by Larry Bond
Things had gone to hell in less than an hour. The attack on the airport had been bad enough, but the strike on the downtown government buildings had provoked a panic. Mara, looking out the window facing north, counted eight different fires and knew there would be many more to the west. Army, militia, and police vehicles raced up and down, without a discernible pattern. Sporadic gunfire rang through the streets. The city had gone mad.
The hotel staff began going door to door, telling the guests that they must meet for “special instructions” on the emergency, and escorting them down to the hotel’s grand ballroom. Kerfer suggested they bug out of the hotel immediately, but Mara decided it would be wiser to see exactly what the authorities were up to. The street didn’t seem to be a particularly safe place at the moment.
The ballroom wasn’t as crowded as she’d thought it would be. Fewer than two hundred guests were still at the Renoir, somewhere between half and a third of its normal complement. Management had rolled out a table with pastries and cookies, along with an array of nonalcoholic beverages. Mạ, clinging to josh, grabbed a fistful of cookies and stuffed them in her mouth.
Senior staff walked through the room, trying to make light chatter. The only thing guests wanted to talk about was the possibility of leaving the city, but this was the one thing the staffers couldn’t address. The stillborn conversations simply increased the anxiety. Mara stayed next to Josh and Mạ. Little Joe and Stevens huddled next to them, taking turns making faces at the little girl. Kerfer and the rest of the SEALs filtered out through the room, always circling nearby to keep an eye on them.
A young Australian couple introduced themselves to Mara and Josh, the woman swearing she had seen them at breakfast.
“Oh, uh-huh,” said Mara. She was certain that the pair must be intelligence agents of some sort, most likely curious about whether they were as well. “How long have you been in Saigon?”
“Just a few days,” said the Australian wife. “We got here before the war started. I didn’t think it was real until this evening. And how long have you been here?”
“Two weeks,” said Mara. “My husband is a scientist.”
“What do you do?” asked the woman.
“He’s a biologist,” said Mara, purposely misunderstanding. “He’s not feeling very well tonight. Something he ate.”
“Is this your daughter?” she asked.
Mạ hid her face.
“She’s adopted,” said Mara.
“She’s very cute.”
“Thank you.”
“She was an orphan,” said Josh protectively.
Mara sharpened her gaze, trying to remind him to keep the details fuzzy.
“Ladies and gentlemens, please,” said the manager, speaking at a small mobile podium at the front of the ballroom. “If I could have everyone’s attention.”
Mara pushed Josh gently to the side, edging away from the Australians. She reached for Mạ, who reluctantly climbed over to her.
“You’re getting heavy,” Mara whispered in Vietnamese.
“Can we have more cookies?” replied Mạ.
“Sshhh. I’ll get some.”
“You are all aware that there has been an attack — two attacks — on the city,” said the manager. His English was heavily accented, and Mara had to concentrate to understand what he was saying. “I apologize for the inconvenience this has caused. Please under-sand that this attack is a terrible breach of international law and we are doing everything we can to avenge it. Our forces are pushing the Chinese back this very moment…”
The manager kept glancing toward two men in business suits near the doors. It wasn’t too hard to guess that these were party or government officials, and the real audience of the manager’s speech.
“Tan Son Nhat International Airport will reopen in the morning,” continued the manager. “At that time, we will be providing free buses to the airport. The buses will be accompanied by some of our finest troops and police officers. There will be not reason for concern or alarm. Your safety is our utmost. Thank you. Thank you for staying with us. Please enjoy our snacks and beverages.”
Guests began shouting questions. The manager started away from the podium. Glancing at the men in the back, he changed his mind and returned to answer the questions. But most were about things he had no answer for — when the phones would be working, where the Chinese troops were, how planes would be available at the airport.
Mara felt her satellite phone beginning to vibrate.
“Come on,” she told Josh, signaling with her eyes.
One of the men in the suits called to them as they reached the hall. His English was crisp and, while accented, clear.
“Where are you going?” he said.
“We have to go to the women’s room,” said Mara. She held Mạ up slightly, as if she were the reason. Mạ kept her face buried in Mara’s shoulder.
“And you?”
“Me, too. To the men’s,” said Josh.
The man frowned but said nothing else. Mara heard his footsteps behind them as she walked across the reception area toward the hall where the restrooms were. She didn’t want to split up, but she had no choice; the man in the suit would most likely follow Josh into the restroom.
“Go to the last stall,” she told him. “I’ll tell Kerfer you’re there.”
“I do have to pee,” said Josh.
“Good,” said Mara. “Just go. Act normal.”
“Is she okay?”
“Just go.”
Mara gave him a peck on the cheek in case their follower had reached the corner. Then she pushed into the ladies’ room, took the first stall, and put Mạ down.
“Kerfer — if you can hear me — Josh is in the men’s. Send someone.”
She pulled the earset up just in time to hear him growl that they were already on it.
Mara pulled out her phone and dialed Bangkok. DeBiase came on the line immediately.
“Bad timing?” he asked.
“Hotel management is explaining how Vietnam is winning the war,” she said.
