.

“Here,” whispered Josh, stepping up to help lift the door.

“Easy. We don’t want it to roll off.”

“It’ll be better than what we’ve got,” he said, pushing with his back. The trapdoor went up an inch and a half. Mara pulled again and the rope came free. But now the rug had fallen into the crack.

“Hold the door up just a little,” said Mara, pushing at the rug with her fingers.

“Come on.”

“I’m trying.”

“Give it a good push,” said Josh.

Then he sneezed.

Mara managed to flip the rug out of the space. “Down,” she said.

Josh lowered the door into place, sending them into total darkness. Then he sneezed. Though most of the force was muffled by his arm, it was still loud enough to hear.

“This is a very bad time to sneeze,” she said.

“No shit.”

He sneezed again, then moved down the stairs.

The door to the shed crashed open a few seconds later. The soldiers shouted as they came in, screaming “Surrender or die” in Chinese. Then they went silent, apparently scanning the room.

Mara waited, her finger growing stiff as it hovered above the rifle trigger. The silence extended for ten seconds, twenty thirty a full minute. Then there was another shout — a brief, sharp command — and the floorboards vibrated as the soldiers fanned out around and across the room.

How close were they? Directly above?

She could kill the first one, and the second. If she was lucky, she could grab a weapon.

Still, they’d be overcome eventually. It would probably be more prudent to surrender.

That would just be another way to die. Better to have some say in it.

A heavy heel set down a few feet away, pushing the floor with a squeak. It pounded twice, tapping maybe to see if there was a hollow sound.

Now, thought Mara, getting ready.

The heels moved away. Mara couldn’t believe it — she thought for sure it was a trick of her hearing, her brain unconsciously guilty of wishful thinking.

There was more talk, muffled, indecipherable. And footsteps toward the door.

They’d missed them.

They’d missed them!

Josh felt as if he were suffocating. He had his nose buried deep in the crook of his arm. He held his breath and bit his lip, doing everything imaginable to stifle his sneeze. But the urge overwhelmed him. He pushed farther into the darkness, past Mạ, hunkering against a crate and the wall and bowing down just as he lost the struggle.

His entire body shuddered with the sneeze. He sneezed again and again, curling his head as far down into his midsection as he could, pressing his arm against his face.

If the door opened now, he’d run up, he’d throw himself at them, he’d do everything he could to try and save the others.

He held his breath again, wiping his nose with his sleeve. He sniffled lightly. As quickly as it had come on, the fit was over.

Mạ brushed up against him, then curled herself around his side.

He held her for what seemed like a long while, then got up and went toward the front, looking for Mara.

“Ssshh,” she whispered. “I think they left.”

“How will we know it’s safe to go out?” he asked.

“We won’t. We’ll just have to wait as long as we can.”

“Yes,” he started to say, but his nose suddenly began to tickle. He buried his face in his arm a second before sneezing again.

“Are you okay?” Mara asked.

“Smoke,” he said as another sneeze erupted. “I smell smoke.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph — they’re setting the building on fire!”

13

When General Perry offered to let Zeus scout the reservoir, Zeus accepted, not so much because he wanted to get a better understanding of the tactical situation, but because he knew offers from generals were basically orders. In truth, though, Zeus didn’t particularly like planes, especially the small ones typically used for scouting missions. He couldn’t stand helicopters, either. He felt like one good burst of wind or small-arms fire would take them down.

Larger aircraft didn’t bother him, even when he had to jump out of them. Of course, he had closed his eyes on his very first jump, and on every one since. But frankly, he felt a hell of a lot safer under a parachute than in the cockpit of a Blackhawk or, God forbid, a Little Bird.

Of course, as bad as they were, at least they flew relatively slowly. A Navy buddy had once arranged a demonstration flight in an F/A-18 when Zeus was in Special Forces. The idea was to educate the soldier on what pilots did when called in on a ground support mission.

The only education Zeus got had to do with the futility of trying to control certain involuntary bodily movements and reactions, none of them pleasant.

He couldn’t imagine what sort of aircraft the Vietnamese air force would be flying at this point. Probably one of those open-cockpit biplanes.

He braced himself as he was driven to the airport. Civilian traffic was now practically nonexistent, and the road was empty though it was the middle of the day. Some of the fires Zeus had seen on the way into the city were still burning.

The driver worked hard trying to keep the jeep — an old American vehicle — from falling into the worst of the craters on the access road to the military hangar area. Zeus’s teeth rattled as they careened back and forth across the road, the driver occasionally pushing the jeep into the pockmarked infield in an effort to find a smooth path.

A two-engined Russian transport sat at the far end of the apron area, being fueled. It was an An-26 Curl, a member of the turboprop family sometimes compared to the C-130 Hercules. Josh consoled himself with the thought that he could have done much worse as the jeep barreled toward the aircraft. He gripped the side of the dashboard, expecting the driver would slam on the brakes any second. But the jeep only picked up speed, until it looked for all the world that they were going to crash into the plane. At the last possible second, he turned the wheel and hit the brakes. The jeep screeched to a stop a few feet from the plane — and maybe inches from the fuel truck next to it.

“Great. Thanks,” said Zeus, pulling himself out of the vehicle as quickly as he could. Feet shaking, he grabbed his ruck — he had a sweater and a pair of binoculars as well as several maps — and started toward the plane.

The driver began yelling at him in Vietnamese.

“What?” asked Zeus, gesturing.

The man pointed to the right, beyond the oil truck.

“Isn’t this the plane?”

The driver signaled that he had to go farther — around the side of the building.

Zeus turned the corner. An old Cessna sat near the hangar.

It didn’t look like it could possibly fly, especially since the rear quarter of the plane was covered with a tarp. Zeus walked over and put his hand on the wing strut.

Was it his imagination, or did the strut give way as he pulled back and forth?

“Lieutenant Murphy?”

Zeus turned to find a man dressed in a pilot’s jumper grinning at him.

“I’m Murphy.”

“I’m Captain Thieu,” said the man, removing one of his hands from his hips to shake. The accent made his English hard to understand. “Headquarters told me you were on your way. You’re a little late.”

“Sorry.”

“We’re just about ready to take off. I will give you an orientation brief in the hangar. Then we will fly.”

“Okay.”

“Nice old plane, eh?” said Thieu, coming over and rapping his knuckles on the Cessna’s nose. “Old Bird Dog.”

“Yup. It’s nice.”

“It was American,” said the pilot approvingly. “You like these?”

“Uh…”

“Very good plane.”

“I’m sure. Do I get to wear a parachute?”

“Yes, of course.”

At least that was something.

“If we’re tight on time, why don’t we just take off right now,” said Zeus. “You can brief me while we’re in the plane.”

“It will be easier on the ground,” said Thieu. “I have to take a last-minute look at the weather and the other intelligence.”

“All right. What about that tarp?”

Thieu gave him a puzzled look. “What about it?”

“When do you take it off?”

“Oh no, no, no, Lieutenant. We are not taking that plane.”

“Thank God.”

“We’re flying the Albatros. You see?” Thieu pointed across the concrete parking area toward a fighter jet that looked nearly as small as the Cessna. “We’ll go in and out, very fast. Nothing to fear.”

Twenty minutes later, Zeus was wishing he hadn’t eaten such a big breakfast that morning.

Or any other meal for the past year.

Gravity squeezed him against the rear seat of the Aero L-39C as Thieu rocketed the plane off the runway, pushing the nose up nearly ninety degrees and then twisting onto the proper flight path.

The L-39C was a Czech-built aircraft, intended primarily as a trainer, though used by some Third World countries as a lightweight attack aircraft. Its single engine — there were scoops on either side of the cockpit, but only one power plant — could take it about 755 kilometers an hour, or 408 knots, not supersonic but not standing still either. When it came from the factory, the Albatros did not carry a machine gun or provisions for other weapons; however, the Vietnamese had added a 23 mm twin-barrel cannon to its underside, giving it a limited attack capacity

“Lieutenant, are you with us?” Thieu asked as they cleared through five thousand meters, roughly fifteen thousand feet.

“I’m here.”

“We will be over the reservoir in ten minutes.”

Zeus checked his watch. The Tomahawk missiles traveled at roughly 550 knots; the ships they were aboard were about 220 miles away. Once Zeus gave the okay for them to launch, it would take nearly a half hour for them to arrive. Zeus and Thieu would be circling the whole time.

Loads of fun.

Zeus closed his eyes, willing his stomach to behave as they flew. After a couple of deep breaths, he opened them again and forced himself to look outside the cockpit toward the ground.

The fields below were divided into long rectangles intersected by irrigation ditches. Houses clustered on the high spots, a few hundred or so gathered around the roads. They looked like little metal toys, their steel roofs glittering in the afternoon sun.

The clouds thickened, obscuring much of his view. When they cleared, he saw a large body of water and thought they were over the reservoir, but it was just the Hung River. They still had a good distance to go.

“You like flying?” asked Thieu over the interphone or internal radio.

“Not particularly.”

The pilot laughed. “I love it,” said Thieu. “I learned when I was sixteen. So today I have been flying for half my life. Today is my birthday. Much luck today.”

“That’s good,” said Zeus, struggling to sound enthusiastic. “Happy birthday.”

“Look at the mountains. Very pretty. No?”

They looked like green wrinkles in the earth.

Green wrinkles of…

Zeus took his maps from the leg pocket of his flight suit and unfolded them, trying to correlate what he saw with the ground below. The Tomahawks had three targets: the hydro plant and dam at Hoa Binh, the dam at Suvui, and the bridge below the dam where Route 6 ran south and connected to Route 15.

The Suvui dam was the most important target. Only a few months old, it had been built with the help of the World Bank, which received a good bit of funding from America. Now American taxpayers were going to spend a few million dollars destroying it.

Zeus’s first job was to make sure that the villages along the southern end of the lake had been evacuated. At twenty thousand feet, he could barely make out the houses, let alone tell whether they were empty.

“We need to go down,” he told the pilot when they came over Song Da. “Way down.”

“Oh yes. We go down.”

The aircraft’s right wing rolled and the Albatros began plummeting toward the ground. Murphy’s nausea returned. He clamped his mouth shut beneath the oxygen mask, holding tight as the pilot pushed the aircraft through ten thousand feet. Thieu rolled the plane onto its back, then through an invert, before pushing into a somewhat shallower dive.

Zeus managed to open his eyes. The reservoir’s turquoise blue spread before him. “I need to see the houses on the south side,” he said.

“Oh yes. That’s where we are going,” said Thieu.

Zeus took out the binoculars and began scanning the bank of the reservoir as the plane continued to glide downward. They began slowing down as well, the airspeed dropping through three hundred knots until it seemed as if they were standing still.

He could see a hut, and what looked like it might be a boat, but little else. He followed the road for a while but saw nothing on it.

“Can you get lower?.” Zeus asked.

“Next pass,” said Thieu, banking the plane.

They crisscrossed along the southern border of the reservoir three more times, finally getting down to within about five hundred feet. Thieu kept cutting their speed, but paradoxically, the lower they got, the faster they seemed to be flying.

Were the villages empty?

He thought they were. Certainly no one was moving around down there.

As they reached the western end of the reservoir, Zeus saw a reflection of light near the bridge. He asked Thieu to go down and check it. They came back around low and slow, barely at a hundred knots.

It was a Vietnamese troop truck, one of the units that had been charged with getting the villagers out of the area. Three soldiers waved as they plane passed overhead.

“We have to get them off the bridge,” said Zeus. “And then I need to talk to my general.”

14

Mara felt Josh grab her arm.

“They’re trying to burn us out,” he told her. “I saw them do it earlier. They wait and shoot when we come out.”

“I know.”

“You think we have enough air down here?”

“The fire might suck it out.”

“Yeah. But if we run out, they’ll kill us anyway.”

It was a hell of a choice, Mara thought — death by suffocation or by bullet.

Josh moved away, back into the cellar. “Mạ, where are you?”

Which was better? she wondered. Lie down in the hole and maybe die? Or face certain death trying to leave the building?

Better to stay. They’d have at least something of a chance.

And yet, everything inside her was pushing for her to run up the steps, get out, and kill the bastards who had done this.

Josh came back, poking her in the ribs as he searched for the wall and the steps.

“Where are you going?” Mara asked.

“I had an idea,” he said. “You stay with Mạ. I’ll run out and surrender. They won’t realize you’re here.”

“That’ll never work. They’ll search the place for sure then. We’ll all die. It’s noble of you — but no. It’ll do the opposite of what you want.”

“I can’t stay here and suffocate to death. No way.”

“That may not happen. We may have enough oxygen.”

“You think we should take the chance?”

“It’s a better chance than certain death.”

Josh started away. Mara grabbed his shirt.

“You told me what they did,” she said. “They’re waiting out there for us now.”

“Maybe if we both go out,” he said, “they won’t think of the girl.”

“They’ll find her and kill her. You saved her once.”

Mara waited for him to speak. She could hear noises above them — it sounded like more helicopters.

Was it really hopeless?

“I don’t know what to do,” said Josh finally.

“Neither do I.”

She reached forward and touched his arm. He pressed into her.

“All my life, I’ve known what to do,” he told her. “I’ve survived.”

“I don’t know what to do either,” she said. “But I think we stay.”

Jing Yo trotted disgustedly toward the helicopters. Colonel Sun must be right. The scientist must be somewhere back in the jungle, holed up under some bush.

Very possibly dead.

Hopefully not. An infrared searching device was on its way; they’d have an easier time finding him if he was still alive.

Either way, he’d get him.

“Let’s go,” Jing Yo told the army captain. His men were already heading for the helicopters.

“You’re going to just let the fires burn?” asked Sergeant Wu. “What if they spread?”

Jing Yo turned back. Black smoke billowed from the biggest barn; flames were poking from the others. Most of the houses were already destroyed.

“We’ll have the helicopters fly over them. The downdraft will beat the flames down,” he said, climbing into the chopper.

Josh slid down against the stack of boxes, holding Mạ with his right arm and leaning against Mara on his left. Trusting himself to fate was something he’d never been able to do. Completely letting go — it was impossible.

This was a time he should be praying, but it had always seemed the coward’s way, or a cop-out. Turning yourself over to God, or at least the unknown.

That was what he liked about science. You could measure the odds of something happening, the probability of a specific weather pattern and how it would intersect with the ecosystem, and you could measure the parameters of your guess. You could look at the possibilities and your models, and decide what to do.

Not that it guaranteed success. There were always a lot of variables. The climate crisis proved that. The outliers on the graph — the possibilities everyone had rejected — had proved to be the accurate predictors.

“Are you still conscious?” Mara whispered.

“Yes. You?”

“Well I wouldn’t be talking if I wasn’t.”

He laughed — quickly, briefly, and not very hard. But it was still a laugh.

“The helicopters sound like they’re leaving,” said Mara.

