by Larry Bond
Like striking the DF-21D missile bases. He had B-2s ready to hit them. But striking unilaterally was sure to raise a fuss.
Now if the Chinese used them first …
Maybe if he delayed the advance, he’d get the chance.
“Should we take it through the NSC?” Frost asked.
“Hell no,” said Greene. “That will take days. Move ahead.”
Jackson, clearly uneasy, started to ask Greene if he might reconsider. He got only the words “Mr. President” out of his mouth before Greene recognized the tone and cut him off.
“Put it in motion,” insisted Greene.
Frost glanced at Jackson.
“Do it,” insisted Greene. “Now excuse me, but I have a few more things to do before I turn in tonight.”
15
Nam Hong, north of Hanoi
Nam Hong had been the home of a small Vietnamese command, described officially as a division but in fact only a battalion strong, if that. There were three buildings, all a hundred years old, maybe more. They were stone, and empty. Two of the three had been used most recently as barracks. The units housed there had left at the start of the war, and already dust lay thick on the floors. The third was a small administrative building, staffed by a skeleton team of clerks, all older women.
Major Chaū led Zeus through the barracks and then to the administrative building, showing him how bare the place was. He stopped at a large steel door at the end of the hall.
“That’s the jail?” asked Zeus.
“There are cells there, but they’re empty,” Major Chaū told Zeus. “She’s not here.”
“I want to see for myself.”
Chaū reluctantly agreed. He went back inside and spoke to one of the women. Within a few minutes he returned with a key.
When he opened the door, the stink of a hundred years of agony stung Zeus’s nose. The light was dim; Major Chaū supplemented it with a tiny LED flashlight, lighting a pencil-thin path down the rickety wooden steps.
By the time he reached the base of the steps, Zeus’s stomach was starting to turn. He forced himself to go on, clamping his teeth, and then put his arm over his face, filtering his nose in the crook of his elbow.
Bars lined the wall on the right, dividing the area into small cells. The left was green and black, thick mold covering what Zeus presumed were stones, though he couldn’t see them.
“Anna,” he said. The words came out of his mouth, a pathetic croak. He tried again, but could muster nothing louder than a whisper, his voice cracking.
At the worst moments of the battles he had just come through, Zeus had never felt nearly as afraid as he felt now, walking down the prison aisle. It wasn’t that he worried something would leap out at him. He worried instead that he would see her, chained to the links in the wall, head slumped down. A thousand nightmares clung to him as he stepped down the corridor, taunting from the black rim of the light, dodging as he swung his hand back and forth.
Anna, where are you? Have I lost you forever?
Anna?
Thirty paces from the stairs, the beam of Major Chaū’s flashlight caught something white. Zeus stopped, closed his eyes, then reopened them.
There was a leg, a body.
Zeus took another step, his brain not quite comprehending. Then he realized he was looking at a skeleton, bare of flesh, long dead.
He forced himself on. Several cells later he found another set of bones, these on the floor, corroded manacles loosely around the arms and legs.
Otherwise the place was empty. Zeus returned upstairs.
* * *
Zeus noticed that Chaū was walking slower and slower as they came out of the prison. He seemed to have been affected even more deeply than Zeus by what he had seen.
“I have a confession,” said Chaū as they reached the car. “I feel I must tell you the truth.”
Zeus forced himself to keep walking. His fingers clenched.
She’s dead. She’s dead, and they were afraid to tell me.
His shirt stuck at the back of his neck. His pants chafed at his thighs. Every movement felt awkward, his knees creaking, his elbows stiff. Zeus kept moving, unsure how to react or what to say.
I’ll kill the person who killed her.
“General Trung is worried that you would leave. As long as you are here, your country will support us. They will listen to—”
“It has nothing to do with me,” snapped Zeus. “I’m just a soldier. I’m nothing. The decision is not mine, and they don’t care about me.”
He saw his body stop. He saw himself turning and facing Chaū. He saw his face red. He saw his mouth open to say more.
Nothing came out. He could not find the words.
“I believe I know where she is,” said Chaū. “My orders were to keep you here and make it seem … If I take you—will you still help us?”
“Take me,” insisted Zeus. “Now.”
* * *
It wasn’t until Zeus walked into the large room in the hospital building in Hu’ng Yên that he was sure Anna was alive. Even then, he hesitated to let himself believe this.
The room was large by Vietnamese standards, thirty feet by thirty feet, completely empty, walls painted white, with thin-framed metal sash windows that filled about two-thirds of the west side. The air was musty; though the room was clean, it smelled as if it hadn’t been used or aired out for months.
Chaū stood next to him, almost motionless.
“How long will it be?” Zeus asked him, more to break the silence than to ask for information.
“Not very long.”
Zeus nodded. He thought of breaking her out—there were guards around the building, and two men in the lobby, but the security wasn’t particularly formidable.
And then do what?
Escape back to the States? What sort of legal entanglements would ensue?
They could go somewhere else, the Philippines, Africa—did it matter if she was with him?
