by Larry Bond
“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 wa
s 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—”
“Steady!” commanded Silas.
Silas knew he was playing more than a simple game of chicken. His primary concern was to accomplish his mission. At the same time, he had to do so without starting a war. Sinking the frigate and the cruiser would be personally satisfying—would it ever—but would have an immense impact on geopolitics.
Even firing a warning shot would be considered an act of war under the circumstances. Indeed, it could easily backfire, as the cruiser’s dual water-cooled 130s on the forecastle might actually give it an edge in a quick gun battle. Silas had to be prepared to fight, but under the circumstances couldn’t take the first shot himself.
On the other hand, Silas couldn’t appear to back down. And he certainly wasn’t about to let his ship get rammed.
Chicken indeed.
“Crew, we’re going right by the Chinese,” said the captain over the ship’s 1MC system. “They’re trying to bluff us. Be very prepared to fire back. If they give us just cause, we will sink them. Until that point, we must not, and we shall not, blink.”
The frigate was churning through the water. Silas drew a breath, mentally calculating the angle.
No doubt at this point. They were going to hit.
The video cameras aboard ship were rolling. They could show that the Chinese had caused this. But would he be able to get close enough to launch the helicopter, then recover it?
“Helm, stand by,” said Silas.
“He’s heaving to!” yelled the watchman.
“Give me everything, engine room,” said Silas, though in fact the engines were already at 110 percent. “Helm, avoid collision. Maintain us as close to course as possible.”
The Chinese frigate turned off, but its momentum was such that Silas could have reached out and spit on the crewmen.
He was tempted.
~ * ~
“Captain, we are within range for helicopter launch,” said the exec ten minutes later.
“Get ‘em off the ship,” said Silas.
By then, the Chinese frigate had moved off to a more comfortable distance. The cruiser was now almost alongside her. Silas pulled up his binoculars, watching the missile launcher on the cruiser carefully. The Seahawk was an easy target at this range, even staying low and using the McCampbell as a screen.
One missile launch and he’d sink the cruiser. And the frigate.
If their crews were any good, they’d get a few shots in on their own. At this range, on the open sea, anything could happen.
Anything.
He was ready.
“Seahawk is away, sir!”
“Steady,” said Silas. “Steady.”
A moment later, he knew the Chinese weren’t going to interfere. He’d won. This battle, at least.
“Helicopter is out of range of their antiair weapons,” said Lieutenant Commander Li a minute later. Her voice was noticeably calmer—not casual, but no longer tense. “Pilot reports they are on course and on schedule.”
“Steady as she goes, Commander. Remind the crew that we have more to do.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
~ * ~
25
Bai Sau, southern Vietnam
Mara’s boat was in the lead as they started across the bay. A breeze kicked up, sending sprays of water across the bow. She angled her face to dull some of the effects of the wind.
The inner bay area was still a major tourist spot, a favorite of many residents from the Ho Chi Minh area who drove down on weekends to enjoy the sand and sun. But the oil boom was steadily encroaching on paradise, and for a few years now the eastern end of the large cove had been dominated by an oil-storage area and a small refinery. Three ships sat at harbor, taking on fuel for export. To the south, barges were stacked two deep in a line extending along a half-mile pier, waiting to disgorge raw petroleum collected from offshore platforms. Workboats were parked in another line against the wharf, some idling, others seemingly abandoned.
It was nearly 8 a.m., and in theory the workday should be well under way. But the war had disrupted regular routines, and Mara saw few people on the wharf.
Once they were across the bay, they took the boats back to the west, cruising past a swampy delta area toward an inlet populated by fishermen and their families. Only about half the fleet had gone out, leaving the channel glutted but passable. The two boats moved slowly, crossing the occasional swell from a nearby motorboat.
On the shoreline, buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against each other. A few were large, solid-looking structures, metal-sided warehouses and small fish-processing factories. But most were shacks, small houses built fifty or sixty years earlier, witness to several generations’ worth of hardships and war.
A handful of children watched them come in, staring in curiosity.
Mạ stared at them as if they were animals she had never seen before.
“Wave,” said Josh.
He prodded her to raise her hand. When she didn’t, he waved his own. The children ran away.
What kind of life is she going to have? thought Mara. What kind of life are any of those kids going to have?
They found a place to tie up at the southeast, forty or fifty feet from the road.
“The airport’s a mile that way,” said Mara, pointing to the
east. “Let’s start walking.”
The first quarter mile took them around the outskirts of the residential area. The swamp to their left had only recently been filled for new construction; two buildings had been started but not yet completed.