“You think they’re getting more soldiers?”

“I don’t know.”

Mara wore a cross around her neck, outside her clothes. Josh thought of asking her about faith — asking what she believed, and whether she was praying. But the ground began to shake, vibrating in sympathy with the rotor of a helicopter as it approached. There was a gust of wind through the basement, and then a pop, as if a balloon had burst. Something crashed above. Josh gripped Mara and Mạ tighter.

The helicopter moved away.

Mạ began to cry.

“It’s okay,” Josh said, bundling her close to him.

“Em,“ said Mara. “Bị làmasao?”

“What are you saying?” Josh asked.

“I’m asking her what’s wrong.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Josh told the girl. “We’re not going to let the bad people hurt you.”

“Does she understand any English?”

“She understands that.”

Mara reached across him, her hand grazing his chin as she felt for the girl. She found her forehead.

“I think she has a temperature,” said Mara. “She seems warm.”

“Maybe.”

Mara put her hand on his forehead as well. Her hand felt cool, and soft — softer than he would have expected.

“You feel warm too,” she said.

“Take two aspirin and call you in the morning, right?” he said.

This time the joke fell flat, and neither one of them laughed.

The air smelled more dank than smoky. Josh’s nose burned with the irritants. He leaned over and pressed his face into his shoulder, muffling a sneeze.

“Maybe we should see what’s going on,” he suggested after it had been quiet for a while. “If we just push the door up a little bit.”

“Good idea.”

The trapdoor wouldn’t budge at first, and Josh had to angle himself against the steps to get more leverage. When it finally started to rise, it made a very loud creak; he gritted his teeth, worried now that they had done the wrong thing.

“Can you see?” he asked Mara.

“Just junk.”

She turned and covered her mouth, beginning to cough. Josh leaned forward, pushing to the side to lift the door farther. Suddenly the mower shifted, sliding back with a crash.

He stood on the steps, waiting for the soldiers to run into the battered barn. Light streamed through the left side of the building; part of the wall had collapsed. There were charred beams nearby. A haze of smoke drifted through the interior. But the fire itself seemed to be out.

Where were the soldiers?

Outside, waiting?

It was a trick to make them think they’d gone.

Mạ ran up the steps past him, into the barn.

“Mạ. Wait,” he said. He pushed the door all the way open and followed her. But by the time he got to the floor, she had slipped through the plows and fallen debris and disappeared.

“Damn it.”

“Are they gone?” asked Mara.

“I don’t know,” he yelled, rushing toward the door where he figured the girl had gone. It was wide open, scorched but intact.

This is where I’ll die, he thought, springing into the open air.

Mạ was standing nearby, gulping the fresh air. The Chinese soldiers were gone.

15

Contacting General Perry to give the launch go-ahead proved to be much easier than getting the troops off the bridge. Perry was waiting at a command bunker at the Hanoi airport; as soon as Zeus called in, he passed the order along to launch the Tomahawks.

Thieu’s controller, meanwhile, claimed he was in touch with the troops’ commanding general, and that the order had been given for them to withdraw. But if so, it had no effect, and after ten minutes, they remained on the bridge, roughly thirty feet from one of the Tomahawk’s detonation points. The missiles were just under twenty minutes away.

They spent five more minutes on the radio, trying to contact the unit and its parent themselves. As they banked around the southern end of the reservoir, Zeus saw the soldiers still on the bridge.

“You sure they’re not Chinese?” he asked the pilot over the interphone.

“Negative. They are our guys.”

“We have to get them out of there.”

“Yes. Hold on.”

Thieu pitched the plane forward. Zeus’s stomach immediately began doing flip-flops.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Sending them a telegram,” said Thieu.

A second later, the aircraft began reverberating as the pilot sent a few dozen cannon rounds into the bridge.

“That’ll get them moving,” said the pilot.

Thieu was right: the troops began running toward the other end of the bridge — fortunately toward the southwestern side.

They also started firing at the plane. Zeus saw their muzzle flashes as the plane banked away. “They’re trying to shoot us down,” he said.

“With those peashooters? Not a worry.”

Zeus tightened his restraints.

They climbed back up through fifteen thousand feet, sailing high over the water and nearby ground. The highways faded from thick ribbons to infinitesimal threads, dissolving into the fur of the ground.

The missiles would be coming from the east. Zeus lifted his binoculars, curious about whether he would see them coming. He scanned out of the left side of the cockpit first, then realized the plane was going east and he was looking north; the missiles would be coming from the other direction. As he turned, something caught his attention, a fleeting blur in the corner of his eye. He looked back and saw a silver finger in the air, tiny and small, not quite parallel to them. He thumbed the focus on the binoculars, trying to bring the blur into focus. It separated into two small sticks.

“We have company!” shouted Thieu, his voice reverberating in the helmet. “Chinese MiGs.”

16

Mara surveyed the damage as she caught her breath. All but one of the houses had been burned to the ground. The exception was a charred ruin with its roof caved and two sides down. Two of the barns were fairly well desiccated, more piles of charred black wood than buildings.

At the other extreme was the chicken coop. It seemed undamaged by the flames. The shed and the last barn were in the middle, badly battered, though largely intact.

“They’re definitely gone,” said Josh, returning from a quick check of the groves and nearby fields. Mạ had gone with him, refusing to let go of his leg until he picked her up. “Think they’ll be back?”

“I don’t know. Not soon.”

Mara reached into her pocket for her satellite phone. She hit the Power button, then realized the phone was already on. Either she’d forgotten to turn it off, or somewhere in the scramble the phone had accidentally been switched back on.

The battery was at 20 percent.

“Problem?” asked Josh.

“It’s nothing.”

She dialed into Bangkok. The Million Dollar Man answered.

“Where are you, darlin’?” he asked.

“You’re supposed to tell me.”

“Figure of speech. I have the GPS reading right… now.”

“Good. And where are we?”

“About two miles southwest of the spot where you grabbed MacArthur. What’s going on? You missed your check-in.”

Mara explained what had happened. “When are we getting out?” she asked.

“We’re working on that right now. We should have a plan firmed up in a few hours. It’ll be tonight,” he added. “I’m just not sure exactly when.”

“Or how?”

“How is a good question, too. Do you think you could stay where you are?” he asked. “Is it safe?”

“That’s a relative word.”

Peter Lucas broke into the line. “Mara?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“We have a plan. It will be in place soon. Right now, we need you to just hang tight. Okay? No more stealing bicycles and riding to Hanoi.”

“It wasn’t a bicycle.”

“Listen, I’m being serious. We may have someone land at that farm.”

“A helicopter?”

“No. It’s too close to their forward air base. But I may be able to parachute some SEALs in. They can escort you out.”

“I don’t need escorts, Peter. I need transportation.”

“I’ll call you back in an hour.”

“Wait!”

But the line had gone dead. Mara angrily pushed the phone into her pocket — then retrieved it to turn it off. The battery was now below 7 percent.

“What’s up?” asked Josh.

“Nothing.”

He glared at her. “You want me to trust you, but you don’t trust me.”

“They want us to wait here.” Mara struggled to get her anger under control.

“Staying here until dark isn’t that bad an idea,” said Josh. “We can eat the rice.”

The rice — she’d left it in the cellar. Her stomach growled in anticipation.

“We can build a fire to cook food,” added Josh. “It won’t look suspicious.”

“I’d rather be moving south.”

“Once it’s dark, right?”

“Yeah.”

He pointed to the rifle. “Maybe we can kill something substantial for dinner.”

“I’m not a hunter.”

“I hunt a lot,” he said, holding his hand out for the gun.

17

Thieu turned the Albatros back north — directly in the path of the Chinese planes.

“What are we doing?” asked Zeus.

“We can’t outrun them,” said the pilot, as if that answered everything.

By heading straight toward the enemy planes, Thieu was making it harder for the MiGs to fire their heat-seeking missiles. All but the newest of the missiles had to home in on a tailpipe to be effective. Thieu’s maneuver also surprised the Chinese, who didn’t expect a Vietnamese aircraft to take them on.

The enemy aircraft began to separate, preparing to turn as the Albatros approached. They hoped to swing behind Thieu, jerk their throttles to max, then goose off the heat-seekers before he could get away. It was a tactic they had employed countless times in similar situations during training.

But they hadn’t encountered Thieu. As the two planes began to separate, he pushed his nose in the direction of the plane on his right and started to climb.

Had either of the MiGs been carrying medium-range homing missiles rather than laser-guided bombs under its wings, he would have been dead meat; the MiG could have lain back and fired, confident that the missiles would be close enough to stay with Thieu as he broke from his maneuver. But then the same could have been said for the Chinese planes had Thieu been equipped with American AMRAAMs or even Sparrows — something the Chinese pilot Thieu targeted clearly knew, since he immediately dropped his bombs so he could climb faster.

As soon as Thieu saw that, he jerked the plane to the left, hoping to get the other MiG to do the same. But this pilot wasn’t so easily spooked. He turned his nose in toward Thieu’s and accelerated.

The two aircraft closed so quickly that Thieu barely got off a few cannon rounds before he was by him. The MiG pilot immediately turned, hoping to get on his back. But Thieu turned as well, dipping his right wing down and then tipping it over so that he could twist back. The acrobatic moves took him so close to the MiG that if the canopy hadn’t been in the way, Zeus could have reached out and grabbed the other plane.

Thieu fired a few cannon rounds, but he was out of position to get a hit and began falling steadily behind as the MiG dumped fuel into his engine in an effort to pick up speed. The MiG headed north; Thieu broke off, turning to the south, running back toward the reservoir.

The MiG that had dumped its bombs earlier had not given up the fight — a fact Zeus didn’t realize until tracers shot past the canopy.

“Shit!” said Zeus.

“No worry, Lieutenant. You see.”

Thieu pushed the plane into a dive. The MiG, temporarily out of maneuvering energy, headed off farther south.

“The Tomahawks are going to hit any second,” said Zeus.

“Good idea!”

Thieu pushed the plane down toward the bridge. Zeus spotted the MiG banking about five thousand feet above them. The Chinese pilot was starting to understand how he had to fight the other plane; he swung out to the east and began a turn, undoubtedly plotting an intercept where he could open up with his cannon as he closed on the Albatros.

Behind him and much farther below, Zeus spotted a black pencil hurtling through the air, barely above the ground. As the MiG closed, the pencil leapt upward. It turned white and grew tenfold — a trick of the sun shining on the Tomahawk’s surface.

The MiG pilot didn’t know that the bridge was about to be blown up. He had no idea that the Tomahawk was fixing itself on its final target, rising so it could dive down in X-marks-the-spot fashion. All he knew was that a missile had suddenly appeared very close to the rear quarter of his aircraft. He did what any self-respecting pilot would do when taken completely by surprise — he hit his flares and his chaff, turned the plane hard into an evasive maneuver, and prayed to his ancient family gods.

And his dry cleaner.

The Tomahawk hit dead center on the bridge, exploding it. Four seconds later, a second missile arrived, smashing what was left of the northern terminus to smithereens.

In the meantime, the MiG had fled.

“Bridge is down,” said Zeus. “Get east — check the dam.”

“The dam is gone — look,” said Thieu, pointing at the side.

The destruction of the two dams created a wall of water nearly fifty feet high, which rolled down the vast expanse of the lake, gathering strength as it went. From three thousand feet, the man-made tsunami looked like a small, frothing ripple in a puddle, but Zeus had only to look at the sides of the reservoir to judge its real impact. Buildings and trees that had been along the shore disappeared in a gulp as it moved. Both sides of the road where the bridge had been were swamped by the wave. The water continued, flooding the valley.

“Holy shit,” said Zeus. “Wow.”

“Job done?” asked Thieu.

Zeus pulled up his glasses and looked at Highway 6 north of the bridge. There were trucks on it, driving south.

Not trucks, but tanks. Six of them, with a command vehicle. The vanguard of the Chinese force.

Thieu circled, and they watched as the tanks stopped. Then the lead vehicle lurched forward into the stream, followed by a second and a third.

Five yards from the road, the rear end of the first tank swung east. Within seconds it was drifting in the water. The second tank simply sank. The third stopped on the bank.

Thieu couldn’t resist peppering them all with his cannon before heading back to the base.

18

Josh didn’t find any animals big enough to eat in the jungle beyond the fields. Nor did he spend much time looking. Part of the problem was that he didn’t want to leave the others for very long, Mạ especially. But mostly it was because his patience had evaporated. He’d spent it all waiting in the shed and now wanted, needed, to move.

To get out of here. Maybe they should just start walking and the hell with waiting for the night, as Mara seemed to feel.

Or help. What more help did they need?

When he got back to the shed Mara was sitting next to Mạ, listening as the girl spoke. They were so intent that he didn’t want to interrupt; instead, he took a seat on the ground next to them. Mara had found more rice and oranges in the basement storage area, and cooked them together in the pot where she’d cooked the rice earlier.

He helped himself to the concoction, listening as the girl spoke, even though he had no idea what she was saying. The words seemed to rush out of her mouth, as if they were pushing against one another. She gestured with her hands, motioning up and down, pointing, mimicking, illustrating her narrative with her emphatic body language. Her eyes were wide and darting, as if she were watching what she was describing, conjuring it from the shadows in the room around them.

“Mạ was born in a small village on the other side of a river or a stream, I’m not sure of the word,” explained Mara when the girl finally paused. “It wasn’t too far from where you found her, or where she found you.”

“Is this what happened to her?”

“Yes.”

The soldiers had come at night. They seemed to be Vietnamese, or at least one of them had spoken Vietnamese. But clearly something was wrong. The villagers — about two dozen people lived in the small community, all related to one another through blood or marriage — were taken out of their houses and told to wait near a truck that sat in the middle of the settlement. The soldiers didn’t say where they were going.

Mạ was scared. She wanted to bring her blanket with her — it had been a special blanket that she had had since she was a baby. The soldiers said she could not.

As the people were being marched into line, Mạ decided to go back for it. She snuck away, not thinking that anyone was watching. But someone was — as she darted toward the house, the soldiers began shouting.

Then firing.

Petrified, Mạ ran into the jungle, dodging and darting through the trees in the darkness, running until she couldn’t run anymore. In the meantime, the soldiers had killed everyone in the line.

She had caused all the deaths. It was her fault that her brothers and sisters, parents and relatives, had all died.

Mạ collapsed in tears. Both Mara and Josh held her, trying to console her.

“It wasn’t her fault,” said Josh. “Tell her that.”

“I don’t have all the words,” said Mara.

“Tell her.”

“I’m trying.”

He’d felt the same when his parents died. He still felt that way, deep down, after all these years. It was a deep pit of regret and guilt that could never be filled, even though he knew, logically, that it was the killers’ fault, not his.

“Tell her it wasn’t her fault,” repeated Josh.