Certainly it would. He was thinking irrationally. He needed to keep himself under control, keep his emotions pushed away. He was and had always been a rational man, thinking before doing. Falling under her spell had changed him dramatically.
It was war that had changed him, the hot emotion of war. But he wouldn’t be in war forever. He wouldn’t always have that excuse.
The door opened. A short, thin man with a neatly trimmed gray beard entered. A nurse followed, then a soldier, broad-shouldered and tall. Few Vietnamese were as large as this man; he could have played linebacker for a professional football team.
“Where’s Anna?” said Zeus.
“I am Dr. Lin,” said the man with the beard. He held out his hand.
“Where’s Anna?” insisted Zeus, refusing to shake.
“Your wife is in good health.”
“I want to see her.” Zeus wasn’t sure whether the marriage status was a mistake or some sort of subterfuge, but he decided to let it pass.
“She is on her way. Technically, she is a prisoner.”
“She was framed.”
The doctor grimaced, but said nothing. They stood awkwardly for a moment.
“You speak English very well,” offered Zeus finally.
“I attended UCLA and did my internship in Los Angeles.”
Zeus nodded.
The door opened. A Vietnamese soldier armed with an M16 entered. The M16 was an old model, and well worn; it looked as if it had been inherited from the South Vietnamese army.
The man looked around, then tapped on the doorjamb. A woman dressed in nurse’s scrubs entered, followed by Anna. Two more soldiers brought up the rear, but Zeus barely noticed them; he was too focused on Anna.
She was as beautiful as he remembered, her face like porcelain, her body lithe and full of life. She was a prisoner, yet she had more energy than anyone else in the room. Her eyes widened—apparently they hadn’t told her he was there—and she took a step toward him. The nurse put her hand out, but Zeus was already striding acro
ss the room. He folded Anna into his chest and in that instant all of his doubts melted away.
He loved her, and he would do anything to get her back.
The large soldier and the one with the M16 started to push them apart.
“Back off,” shot Zeus.
The doctor said something to them in Vietnamese. The men stopped pulling them apart but continued to hold him.
“I am sorry I have caused you trouble,” said Anna softly.
“It’s not trouble. I’m going to get you out.”
She looked at him. “I’m helping here.”
“You’re a prisoner.”
“I know. But I am also a doctor. There are many wounded.”
“I’m going to get you out.”
“Major Murphy.” Dr. Lin put his arm on Zeus’s. “Your wife is right—there is much for her to do today.”
Zeus closed his eyes. Tightening his grip for a moment, he pressed her close, felt her, then let go.
“I’m going to get you out,” he said. She stared at him for a moment, then the nurse steered her gently back to the door.
* * *
“General Trung will release her,” said Chaū as they drove away. “He is a man of his word.”
“How can I believe his word when he’s lied?” asked Zeus.
“He hasn’t lied. He—”
“He told you to keep me from finding her.”
“He meant no harm. He wanted to delay your leaving. General Perry said you were leaving on the helicopter flight. He asked that you be allowed to stay but the general was against it.”
“Perry will just send me on another aircraft.”
Chaū had no answer for that.
Zeus wasn’t sure how much Trung could really do for him. According to Chaū, the man who had ordered Anna’s arrest was connected to the highest political levels in the country, and if it were not for Trung’s intervention, she would be in a prison worse than what he had seen at Nam Hong.
“I promise she will be released,” said Chaū. “If you can continue to help us—I do promise that.”
“Take me back to the embassy,” said Zeus. “I have to talk to General Perry.”
Both men remained silent the rest of the drive.
16
Aboard USS McCampbell, off the coast of Vietnam, southwest of Beibu Wan
Silas grit his teeth as the admiral repeated his orders.
“No, Commander, let me be very, very clear about this: you are not, not, repeat not, to engage the Chinese vessels. Do you understand?”
“If they begin firing on the Vietnamese—”
“You are not to engage the Chinese.”
“What if they go after a civilian ship?”
“I will relieve you this instant if you say another word.”
Silas closed his eyes. Nearly a minute passed before the admiral spoke again.
“I’m glad we understand each other. Out.”
The com screen went blank. Silas rose from the desk chair in his small cabin, stifled a curse, then went out to check on his crew.
17
Washington, D.C.
“You’re not going to Vietnam under any circumstances, Mara,” Lucas said as they walked toward the door of the West Wing of the White House. “Your cover is blown.”
“This isn’t a mission that needs a cover.”
“For Christ’s sake, what the hell do you think the Chinese would do if they caught you? They’ve spent the last few days spreading your face around the Internet, claiming you invented the massacre. How long do you think it would take them to get you to confess to that? Huh? For crapsake.”
Lucas quickened his pace as they went through the door. The sudden rush of outside air felt good. It had been late afternoon when Mara and Lucas reported to the White House to attend the national security briefing; now it was well past midnight, with a full moon so bright it seemed almost day.
“Then send me to check out the caves,” Mara said as Lucas aimed toward the car. “Let me find out what’s on the ground there.”
Lucas stopped short suddenly, turning and holding his arm out as if to catch her from falling down a hole.