“How long will it take you to get down to Vung Tau?” he asked.
“Where?”
“The peninsula. Down where you picked up Starry when we were trying to get those RPGS over to — ”
“Okay, okay, yeah. I can get there. The airport?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s open? It’s got a really short runway.”
“That’s not a problem.”
“I don’t know when we can leave,” Mara told him. “They’re enforcing the curfew. We’ve heard gunfire outside on the streets. One of the SEALs heard rumors that the Chinese were sending paratroopers.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“I realize that.” Mara looked down at Mạ. The tired girl clutched Mara’s pants leg, her fingers squeezing the cloth so tightly her knuckles were white. “I’m not sure if we’ll be able to get gas. Or that our cars are still going to be there.”
“I have fresh cars for you.”
“How?”
“They’re clean, don’t worry.”
“Jess, I don’t know. That guy in the park — ”
“Mara, I’m every bit as paranoid as you are,” said DeBiase. “Waiting around in Saigon isn’t a great idea.”
No shit, Mara wanted to scream.
“We’ll have a big party when you get back,” added DeBiase. “Maybe I’ll even get my hernia done.”
“Tell me where the cars are,” she said finally. “I’m not sure when I’m leaving. I have to think about it. We’ll get there eventually.”
“I’m sure you will, darling.” DeBiase’s voice flickered with concern. Then he added lightly, “You gotta make the call. Go when you’re comfortable.”
* * *
Josh’s cheek stung where Mara had kissed him, as if her lips had somehow short-circuited his nerves there. He sat on the commode, waiting while the Vietnamese official pretended to wash his hands. Or maybe he really did wash his hands — t
he dryer whooshed on three times before the man left the restroom. A moment later, Kerfer came in, humming a tune.
“Going to the chapel, gonna get ma-a-ar-ried.”
It was such an incongruous song for the grizzled lieutenant that Josh started to laugh.
“Gonna get mah-ah-ahrried,” repeated Kerfer, going over to the urinals.
“Hey,” said Josh.
“Don’t forget to flush.”
Josh came out and washed his hands.
“Where’re the girls?” asked Kerfer.
“Went next door.”
“If you guys want to have a quickie, remember to hand the kid off to Squeaky first.”
Josh felt his face flush. He waved his hands under the dryer.
“Still hurt when you pee?” said Kerfer.
“Yeah.”
“Go ahead out,” said Kerfer, going to the dryer. “Squeaky’s out in the hall.”
“You think you have to stick this close?”
“Gives the guys something to do,” said Kerfer. “Otherwise they’ll end up with the same thing you got.”
* * *
“I say we get the hell out of here,” said Kerfer. “Sooner the better.”
Mara reached down to the banquet table at the back of the ballroom. The manager had been replaced by a small string ensemble playing something by Mozart. Fifty or sixty guests remained, including the Australian couple, who were busy chatting up a tall Frenchman on the other side of the room.
“We’re going to have to wait until morning to leave,” said Mara. “They’re enforcing the curfew on the streets.”
Kerfer made a face.
“I know you don’t think much of the Vietnamese,” Mara said. “But their guns have real bullets.”
“Once we’re outside of the city limits, it’ll be easy,” said the SEAL. “And my guess is that they’re only patrolling here, calming the tourists. Or cowing them.”
“What’s the gunfire about then?”
“Idiots panicking,” said Kerfer. “Where are these cars?”
“Across the river. I’m sure the bridges will be blocked.”
“We go by water then.”
“The ferry isn’t running. You want to swim?”
“I’ve swum a lot farther,” he said. “We’ll put you, Junior, and the kid in a life raft and tow you across.”
“You probably would.”
They stayed in the ballroom for another half hour. Stevens reported that guests were being barred from the lobby area, and that guards had been posted at all of the doorways. He’d tried to get upstairs to the lounge, but the doors were all locked.
“And they cut the electricity above this floor,” said Stevens. “We gotta walk up to our rooms.”
“Probably a miracle that there’s electricity anyway,” said Kerfer. “I’d like to get up to the roof and see what’s going on.”
“Club’s locked, Cap.”
“Spook can get us in,” said Kerfer. “Right, beautiful?”
“Maybe if you stop calling me beautiful.”
“Okay, ugly puss.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
“Not in my vocabulary.”
The video surveillance cameras worked off the electricity, and with no electricity they weren’t operating. Mara had to get through two locks to get them into the club and out to the terrace. Neither was very difficult. Little Joe and Stevens stayed below as lookouts; everyone else came up. Squeaky carried Mạ, who’d fallen asleep. She looked almost like a doll in the big man’s arms.
A huge fire was burning only a few blocks from the hotel. Its glow was so intense that the nearby streets seemed to have turned orange, as if the sun had set between the buildings.
“Balmy night,” said Kerfer.
“Picture perfect,” replied Mara.
“What’s on fire?” Josh asked.
“That’s the airport in the distance,” said Mara. “They probably set the fuel stores on fire. Closer in, I’m guessing government buildings. Those over there are natural-gas fires. That’s just a big building.”
“You an expert on fires?” said Kerfer.
