by Larry Bond
“Stay!” Jing Yo hissed to Hyuen Bo, tossing her the gun. “Wait for me!”
He grabbed one of the bandannas, then ran down the block, in the direction of the trucks.
The other militiamen were too busy shooting their weapons to pay much attention to what was happening to their comrades down the street. The two men detailed to guard the trucks had their own pressing project — breaking into a small liquor store near the corner. They left the trucks to the drivers and began looting it.
The drivers had parked the trucks so they could talk to each other. They leaned out their windows, chatting, as Jing Yo ran toward them.
“What are you doing?” snapped one.
Jing Yo shot from the hip as he ran. His first bullets sailed right, but he pulled the gun back smoothly, and with three bursts killed both men.
The guards came out of the liquor store just as he reached the back of the nearest truck. Their arms were filled with bottles. Jing Yo stopped, turned, and fired, cutting both of them down with the last bullets in the magazine.
Jing Yo ran to the bodies, searching for more bullets and grabbing a bandanna for Hyuen Bo. As he did, he heard her shriek a warning from down the block.
He threw himself down, tumbling as the slugs from a militiaman’s rifle shot overhead. The man let go of the trigger and took a step forward, lowering his rifle.
A single shot rang out. Hyuen Bo had killed the man.
14
Ho Chi Minh City
Josh knelt by the side of the table, waiting with Mạ behind the others for whoever was coming up the stairs. He was tired — beyond tired. His eyelids felt as if they were on fire.
And he was angry. He wanted to just get the hell out of there, to go home.
And he was frustrated. He wanted to help — he was still awed by the president’s words, by the fact that the president himself had spoken to him. But sitting here, on the roof of a hotel, hiding — it was a waste of time.
“Here we go,” whispered Kerfer.
Josh wrapped Mạ in his arms. “Gonna be okay,” he whispered.
The door opened. A man with a pair of night goggles appeared in the doorway.
A light shone in his face — a flashlight blinding him. Before he could react, Kerfer had leapt from the side and run his knife across the man’s throat. He dragged him out of the doorway, blood gurgling from the slit in his throat.
Josh kept Mạ’s face buried in his chest.
Mara took the man’s gun. It was a Chang Feng — a small 9 mm Chinese submachine gun.
“Those goggles may be handy, too,” said Kerfer. “Still think this place is safe?”
“I didn’t say it was safe,” snapped Mara.
Mara put her hand to her ear, listening to something over the radio.
“Two more on the stairs,” she said. “Josh, let’s go. You okay with her?”
“I’m okay.”
Mara said something to the girl in Vietnamese. Mạ didn’t react.
Kerfer went to the door. Mara knelt on the other side, waiting.
Josh knelt next to Mara. He felt his mind empty, as if it were a dump truck and the back had just tilted up to let go of its load. He waited, sure that he would kill someone if it came to that, but not in the least having an idea how that would be done. His first job was to protect the girl.
The door opened slowly. It seemed to take an hour for it to move the first inch, then another hour for the second. Suddenly it was flung open.
Nothing happened. A minute passed. To Josh it felt like an entire day passing.
Then there was a yell, and one of the men leaped inside.
Kerfer took him out with a single shot to the head. Mara rolled on her shoulder, firing the small gun she had taken from the other man into the stairwell.
There was a quick burst in the stairwell below.
“Clear!” yelled Stevens.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” said Kerfer, grabbing the night glasses from the dead man and starting down the stairs.
Josh scooped up the fallen man’s submachine gun, then followed Mara down the steps.
15
Ho Chi Minh City
Jing Yo took the truck, speeding down the street before the rest of the militiamen realized what was going on.
“Put the bandanna on,” he told Hyuen Bo.
As he passed the alley, he saw the bodies of the men he had killed and got another idea. He stopped, grabbed the smaller of the two men, and threw him into the back of the truck. A few blocks later, he stopped again.
“Put his shirt and cap on,” he told Hyuen Bo. “Tuck your hair up. You’ll look more like one of them.”
She did so. It worked — to a point.
The soldiers manning the first blockade they came to accepted them as militiamen, but would not let them through.
“Our orders are no one, not even government officials,” said the sergeant who stopped them.
Jing Yo backed the truck away without arguing. He went down the block and took a turn toward the river. There were soldiers on the corners, but no roadblocks until Dien Bien Phu. Here a policeman waved him to the right without bothering to question them, recognizing the vehicle as one of the militia trucks.
A crowd of soldiers massed at Ho Ky Hoa Park, and the overflow extended down toward the main roads, with military jeeps and trucks blocking sidewalks. Jing Yo drove around the back of a row of stores and found a place to park in a small yard next to a garage.
“Stay close to me,” he told Hyuen Bo, leading her across the back alley to the row of small buildings on the opposite side. He helped her onto the roof of a small shed at the back of one of the buildings, then brought over a garbage can for a boost and climbed up. From there they made their way to a fire escape that went up four stories to the back of the tallest building on the block.