10

“You’re going to have to give me a better fucking location than that,” growled the stubbled face on the video screen. “I ain’t jumping into a six-mile-square box.”

“I’ll give you a precise location,” said Peter Lucas. “You’ll have realtime data down to the millimeter when you’re in the air.”

“I fuckin’ better.”

Lucas pushed his chair from the console. He liked working with the SEALs because they got results. But there was always a price to be paid in terms of ego. The most easygoing SEAL held anyone who was not another SEAL in contempt.

The man on the screen, Lieutenant Ric Kerfer, was hardly easygoing. Kerfer wasn’t civil even to other SEALs.

But he was absolutely the man to rely on in this sort of situation. Lucas had worked with him before, with excellent results. There were even indications that Kerfer liked working with him — the high cuss count, for example.

Still, he was one grouchy and disrespectful SOB.

“You arrange exfiltration yet?” Kerfer asked.

“At the moment, you’re going to have to walk out,” said Lucas.

“Fuck that.”

“I can’t get a helicopter in there,” said Lucas calmly. If he had been able to get a chopper, he wouldn’t need the SEALs. “I thought maybe you’d be able to steal local transport.”

“You just told me the area was evacuated. What did these people use to get out of there? You think they just left their vehicles parked around? Hell no, they drove. Or fucking walked. What’s my solution?”

“I don’t know, Kerfer,” said Lucas, finally losing his patience. “You tell me what your goddamn solution is.”

For the first time since he came on the videoconference line, Kerfer smiled. “Bicycles.”

“Bicycles?”

“We ride them out of there. I did something like that in Pakistan,” the SEAL lieutenant added. “Almost like a picnic.”

Lucas reminded him that there was a little girl with them.

“So we get her a little bike.”

“If you think bikes will work,” said Lucas, “go for it.”

“All right. Get them to the drop area.”

“Me?”

“Helicopter picks us off the sub in half an hour, Petey. We fly straight to Okinawa and leave as soon as we get there. You either get the bikes aboard the jet, or get them there yourself. Your call.”

“All right. They’ll be on the jet.”

“I ain’t biking all the way to Hanoi. It’d be okay for me and my boys, but your people are going to crap out. Arrange a truck to meet us somewhere halfway.”

“Not a problem.”

Maybe he could find a Vietnamese national to leave a track somewhere. He could use the embassy.

Not that he trusted them worth shit, as Kerfer would have put it.

“We’re set, Petey?”

“Yeah, we’re set,” said Lucas. “And don’t fuckin’ call me Petey.”

“Always a pleasure, Petey,” said Kerfer, laughing as he killed the connection on his side.

20

Jing Yo’s unit had to return to the forward air base so the infrared searching gear could be installed. The device itself was relatively small — it fit on a long spar at the side of the helicopter, making it look a little like a catamaran with a rotor on top. The control panel, however, was the size of a small desk. Two had to be loaded into the helicopter, each with its own operator. The gear, less than three months old, was considered so valuable that four soldiers had been sent to guard it. They had insisted on flying in the Sikorsky with the operators. That cramped the small helicopter, forcing Jing Yo to put his men and Sergeant Wu in a second helicopter. It also lowered the size of his assault force, limiting him to just two other regular army soldiers instead of the entire squad he’d had earlier.

The operators were a pair of sergeants from Beijing who went about their work very quietly, communicating with each other rarely, and then mostly by nods and an occasional one-word question. Jing Yo leaned over them, watching as they finished calibrating their equipment.

“We can take off anytime,” declared the lead operator as a loud tone sounded from his panel. “We are prepared.”

Jing Yo picked up the microphone on the helicopter’s interphone headset and told the pilot to take off. Within minutes, the aircraft was pushing forward across the field, tilting slightly to the right as it rose.

The main display screen looked very much like a standard television display, except that everything was shaded blue and red. The color scheme was preset to toggle through several variations, each one keyed to a different range of temperatures. The system automatically notified the operator when it found something within a specified range — in this case, roughly the temperature range of a human body. The operator could then “zoom” in by switching to a more sensitive heat band.

The infrared system was not magic. It had trouble “seeing” through thick jungle canopy, though it was better than most commercially available systems at filtering through the trees and brush, even from a distance. It also couldn’t “see” in the rain — a problem shared by all infrared systems.

The forecast called for rain. So far it had held off.

A yellow cursor opened around a red squiggle at the bottom left of the screen. The operator circled it with his index finger, then put the tips of his fingers on the screen and pulled up. The image inside the circle expanded, then changed to a collection of muted greens and blacks.

“What is it?” asked Jing Yo.

“A man,” said the operator.

Jing Yo went over and looked out the window toward the ground. The sun was setting, and there were long shadows everywhere. All he could see were the tops of the trees, puffy patches of black punctuated by shadow.

“Is that our target?” he asked.

The operator smiled. “A soldier, having a cigarette by the side of the road,” he said. “A half kilometer from the field. He’s a guard.”

“You’re sure?”

The operator double-tapped the screen. The image expanded again, once more changing color, this time to yellowish brown.

Except for the tip of the stick that jutted from the yellow blotch. It flared red, then went back to orange.

“Very good,” said Jing Yo. “Let us get to work.”

21

“What do you say we have a beer?” Zeus asked his pilot after they landed and were trundling toward the parking area at Noi Bai Airport.

“I like it,” replied Captain Thieu. “You pay.”

“You got it.”

In the two hours since they had been gone, dozens of antiaircraft guns had been brought onto the airport property and lined up opposite the hangars. There were also two mobile missile batteries out on the edge of the apron area, older Russian ground-to-air missiles that Zeus guessed would not be any more effective than the launchers on the perimeter that had failed to strike the intruders the night before. But the Vietnamese had to do something; a second strike at the airport would almost certainly be launched, and if it was half as devastating as the first, the field would have to shut down indefinitely.

Thieu turned the jet around at the far end of the cement, parking it about thirty yards from another Albatross. That one had holes in its wings, and the tail fin looked as if something had taken a bite out of it.

“Are you coming, Lieutenant?” Thieu asked, popping out of his seat as the canopy rose. “I’m thirsty for my beer.”

“Aren’t we getting a ladder?”

Thieu laughed, then jumped to the ground. Reluctantly, Zeus unstrapped himself, gathered his gear, and followed.

His binoculars slipped from his vest as he landed. He fumbled for them awkwardly, managing to grab them before they hit the ground.

He dropped them as the pilot slapped his back.

“You did all right for a soldier. Maybe you should learn to be a pilot,” said Thieu.

“Thanks.”

Zeus scooped up the glasses — fortunately not broken — and followed Thieu toward the hangar. They were still about ten yards from the entrance when a jeep came charging around the corner of the building. General Perry was in the passenger seat.

“About time you got back. I need you, Zeus,” said Perry. “Get in.”

By the time Zeus and General Perry arrived at General Trung’s headquarters, the U.S. had established a link that allowed real-time satellite data to be displayed on a pair of computer screens. The link came to the barracks via a landline that was strung from the embassy, a precarious arrangement that used up a good portion of the capital area’s available fiber-optic cable. But the real challenge was finding power for the two screens. Though they were relatively small and drew very little current, the electric lines to Trung’s headquarters were still down. A portable generator had been sent over from the embassy; the computer system taxed it severely. In an attempt to balance the load, the lights in the command room, dim to begin with, were completely shut off. The glow of the screens barely illuminated half of the conference table at the middle of the room, and when the image changed, the room temporarily went black.

Still, seeing the pictures was better than hearing the situation described over a phone. Zeus pressed closer to the screen, looking at the satellite photos of the air base at Na San, and of the now clogged road south. A squadron of A-10As, and he could have wiped out half the Chinese armor in a day.

There would still have been a lot left. Swarms of tanks and men were pouring in over the border to the north.

One of the Global Hawks — there were now three on continuous station overhead, authorized by the Vietnamese — streamed live video from the Da River valley. The video showed that the Chinese had not yet adapted to the problem in front of them. They were moving forces down along Route 6 as if the way south were clear, sending very small teams to the east to either probe or act as pickets in case of attack.

“You can turn these off for a while and pop on the lights,” Zeus said after he finished going over the images.

The room plunged into darkness as the gear was unplugged and the lights were reenergized. Zeus felt a little like he was with the American army of 1812, trying to stop the British from ravaging the country while equipped with a thousandth of their resources.

When the lights came on, General Trung nodded at him, encouraging him to continue.

“The Chinese haven’t adapted yet. They may try and cross the reservoir. We know that’s not going to work,” said Zeus. He pointed to the map on the table. “The Chinese are stopped here, for the moment, along Highway 6 before the intersection with 15. They have two choices — they go into Laos, maybe try coming all the way down to Highway 217, or they change their game plan. Which do you want them to do?”

“An attack against our neighbor is always preferable to being attacked ourselves,” said Trung soberly. “As lamentable as it is. But if they try that way, they will face much difficulty.”

“We have cut off the passes at the border, General,” said one of his aides. “It will be a grave for them.”

“I would suggest you alert the Laotians,” said General Perry.

“It has already been done,” said Trung. “The evacuations have begun.”

“Eventually, they’ll come for Hanoi,” said Zeus.

As if on cue, an air raid siren sounded. Zeus gritted his teeth and looked at General Perry. Perry simply folded his arms.

“Continue with your thoughts, please,” said Trung.

“Hit them along the road while they’re stalled, the more often the better,” said Zeus. “Hit and run — Vietnamese style.”

Trung smiled broadly. Zeus suspected that the attacks were already being launched, since he had seen some activity on the Vietnamese side of the line in the Global Hawk video.

“What they will probably decide eventually is to use 113 as a conduit for an attack,” Zeus said, pointing to the east-west highway south of Na San. “It’s the best road in the area, given where their forces are collecting. It’s not as narrow as the others.”

Trung’s staff started talking among themselves. Zeus felt frustrated — Perry’s translator had not been allowed into the room, and in fact it was clear that the Vietnamese really didn’t care to discuss the situation with him; they only wanted him to give them intelligence. Trung tolerates my ideas, he thought, primarily out of politeness.

“General, I have another idea,” Zeus told Trung. “The Chinese haven’t taken Route 109 behind the airfield at Na San. You could get the hills back, and they’d be sitting ducks down there. Just like the French.”

Trung smiled faintly. “Diem lost the battle at Na San.”

“Only because the French could bring in reinforcements and supplies from Hanoi and farther south. Look how far the Chinese will have to come. And you could sit in the hills with shoulder-launched SAMs.”

Trung nodded. It was hard to tell, though, if he was just being polite.

As the Vietnamese staff’s discussion grew louder and more animated, General Perry rose. “General, it would appear that your staff would like to work on these problems without us,” Perry told Trung. “Perhaps my major and I could go and get some dinner.”

“By all means.”

“Put yourself in their position. Would we be taking advice from an old enemy?” Perry asked Zeus as they made their way back to the jeep.

“They already did,” said Zeus. “They should hit the airstrip. And cut off 113. They have to harass the enemy, hit his supply lines — ”

“One thing I would guess about the Vietnamese,” said Perry. “They know how to run that sort of war. They did it before.”

“They haven’t been on this side of it. And the intelligence is a hell of a lot different now. Communications — ”

“War’s war, Major.” Perry stopped in front of the jeep. “You’re a damn bright kid. I wish I was half as smart as you. But I’ll tell you something — Trung has the whole thing in his head already. I could see it in his eyes. You have to learn to read people. Especially if you’re trying to help them.”

A few blocks from the embassy, Zeus saw a red glow to the north of the capital. The Chinese had struck at the airport again, this time starting a fire in the underground fuel storage tanks.

The embassy perimeter was guarded by Vietnamese soldiers as well as American marines, and even though Perry and Zeus were in uniform, they had to show their IDs to three different people before being cleared into the compound itself. By then Perry was in a bad mood, and Zeus thought he was going to bite the head off the Marine sergeant who came up to the jeep. The marine calmly explained that he was under orders to make a positive, personal identification before allowing anyone through.

“Is this positive enough for you?” asked Perry, leaning from the vehicle and putting his face into the marine’s.

The sergeant stepped back and snapped off a salute, waving them in.

Major Christian met them in the vestibule. “General, I need to talk to you.”

“Talk.”

Christian glared at Zeus, clearly not wanting to say whatever it was he had to say in front of him. Zeus decided he’d hold his ground; he’d had enough of the jackass.

“The CIA has a problem, sir. They need to get a truck up to Tuyên Quang.”

“Where’s that?” asked Perry.

“I know where it is,” said Zeus.

Tuyên Quang was about seventy-five miles north of Hanoi. Still controlled by Vietnam, the city had not been bombed or attacked by the Chinese.

The truck, Christian explained, was needed to rendezvous with a group of SEALs who were helping an American scientist and a CIA officer escape from behind enemy lines. They were supposed to be there by dawn or a little after.

On bicycles.

“Bicycles?” asked Perry.

“Dumbshit SEALs,” said Zeus.

The others looked at him.

“I’m sorry, sir. When I was in Special Forces, I mean — they were always pulling some idiotic stunt. Why don’t they just take a helicopter? Or motorcycles?”

“We have a truck?” Perry asked.

“We have a panel van,” said Christian. “But we don’t have a driver. Uh, using one of the locals is a real bad idea.”

“What about the marines?” asked Perry.

“There are only six and — ”

“I’ll drive,” said Zeus quickly.

“Actually, I was going to volunteer,” said Christian.

Perry wasn’t particularly keen on either of them going, even though the city was clearly in Vietnamese control. But Christian had already been asking around. The marines were short of the people they needed for security, and if he — or Zeus — didn’t take the van, they’d have to give the job to one of the civilian embassy employees. Or the Vietnamese.

“See the thing is,” Christian explained, “this has to be as quiet as possible. They don’t want the Vietnamese involved, if possible. Because the person who’s coming back has sensitive information. The Vietnamese aren’t supposed to know he’s out there. Or the CIA agent — they didn’t tell even me that much.”

“All right,” said Perry. “You and Zeus head up there. Report in every half hour.”

“Every half hour?” said Zeus.

“Try every fifteen minutes,” answered the general.

22

Late that evening, China declared northern Vietnam a no-fly zone for commercial aircraft, complicating the SEALs’ game plan. They hastily switched from the original blueprint, which called for a jump from the rear door of a leased 727 flying at thirty-five thousand feet, to a contingency plan using a Hercules MC-130J at very low altitude. Before approaching the Chinese early-warning radars near the Vietnamese border, the Hercules would dip low to the ground, allowing it to escape detection in the ground clutter. As far as the SEALs were concerned, the switch was no big deal.

For everyone else though, it was a hassle. Besides making the flight considerably more difficult for the pilots- even with their automated gear, following the country’s ragged terrain was no picnic — it also scrambled the arrangements Lucas had made for the bicycles, since they were originally sent to the commercial airport the SEALs were going to use.