“I’ve seen more than a few.”
Mara walked over to the edge, scanning the river. The gunboat that had been tied up nearby had moved northward to the middle of the channel. A smattering of small boats were docked on the far shore, but otherwise the river was empty. The street in front of the hotel was empty. A troop truck sat in the nearby intersection, but Mara couldn’t see any soldiers.
“I’m gettin’ kinda tired,” said Josh. “Are we goin’ back to our rooms or what?”
“Maybe we’d better,” said Mara. “We’ll leave in the morning.”
She started for the doorway to get back into the enclosed area.
“Hold on,” said Kerfer, his hand over his radio earphone. “Someone’s coming up the steps.”
11
Ho Chi Minh City
Jing Yo had dozed off on the mat where they’d made love, falling into a dreamless sleep. He missed the final round of attacks, which struck fuel supplies north of the city as well as a military base to the west, and slept through the roar of the fire engines and military vehicles racing to deal with the destruction. He woke more than an hour later, in the quietest part of the night, with no reason to wake but the internal mechanisms of his mind. When he woke, he was refreshed, as calm and alert as on any of several thousand mornings as a young man in the mountains, studying to become an adept. He woke with his mind decided on what to do:
After he completed his mission, he would take Hyuen Bo and escape to Myanmar. There were countless places to escape there, and as long as his mission was completed the government wouldn’t press too hard to find him.
Colonel Sun might. But that was a separate problem.
Hyuen Bo was sleeping next to him. He put his hand down on her back, pressing it gently. He realized now that their fates were intertwined. He was not seeking to escape his karma, but fulfilling it.
The phone Mr. Tong had given him began to ring. Jing Yo rose, and took it with him to the kitchen.
“This is Jing Yo,” he said.
“We have located your subject.”
“Where?”
“Meet us behind the Rex Hotel as quickly as you can.”
“I’m on my way,” he said, though the connection had already been broken.
When Jing Yo looked up from the phone, he saw Hyuen Bo standing at the door to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I’ll be back.”
“I want to go with you.”
“No.”
He started past her. She clutched at his chest. “Please.”
“It won’t be safe. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“You’re lying,” she said. “You told me you never lie.”
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back.” Jing Yo felt ashamed for lying, but he simply couldn’t allow her to come. “I will be back. Be ready to leave.”
“Will they let us?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, putting his finger to his lips.
* * *
The location sounded wrong to Jing Yo — it was in the center of the city, far from where he had seen the Americans earlier. And to get there, he would have to pass through part of the city that had been bombed earlier.
The more he considered it, the more he told himself that he must take Hyuen Bo with him.
Not that there was any question of her staying in any event.
* * *
He thought of running then, of leaving the country and going to Myanmar. But he had no proof of their treachery, and in the end, Jing Yo decided he must at least try to do his duty.
The Rex Hotel was to the northwest, more than two miles away. Hand in hand, they left the building where they were staying and went down the street. Within a block, Jing Yo began to trot. Hyuen Bo kept pace.
His plan was simple. He would hide her near the building when they arrived,
then come for her when he was done. They would leave immediately, never to return.
They’d gone only a few blocks when Jing Yo heard the sound of trucks approaching. He pulled Hyuen Bo back into an alley they’d just passed, and pushed her behind some garbage cans to hide. Then he ducked next to her, craning his neck to see.
Two pickup trucks drove by, the beds crammed with militiamen in street clothes, red rags and bandannas on their arms and heads to identify themselves, at least to one another.
As soon as the trucks passed, Jing Yo ran up to the corner. He watched as the trucks pulled into the middle of the intersection ahead. The men at the rear jumped out.
One of them yelled angrily. Several lifted their rifles and began to fire, spraying the nearby buildings with slugs. Men spread out in each direction, shouting and walking, firing indiscriminately at the buildings.
“They’re saying the Chinese citizens are traitors,” whispered Hyuen Bo. She’d come up so quietly that he hadn’t heard her. “They’re taking revenge for the attacks. This is Chinatown.”
“I heard them,” said Jing Yo. “Why aren’t you hiding?”
“I need to be with you.”
“The people who live here are Vietnamese.”
“Not in their eyes.”
Two of the men approached down the block. Jing Yo eased Hyuen Bo back against the wall, tucking her into the shadows, then edged to the corner.
Even if they both hid behind the garbage cans, the militiamen would have no trouble seeing them if they walked down the alley. Escape would be impossible.
Jing Yo would have the advantage if he struck them as they walked past, but doing that might bring the attention of the others.
Let them walk past? What if they turned at the last second and saw him?
Too much of a risk, Jing Yo decided as the first man drew parallel to the alley. The second followed a half moment later.
“Traitors!” yelled the first man, lifting his gun to the sky.
Jing Yo’s foot caught him in the throat as he leapt into him. Rolling off the kick, Jing Yo caught the second man with hard punch to his startled face. A second chop rendered him unconscious, collapsing his windpipe and making it impossible to breathe.
Jing Yo grabbed the man’s rifle as it clattered to the ground. Then he ran to the first man and with a fast kick to his forehead sent him to eternity.