Jing Yo surveyed the downtown area from the roof. There were several fires to the west and the north, in the general vicinity of the government buildings. By contrast, the area near the river, where he had seen the scientist earlier, was dark.
Had he been sent in the wrong direction? Were the spies so confident of their position that they would purposely risk his capture?
Or was the scientist actually where they said?
He didn’t have the luxury of puzzling it out. He had to act. Jing Yo decided to look by the river, where he had seen him earlier.
If he didn’t find him, he would cross the water and take Hyuen Bo to a new hiding place. The old one was in too dangerous an area, even if he had not been betrayed.
16
Ho Chi Minh City
Mara edged down the stairway, right hand on the wall. The night glasses were not quite as good as American models, with a very fuzzy grain. But in the pitch-black darkness, they were a godsend.
Stevens was waiting at the first landing below the club level. The man he had killed was crumpled against the wall. He was wearing dark clothes, and had no identification on him. Like the others, he was armed with a Chang Feng.
Stevens had already taken the goggles and was two floors below. Kerfer sent Squeaky and Little Joe to round up the others and meet them in the basement.
“We’ll take the stairs down,” Kerfer told Mara. “I say we hurry.”
“I want to see if he has a wallet,” said Mara, rifling the dead man’s pockets.
“What are you going to do, steal his credit cards?”
“I want to see who it is who’s out to kill us,” said Mara.
“Gotta be Chink spies,” said Kerfer. “Don’tcha think?”
Mara ignored him. The man’s pockets were empty. It was possible he was just a thief, but Kerfer’s theory — minus the ethnic slurs — made the most sense to Mara.
“Josh, you okay?” she asked.
“I’m good. Feeling better.”
“How’s Mạ?”
“Okay.” He had his hand covering the back of her head, pressing gently so her face stayed toward his shoulder. Given everything
she’d seen earlier, though, it was doubtful he was protecting her from very much.
“Do you have your medicine?” Mara asked.
“I, uh — ”
“You left it in the room,” said Mara.
“Yeah.”
“We ain’t goin’ back to get it,” said Kerfer.
“I’ll get it,” said Mara.
Kerfer grabbed her arm as she started down the steps. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You think they sent only three people into the hotel?”
“I don’t know how many they sent,” said Mara. “But we’re only one floor away. He needs the damn medicine.”
“We’ll get more once we’re out of here.”
“Who knows when that will be?”
Mara knew she was being stubborn, but she pushed on anyway, going down to the next level and cautiously opening the door. The battery-fed emergency lights had come on, bathing the hallway in a pale yellow. She pulled the goggles down around her neck and eased out into the hall.
“Clear,” she whispered.
“We’re staying here,” said Kerfer.
“That’s fine.”
Mara slipped into the hallway. She started to tiptoe, then realized that made no sense. She walked slowly, sliding against the wall as she came to the elevators. One of them had stopped on the floor, door open; it was empty.
She eased past and walked to the room, taking the key card out of her pocket.
The nearby emergency light would frame her as she entered. She backed over to it, then reached up with the butt of the gun and broke both bulbs.
Most likely, there was no one in the room, she told herself.
Most likely.
Mara got down on one knee, her body against the wall, and reached over to put the card in the lock. She plunged it down.
The lock’s LED didn’t light. Apparently emergency power wasn’t routed to the locks.
Mara put her hand on the door handle and pressed down. It didn’t budge. Even without power, it remained locked.
Mara pulled out her wallet and retrieved a thin piece of metal from behind the credit cards. She slid it into the lock space, positioned the hard surface of her fist against it, and gave it a sharp rap, opening the lock.
Then she threw herself down as bullets exploded through the wood.
A second later, something protruded from the door.
A head.
A gunshot rang out from down the hall. The man went down. A second man, behind him, fired a burst, then retreated.
“You shoulda opened it from the side,” grunted Kerfer, running up next to her. His gun stank of cordite.
The man he’d shot had fallen against the door, propping it open. Mara, submachine gun ready, slid down on her belly and eased toward the room, angling slightly toward the opposite wall.
Whoever was inside had retreated into the bedroom at the right or into the bath area on the left. It was impossible to tell which one.
There was no way to get inside without exposing herself.
It wasn’t worth it.
“What are we doing?” Kerfer asked.
Mara was just about to start backing out when she heard something on her left.
The bathroom.
She threw herself forward, firing two bursts at the door.
There was no answering fire. She got up.
“Mara!” hissed Kerfer.
“Stay,” she commanded. She kicked at the door just below the handle, fired a burst into the empty room.
The bullets shattered the commode and part of the sink, but they were unnecessary. The Chinese agent was lying in a pool of his own blood on the floor, already dead.
“What the fuck, ‘stay’?” said Kerfer behind her. “You think I’m a dog?”
“Ask Josh where his medicine is,” she told him.
He growled into the radio. Mara spotted the bottle on the ledge above the sink before anyone responded. She grabbed it.
“Bathroom above the sink,” said Kerfer. “Come on, let’s go. We got people coming up from the stairs. Shit.”
