by Larry Bond
Still, there was no sense dashing the captain’s hopes or enthusiasm. They spoke for a few minutes about what Zeus might need. Tien gave him some pointers about working with the marines. He also suggested that he look at the boats himself.
“Just because they say they are there does not always mean it is so,” said Tien. “I would go myself and make sure.”
“All the way to Hai Phong?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
“One of my sergeants would be able to drive you,” offered Tien.
“I’d have to leave soon,” said Zeus. “Right away if I could. I have a lot of other things to do.”
“The sergeant will be at your disposal.”
“Great.” Zeus stuck out his hand, deciding he would leave right away. Then he remembered Mara Duncan’s cell phone. “Damn.”
“Major?”
“I need — one of my friends may need some help. Probably not at this point.”
Zeus explained that he had a cell phone. He was as vague as possible, saying only that his friend was trying to get out of the country, and he had promised to give her information on the Chinese advance if necessary. But he couldn’t do that if he wasn’t in Hanoi.
Tien offered to help.
“Nothing classified,” Zeus said. “But if she needs to find an open airport or highway or something.”
“I would certainly help a friend of yours,” said Tien, taking the phone.
22
Soi Rap, near Dong Hoa, southeastern Vietnam
The Ne River was a calm, meandering stream, gradually widening as it made its way to the ocean. It took them nearly six hours to get down to near Soi Rap and the delta. Mara spent much of the time walking back and forth across the top deck, watching for other ships. As they approached the coast, Kerfer called her down to the bridge to listen to the radio. A Vietnamese navy patrol boat was challenging vessels near the mouth of the river. Which gave Mara an idea.
The SEALs rigged the ferry so that it would continue to sail on its own at about six knots. Then they took the lifeboats and, after veering temporarily toward the eastern side of the river’s mouth, snuck off the boat, taking advantage of the lingering dawn’s early shadows. They paddled away as silently as possible, hoping to escape notice, at least until the patrol boat approached the ferry.
Kerfer was the last one off, waiting until the others were away and then steering the ferry back to the middle of the channel. He made sure it was headed directly for the patrol boat before going off the side. The current pushed him toward the life rafts, which had stopped near the dark part of the shore to wait for the Vietnamese ship to take the bait.
Kerfer had to swim a considerable distance, and for a while Mara fretted that he wouldn’t make it. A jittery anxiety took over. She felt her hands shaking as she dipped her paddle into the water, holding the small raft steady.
It was ironic, she thought — he’d been almost a total jerk toward her since they’d met, yet here she was, actually worried that he was dead.
Of course, she thought; he was part of the team, and she would be concerned about all of the members of the team.
But it was more than that. And as much as she wanted to distance herself from any sort of sexual attraction — the idea was revolting — she still felt exhilarated when she spotted his head bobbing in the waves thirty yards from their boat.
“This way!” she called.
He gave a wave and continued swimming, not toward her boat but to the other, which was a little closer to shore and farther from him.
She felt disappointed.
“All right,” she told the others in the boat. “Let’s move south along the shoreline. Hold off the motor until we’re beyond the patrol boat.”
“How long before we get to the airport, you think?” asked Josh, who was sitting across from her with Mạ.
“If we can get across the bay before daylight, we’ll be less than a mile,” Mara told him. “If we have to put into shore before then, it may take longer. We’re going to make it, Josh. You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m not worried.”
“How’s your stomach?”
“Good.”
She could tell he was lying. “Are you okay to paddle?”
“I’m fine,” he insisted. He put his paddle into the water, making a show of pushing off.
“You’re not sneezing,” Mara said.
“Yeah, I’m not allergic to seawater, I guess. I’ve never had problems with that.”
She put her hand against his forehead. “Your fever’s gone,” she told him.
“Fear,” he said. “Miracle cure.”
* * *
Josh felt the coolness of Mara’s fingers on his forehead long after she had taken her hand away. He tried to focus on the water in front of them, avoiding her gaze. He was definitely attracted to her, but of course the circumstances made that completely inappropriate — impossible, really.
His body still ached, though not as badly. Soon they’d be the hell out of here, he thought.
Then what?
Then he’d be talking to the president of the United States, telling him what the Chinese had done.
And would he tell him about the Vietnamese soldiers they’d killed? Or the men in the hotel?
The men in the hotel had been Chinese agents. He was pretty sure of that. They definitely had meant to kill him. So killing them in turn had clearly been justified.
But the soldiers, the Vietnamese…
What would he tell God, if he died now?
It didn’t work that way, not like the old-fashioned books claimed, where you stood in front of Saint Peter or God himself and answered for each sin.
Mạ shifted against him. The poor little girl was so tired she was sleeping again.
He’d have to find her a home. Maybe his uncle would adopt her.
So what would he tell God about the soldiers? If it did work that way, if he did have to account, metaphorically or literally, what would he say?
I didn’t kill them.
That was true. But not exactly the entire story.
Those men deserved to die so that I could live?