The net result was that the SEAL drop was delayed for several hours. Mara kept checking in for updates every fifteen minutes, severely depleting the battery in the satcom, until it gave way just after midnight. Crouched near the edge of the large field on the east side of the bam, she opened the battery compartment and reseated it, but that had no effect.

She leaned back, shifting her feet so she was sitting. The night had cooled. She figured it was in the mid-seventies, a perfect temperature under other circumstances. She stared at the clouds moving in. They looked like sheep, trotting across the moon and stars.

She’d hear the MC-130 just before the drop. If it followed the usual pattern, it would approach at something like fifty feet above treetop level, then pop up at the last moment to give the SEALs a little more cushion for the jump. Once they went out the door, they’d hit the ground in a matter of seconds.

She’d made two of those jumps herself, not counting the dozen or so in training. They were tougher than the high-altitude ones, at least in her opinion. When you went out at thirty-five thousand feet, you always felt like you had more time to do things. A low-altitude jump meant you made the right decision right away — or you never made any more.

She liked the challenge. They’d trained by going off bridges. Jump, pull, land. Bing, bang, boom.

Who used to say that?

Kevin, the instructor she’d had a crush on at Langley. Bing, bang, boom. One of his favorite sayings.

He was a good-looking guy. And sweet, too.

Nothing had come of the attraction. Too many rules about fraternizing with the students.

She would have gone out with him. Definitely.

Josh kind of reminded her of him. Very different guy, though. Josh had a bit more of an edge. Which was surprising, because Kevin had been a Ranger, and those guys were supposed to be all edge.

Maybe it was just that she didn’t expect him to have an edge. You heard scientist and immediately you thought, cushy. Egghead.

Not necessarily wimp, but the jury would definitely be out.

Josh had something very tough inside him, though. Not just anger.

He was prejudiced toward action, the way she was.

She admired the way he wanted to protect the little girl. It wasn’t just a case of him thinking she was going to tell the world what was going on — she wasn’t part of a job. He felt he had to keep her safe.

God, I’m a sucker for the old he-man cliché, she told herself.

Mara sat up with a jolt. She heard an aircraft in the distance. She looked at her watch. Barely ten minutes had passed since the battery died while she was talking to DeBiase. At that point, the SEALs had just taken off.

It wasn’t an airplane, it was a helicopter.

The Chinese.

Trying to keep Mạ occupied and kill his own boredom as they waited, Josh tried teaching the girl to play tic-tac-toe. She seemed familiar with it at first, but kept losing.

“You get three in a row to win,” he told her. “You go first.”

She took the stick and put an X in the corner. Josh went, she went, then he went, this time leaving an opening for her.

She didn’t take it.

“Look, put your X here. You win.”

She looked at him blankly.

“You want me to win, is that it?”

Mạ yawned. She didn’t want him to win. She just didn’t get the point of the game. Not at all.

“Sleep,” he said, mimicking a pillow with his hands. “Go ahead.”

She curled up around him and started to doze. Josh felt his own eyelids getting heavier. Why not sleep? he thought. We’ll be out of here soon. It’s just a question of time.

Mara pushed open the door and slipped into the barn. “Kill the lamp,” she hissed.

Josh pulled it over and cranked down the wick. Mạ didn’t stir. “What’s going on?”

“Helicopter,” said Mara.

“I thought the SEALs were parachuting in.”

“They are.”

“Shit. Should we stay here? Are we safe?”

“I don’t know.”

23

Jing Yo bristled as the infrared operator repeated the scan.

“Looks like it’s just embers, Lieutenant. Like I said, you burned it down pretty well.”

They were looking at the remains of one of the small settlements they had searched earlier in the day.

“Why are some spots hotter than others?” Jing Yo asked, letting the suggestion that he had burned down the village pass.

“It depends on what burns. Different materials produce different hot spots. We haven’t trained with building fires,” added the operator, “but the principle is the same.”

Jing Yo watched as he switched to a wide view, scanning the fields again. The lieutenant noticed something on the corner of the screen.

“Did that move?” he asked.

“Which?”

“Back here — the building. Inside.”

The operator returned the screen to close-up mode of the area. “No. The building’s warm. That building is almost intact. A lot more to burn there. We’re seeing individual parts of the fire, I believe. Look at these ruins. You can see the shape of the embers. Really hot spots blow out the resolution and we back it down like this.”

“Okay,” said Jing Yo.

“This looks interesting, though,” added the operator, switching back to the earlier screen. “This out in the jungle. If we could get the pilot to change course, I think you might want to get a much closer look at this.”

Josh and Mara kept their eyes pointed toward the ceiling as the helicopters moved away.

“What do you think?” asked Josh.

“If they move off, it’ll be okay.”

They waited. The sound faded but didn’t die.

“They’re hovering nearby,” said Mara. “About a mile. A little more.”

“Is that too close for the SEALs to parachute in?”

“Too close.”

“Maybe we should go farther east. Take the road.”

“The road goes south.”

“It’s still away from the helicopters. I think we should do it.”

Mara looked at her watch. The SEALs should be roughly thirty minutes away, perhaps a little more. “If we move, they won’t be able to find us,” she told him. “We don’t have a phone, remember? The battery is dead.”

“We have mine.” He dug the sat phone out of his pocket.

“The Chinese can track that. Besides, it’s not on the same circuit the SEALs will use.”

“It’s better than nothing. Peter will hear it. He has before.”

“It’s a good backup,” said Mara. She wasn’t sure that Bangkok would still be monitoring the frequency, or how long a delay there would be before Lucas got the information. “I think we should wait and see if they move off.”

Jing Yo leapt from the helicopter as it touched down, running quickly to catch up with Sergeant Wu and the rest of the squad. The operator had spotted an overturned truck on a rutted farm road. The engine was slightly warm — an indication that it had been driven or at least turned on within the past three or four hours.

And there was a man, or maybe two, near the side, partly hidden from the scanner by the body of the truck.

Wu saw him coming and waved for him to get down; Jing Yo bent toward the ground but kept coming, sliding on the hard-packed dirt as he slipped in next to his sergeant. They were at the edge of a fallow field; the truck was ahead on the road, which lay just beyond a narrow band of trees.

“Somebody there, definitely,” said Wu. “I have Ai Gua going around the side. When he’s in position, we can close in.”

The truck looked like a hazy gray box in Jing Yo’s night goggles. Was that an arm curled around the side of the steering wheel — or part of the dash that had pulled away in the crash?

Jing Yo moved to his right, crying to get a better view through the trees. The front third of the truck was in the shallow ditch at the roadside; the rest of the vehicle angled back on the road. The cab was wedged into some brush, which made it hard to see the top and side.

“One person, maybe two,” said Jing Yo. “Close to the side of the truck.”

Ai Gua flashed a signal back through the squad members that he was in position across the road. The truck was now surrounded.

“Let’s move in,” Jing Yo told Wu.

They rose. Guns pointed at the truck, they moved forward.

The brush near the truck rustled.

“Watch out!” yelled Wu.

Jing Yo saw it for only a split second before he fired — the dark shadow of the devil, leaping at him.

The three rounds from his rifle hit the tiger in the head and neck, severing several arteries. But the beast had built up considerable momentum, and it crashed onto the road, still alive, leaping at its target.

Jing Yo stepped to his left, all trained instinct now. He wheeled. The gun became a pointed spear that slammed into the animal’s rib cage.

The tiger lashed at him as it fell to the ground. It rolled back, ready to fight, spurred by pain. It shoved its fury forward, teeth bared, claws wide. Jing Yo’s rifle smashed the top of its skull, breaking the bone and sending the animal to the ground, gurgling its last breath.

“Lieutenant?” said Wu, standing a few feet away. He seemed to be in shock.

Jing Yo looked at him, then turned his attention back to the truck. He moved quickly around the side, wary.

Ai Gua had heard the commotion and come running through the trees. He was standing a meter from the truck, gazing at the body the tiger had been eating when they arrived. It was a gory mess.

Jing Yo knelt next to it. The animal had mauled the corpse so badly that it was impossible to tell if it belonged to an Asian. The clothes looked Vietnamese.

He’d have to see if there was identification.

“Search the vehicle,” Jing Yo told the others. “I’ll attend to this.”

At least one of the helicopters was in the air north of them, a mile or two. It was too close — the SEAL aircraft would be spotted almost immediately.

She checked her watch. They should be over the area in roughly fifteen minutes.

“If they see the helicopter in the area, will they still parachute?” asked Josh.

“Depends,” said Mara. “It’ll be up to them.”

Most SEALs would. But that wouldn’t necessarily be a good idea. A firefight would be counterproductive. The helicopters would call in reinforcements quickly.

“I wonder if we could walk back to the spot where I was in the preserve,” she said. “They could jump near there.”

“How far is it?”

“A few kilometers.”

“We could make it.”

“We could walk by the side of the road and hide from the helicopters,” said Mara. “The trees are pretty thick.”

Mara tried to repicture the area. Was there a place where the SEALs could parachute in?

There had been a field nearby. They could use the highway intersection as a meeting place.

Yes, it was a better plan. But was it worth the risk of using Josh’s phone?

Yes.

“Call,” she told him. “Then wake up Mạ. We’ll meet them near the reserve.”

“Let’s let her sleep. I’ll just carry her.”

“It’s a couple of miles.”

“She needs to rest,” he said, handing over the phone after punching the emergency number.

“I can’t hear anyone.”

“No, you just talk. That’s how we’ve done it. He calls back.”

“This town is too crowded. We’re going to the place where Jimmy and I slept,” said Mara, trying to word the message in a way that would confuse the Chinese. “Tell the Million Dollar Man we’ll meet where the devil played.”

She clicked off the phone and followed Josh out of the barn.

There was no identification in the dead man’s clothes, and while there were papers in the truck, they were in the glove compartment and probably belonged to the truck’s owner, not necessarily the driver.

The tiger had eaten a good portion of the man’s face, along with much of his torso and legs. Jing Yo thought there was a very good possibility there was another animal nearby, though if so it hadn’t shown itself.

The mauling made the men jumpy, and so Jing Yo decided they would bug out as soon as possible. He had Ai Gua fetch a body bag from the helicopters, which were idling in the nearby field. The private looked pale when he returned, clearly not relishing the task.

“We will do it together,” said Jing Yo. “It is an act that must be performed.”

He remembered the first time he had touched a dead man — Brother Fo, an older member of the monastery who had died in his sleep the night before Jing Yo arrived. Jing Yo had helped another monk remove the body from his cell. Seeing his discomfort, the other man had explained the necessary cycle of all things, how death fit into the cycle. When his training was done, said the monk, he would no longer fear death.

Another monk in the hall overheard them. As they passed out, he whispered to Jing Yo, “For some of us, training never ends.”

He meant that among even the most devout, death was never fully accepted. It was a lesson Jing Yo valued greatly, but it was not a story to share with Ai Gua.

They completed their task quickly. Remains packed in the helicopter, they took off, Jing Yo once more in the helicopter with the IR sensors.

The operators were just beginning their recalibration routine when a message came in from division intelligence. “The scientist’s cell phone has been active again,” said the major relaying the information. “Very close to your position. We have the coordinates.”

Even as he transferred them to the GPS, Jing Yo realized they were at the village they had flown over earlier.

24

Zeus and Christian didn’t find out that the SEALs’ plane had been delayed until an hour after they had arrived at the rendezvous point just north of Tuyên Quang. Christian, who hadn’t said much the entire ride, cursed as soon as he put the satcom radio down.

The stinking Navy, he said, could never get anything right.

“It was probably the Air Force,” said Zeus. “They fly the planes.”

“Whatever. Now we have to sit in this damn truck for another four hours at least.”

“We can go back and check out the town.”

“Give me a break.”

“It didn’t look that bad.”

“Yeah, for Vietnam. It’s not like there was a McDonald’s on the edge of town.”

“Maybe a little restaurant.”

“Hell, Zeus, we went right down Main Street. There was no place open. And I wouldn’t have trusted them if they were.”

Zeus took out his map. They were roughly 140 miles from the province where the SEALs were going to land; that was nearly ten hours of biking, maybe more, since they’d be going over the mountains. The delay meant that they’d have to do a lot of it during the day.

Not a great idea.

“Maybe we should get closer to where they’re going to land,” suggested Zeus. “At least get into the mountains there.”

“Where?”

“The Con Voi range.”

“That close to the Chinese?” said Christian, his voice rising an octave.

“They’re not that far south or east.”

“You’re out of your idiot mind.”

Zeus sighed and began folding the map back up.

“You think just because you served in Special Forces that you’re Mr. Gung Ho,” said Christian. “And that you’re a goddamn genius.”

“I don’t think I’m a genius.”

“Perry does. Which is what counts, right?”

Zeus shrugged.

“You better tell them what the hell we’re doing,” said Christian, starting the truck.

25

They walked along the road, staying on the shoulder and moving as quickly as they could. Mara, in the lead and holding the rifle, had to concentrate to see the path ahead. The clouds had thickened and the night was dark; it was hard to see more than a stride or two ahead.

“Can you hold up a bit?” said Josh.

“You want me to take her?” asked Mara, turning around.

“No, just slow down. She’s still sleeping. Kid must be exhausted.”

He walked up next to her, his shoulder brushing against hers. “Okay,” he said.

“Come on,” said Mara, hooking her arm through his. “We’ll walk together.”

They walked together in silence for a few minutes before Mara asked if Mạ was getting heavy.

“It’s all right,” he told her.

“That was a hell of a story she told.”

“What’s going to happen to her?”

“I don’t know,” said Mara. “They’ll probably try and find a relative. When it’s all over.”

“Might be going on a long time.”

Not the way things are going, Mara thought, but she kept that to herself.

“How long can the Vietnamese hold out?” Josh asked.

“I don’t know. Watch the curve coming up.”

They walked in silence again for a few minutes.

“What was it you said about where the devil played?” asked Josh. “The message was confusing.”

“The person I was talking to is a Charlie Daniels fan. We were talking about a song just before I came here. He knows that means a crossroad. At least I hope he does.”

“You must know him pretty well.”

“Well enough.”

“He your boyfriend?”

Mara laughed. “Oh, God no.”

“I didn’t mean to make you laugh.”

“That’s okay. If you knew the Million Dollar Man, you wouldn’t even ask.”

“He’s rich?”

Mara explained where the nickname had come from. Josh told her that he had never really followed wrestling.

“Really?” said Mara. “I used to watch it all the time when I was little. My brothers got me hooked. Triple H, Batista, Rey Mysterio, all those guys.”

“Why would you watch wrestling?”

“If I have to explain it, you won’t understand it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’d you do? Watch The Magic School Bus?”

“I loved those shows.”

Mara laughed. She’d loved them, too.

“Science was a way for me to deal with the world,” said Josh. “It kept things… ordered.”