Mara heard the sound of gunfire below.
“They’re coming up the stairs, six of them,” said Kerfer as they reached the hall. “We’ll have to go back to the roof.”
Mara passed the elevator, then went back to it and looked in the car. There was a trapdoor in the ceiling, an escape hatch.
“We can take the elevator shaft,” she yelled. “One of the cars is here.”
“There’s no electricity.”
“I know. We’ll climb down.”
“Now you’re using your head.”
Mara waited by the elevator as Josh and Stevens came out from the stairwell.
“The medicine wasn’t worth this,” said Kerfer.
“If it weren’t for the medicine, we would have run right into them,” said Mara. “Where’s the rest of the team?”
“They’re on floor five.”
“Tell them to meet us outside.”
“We may need them,” said Kerfer.
“Give me a boost,” she said, standing under the trapdoor.
Kerfer stepped over, cradling his hands together. Mara climbed up.
“You’re heavy,” said the SEAL.
“Are you going to criticize everything about me?”
She pushed the door open and pulled herself up into the space, then pulled the goggles up to her eyes.
Josh came up behind her, then reached down for Mạ. Mara handed him the pills.
“I’m sorry I forgot them,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“Just stay here. You’re two feet from the edge.”
“Okay.”
Mara leaned over. “It’s going to be okay,” she told Mạ in Vietnamese.
“Yes,” said the girl in a voice so soft Mara could barely hear it.
The two elevator shafts were separated by a set of girders that were easy to pass through. The next car was several stories below, though Mara couldn’t tell exactly how far. Maintenance ladders were mounted in raceways on the far side of the opposite shaft, as well as the near side here. The easiest thing to do was to climb down the ladder in this shaft and look for a maintenance door, hopefully in the basement. From there, they could get out.
But first they needed to collect the rest of the SEALs, who now found themselves trapped on floor 5 between the Chinese and three Vietnamese policemen who’d responded to the call of gunfire. Kerfer told them to go to the elevator and try to open it. But with nothing to use as a lever, even Squeaky couldn’t pry the doors apart. Worse, more black-clad gunmen appeared as he tried. The SEALs managed to get to the stairway, but they were taking gunfire from both above and below.
“The best we can do is come up behind them,” said Mara. “We climb down, get over to the other elevator car, get out there, and then ambush them in the stairs. How many are there below them?”
Kerfer asked his men. They weren’t sure. Two or three.
“Are they sure they’re Vietnamese?” Mara asked.
“They didn’t ask for IDs.”
Kerfer went to the side ladder and began climbing down.
* * *
The rungs of the ladder were covered with a greasy grime, and there was considerable dust in the air. Mạ, her arms around Josh’s neck, clung to him as he descended. The submachine gun hung off his back, occasionally swinging out with his momentum and then smacking him in the kidneys as he climbed back.
Josh felt a sneeze coming on. He tried holding his breath to snuff it out, but finally it exploded. His whole body shook.
“God bless you,” said Stevens above him.
Josh sneezed again. He moved his foot down to the next rung, but started to slip. He caught his balance and buried his face in his shoulder as he sneezed again.
“Hope that ain’t catchin’,” said Stevens.
“Allergies. Dust.”
“You okay, Josh?” asked Mara below him.
“Let me take her.”
“No, I’m okay,” he said, sneezing again.
* * *
The space from the side of the elevator shaft to the cables at the center was too wide to get across easily, so Kerfer kept going all the way to the basement. He waited until Mara reached him before trying the small hatchway door.
It was locked.
“Little Joe, how are you guys doing?” Kerfer asked over the radio.
“We have them pinned down near the stairs.”
“Make some noise when I count three, all right?”
“Bullets?”
“Unless you got a foghorn.” Kerfer looked at Mara. “On three, we kick this thing out.”
“All right,” she told him, moving over.
“They may be waiting,” he said. “You have right, I have left. Be ready.”
Mara positioned the submachine gun. She had about half the magazine left.
Josh was still sneezing above them. Mara heard Mạ starting to whimper.
“One,” said Kerfer, counting over the radio.
As soon as he hit three, the SEALs on floor 5 began shooting. Mara kicked at the door with her heel. It gave way easily, flying open. She uncurled herself and dove into the basement, rolling in a thicket of spiderwebs.
Kerfer jumped in after her. Her side of the basement was clear; the only things on the wide floor were support pillars.
“Stevens will stay with you,” said Kerfer. “Get across the river as quickly as you can.”
“We can back you up.”
“No, get the hell out of here. We’ll keep them busy.”
“Listen — ”
“Do your job, spook. You got a baby and the mad scientist to worry about.”
Mara frowned at him. But he was right. Her job was to take Josh out alive.
And Mạ. Though now she regretted not finding her an orphanage.
“You stop sneezing?” she asked.
“For now,” said Josh, sniffling into his arm.
“You’re allergic to dust?”
“And about a million other things.”
“Come with me,” she said, taking hold of his arm. “How are you doing?”