So that Mạ could live.
Don’t blame it on her.
What of the soldiers he had killed? The Chinese captain whose head he’d bashed in?
Were the extra blows justifiable? Were they relevant at all?
“Zoning out on us?” asked Squeaky.
“No, I’m here,” said Josh, realizing that he hadn’t paddled for several minutes. He pushed his oar back into the water.
“You do a J-stroke, right?” said Squeaky.
“I guess.”
“You know what I’m talking about?”
“Kinda. If we were in a canoe, we’d be steering it.”
“Exactly.”
“I was a Boy Scout,” said Josh. “For a little while.”
“There you go.”
“Mind if I ask you a question?” said Josh.
“What’s that?”
“When you shot those people — does it bother you?”
“Which ones?”
“The guys in the train.”
“Better us than them,” answered Little Joe, who was in front of Mara.
“Yeah,” said Josh.
“It’s true,” said Squeaky.
“I had to — I killed a couple of the Chinese soldiers behind the lines, before you guys got to me,” said Josh. “I think it was the right thing to do.”
“It absolutely was,” said Mara.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t have to second-guess yourself, Josh,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “We’re in survival mode here. You’re getting back and telling the world what’s really going on. It’s going to make a big difference. Believe me.”
“Mạ, too.”
“And her. But you’re an adult. And a scientist. A reliable witness. People will believe what you say.”
“I hope so,” said Josh.
She smiled at him, then let go of his arm. He wished he could lean across and kiss her.
“They’re taking the bait,” said Squeaky, pointing to the Vietnamese navy ship. It had changed course and was heading for the ferry, which had started to angle itself slightly toward the western end of the channel.
Two sharp blasts of the patrol ship’s horn rent the air. A moment later, its forward gun cracked.
“Let’s start up the motor and get out of here,” said Mara.
* * *
They steered close to land as they rounded the peninsula near Dong Hoa, tucking into Ganh Rai Bay near Cao Gio. Aside from a pair of ancient fishing boats, the bay seemed deserted. The sun peeked over the land to the east, edging upward like a child stealing into his parents’ room on Christmas morning. Smoke rose in a pair of funnel clouds to the south, an ominous reminder that they were not yet free of China’s reach.
Mara needed to talk to DeBiase to arrange a time for the helicopter to pick them up, but she didn’t trust the sat phone anymore. She still had the cell phones.
She turned one of them on, and was surprised to get a signal.
Should she use it to call DeBiase? Assuming the call went through, it wouldn’t be encrypted. And the cell phone could be traced as easily as the sat phone.
But they wouldn’t know to look for it. Even if all communications were being routinely monitored, it might take hours for the information to reach someone who could act on it.
Mara dialed one of the access numbers for Bangkok.
“This is an open line,” she said as soon as an operator picked up, even though it would be obvious. “I need the Million Dollar Man.”
DeBiase came on a few seconds later. “Is this my favorite niece?”
“I need a time.”
“We’re still working on it.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“Call me a half hour before it happens,” said Mara. “Use my old number.”
She hung up, then tossed the phone into the water.
23
Soi Rap
Jing Yo’s boat had two spare cans of gasoline, but even so, he had to stop twice for fuel, quickly stealing gas from wharfside pumps. The second time he stopped, he spotted a small fiberglass speedboat tied to the dock near the pump. He was able to start the engine without too much trouble. He and Hyuen Bo transferred their gas cans and things to the new boat and took it south, moving much faster than before.
They drew in sight of the ferry just in time to see the Vietnamese navy ship send a round from its deck gun into the wheelhouse. The ferry, its wheel and steering mechanism damaged, veered sharply toward shore.
The next shot landed in the large passenger compartment. At first, it seemed to have passed straight through without causing much damage. Then a thin finger of black smoke rose from the side where the shell had entered. Within moments, flames were leaping from the hole.
“Prepare to be boarded!” declared a loudspeaker. A rigid-hulled inflatable with four or five men left the side of the patrol boat and headed toward the ferry.
Jing Yo idled the engine and waited in the shadows of the shoreline, watching the boarders clamber onto the battered ferry. Two of the Vietnamese sailors climbed to the top deck of the ferry. They waved their arms at the patrol boat and fired into the air.
All clear.
So the scientist had gotten away.
Jing Yo glanced down at Hyuen Bo, curled against the side of the boat, sleeping. He felt a pang of both love and shame, for putting her into so much jeopardy.
Jing Yo eased his engines up, starting across the channel to the far shore. He was almost past the warship when he heard a challenge over the radio, a broadcast on the emergency band that told him to stop.
That was the last thing he was going to do. He pushed the throttle to max. The boat jerked its bow upward and began speeding downriver.
The patrol boat replied with a long blast from its horn. Jing Yo lowered his head, as if he could urge the speedboat faster. A second later, a geyser erupted to his right.
The ship had fired one of its guns.
