by Larry Bond
“I make exceptions.”
“An art lover,” the ambassador told the two women hovering next to him. Jackson calculated that, if their ages were added together, they would still be about a third short of Goldenachov’s.
“It is a lovely night,” said Jackson.
“Indeed.”
“A good night for a stroll.”
Goldenachov raised his eyebrow. “Perhaps you would care to share a cigar,” he suggested. He reached into his pocket. “Cubans.”
America still had a ban against certain Cuban exports—including cigars. Technically, Jackson was violating the law by smoking one.
The things one was forced to do in the name of national security.
“I suppose I might,” said Jackson, taking the long Figurado.
Goldenachov turned to the women. “If you would excuse me for a moment, we are going to pollute the air.”
~ * ~
President Greene was sitting up in bed, one eye on the television, the other on a briefing paper relating to suggested changes in the upcoming health care legislation. It was almost 11:30. He’d switched off the Lakers game—they were being pummeled—and was waiting for Jon Stewart to come on. Even though Stewart rode him unmercifully, his show was a secret pleasure.
A top-secret pleasure. But damn, the guy was just funny. And Greene’s wife was away, which meant she wouldn’t needle him for watching it.
The phone rang. The White House operator told him Jackson was calling.
“Put him through.”
His National Security adviser’s voice boomed in his ear a second later. He sounded out of breath.
“Good evening, Mr. President. I’m just on my way back from the reception.”
“Walter, how did we do?”
“It’s set. We’ll use the arrangements we used in Malaysia. The sales will appear to come from Georgia through Syria. The agency can go ahead.”
“Were there complications?”
“The only serious ones were to my lungs,” said Jackson.
“To your lungs?”
“I’ll explain tomorrow.” Jackson started to say something, then stopped.
“What is it?” asked Greene.
“I don’t know that this is a good idea.”
“Stopping China?”
“Working with the Russians.”
“It’s a terrible idea, Walter. But at the moment, it’s the best one we have,” said Greene. “Excellent. I’ll call Frost at the CIA in the morning and have him make the arrangements. Good work, Walter. Have a good sleep.”
“I’ll try,” said Jackson. “First, I’m taking the world’s longest and hottest shower. I may even douse myself with disinfectant.”
~ * ~
26
Hanoi
It was Anna who moved first. Everyone else in the small hospital room was frozen in place. She took a step back from the man she’d just been working to save, turned, and walked from the room.
Zeus had trouble getting his legs to work. He’d seen plenty of deaths before, had killed more than his share of men. It was a necessity, a duty, a job in war.
This was different.
He pushed his feet to move, shuffling at first, then striding, moving purposely. He went out of the room and turned into the hall, looking for Anna.
She’d disappeared. He walked quickly to the large ward room and looked inside. She wasn’t there. His eyes met the gaze of a nurse, who was looking at him for an explanation: What had the shot been about?
He broke her gaze quickly and hurried down the hall, looking in each ward. He went to the end of the hall, where the woman who had given him clothes the day before looked at him with a blank, shocked expression.
“Where did Anna go?” he demanded. “Dr. Anway?”
But of course the woman didn’t speak English. She could only stare, uncomprehending, speechless. Zeus turned and went up the stairs, trotting, then running.
He caught up to her on the sidewalk outside, near the end of the block. She was still wearing the gloves she’d had on in the hospital room. Blood had splattered on her.
Spots stained her face.
Zeus reached to wipe them off, and she collapsed in his arms.
~ * ~
He found her apartment without difficulty. She didn’t have her keys, but the lock was easily forced with the help of Zeus’s identity card.
He carried her into her room and put her on the bed. Then he went to her kitchen and looked for the kettle to make some tea.
There was no running water. Zeus opened the refrigerator, and found there was no light—the electricity was off as well.
A jug of water sat on the counter. He poured some into the teapot, then went to the stove. There was still gas, and there matches at the side. The burner lit with a loud pul-ufff.
The sound was odd—Zeus’s ears were still shocked from the sound of the gun.
God, why had they had killed the man? Because he was Chinese?
I should have stopped him. But how? It was over before I realized what was happening. I never expected it.
The kettle began to shake. Zeus started looking for tea.
He found a canister on the counter filled with loose tea leaves. He looked through the drawer for something to hold them in, but all he could find was a strainer in the sink washboard. Examining it, he vaguely remembered what Anna had done the other night—the loose tea went directly into the kettle, and was strained when the liquid was poured into the cups.