“And you wanted that.”

“I needed that.”

He leaned closer to her. Mara waited for him to explain what he meant, but instead he stopped short.

“Is that the airplane?”

She stopped and listened. For a second, she thought it was. Then the sound became much more distinct.

“The helicopters are coming back,” she said. “Let’s get into the trees.”

The helicopters were ninety seconds from landing when the infrared operator raised his hand, signaling Jing Yo over. “There’s something about two kilometers south of the village, near the road but in the jungle. Warm bodies.”

Jing Yo leaned down, looking at the blur. He’d already told the pilots to land, and had given up his headset so he could jump quickly from the chopper.

“What is it?”

“We’ll have to get closer to find out. It may be another tiger or some other animal. Or a person.”

“Not in the village?”

“We’re still a little far away.”

“Let me see the village.”

Jing Yo waited while the technician readjusted his screen. He was starting to feel tired, worn down by the last several days.

If he felt that way, then his men would feel even worse. But they had a mission to complete.

“Here, Lieutenant. This is the village.”

The screen looked similar but not exactly the same as it had earlier. The technician explained that the fires, having mostly burned themselves out, were continuing to cool, and so looked different to the sensors.

“Wasn’t this building on fire before?” said Jing Yo, pointing to the southernmost barn in the center of the hamlet. It was the one they had searched earlier.

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

“It was mostly intact, remember?” said Jing Yo. “There was heat on one side, and you thought the fire was spreading up the wall. But now the wall is not burned down.”

“Okay.”

“It’s cold. Why would that be if there had been a fire there?”

The operator shook his head. Jing Yo went to tell the pilots to change course.

The jungle was so thick and the night so dark that Josh simply couldn’t see where he was going. He carried Mạ with him as he pushed slowly ahead, partly guided by Mara’s tug. The helicopters were getting closer.

“Which way are we going?” he asked Mara finally

“We just have to get distance from the road.”

They pushed on, stumbling between the bushes and trees. Mạ, her face pushed tightly into Josh’s shoulder, groaned as the branches slapped across her back.

“Once they’re on the ground, they’ll have a hard time finding us. Even if they have night glasses. Goggles won’t be able to see through all of this brush. We’ll get in deeper and keep moving toward the drop area. Just be calm.”

“I’m calm,” he told her. “You stay calm.”

“I’m calm,” said Mara. Her voice was a tight rasp.

“We’re going to be okay,” Josh told Mạ. “We just keep moving. We’ll make it.”

“There!” Mara stopped short.

“What?” asked Josh.

“That sound — hear it? It’s the MC-130,” she said, pointing to the south. “With the SEALs. Come on, let’s go.”

Jing Yo grabbed the back of the pilot’s seat, steadying himself as the helicopter turned sharply over the jungle.

“The trees are too thick near the road to land on here,” the pilot told him. “The best we can do is the edge of that field a half kilometer away.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Lieutenant — there’s a plane — it’s just ahead,” sputtered the copilot. “A large plane.”

“Evasive maneuvers!” yelled the chopper pilot, jerking the aircraft hard to the left.

“Get us down,” said Jing Yo. “Get us down now!”

26

Ric Kerfer’s rucksack hit the ground about a quarter second before he did, telling the SEAL lieutenant he was about to touch down. The warning was just enough to relax Kerfer’s leg muscles in time to avoid serious injury, but the landing still hurt — he rolled on his right shoulder, hitting at exactly the angle that a linebacker had taken to smack him down in high school some ten years before.

Which hurt.

The linebacker had gone on to the NFL; Kerfer had lost out on a possible athletic scholarship to college and ended up going to Navy ROTC, became an officer, and joined the SEALs. He figured that he had gotten the better end of the exchange. Still, it hurt goddamnit, and put him in a lousy mood.

Then as now.

“Come on, you sissy boys,” he growled, jumping to his feet and un-snapping his parachute harness. “Stevens, take the point. The Commies are in those choppers there. Move!”

Within seconds, one of his team closer to the road began firing toward the helicopters. Kerfer slipped on his night goggles, then got his bearings. As the last man out of the plane, he had hit farthest from the road; the other seven members of the squad — there were two fire teams — were scattered ahead, between him and the two Chinese helicopters that had been prowling the area.

The helos continued to press. Scumbags weren’t easily intimidated.

Which kind of pissed him off.

“Put a frickin’ grenade into the bastard,” yelled Kerfer. He pulled on his radio and began running forward, his Mk 17 ready under his left arm. The SCAR fired 7.62 mm rounds, nice fat slugs that could stop something rather than just whizzing through it as an M-4’s or even an MP-5’s bullets sometimes did.

“They’re landing!” yelled Eric, up ahead on Kerfer’s right.

“Ger-nay-dez, goddamn it!”

The words were no sooner out of Kerfer’s mouth than a 40 mm grenade exploded near the landing zone.

“About frickin’ time,” said the lieutenant, throwing himself down as a heavy machine gun began playing through the field.

Jing Yo leapt from the helicopter as the door gunner went to work, pounding the far side of the field with his machine gun. The rest of the commandos were down already, having landed in the first helicopter.

A grenade exploded on the ground nearby. The commandos were returning fire.

Jing Yo tasted the dirt as he hit the ground, tripping on something in the darkness. Tracers ripped from the helicopter’s.50-caliber door gun, toward muzzle flashes maybe thirty yards away.

A grenade exploded so close its concussion pushed his head down.

This is hell, thought the lieutenant, zeroing his rifle on a shadow and pressing the trigger.

Mara reached back and grabbed Josh as the gunfire intensified. Bullets crashed into the jungle behind them, but the firefight itself was off to their left, nearly a half kilometer away. If they kept moving, they would be okay

“Come on,” she told Josh. “We can get to the rendezvous point.”

“Are those the guys that are helping us?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe we should help them.”

“Just keep moving,” said Mara. “They can take care of themselves.”

“Okay.”

She pushed through the brush. Josh’s wanting to help spoke eloquently about who he was, but the impulse was also foolish — their real job was to get away.

The SEALs would have fallen over laughing if they’d heard him. Not that Mara didn’t feel the same impulse.

“This is just getting too thick,” said Josh. “We have to get closer to the road.”

“You’re right,” said Mara, changing direction. “We can go right to the road — the SEALs have them tied down.”

If the world were perfect, Kerfer would have been able to swing two or three of his men around the flank of his enemy while his main force engaged them in the field. They’d squeeze and the bad guys would go bye-bye.

But the world wasn’t perfect. The Chinese helicopters and their machine guns made it hard to move up through the field. And the bastards on the ground weren’t exactly looking the other way either.

The first order of business was to get rid of the helos.

“Little Joe, I want you to put a grenade into that helo’s door. You got that, Joey? Just like you were trying to do to that whore you bought last weekend.”

Little Joe — the SEAL’s real name was actually Riccardo Joseph Crabtree — cursed in response, telling his lieutenant that he could put the grenade in there himself.

Music to Kerfer’s ears.

Three seconds later, as the helicopter pivoted around the southern side of the field, the petty officer rose and pumped a 40 mm grenade from his EGLM launcher into the open hatchway of the chopper.

“Pretty!” shouted Stevens over the squad radio.

“I thought you were pinned down, point,” barked Kerfer in reply.

“I am.”

“Well stop gawkin’ and get your ass unpinned. Little Joe ain’t doin’ all the work.”

The SEAL responded with a burst of gunfire.

“Jenkins, time for your end around,” said Kerfer. “Run to the left. I’m going to be right behind you.”

“Good. Copy.’’

“Any of you assholes frag me, I’m comin’ back as your girlfriend in my next life and giving you the clap,” said Kerfer, jumping to his feet and running to flank their enemy.

Jing Yo saw the flames shoot from the helicopter as the grenade exploded, and knew instantly that the crew was lost. The helo disappeared into a fireball, sailing over the trees behind them.

The second helicopter immediately backed off, leaving them alone in the field.

These were definitely not Vietnamese soldiers they were fighting; they had to be Americans, come to fetch the scientist. There weren’t very many of them — a dozen maybe, or perhaps twenty. But they had his small squad outnumbered and outgunned.

A foe this good would try to hold him in place while they sent men to attack the flanks. He had to withdraw temporarily, pick better terms for battle.

Moving back in the face of a superior foe was not dishonorable, but it nonetheless stung to give the order.

Josh nearly lost his balance as the thick branches gave way to the shoulder of the road. He jogged a few steps, swaying left and right as he struggled to stay upright. When he stopped, Mạ slipped down from his arms but continued to cling to his leg.

She was sobbing.

“Come on now,” he told her. “We’re going.”

“This way,” said Mara, a few feet away. “Come on.”

Something exploded in the distance, louder than the grenades they’d heard just a few minutes before. Mạ clung tighter to his leg.

“One of the helicopters went down,” said Mara.

“We’re going to be all right,” he told Mạ. “Come on.”

Mara picked up the girl. Mạ tried to clutch him tighter, but Josh gently pried off her fingers. Then he put his arm around Mara’s back, holding Mạ’s neck gently as they began trotting along the road.

“It’s beginning to rain,” said Josh, feeling the first drops.

“Let’s hope it does. It will make it harder for them to find us.”

“It’ll also make us wet.”

Mara laughed.

“I didn’t mean it as a joke,” said Josh. “People are trying to kill us, and you’re laughing.”

“Crying isn’t going to help,” she said, laughing even harder.

Kerfer was almost to the road when he realized that the Chinese had decided to withdraw.

Ordinarily, that would have pissed him off — how dare the mothers run away before he had a chance to properly kick their butts?

But given that his job was to grab the spook and the dweeb with a minimum of fuss, he was almost happy to let them go. He told his men to hold their positions while he and Jenkins looked for stragglers or snipers.

“Where the hell are our bicycles?” he asked.

“Blown to pieces, Cap,” said Stevens. “I’m standing on them.”

“Stinking reds,” said Little Joe. “Now we gotta fuckin’ walk.”

“Walkin’s good for you,” said Stevens. “Work off your beer gut.”

“Hey, Cap, who ordered this rain?” asked Mancho.

“Yeah, his dress is gonna get wet,” said Stevens.

“Screw my dress. I’m worried about your perm.”

“All right, girls. Cut it,” said Kerfer. “Let’s get to Baker Point with a minimum of bitchin’ and lynchin’.”

“What fun would that be?” said Jenkins beside him. Jenkins was a black guy from Brooklyn, New York, who spoke in a voice so high he sounded like a girl. No one made fun of it though, because he was sensitive about it. Ordinarily that would only have encouraged razzing, but Jenkins stood six ten in his bare feet, and weighed so much it took two guys to balance him in the chopper.

No one made fun of it except Kerfer, that is. He was the only person in the platoon Jenkins wouldn’t hit or sit on.

“Come on, Squeaky, I’ll race you to the road. Let’s see if we can get there before your voice changes.”

The rain was torrential by the time they reached the slope below the spot where Mara and the mercenaries had slept. Mara, still holding Mạ, put her right hand over her eyes to shield them from the worst of the downpour. She couldn’t remember being this wet, not even in the ocean.

Josh, walking a few feet ahead, stopped.

“Global warming, right?” she said as she caught up.

“Not exactly.” He reached out and took Mạ. The girl was so tired she simply couldn’t walk on her own. “This is the way it’s always rained in Vietnam. The aggregate is different, but if you look at the individual episodes, this is well within parameters.”

“I keep forgetting you’re a scientist. How long is it going to rain?”

“To know that I’d have to be a meteorologist. Or a fortune-teller.”

“Come on,” she said, tugging. “The intersection is only a half mile away.”

“The infrared can’t see through the rain, Kerfer. You know that.”

“You Air Farters are always making excuses,” Kerfer told the major who was handling the interface between the SEALs and the Global Hawk UAV supplying them with intel. Equipped with a powerful infrared imager, the drone had been flown into position specifically for the mission, but the heavy cloud cover and rain rendered the sensors useless. “If it was a nice day you’d tell me there was too much glare.”

“Fug you and the airplane you flew in on.”

“Any time, Major. I can always use some R & R. Call me back when you have something to contribute.” Kerfer killed the transmission and turned to Stevens. “Are you sure this is the intersection?”

“Spooks marked it on the GPS.”

“Screw the GPS. Let me see the paper map.”

Stevens pulled it from his ruck. He switched on his pocket LED light, crouching low to the ground and cupping his hands to contain the glow.

“Why this intersection and not that one?” Kerfer asked, pointing down the road about half a mile.

“This is the one they marked, skipper.”

“Get on the horn with Lucas and find out if he can read a fuckin’ map. Little Joe, you’re with me. We’re going to check out the next bus stop down the line.”

Josh pulled the sat phone out and looked at it as it started to ring.

“Answer it,” said Mara. “Go ahead.”

“Hello?”

“Josh?”

“Yes.”

“This is Peter, Josh. Are you where you’re supposed to be? Your friends are looking for you.”

Josh looked in Mara’s direction. They were less than three feet apart, but he could barely see her.

“Are we where we’re supposed to be?” he asked her.

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry,” said Lucas. “I have it now.”

He hung up.

“The line’s dead,” said Josh.

“The SEALs must be close,” said Mara. “And the Chinese, too.”

Kerfer and Little Joe walked along the shoulder of the road, moving as quickly as they could despite the darkness and steady rain. The road had become more stream than highway. The muck sucked at their boots and made it hard to keep their balance. Kerfer, who’d taken point himself, pushed himself to stay ahead of Little Joe — if the big man fell forward on him, it would hurt more than being shot.

A hill rose on their right. The road angled to the left. The intersection was coming up.

He heard something and immediately took a step left, grabbing Little Joe and pulling him into a crouch.

“Think it’s them?” asked Little Joe, kneeling next to him.

“Hope so.”

Kerfer listened. The rain was falling so hard he couldn’t be sure of anything.

“Hey,” he said finally, his voice soft. “Goldilocks — this is the Big Bad Wolf. That you?”

Mara’s heart jumped when she heard the voice on the road.

“I want the identifier,” she said, trying not to drop her guard.

“Fuggit you want ID. I want ID,” answered the voice. Then he added, “Lucas sent me. I have a grocery list.”

“Is eggplant on it?”

“Who the hell comes up with this bullshit?” said Kerfer. “You guys practice to do this?”

“You’re Lieutenant Kerfer?” asked Mara.

“Yeah, I’m Kerfer. What about it?”

Mara started down the hill, sliding on the slick grass. Kerfer and one of his men were standing in the muddy stream that marked the shoulder of the road. He flicked on a small penlight, holding it in her direction as she reached the road.

“I’ve heard about you,” said Mara.

“Yeah, well I never heard anything about you.” Kerfer raised the light, shining it toward her face. “Which is my loss.”

“You’re right.”

“They didn’t tell me I was rescuing a model,” said Kerfer.