The speedboat rocked violently through the roiling waves, pitching its nose down and its stern east simultaneously. Jing Yo fought to hold the wheel steady, plowing sideways in the water. He put his hand on the throttle, hoping to force it faster. A direct hit would kill them.
Hyuen Bo rose from the deck, hooking her arms around his waist.
“Hold tight,” he said, regaining control of the craft.
This time he heard the crack of the gun, and the shriek as the shell flew overhead. It hit the water two hundred yards ahead. Jing Yo jerked farther out into the channel, a feint to trick the patrol boat while lessening the impact of the swell as it rocked them sideways. Then he spun the wheel back hard to take the boat closer to shore. A third shell landed in the middle of the channel, this time behind them.
The ocean lay before them. Jing Yo turned hard to port, heading eastward beyond Dong Hoa. The patrol boat fired several more shells, but these landed far behind them, the angry flailing of a neighbor yelling at children who had fled his yard after making mischief.
“Was that a Chinese ship?” asked Hyuen Bo when they were clear.
“It was Vietnamese.”
“Why are they trying to sink us?”
“The world’s gone crazy,” he said.
* * *
With the scientist having abandoned the ferry, Jing Yo could only guess where he had gone.
The airfield near Vung Tau seemed the most likely possibility, but it would be just as easy for him to find another boat or ship and sail out to sea, where a ship might be waiting to pick him up.
What would Jing Yo do then? Follow him to America?
Easier to run. He could take a boat himself.
But the monks had taught him that there was no way to escape one’s fate. The Way could not be avoided, any more than air could not be breathed.
The sat phone’s sharp peal startled him. Jing Yo took it from his pack. He had not expected it to ring. Indeed, he thought he’d turned it off.
Hyuen Bo looked at him but said nothing.
He picked up the phone and answered it. “This is Jing Yo.”
“What is your status, Lieutenant?”
It was Colonel Sun.
“The Chinese network in Ho Chi Minh City attempted to assassinate me,” Jing Yo told him.
“You’re sure of this?” said Sun.
“An operative named Mr. Tong sent me into an area of the city where he hoped to have me apprehended. When that didn’t work, he pulled a gun on me and tried to assassinate me. He was not successful.”
“I trust that he paid for that mistake with his life,” said Sun.
Jing Yo didn’t answer. Was Sun acting surprised? This might be a trick.
Surely it was a trick.
“Where is the scientist?” the colonel asked.
“He took a ferry to the Soi Rap mouth,” said Jing Yo. “A Vietnamese patrol boat tried to stop him, but he escaped into the water. Where exactly he is at the moment, I am not sure.”
“We have his satellite phone frequency under surveillance,” said the colonel. “When he transmits again, I will give you the exact location. Have nothing more to do with any spies of any force.”
“Yes, Colonel.”
“Tell me — did Ms. Hu know of this?”
Jing Yo was surprised that Sun mentioned the spymistress.
“I am not sure.”
“I do not believe that she did,” said Sun. “But I will find out.”
The colonel killed the line.
“Who was that?” Hyuen Bo asked.
“A friend,” said Jing Yo. “Or an enemy. I am not sure which.”
24
Aboard USS McCampbell
“They’re asking our intentions, skipper.”
“My intention is to sail the open sea,�
� replied Commander Silas.
“Sir?”
“Lieutenant Commander Li, have a message sent to the Chinese captain,” said Silas, his tone formal and strong. He was speaking for the record.
For posterity, if necessary.
“Inform the Chinese commander that I intend to sail the open sea,” said Silas.
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
The sun was just creeping over the horizon behind them, throwing steel gray shadows across the ocean. The cruiser was a quarter mile off the starboard bow. Silas could see men on her forward deck, near the gun. His own people were at general quarters — their battle stations.
“How’s the Seahawk?”
“Aircraft is prepped, crew aboard. Engine start on your order.”
They needed to get a few more miles before the chopper could take off. Silas had spoken personally to the helo pilots, making sure they understood the mission, and getting his own sense of how close they had to be to have adequate reserves. He would continue east after they launched, making it easier for them on the return trip. Still, the helicopters were gas-guzzlers at high speed, and this mission called for as much speed as they could muster. The launch point had been calculated down to the meter to make sure they had enough fuel.
The Chinese cruiser’s how turned toward the McCampbell. But it was the frigate that drew the Americans’ attention — it set a course directly for them.
The commanding officer aboard the cruiser was sending the smaller frigate to do its dirty work, Silas realized. The cruiser would stay just close enough to fire if necessary.
They’d love that, Silas thought. Undoubtedly they’d have video cameras rolling. Very possibly there was a live, direct link back to Beijing. As soon as the first missile or shell flew, it would be posted for the world to see.
“They want to ram us!” yelled one of the extra lookouts the captain had posted.
“Steady as she goes,” said Silas.
This was the way it was done — in a calm voice, a prepared voice.
Outside. Inside, a voice was screaming: Try it, motherfucker!
“Sir, the Chinese ship is on a collision course,” said the helmsman. “We will hit them if — ”