How much should he use?
Zeus poured water into two cups, then dumped what was left into the sink. Belatedly, he realized he should have poured it into another pot, saving the water—who knew if it would come back on? But it was too late for that now.
He poured the hot water back into the kettle, measured out two spoonfuls of tea, and dumped it in. He stirred it around, and watched it steep.
The result looked too weak. He added a third spoonful.
Zeus maneuvered the pot and strainer carefully, filling the cups.
Anna met him at the door to the bedroom. She wasn’t wearing any clothes.
“I—” The words died on his tongue. She took his arm and tugged him toward the bed, wordlessly asking him to join her there.
Zeus put the cups down on the floor, and did as she asked.
~ * ~
27
American embassy, Hanoi
The phone seemed to weigh twenty pounds. General Perry pressed it harder against his ear as he spoke.
“Mr. President, if we’re not all the way in, we should be all the way out. As I’ve said.”
“You’re saying, give up,” responded Greene.
“I’m saying, we have to play our cards wisely. It’s a long game.”
“You sound like a defeatist, Harland.”
Perry was surprised by Greene’s tone. He’d disagreed with him countless times before; almost always he had been logical, willing to at least listen to the argument. Now it was clear his mind had already been made up.
“Doing something is better than doing nothing,” continued Greene. “You have to agree.”
“Not necessarily. And not in this case, if we take the long view.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Harland. I think we can give them enough of a bloody nose here that they’ll be deterred. It’s in our best interests to drag it out. I’ll bring Congress around eventually. You needed more weapons; here they are. You don’t think Russian equipment is good enough?”
“George, history suggests—”
“History is on my side, Harland. Look at the Russians in Afghanistan. What happened there? Carter and Reagan helped the rebels. They drew it out. It helped collapse the Soviet Union.”
“I don’t know that that conflict is a good example,” said Perry.
Greene didn’t respond for a moment. Perry saw him shaking his head, squeezing his lips together. His mind was definitely made up; he was dealing with a recalcitrant subordinate.
“I always follow orders, Mr. President,” said Perry. “My orders here, your orders, were to give you my opinion without prejudice. And that’s what I’ve done.”
“Yes.” Greene was silent again for a few seconds—a very long few seconds. “I’ll consider your advice,” he told Perry. “In the meantime, tell the Vietnamese their weapons are on the way. Someone will forward the details.”
~ * ~
28
The White House
Greene held the phone for several long moments after General Perry had hung up. He couldn’t remember a time when he had disagreed with Harland on anything more substantial than the probable outcome of a baseball game.
Perry was telling him to stop helping Vietnam—now, rather than later.
Was that really the wise thing to do? If they didn’t get some weapons, they had no chance of surviving. There were downsides, certainly. And real intervention—real assistance—was the right approach. But when you were President, you had to compromise. A lot.
He put the handset back, then immediately picked it up.
“Get me Peter Frost, please.”
Frost came on the line moments later. He was still at home.
“Peter, I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No, sir, Mr. President. Just about to head in.”
“The project we spoke of regarding the Russian arms—let’s move ahead.”
“Uh, yes, sir. Of course.”
“Problem?” asked Greene, noting the slight hesitation.
“I did take the precaution of having the legal review so we could expedite things.”
“And?”
“Divided opinion.”
“That’s fine.”
Legal reviews had been de rigueur at the CIA for some time. There were more lawyers involved in some operations than officers.
“I should tell you, even Bindi’s opinion was borderline,” added Frost. “And that was our lone positive.”
Bindi was a CIA attorney known for taking very pro-administrative stances. Frost was telling Greene that the weapons procurement and transfer would be on extremely shaky ground legally.
“The nonaggression law of 2011 specifically outlawed third-party sales to allies,” Frost explained. “The three negatives pointed that out.”
“Vietnam is not an ally,” said Greene, switching into his own lawyer mode. “Congress’s refusal to authorize the bill to enter into a treaty with Vietnam proves they’re not an ally. So the law doesn’t apply to them.”
“That was Bindi’s position.”
“Slam dunk. I like that man.” Greene chuckled. “It’s fine, Peter. Don’t worry about it. I take full responsibility.”