“Flatter me all you want, Lieutenant. Your reputation precedes you.”

She stuck her hand out to shake, not sure what to expect. She had heard about Kerfer. He had a reputation for being difficult to get along with and a serious flirt.

“Glad to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand quickly. “You should have some others, right?”

“We’re here,” said Josh, coming down the slope with Mạ.

“And who are you?” Kerfer asked the girl when she got close. He shone the light in her face; she ducked back behind Josh.

“Her name is Mạ,” said Josh. “She’s shy.”

“I have some candy.” Kerfer dug into his pockets and held out an energy bar. Mạ peered out from behind Josh’s leg. “Go ahead, you can take it. I ain’t gonna bite you. It’s candy”

Mạ didn’t move. Kerfer told her she could have it in Vietnamese.

The girl peeked out tentatively. He tore the side of the package, unwrapping the bar halfway.

“If you don’t eat it, I will,” he said, mimicking doing just that before holding the bar out to her again.

Josh took it and handed it to her. She took a bite, then began to devour it.

“You’re the scientist, right?” said Kerfer, rising.

“Josh MacArthur.” He held his hand out.

“Yeah, let’s get going,” said Kerfer, not bothering to shake. “We have to get as far away from those Commie bastards as possible before this rain lets up.”

27

The van’s windshield wipers slapped frantically at the raindrops, pushing them off the glass with a hard squeak. Zeus squinted and leaned toward the steering wheel, trying to get a good view of the road. He had his high beams on but even so could barely see twenty feet in front of him.

“We’re coming to that intersection,” said Christian, looking at his GPS. “It’s a half mile away.”

Zeus backed off on the gas, slowing to almost ten miles an hour. Though asphalt, the road surface was very slippery. He’d nearly gone off the road twice while turning.

“You drive like an old lady,” said Christian.

“You’re welcome to take my place.”

Zeus found the road and turned up it, slipping in the mud as the incline increased.

“This road goes straight up,” he told Christian.

“Hey, we’re in the mountains, right? You wanted a shortcut. This is it.”

The van rattled and slipped; the transmission and the traction control working against each other. The rear end began slipping to the left. Zeus started correcting, but the rear end kept moving up.

He started to think he would have to turn around when the hill abruptly crested. Zeus jammed on the brakes, skidding on the wet pavement. He stopped crosswise in the middle of the hill.

Christian glared at him.

“I didn’t do it on purpose. Jesus,” Zeus told him. “Like I’m saying, if you want to drive, be my guest.”

“You can drive,” he said.

“Where the hell are we, anyway?” asked Zeus, not quite ready to start down the steep hill.

They were about three kilometers from Pho Lu, midway across the Con Voi mountain range. The SEALs had jumped in about fifty kilometers to the west. Lao Cai, thirty kilometers north, was still in Vietnamese hands — but feeling increasingly nervous, as the Chinese had continued to mass troops nearby and started shelling the place. The small Vietnamese army contingent there would not be able to hold them off if they crossed the line.

“We can move down to that farm near Pho Lu,” said Christian, “and wait for them there.”

“It’ll take them all night to get to us in the rain,” said Zeus.

“Perry said under no circumstance are we to go beyond the river,” said Christian.

“Yeah.”

The rain pounded on the glass. Zeus put the truck in gear and gingerly began downward. Not trusting the tires, he began pumping the brakes. As soon as they slowed almost to a stop, he let off, built a little speed, then began pumping again.

“I think you got it,” said Christian.

“Don’t jinx me.”

A series of switchbacks began about a half kilometer down. These were easier to navigate, though if anything the road was even more slippery because of accumulating runoff. Zeus angled the van as he made each turn, sliding with the mud but still retaining control.

“Man, you’re gonna get us killed,” muttered Christian.

“I keep telling you — you want to drive, take the wheel.”

The road began curving around the side of a cliff, leveling above a jagged valley. Pho Lu sat somewhere at the left end of the valley, though in the dark and the rain it was impossible to see. Zeus spotted a pull-off to the right and drove into it cautiously, flicking off the lights but leaving the engine on.

“Let’s check on them,” he told Christian.

“Yeah.”

Christian picked up the satcom, punching in the frequency for the Bangkok CIA station coordinating the pickup. Zeus leaned back, trying to stretch out. The long drive had knotted his muscles.

“This is Major Christian. We’re near Pho Lu. What’s their ETA?”

Zeus watched out of the corner of his eye as Christian listened to the CIA officer in Thailand. The dashboard’s glow made his look even more sinister than normal.

“Why? What’s going on?” asked Christian.

Zeus pushed upright in the seat.

“We can’t wait here all night,” said Christian.

“What’s going on?” asked Zeus.

“They don’t have the bikes. They’re walking.”

“Walking? What is that, fifty klicks away?”

“As the crow flies, maybe.”

“Let me talk to him.”

“I can handle this.” Christian put up his hand, warding him off. “Tell them we can only wait until dawn. After that — ”

“What do you mean, we’re only waiting until dawn? Where the hell are they?” Zeus reached for the phone.

“I have this, Major,” said Christian.

“Get directions for where they are. Get coordinates.”

“I have this.”

“Get coordinates.”

“Yes, we want coordinates,” Christian told the CIA officer in Bangkok. “We’re not waiting around here all night.”

Christian entered the coordinates into his device, made sure he had the frequency for the SEAL team, then signed off.

“You don’t really think we should go there, do you?” he said to Zeus.

“Yeah, I do.”

“Perry’s going to be pissed.”

“What’s the alternative?”

“Going home and having a beer,” said Christian, pulling his rifle up from the floor of the cab. “We have to take a right about three kilometers down the road.”

28

The helicopter had burrowed into the hillside as it crashed. It was unlikely anyone aboard had survived, but to be sure, someone had to get close and check. Jing Yo had seen so much death over the past few days that he would gladly have passed the duty to someone else, but in the end it was he who climbed over the tangled wreckage to see.

The pilot and copilot were strapped in their seats, compressed in the metal wreckage. The rear compartment was so charred and battered it was impossible to see inside.

The rain continued to pour. Jing Yo tried to pry the cockpit door open with his rifle, but it was so mangled that it wouldn’t budge. The dead men’s removal would have to wait until the rain ended and help arrived.

“I hope this bastard is worth it,” said Sergeant Wu when Jing Yo walked back to him.

Unlike its companion, the second chopper had suffered only a few bullet holes in the undercarriage. The pilot and his crew huddled inside out of the rain, waiting in a field about 150 meters from their fallen comrades to hear what Jing Yo wanted to do next.

Back in the belly of the chopper, Jing Yo took out his area map, trying to guess where the Americans would go. They had only two choices — to go back east or south. South would take them into the heart of the Chinese army advance. By contrast, the east, while a much harder trek because of the terrain and vegetation, was wide open.

The rain would slow his enemy down, but still, Jing Yo needed help.

Colonel Sun took the request calmly.

“Lao Cai is being attacked as we speak,” the colonel told him. “The troops there will come south along Route 70. I will see what can be spared. Pursue the Americans as tightly as possible.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

“Do not fail me, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

The SEALs formed a cocoon around Josh, Mara, and Mạ as they walked. They’d brought extra rain gear, though by now keeping dry was a fantasy. Josh wrapped Mạ in one of the ponchos, fixing the hood so the girl could see out as he carried her. She was heavy — beyond heavy — but she seemed to want only him to carry her. It made him feel proud, in a way, chosen, though part of him would have been just as happy to give up the honor.

He was dead on his feet. He’d sleep for weeks when he got back.

After telling the world what was going on.

Mara trudged a few steps ahead. He was sure she was just as tired as he was. Her reaction to Kerfer irked him; the Navy lieutenant was a hot dog and an asshole, but women seemed to be attracted to that, even smart women who knew better, like Mara. He imagined that she did know better, from personal experience, but still found his charm irresistible.

He no longer thought she was gay. The way she’d reacted to Kerfer ruled that out.

She wasn’t as plain as he’d thought either.

Mara kept wiping her eyes, trying to keep them clear. Even so, her vision was so blurred from the rain that she practically ran into Kerfer when he stopped short on the road to talk to someone on his satcom radio.

“Hey, your boss is looking for you,” he said, handing her the unit. About the size of a sat phone, it was more powerful and could use an array of different encryptions.

“This is Mara.”

“Hey, beautiful, how are the SEALs treating you?” asked DeBiase.

“Like a million dollars.”

“Ha-ha. Listen, we have the van coming to meet you. You have to get down to the road that runs along Ngòi Bo. That’s a creek. I just told Kerfer about it and he claims to know where it is.”

“If he says he does, he probably does.”

“Yeah, emphasis on the word ‘probably.’ Watch him, Mara. He’s slick.”

“As slick as you?”

“I wouldn’t sleep with him. He’ll never respect you in the morning.”

“No chance of that,” she said. Mara flushed a little. There was no chance of that, now or at any point in the future.

Though he was attractive in a SEAL sort of way.

Josh was attractive, too. But that wasn’t happening either.

“It’s going to take them an hour to get close,” continued DeBiase. “So keep walking. This rain is so heavy, none of the UAVs are getting any intelligence. They’re up. As soon as the clouds clear they’ll see.”

“How long is it going to rain?”

“Half hour, another hour. Probably stop just when the truck meets you.”

“Figures,” she told him before handing the radio back to Kerfer.

29

Zeus stopped at the edge of the bridge. The van’s headlights showed a steady stream of reflections ahead — the stream had overrun the road.

“How deep you think it is?” he asked Christian.

“Not very.”

“I don’t see a rail.”

“Are you kidding?” answered Christian. “The Vietnamese don’t put guardrails on their roads. They don’t even pave half of them.”

“Go wade out and see how deep it is.”

“Why?”

“Because it looks like we’re going to get washed away.”

Christian grabbed the door handle, pulling it sharply and snapping the door open so hard it flew back and hit his leg. He cursed, then stepped out into the rain. Zeus watched as he walked ahead of the van into the water.

He was right. It barely came to his ankles. Zeus started ahead.

“Satisfied?” said Christian, pulling himself inside as Zeus reached him.

“I just wanted to see you wet.”

No sooner had Zeus said that than the water seemed to pick the van up. It moved sideways, drifting with the swollen creek before the wheels caught again at the side of the overpass. Slipping on an angle, nose pointing nearly thirty degrees away from the road, the van lurched and skidded forward, out of the rain.

“So maybe I didn’t walk out far enough,” said Christian when they reached the other side. “Sue me.”

The rain began to slow as Zeus continued passing down the mountain. They slipped across 151, then headed toward the unnumbered road that followed Ngòi Bo, a narrow river that cut across the province’s central plain. They passed through two villages. Neither had any lights on, and it was impossible to tell if there were even people in the houses or not.

“We turn left at that intersection,” said Christian as the road appeared on the left. “We’re halfway there.”

As Zeus started to slow down, he spotted a canvas-topped jeep on the other side of the highway. Two soldiers in rain gear were standing near it, guns under their plastic ponchos.

“Poor slobs,” muttered Christian.

One of the men put his hand up, signaling that they should stop. Zeus started to pump the brakes, but as soon as his foot touched the pedal the rear end of the van began to skid to the right. He backed off the brake and started to steer into the skid, but the angle increased.

“Shit!” he yelled, yanking at the wheel desperately. The van pulled back suddenly, weaving the other way.

One of the soldiers leveled his gun. Zeus tried correcting but the van whipped out of his control. The man fired, riddling the back of the truck with bullets. Then he tried jumping out of the way, but he was too late; the rear end of the truck whipped into him, pinning him against the front of the other vehicle. As they rebounded off, Zeus got the van facing back in the right direction on the road. As he started to jump out to see if the man was all right, bullets crashed through the windshield. He leapt onto the ground, rolling on the wet pavement.

“Don’t shoot us. We’re American!” he yelled, scrambling to his feet. He ran around the side of the van, unholstering his gun. “Stop!” he yelled, turning the corner.

The soldier he’d hit lay crumpled at the foot of the damaged truck. The gunfire was coming from the rear of the truck.

“Zeus!” yelled Christian from inside the van.

“Stay down!”

“No shit — I’m coming out your side. I’ll cover you from the front.”

“Come on then.”

The soldier who was firing at them sent another burst into their windshield, taking out the rest of the glass. Zeus fired a warning shot, then yelled again.

“Stop!” he shouted.

The soldier came around the front of the truck, leveling his rifle at Zeus. Something automatic took over. Zeus squeezed off two shots, striking the man in the head. The soldier stood dead still for a moment, then teetered backward, falling back behind the truck.

Zeus ran to the first man, who’d been hit by the truck. He was still breathing.

“I’m sorry,” Zeus told him.

He pulled at the raincoat, which was bunched up around his neck, trying to make him more comfortable. As the top fell open, he saw the man was wearing a uniform different from the ones the soldiers in Hanoi had been wearing.

Very different. It was Chinese.

So was the truck.

“What’s going on?” asked Christian, running over.

“These guys are Chinese,” said Zeus. “They must be scouting.”

“This is a troop truck. Where are the rest of them?”

“They must be along the road somewhere.”

“We’d better disable the truck,” said Christian. “Then get the hell out of here.”

He started to pull the hood open. Zeus stopped him.

“Let’s take it.”

“We have the van.”

“The van is beat to crap. This is better. It’s bigger, and probably has six-wheel drive. We can get through the rain a hell of a lot easier.”

“I don’t know.” Christian looked at it doubtfully. “It’s Chinese.”

“So is half the stuff you buy in America.”

Zeus pulled open the door. The cab of the truck, a two-year-old six-by-six Dongfeng transport, was almost identical to those of the German NATO trucks Zeus had been in. It had a diesel engine mounted under the cab, with a five-speed transmission.

He pushed the Start button. It rumbled to life.

“Coming?” he yelled, rolling down the window.

“Go!” yelled Christian, jumping onto the side of the cab. There was no running board; he gripped the rail with his right hand and pushed his legs against the door, hanging off as if he were a monkey.

A bullet slammed into the top of the cab. Zeus struggled to get the truck into reverse. They lurched backward, then stalled.

“Shit!” yelled Christian, raising his rifle and returning fire over the top of the cab.

Zeus hit the starter and the truck grumbled back to life. He overrevved it, spinning and kicking mud as he backed up toward the road. He threw the clutch in, jerked the tranny into first, then overrevved it again. The truck lurched and moved forward very s-l-o-w-l-y.

Low gear was very, very low.

“Get us the hell out of here!” screamed Christian, ducking as fresh bullets hit the vehicle, spitting through the canvas back.

Zeus slammed the shifter into second and then third, grinding the gears. As the truck gained speed, he hit the corner of the van and pushed it out of the way. He continued up the hill, building speed.

“Go! Go! Go!” yelled Christian.

“You think you can do better, come inside and try,” muttered Zeus.