“You don’t really get it, do you?” he said.
“Don’t get what?”
“Damn it, Mara.” Lucas glanced around, making sure no one was nearby. “Look—it’s over. Do you understand? I feel bad—terrible. But you’re going to have to move on to something else.”
“Are you saying I should leave the agency?”
“No.”
“Because I’m not going to work as an analyst. I’m not going to…”
Mara let her voice trail off. Lucas waved his hand at her and started in motion again. She watched him for a moment, then ran to catch up.
“Peter. Peter … wait.” She caught him and tugged him around. “Look, I’m sorry—”
“You’re on leave,” he told her.
“What?”
“You’re on leave. Medical leave.”
Her eyes started to well with tears. It was inappropriate, it was weak, she hated it, she despised it—but she couldn’t stop it. They began to spill from the corner of her eyes.
“I have to finish … I have to find out where the weapon is. And what exactly—”
“Harmuth can take over on his own.”
“No way. Come on, Peter.”
* * *
Lucas didn’t answer, and remained silent as he drove back over to Langley. Mara absolutely needed a break: She wasn’t herself.
“I’ll finish pulling the information together on the site,” she said finally as they turned onto Dolley Madison Boulevard, a few miles from the headquarters campus. “I’ll talk to Ric—”
“I’ll handle that myself.”
“OK,” she said in a soft, nearly inaudible voice.
Lucas felt bad for her. It was a difficult thing to realize that your career was, if not over exactly, certainly taking a turn you hadn’t wanted. And he liked her. Mara’s enthusiasm reminded him of the people he had worked with when he first started at the agency.
He tried to think of ways to soften the blow, but there weren’t many.
“You want to get some coffee?” he asked as they neared Langley.
“No. I’m good. I want to get back to work.”
“OK, great. Good,” said Lucas, turning onto the long driveway that led to the security checkpoint.
* * *
“You realize the odds on this are long,” Ric Kerfer told Lucas when they spoke over the secure connection in the embassy basement. “If I’m not using SEALs, I’m not giving guarantees.”
“Who said you were going?” said Lucas.
“Give me a break, Pete,” responded Kerfer. “Who’s gonna run this?”
“Setco.”
“I’ll work with him, but I’m here.”
“This is an agency op, Ric. Ours.”
“You can own it,” said Kerfer. “But you need me.”
“Not really,” said Lucas.
Kerfer laughed. “Listen, I’m going to need some help on this end arranging things. I need somebody the Viets trust.”
Lucas cringed, expecting Kerfer to ask for Mara.
He didn’t.
“I want Zeus Murphy,” said Kerfer. “He’s on Perry’s staff but Perry told him to come home. He hasn’t left yet. I want him.”
“Done.”
“All right. Give me Setco’s contact information so I can start getting this set up.”
18
Hanoi
Whatever body chemistry had kept Zeus from feeling the pain of the battering he had taken over the past two weeks had left him by the time they pulled in front of the embassy gate. His legs hurt so badly when he got out of the car that he could barely lift them properly.
“I will watch after her,” Major Chaū told him. “I promise.”
“Right.”
“Are you leaving? Or are you staying?”
“I don’t know … I’m not sure what
I’m going to have to do.”
“Major—”
Zeus looked back. “Thank you. For all you have done.”
“Right.”
Zeus shut the car door. The line of people waiting outside the embassy had grown, even though signs in English and Vietnamese said visas were no longer being issued. The people seemed unwilling to abandon whatever slim hope they had of escaping. They stood patiently, eying Zeus with a mixture of envy and plaintiveness; he expected any moment that they might ask his help if he stopped, so he stared straight ahead and kept to a deliberate pace.
The guards knew him, of course, and waved him in.
Zeus still wasn’t sure what to do. He was going to stay … he was going to leave. He was going to urge Perry to change his mind and push his plan. He was going to get Kerfer to free Anna from the hospital jail.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Zeus looked up. General Perry was standing near the guard shack, practically in front of him. He’d been talking to the gunnery sergeant in charge of the gate.
“General, I—”
“Not out here,” snapped Perry.
They walked into the building in silence. Rather than going up the stairs to the ambassador’s office he’d been using earlier, he went down the hall to one of the clerks’ rooms. Ric Kerfer was sitting on the edge of one of the desks inside, a big Kerfer grin on his face.
“General, I’m sorry I missed the helicopter,” said Zeus. Seeing the SEAL suddenly made him want to be entirely honest—he wasn’t going to hide behind a fib. “I—”
“Stow it,” said Perry. “Excuse us, Mr. Kerfer.”
“Not a problem.” Kerfer got up. “I’ll be in the hall.”
Perry exploded as soon as the door closed.
“Who the hell do you think you are, going over my head?” said the general, face red. “Do you forget who you work for? You’re a member of the U.S. Army, Major.”
“I don’t—”
“Why is the CIA telling me—ordering—to assign you to some bullshit deal with Kerfer. This is your plan, that cocked-up Rambo plan to get the Chinese brass.”