“Mr. President…”
Greene waited for Frost to complete his thought. Instead, Frost took a deep breath.
“We’ll make it happen, Mr. President.”
“Very good, Peter. I’m counting on you.”
~ * ~
29
Hanoi
Zeus woke with a start.
He was in Anna’s apartment, in her room, in her bed. It was nighttime. She wasn’t there.
He got up slowly, body stiff from his ankles to his neck. He turned his head against a knot in his neck, teasing against the pain.
His first step was a stumble, feet moving awkwardly. Zeus pushed his arms back, gathering himself. He was in a fog, his mind in cotton, distant from his body.
Where was Anna?
Zeus stooped down and picked up his clothes from the floor. He dressed awkwardly, off-balance. With each piece of clothing, he regained more of his equilibrium, became more of himself. By the time he buttoned his shirt, all of his senses had returned. He was a soldier again, at least most of him was ... Some part remained with her, with Anna, resting in a dream.
Zeus walked into the kitchen. A single candle on the stove provided light. She wasn’t there.
“Damn,” he said to himself. He rubbed his eyes, then the top of his head.
What should he do? He had to get back—
Just then, there was a sound at the door: a key placed into the lock. The door opened; Anna came in with a bag of food. She pushed the door closed behind her, slipping in quietly without looking, so that when she finally turned back and found him staring at her across the kitchen she was startled.
“I got some things,” she said, her voice a soft whisper.
“Good,” said Zeus.
He took a half step to hug her, but she was in motion, moving around the kitchen. Zeus retreated to a nearby chair, pulling it out to sit on and watching as she lit the burner.
Anna put the tea kettle on the burner, then lit another candle, putting it on the table. Zeus caught her hand as she placed it down. She turned and gave him a look of such sadness that he felt as if his heart had been stabbed.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She managed a smile, then slipped her hand away. She got out two cups, and retrieved a small bottle from her bag.
“I found you coffee,” she told him, holding up a jar of instant. “Good?”
“Thanks.”
She put the groceries away.
“What time is it?” Zeus asked, though he had a watch.
“Eight.”
“God, I slept all that time.”
“You are very tired.”
Anna poured the water, then sat. She blew gently on her tea.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No,” said Zeus. “Are you?1”
She shook her head.
“My legs feel restless,” Zeus told her. The aroma of the coffee reminded him of soggy cardboard. He hated instant, but he treated the liquid as if it were the most precious in the world, nursing the cup in both hands, the steam rising against his face. “Do you think we could go for a walk?”
She answered with a question. “When do you have to be back?”
“Eventually.” He took a tentative sip. The liquid was still very hot. “What happened in there?” he asked. “At the hospital. Who was the man who was shot?”
She looked straight down at her tea. Her features seemed to harden, the soft frown she’d worn turning into a grimace.
“Can you tell me?” Zeus asked gently
“He was a Chinese pilot. A bandit. The director’s family had been killed by a bomb two days before.”
“Who was the officer who shot him?”
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” said Zeus. “Bad things happen in wars.”
“My grandfather was killed by bombs in the American war. And two of his brothers.”
She stared at him for a moment, then sipped her tea in silence.
“Let’s try that walk,” he told her finally. “Come on.”
~ * ~
There had been no attacks on Hanoi that day, no bombings. But the quiet only increased the tension. Smoke curled in the far distance, the remnants of fires that the emergency crews had not yet succeeded in putting out. Zeus felt torn—his place was at the battlefield, but he wanted to be with Anna as well.
“I saw the bombs fall the first night,” she told him. “I was standing at my window. There was a floodlight in the sky. Sticks fell through it. I thought there was something wrong with my eyes.”
Distance grew between them as they walked shoulder to shoulder, her arm occasionally jostling against his. The closeness that he’d felt in bed, making love, sleeping next to her, dissipated. His mind pulled toward duty. It was like gravity.
She stiffened when he took her hand.
“I want to see you again,” he said.
“In Vietnam, it is not usual to hold hands in public,” she said in a voice so faint that he barely heard.
“It’s dark. The streets are deserted.” He squeezed her fingers, looking down into her face. “Okay? You’ll see me again?”
“Yes.”
He leaned down and kissed her softly, gently, on the lips. She hesitated but then surrendered, her lips meeting his. It was a tantalizing sha
dow of what he had felt earlier, being pulled into bed.