Two Chinese soldiers stood at the side of the road, not sure what was going on. Zeus popped on the headlights and saw them. Stepping on the gas, he swerved to the side as he passed, knocking one over and sending the other running for cover.

He strained so hard to see if he’d gotten him that he nearly ran off the road.

“You’re going to get us killed,” hissed Christian, still hanging on outside.

“Stop whining.”

“Stop so I can get in.”

“Not until we put some distance between them and us.”

“One of these days, Murphy, you’re going to get what’s coming to you.”

“I already have.”

Zeus stopped a half mile down the road. Christian climbed in the cab.

“I know what they’re doing,” Zeus told him. “We blocked them off, so now their flank is vulnerable. They have to come down Route 70, shut off all the little routes west. Their flank is even weaker than I thought. They’re adapting.”

“Wonderful. Can we get the hell out of here?”

Zeus started moving again, this time beginning in second gear rather than first. It didn’t seem to mind.

“The satellites and UAVs probably haven’t seen the advance because of all this rain,” said Zeus. “Call Perry and tell him what’s going on. The Vietnamese may want to pick off some of these units. They should get them now, while they’re still weak.”

“Are you out of your mind? The first thing he’ll do when I tell him that is ask how I know. We’re not supposed to be here, remember?”

“Call him.”

“No f’in’ way. You call him.”

“Give me the satcom.”

Christian held it out to him. He started to take it, but Christian pulled it back.

“I’ll talk to him. You’re a pain in the ass, Zeus. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”

Perry took the news calmly — or at least didn’t raise his voice loud enough for Zeus to hear as Christian explained what was going on.

“We’re less than a half hour from the pickup, General. Then we’re on our way back,” he said. “Piece of cake…birthday cake…Yes, sir…Oh, yes, sir…. I will…. No, sir. Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not what?” Zeus asked when the radio call was over.

“I told him it was a piece of cake.”

“And?”

“He said don’t let the Chinese blow the candles out.”

30

Mara was the first to hear the helicopter, and began shunting the others to the side of the road before its search beam came into view. The light seemed to cut physically into the rain, pushing it aside with a burst of steam that fell back as it flew. The chopper passed over the road very slowly, only a few feet over the treetops, moving so slowly an octogenarian could have kept up.

“I got it,” said one of the SEALs, loading up the grenade launcher on his gun as they crouched a few feet from the roadway.

“No,” said Mara sharply. “If you shoot them down, they’ll know exactly where we are. No way.”

“The spook’s right,” said Kerfer. “Hold your fire. Let them pass.”

They waited as the floodlight approached.

“You sure about this?” whispered Josh, sidling next to Mara. “They found us before.”

“If they were using an infrared system,” she answered, “they can’t right now because of the rain. See how low they are? They’ll pass right by us.”

“Okay.”

The helicopter seemed to pause as it came closer to them. Mara tucked her elbows in against her sides, holding her breath.

The chopper kept moving. No one said anything for a few minutes. Then Kerfer rose and went out into the road.

“It’s heading south,” said the SEAL. “Let’s get moving. Geek boy, you okay with that kid?”

“Fuck yourself,” said Josh.

“Fuck yourself back. Scientists.”

Josh’s legs ached from his hips to his ankles. He felt as if his bones had been replaced with stiff metal rods, and his muscles were battered rubber bands, overstretched and unable to keep his joints together.

Mạ had grown unbearably heavy. Finally she began to slide down, out of his grip; he leaned forward, barely able to deposit her on the ground before dropping her.

She clung to him, unwilling to walk.

“I can take her,” said one of the SEALs.

Mạ grabbed Josh’s leg more tightly as the SEAL gently touched her shoulder. Josh felt bad for the sailor.

“It’s okay, Mạ,” he told her, dropping down. “We’re all friends, honey.”

She said something in Vietnamese, then buried her head in his leg.

“Her whole village was wiped out by the Chinese,” Josh explained. “I think she’s just afraid of anybody in a uniform.”

“Poor kid. Crap. What bastards.”

“Are you coming with us?” barked Kerfer.

“Man, he’s a jackass,” muttered Josh under his breath. He nudged Mạ, moving his leg to get her to walk with him.

“Ah, his bark’s worse than his bite,” said the SEAL.

“I heard that, Little Joe,” snapped Kerfer. “My bite is worse than my bark. You got that, kid.”

“Bite me,” said Josh.

The SEALs cracked up. Even Kerfer laughed.

“Good one, geek.” He came over and punched Josh’s shoulder, nearly knocking him over. ‘‘Now keep your ass moving. The Commies are still looking for us.”

“I think I hear the truck,“ said Mara.

The SEALs peeled off to the side, leaving her in the road. Kerfer took her gun and went by the shoulder, kneeling as he aimed his own weapon at the space in front of her.

“Remember to get out of the way if he doesn’t stop,” said the SEAL lieutenant. “Get far away, because we’ll blow the crap out of him.”

“Thanks,” said Mara.

“Don’t mention it.”

Mara turned around. “You okay, Josh? You got the girl?”

“We’re fine.”

The rain was starting to let up. Mara remembered what DeBiase had told her — it would probably end just as the van came.

A pair of lights appeared around the bend. Mara took a breath, trying to relax herself.

It was their ride. Finally.

“Hey,” yelled Kerfer as the truck pulled around the corner. “That’s no van. That’s a Commie troop truck. Look at the lights.”

Mara froze. She didn’t know if Kerfer was right, but it was too late to run anyway.

She put up her hand to signal them.

She’d throw herself to the left, roll in the mud. The SEALs would take care of the truck and whoever was in.

The vehicle wasn’t stopping.

Damn.

The headlights blinded her.

Mara tensed her legs, swinging her hip to the right to act as a counterbalance. The truck began to skid. The tires screeched as they held, lost their grip, then held again. It stopped about six feet from her.

The driver’s-side window rolled down. A man stuck his head out — a big target for the SEALs, Mara hoped.

“Hey!” he yelled. “I hope you’re Mara.”

“I am!”

“I’m Zeus Murphy, U.S. Army. This is Major Christian. Where the hell are your SEALs?”

“Errp, errp,” said Kerfer, stepping from the shadows as his men surrounded the truck, brandishing their weapons. “You’re our ride?”

“You got it.”

“What do you say we get the hell out of here?”

“Fine with me,” answered Zeus. “I have to pay double if it’s not back in Beijing by sunrise.”

31

Jing Yo folded his arms before his chest, watching the road as the helicopter swung through the valley. They’d been searching now for over an hour; clearly, they were not going to find the scientist like this.

The rain was letting up, but without the infrared detection gear, he and whoever was helping him could easily hide in the jungle when the helicopter passed. But searching on the ground would be almost impossible — there was just too much territory to cover.

He was beaten.

“We have thirty more minutes of fuel, Lieutenant,” said the pilot. “What do you want me to do?”

“Keep searching on this road,” said Jing Yo. Reaching for the radio, he called into the division headquarters, looking for the intelligence officer who was acting as a liaison. “Have there been any more transmissions from that satellite phone?”

“No,” said the officer. “We are monitoring.”

“What about other transmissions? American transmissions on their military band?”

“Their radios are very difficult to detect,” said the officer.

Then an idea occurred to Jing Yo, so simple that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

“The satellite phone that the scientist used — is there a way to get its number?” he asked.

The more he drove the truck, the more Zeus felt comfortable with it. It wasn’t very fast — the speedometer claimed ninety kilometers per hour, but that was clearly wishful thinking. Still, it was very sure-footed, easily moving through the muddy road and deep puddles along the creek. The rain had almost entirely stopped, but the downpour had flooded the waterway, and it overlapped much of the road. Sections of the highway were completely covered by running water, which fought against the wheels as they started up the mountain.

“We’re going to need some way around that intersection where we left the van,” Zeus told Christian. “Find me some little village or something to get through.”

“I’m telling you, there are maybe three roads out that way, and they’re all within one kilometer of each other. The mountains block everything off.”

“Can we go south on 151?”

“You have to go back almost to the van to get there. You want to risk that?”

“It’s either that or we backtrack to the spot where they had that fire-fight,” said Zeus. “You want to do that?”

The SEAL commander had told him everything that had happened. He also assured him that they’d have no trouble rushing past any Chinese soldiers they came across.

Easy for him to say; he was sitting in the back with the others.

“There’s some little village here we might be able to get through,” said Christian. “A couple of klicks from here. Maybe there’s a road through it that isn’t on the map.”

There were plenty of uncharted roads. The problem was, they generally went nowhere, which was why they were uncharted.

“Maybe. We’ll decide when we get there,” said Zeus. “Keep watching.”

Sitting against the side of the truck, Josh let his body go slack. It was over. He was going home.

It didn’t seem so much like a bad dream as like a piece of his imagination. Time had been balled up incredibly, twisted around.

But it was real. He had the digital camera to prove it.

Josh reached into his pocket and took out the camera. Mara jostled against his side. She’d nodded off practically the moment they’d climbed in. Mạ, who was tucked around him on the other side, had too.

He flipped the switch to play and watched the screen. There was the village; there were the bodies, and the time stamp. It was all evidence.

They might not believe him. They might think he’d made it up. But this was indisputable.

“What are you looking at?” asked one of the SEALs across from him.

“The Chinese destroyed a village. They murdered everyone there. I got a video. Here, take a look.”

Josh’s sat phone began to ring as he handed the camera to the SEAL. He reached into his pocket and, without thinking, hit the button to receive the call. “This is Josh.”

The person on the other side of the line didn’t answer.

“This is Josh,” he repeated. “Who is this?”

“What the hell are you doing?” barked Kerfer.

“I just — ”

“Turn it off.”

Josh hit the Kill switch. Kerfer grabbed the phone, glanced at it for a second, then flung it out of the back of the truck.

The location was near a road and a creek that ran east-west. He was moving, trying to get into the mountains.

Jing Yo did have luck with him after all. He leaned into the space between the two pilots, explaining where he thought their target was.

“We’re about ten kilometers from there,” said the helicopter pilot. “North of them. We can be overhead in a few minutes.”

“Can you make the helicopter quieter?”

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant. There’s no way to do that.”

“Switch off the light at least.”

“You sure? They’ll hear us coming anyway.”

“Switch it off. Take us higher. Make a pass as if we’re not interested, as if we’re going somewhere else.”

“Why not go around then?”

“I want to see what it looks like. We’ll spot it, then we’ll set an ambush.”

The village Major Christian had spotted on the map turned out to be two farm buildings at the edge of a field. Zeus found a path behind them that led in the proper direction, but after driving down it for two hundred yards, they discovered that the path ended in a pond. He had to back up all the way to the road.

Kerfer jumped from the back as he reached the blacktop.

“What’s our sitrep?” asked the SEAL lieutenant, climbing up on the side of the truck.

“I thought we had a shortcut to 151,” said Zeus. “But it looks like the only way back is through that intersection where the Chinese were.”

“No sweat. We can handle them.”

“There may be more troops there by now,” said Zeus. “They’re moving down the mountain range to make sure their main force doesn’t get attacked from the side. There could be a lot of troops there by now.”

“The UAVs told you this?”

“No, the clouds are still too thick. There won’t be data for another half hour at least.”

“So you know that how?”

“I know what they’d do. I’ve war-gamed it.”

“War-gamed it. Shit.”

“Hey, screw you, Lieutenant,” said Christian. “If it wasn’t for us, you’d be walking home.”

Kerfer snorted. “Me and one of my guys will ride in the cab,” he said. “If there’s any trouble, we’ll take care of it.”

“There’s no room,” said Christian.

“You ride in the back with the rest of the luggage.”

“I’m the navigator.”

“He doesn’t need a navigator. He’s going back the way he came, right? Besides, he’s got me.”

Chinese troops had burst through Lao Cai and were spreading down the eastern side of the Con Voi mountain range, aiming to prevent the Vietnamese from attacking on the northeastern flank and cutting off supply lines south. Jing Yo could see the first advance groups of vehicles along the road as the helicopter headed eastward. The campaign was going well; the Vietnamese would soon be vanquished.

But the victory would be like eating ashes at a New Year’s feast if he did not accomplish his mission.

The clouds were drifting east, allowing the moon and stars to light the ground below. Seeing detail was out of the question, but there was enough light to see vehicles.

“Troop truck,” noted the pilot as they came through a valley just below Route 151.

Jing Yo leaned closer, looking out the window.

“One of ours,” said the copilot as they passed it. “Probably reinforcing that checkpoint ahead.”

“Find a place to land near the checkpoint,” said Jing Yo, pulling up his radio to get division to alert the checkpoint to what was going on.

Zeus had a simple plan for getting past anyone he came to — hit the gas, duck down, and pray.

And run them over, if possible.

The problem was, he had to make a fairly sharp turn right before he got to the intersection, which meant slowing down.

His fingers tightened on the wheel as he climbed up the hill. The truck’s speedometer read thirty, but that felt optimistic.

“Maybe we should stop down the road,” he told Kerfer. “You guys go through the field and surprise them.”

“Too much trouble. Let’s just get across.”

“Listen, if they blocked the road — ”

“No shit, Major. I talked to the head spook before I came up here. They have their UAVs back on line, and he says the only vehicle there is your shot-up van. So just play through. All right? Fuckin’ relax. You’re with the Navy now.”

Zeus took a breath.

“Intersection in like zero-two minutes,” said the other SEAL, studying his GPS.

“Better kill your lights,” said Kerfer.

“I can handle it.”

“Relax, Major. I’ve done this before.”

“So have I.”

Kerfer gave him a skeptical look.

“I was in Afghanistan just last year,” said Zeus. “I commanded a Special Forces A team.”

“Then untwist your panties, loosen your grip, and get this thing moving a little faster.”

Mara leaned against Josh, half sleeping. It was going to be so good to get back to Bangkok and have a bath, she thought, a real bath.

They hit a hard bump. She lifted her head, then started to lean back.

Sleep would be nice.

As she closed her eyes again, the truck began skidding sharply to the left. She was thrown against Josh, nearly bowling him over.

“I’m sorry,” she started to say, when the truck flew back in the other direction and he was thrown on top of her.

“Faster!” shouted Kerfer as the two Chinese soldiers came out firing from behind the wrecked van ahead.

Little Joe rose and leaned out the passenger-side window with his gun. He fired a grenade at the van, then began emptying his rifle at the soldiers at the other side of the intersection. Kerfer spun his rifle around and bashed the windshield. The glass crinkled but didn’t break.

“Scumbag Chinese,” he said, hitting it again in a second spot. “Don’t even make a goddamn window right.”

This time the glass broke, most of it falling straight down on top of him. He spun his gun around, rose in the seat, and began firing.

Zeus swerved hard to take the turn. Even though the truck was going only about twenty kilometers an hour, it rocked hard on its chassis, nearly leaving its wheels as he turned.

They were past them. Safe.

Almost.

“Watch out in the back!” yelled Kerfer. He pushed up through the windshield, onto the truck, looking toward the rear. Three soldiers came running from the side of the road. He fired at them, but it was impossible to tell whether he had got them or his men in the back had.

The lock on Little Joe’s door gave way and the door sprang open. The SEAL flew out with it, then lost his weapon as he scrambled to stay aboard the truck. Kerfer tossed his own gun back in the cab and reached over for his shooter, swinging him back in.

Little Joe howled as his arm was caught against the door frame. Zeus hit the brakes.

“What the hell are you stopping the truck for?” screamed Kerfer.

“Get him in.”

“I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Just get him the hell in.”

The helicopter they’d heard earlier buzzed toward them from the east, its searchlight augering through the darkness toward their hood. Kerfer tilted his gun upward and fired. As he did, the woods on both sides of the truck lit up with gunfire.

Jing Yo, rising from the ditch where he and his men had hidden themselves, zeroed in on the front of the truck as the helicopter came overhead. The truck suddenly stopped, hesitating for a moment before starting backward.

“Fire! Fire!” yelled Jing Yo.

His men, posted with regular army troops from the scouting group that had occupied the area earlier, began complying. The truck jerked backward, then disappeared in fog.

Smoke. A grenade — several grenades, covering their retreat.

“Keep attacking!” yelled Jing Yo.

The helicopter was above, but not close enough to blow the smoke away. The truck wheeled to the side and crashed into something.

Bullets flew back toward the Chinese troops. A tremendous fury rose from behind the trees. In the confusion, the jungle seemed to be exploding on its own, branches and even trunks flying around as the human enemies emptied their weapons against each other.

“Don’t let them get away!” yelled Jing Yo. “They’re retreating!”

Across the road, Ai Gua rose. He brought his gun up to fire, then fell, hit by a bullet. Sergeant Wu ran toward him.

“No!” yelled Jing Yo, but it was too late — a grenade launched by the Americans exploded nearly in the sergeant’s face.

Jing Yo started toward them. Something hit him hard in the shoulder, spinning him downward. His head lost its weight; he tasted the bitter water of pain and felt the admonishment of his mentors, the stern glance of the monks who had overseen his studies.

“You will try harder,” they told him.

Their words seized him, and he struggled to his feet to rejoin the battle.

Josh pulled Mạ beneath him as the truck shot backward. The canvas top above them seemed to disintegrate into flying lead. The SEALs scrambled toward the tailgate, pushing over him, but the truck was still moving, lurching from side to side. It slammed into something hard. Josh and Mạ slipped into someone; before he could react, the truck spun back the other way and jerked down into a ditch.

Josh felt himself being pulled or pushed out. He grabbed hold of Mạ.

“We’ll be all right, we’ll be all right,” he told her, the words an incantation.

“Down, Josh, down!” yelled Mara, pulling him from the truck.

Josh shoved himself out, curling Mạ in his arms as he fell. He clung to her tightly, trying to spin so he would land on his shoulder. To his surprise they landed in water, sinking in a big splash before bottoming out. He jerked upright, then fell back under the surface, once more trying to spin to his side to keep Mạ from getting hurt. This time he was only partly successful, and heard the girl yelp as he pushed back to his knees. The cry reassured him — she was still alive.

“This way, this way!” yelled one of the SEALs.

Josh got to his feet and began following in the direction of the voice, wading through the calf-deep water.

“Come on,” said Mara, taking hold of his side. “Go! Come on!”

“I have Mạ,” he said, starting to run.

“I know. Come on.”

A light lit above, an illumination flare shot by one of the Chinese ambushers. The gunfire stoked up.

“If I die,” Josh told Mara, “take the video to the UN.”

“You’re not going to die,” she said. “Run!”

As soon as Zeus felt the truck going down into the embankment, he knew he’d never get it out. He braced himself, revving the engine but not really in control as the vehicle bounded across the rocks and then wedged itself against a tree and the side of the ditch.

“Get out!” he yelled, but he was the only one left in the cab. Kerfer and Little Joe were already on the road, providing covering fire.

Zeus opened his door and threw himself out of the truck. His left arm hit the door side and he went into the dirt face-first, slamming into the side of the embankment. His legs were in water.

He rolled over. Remembering that he had left his gun in the cab, he pulled himself up and went to grab it. As he did, a grenade or rocket shot through the passenger side of the cab, flying through the missing window and through the thin back panel into the back. Zeus fell backward, rifle in his hand, as it exploded in the jungle behind the truck.

He landed under the water. Sputtering, he pulled himself up and started crawling on his hands and knees away from the truck. Someone had fired a flare, and the sky had become white with its harsh light, casting the jungle in alternating shadows of green and white. One of the SEALs lay on the edge of the road, gun pointing toward the area they’d just left.

“Let’s get back,” Zeus told him.

The sailor looked at him, then leaned his head forward, collapsing on the road. He’d been shot in several places.

“Shit,” said Zeus.

He scooped himself under the man’s stomach, wedging himself in so he could lift and carry him. He struggled up, then lost his balance and had to drop to his knees. His right knee hit a rock and the pain shook his entire frame.

“Come on, damn it,” said Zeus, pushing back up.

Bullets were flying everywhere. He ran along the road in the direction of the troops they had just driven past.

Mara flung herself down as the SEALs in front of her began firing at the pair of Chinese soldiers in the intersection. The two men seemed bewildered, unsure of what was going on, frozen by the suddenness and ferocity of the fight. They paid for their surprise with their lives; the SEALs quickly cut them down.

“Over there, over there!” yelled Mara, spotting two more soldiers up the road.

Even as she yelled, she began firing. One fell; the other threw himself back into the shadows.

She looked back. Josh was in the ditch, carrying the girl.

“That van!” she yelled to him. “We’ll take it!”

Jing Yo felt the truth of the battle in his mind, understanding what was happening without the interpretation of words or logical reasoning. He had taken a gamble, and not entirely won — the Americans had been driven back, but the army soldiers he had alerted for assistance had not been able to rally quickly enough to overcome them. As a consequence, his small force had been overwhelmed.

It was up to him.

He reached into his pocket for the pencil flare, and fired it, signaling the helicopter to pick him up.

Zeus ran down the road, carrying the SEAL on his back. With every step he expected to be hit. Bullets flew everywhere.

Troops were firing from the trees along the road on his right — the rest of the SEALs, he thought, and he started angling toward them.

Only as he reached the water on that side of the road did he realize the gunfire was coming from Chinese troops, part of the unit they had rushed past a minute earlier. A bullet flashed in his direction.

They had spotted him.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, starting to his left to get into the ditch for shelter.

As he turned, a gun began roaring behind him. Then the woods erupted as a grenade went off.

“Careful with him,” yelled Kerfer in Zeus’s ear. “He must be pretty shot up to let you carry him.”

“No bull,” said Zeus.

“Does that van you left behind still run?” Kerfer asked.

“Damned if I know.”

“Let’s try it.”

“Which way?”

“East! No sense having to do this again.”

Josh yanked the rear door of the van open and slid inside. The truck was perforated with bullet holes.

Mara was in the driver’s seat, trying to get it to turn over.

“You’re going to flood it!” he yelled.

“You worry about Mạ!” she yelled back. “I got this.”

The SEALs were outside, firing frenetically. One of them yelled something, and all at once the gunfire stopped.

The engine coughed and sputtered. Mara tried again, but the battery whined, too tired to crank.

Suddenly, the van lurched forward.

“They’re pushing,” yelled Josh. “You gotta pop the clutch!”

“What?”

“The clutch.” He left Mạ and went to the front, leaning over the seat. “Put it in first, push the clutch in, then let off when they’re pushing.”

Mara cursed.

“Wait until I say to push!” Josh yelled through the window.

“Go, just go!” one of them yelled back.

The van started to roll forward. Mara let off on the clutch too soon and the van stopped abruptly. She pushed back in, then tried again. The engine caught.

“Put the clutch in. Don’t let it stall. Don’t let it stall!” yelled Josh.

“Hey, I can drive!” she screamed. “Get the hell out of the way!” she shouted to the SEALs. “I gotta turn it around.”

“We’re going back that way?” said Josh.

“The whole damn Chinese army is west of us,” said Mara. “The only things east are the guys who were firing at us. Once we’re past them, we’re home free.”

Zeus saw the van lurching back and forth in the road, trying to turn around. The SEAL grew heavier and heavier on his back as he ran, pressing him down, until his chest practically touched his knees. One of the sailors finally grabbed him near the vehicle, pulling his injured comrade down and helping Zeus get the man inside the truck.

“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!” he yelled, jumping inside.

Then he realized Christian wasn’t there. Cursing, he turned and hopped out the back. As he did, a thick arm hit him across the chest just below the neck, practically clotheslining him.

“Where are you going?” said Kerfer.

“I need Major Christian,” he said. “We can’t leave him behind.”

“This bus is leaving,” said Kerfer.

“He’s too valuable.”

“I’m here!” yelled Christian, running up with one of the SEALs.

“Go, let’s go!” shouted Kerfer. He jumped onto the top of the van. “Don’t stop if I fall off! If anybody falls off — don’t stop! Just go. It’s the scientist we want. Everybody else walks. It’s hell or bust!”

Jing Yo threw himself through the large hatchway into the helicopter, scrambled to his feet, and ran up front to the cockpit.

“They’re getting into a van!” yelled the pilots.

It was a stroke of luck.

Jing Yo turned and ran back to the cabin. “Shoot at the van,” he told the gunner there. “Shoot it when it comes down the road.”

“We have only a few rounds left.”

They had gone through a dozen boxes of ammunition during the mission.

“Fire until you’re out of bullets. Then use your personal weapons.”

Jing Yo raised the rifle in his hand. He too was nearly out of ammunition — one more box of shells besides the one he had in the gun.

“Get us over the van!” he shouted as the helicopter swirled. “Get us close!”

The helicopter circled back, following the van. Jing Yo began to fire. So did the door gunner. Bullets flew back at him. The pilot backed off.

Jing Yo’s anger exploded. He leapt to the cockpit. “That van must be stopped. Get closer!”

“I’m as close as I dare.”

“You will crash into it if necessary,” said Jing Yo.

“No, I won’t, Lieutenant.”

Jing Yo put the muzzle of his rifle against the pilot’s neck. The barrel was still hot, and the pilot yelped with pain.

“Crash into the bastards. It is our duty.”

The van jerked out of Mara’s control every time they hit water. She had to take her foot off the gas, try and hold the wheel straight, and just wait until the steering came back.

The gunfire seemed to have died down, if not stopped. They were past the Chinese, beyond the worst of it.

The van skidded around the corner. Mara backed off on the gas, pushed into the skid, then corrected, trying not to oversteer. She got onto a patch of dry, smooth road and went straight for a few yards, then came to water and began skidding again. The SEALs on the roof — there were at least three — lurched and slid with the van.

Josh had pushed into the front seat beside her, along with one of the SEALs, who was leaning halfway out the window with his gun.

“The helicopter!” yelled Josh. “It’s coming back around.”

“Shoot it down!” yelled Mara.

Josh grabbed her gun from the floor. The SEAL began firing. The helicopter arced in front of them, giving whoever was in the cabin a good angle to fire. Mara swerved, trying to stay with the road as it pushed right. The chopper passed overhead.

“Good one!” yelled Josh. “Now go! Get us out of here!”

The road took another sharp turn right. It was rising out of the flooded area. Mara stepped on the gas but quickly went into another skid. She just barely retained control.

“He’s coming back!” yelled Josh.

The helicopter swung around in front of them. Everyone in the van seemed to be firing at him, but he was coming in, still firing.

“I think he’s going to crash into us!” yelled Josh.

“Hang on!” yelled Mara as the turn came up.

She started to yank the wheel right, to take the switchback, but the wheels of the van kept going straight. She gave up trying to correct it and instead spun the wheel to make the skid worse, spinning into the bend of the road. Mara jammed the brakes, trying to stop as they slid in among the trees. The helicopter passed within a few feet, its undercarriage ripping into the treetops as it shot by.

“Go, go, go!” yelled Josh.

“No fucking kiddin’,” growled Mara, pulling out of the jungle and back onto the road.

Jing Yo hurtled toward the open door of the helicopter as the aircraft lurched through the tops of the trees. He saw blackness, then light, and for a moment he believed that he had left the realm of pain and confusion, the world that every devout Buddhist vows to escape. Then his hands slammed against the side of the cabin. They grabbed hold, and he managed to hold himself in the aircraft even though his feet dangled in the void.

The helicopter whirled in a backward circle. Jing Yo clawed at the side of the cabin, pulling himself toward the cockpit.

“The van!” he yelled. “The van!”

The pilots were too busy to hear him. The chopper’s engine, hit in a dozen places, had given out. They saw a flat, open space before them — the overflowing creek — and aimed for it.

“Brace for impact!” yelled the copilot.

A half second later, the helicopter crashed into the water.

32

Mara’s hand trembled as they climbed up the second switchback. The helicopter seemed to have disappeared.

“God, this thing is impossible to steer,” she said, taking the turn. “Did we lose anyone? Josh — where are the SEALs?”

“Don’t worry about us,” said the sailor to Josh’s right. He turned around, putting his feet on the seat and leaning across what had been the windshield before it was shot out. “Just keep going.”

“I’m not leaving any of you behind.”

“You aren’t.” Kerfer leaned over the side, his head at her window. “Just keep going.”

“Okay, okay.” She downshifted to take the next curve. “I hate manual transmissions.”

They crested the hill. There were no lights in front of them, no gun flashes, no explosions.

“I’m going to check on Mạ,” said Josh. He left the gun and climbed back.

Mạ was sitting between two of the SEALs, watching as they performed a silent puppet show with their fingers. The girl started laughing as the fingers crashed into each other. They’d finally won her over.

Things are going to be all right, thought Josh.

Then he realized that wasn’t quite true. They had escaped, but things weren’t all right. They were going to be very messed up for a long time.

Maybe forever, as far as Mạ was concerned.

He had to get back to America. Once there, he’d tell his story. A lot of people weren’t going to believe it. They’d see the video, and probably think he’d faked it.

He’d make them believe. This was a world war, bigger than anything the world had confronted in decades.

Bigger. Neither side could wipe out life on the planet then. They sure could now.

“How you doing?” asked Zeus.

“I’m doing okay, Major. Thanks for coming for us.”

“You can call me Zeus.” He stuck out his hand. “We should be back in a couple of hours. I just talked to my general. Another truck is going to meet us at Tuyên Quang. He’s driving it himself.”

“Good.”

“There are no Chinese troops between us and Hanoi. We’re home free.”

Josh nodded.

“Hey, cheer up,” said Major Christian. “It’s over, right?”

“No,” said Josh. “It’s just beginning.”