by Larry Bond
Hu in Chinese meant “fox,” and Ms. Hu had all of the mythological characteristics associated with one. Jing was not in a position to know her exact responsibilities and duties, but he gathered that the petite woman ran a sizable portion of the Chinese spy network in Ho Chi Minh City, and perhaps all of Vietnam.
“They doubted you would make it by nightfall,” said Ms. Hu. “Did you have a difficult time?”
“It was easier than you would imagine.”
“Good.”
“You have information for me?”
“I have much information. Have some tea.”
A butler stepped forward from the nearby shrubs, a cup in his hand. Jing Yo waited while he poured. The light scent of jasmine tickled his nose.
“Thank you,” said Jing Yo before taking his cup.
“The man you are after is on his way to Ho Chi Minh City. We believe he was trying to get to the airport, but the authorities closed it a few hours ago. Where he will go from there we don’t know. Not yet.”
“I see.”
“Most likely he will go to District One and stay in one of the hotels,” continued Ms. Hu. “I have several men in the area, searching. We have people throughout the city.”
“Is he using his satellite phone?”
“He has. But it is not as easy to track in the city. The Americans have not been so kind as to share all of their technology with us.”
Ms. Hu took another sip of her tea. Her style was reminiscent of a cloistered medieval Chinese empress, concocting political plots behind the emperor’s back with understated finesse.
“I’m grateful for your help,” said Jing Yo.
“Do not take this as an insult, Jing Yo,” said Ms. Hu. “I admire your persistence. But it seems that you have not been your usual effective self. Not everyone is pleased with you.”
Jing Yo lowered his head. It was a warning more than an admonition.
“If our men are in position to kill him, they will do so,” continued Ms. Hu. “I mean no insult, but this is a matter of some importance. I have heard from the premier’s office directly.”
“I appreciate your assistance,” said Jing Yo again.
Ms. Hu nodded. “Why did they give you this mission?” she asked.
“I did not ask the question.”
“Sending you behind the lines on your own — does your commander not wish to see you return?”
“I could have selected men to accompany me.”
Ms. Hu took another sip of her tea. “You have someone with you,” she said. “A girl?”
“She helped me get out of Hanoi. She has been very useful.”
“She may prove to be a chain around your neck. You brought her here. That is not a good thing. Not for her.”
“I vouch for her.”
“I’m sure. Mr. Tong will give you an address where you can stay. Take the girl to the house and have her stay there. Mr. Tong has a phone for you as well. When we have information, you will be called.”
“I intend to continue searching for him,” said Jing Yo.
“Do as you wish. Just remember all that I have said.”
“Thank you, Ms. Hu,” said Jing Yo, rising. “I will.”
4
Ho Chi Minh City
Most of the large foreign hotels were located in or near District 1, the heart of the city adjacent to the Saigon River. DeBiase arranged for rooms at the Renoir Riverside Hotel, a well-appointed skyscraper on the riverfront. Mara spent the last of her money buying some luggage and a few shirts at a secondhand store, hoping to make the SEALs look less like soldiers and more like tourists when they checked in.
“We don’t want to all check in together,” she told Kerfer as they cleaned up a bit in the back of small restaurant. “Why don’t you go in first, get a room, and make sure things look good.”
“No shit.”
“Don’t get pissy with me. I’m not the one who closed the airport.”
“They should have evaced us out of Hanoi,” said Kerfer. “Nobody’s got any balls.”
“Hey, the submarine belongs to the Navy, not us,” retorted Mara. “Where the hell was it?”
“I would have swum for it, if was up to me,” said Kerfer.
Back in the vehicles, they started hunting for a place to park. Mara wanted the truck and car near enough to the hotel so that they could retrieve them if they needed to, yet far enough away to avoid suspicion if the vehicles were discovered. By now, even Squeaky was getting cranky. As they circled through the crowded downtown area, he groused that the police had far better things to do than check for stolen registrations.
“The plates show where the cars come from,” Mara said. “Let’s not screw this up by getting lazy.”
“I’m not saying to get lazy.”
Mara finally found a place to park in a lot at the back of a row of small stores. She pushed the truck against a chain-link fence, and had everyone get out on the other side. Kerfer did the same thing he-hind her.
“We stay together until we get two blocks from the hotel,” said Kerfer. “Then Little Joe and I go ahead. We get our room, Joey comes down and gives the high sign. You, Josh, and the tyke go in, register. Then everyone else. Ones and twos. Sound good, lady?”
“It’ll do.”
“You with us, mad scientist?” Kerfer asked Josh.
“Hanging in there.”
* * *
At first, being out of the truck invigorated Josh. It felt good to move his legs. There was a gentle breeze, and the air, though damper than it had been up north, had a cool feel to it. But after a block, Josh felt his energy running down. His stomach and lower abdomen felt as if they were on fire. He struggled to keep up even with Mạ, who tugged at his hand as she walked.
“It’s not too far,” said Mara, slowing her pace.
“I’m okay,” he insisted.
“We can sit up ahead and rest. There’s a bench there.”
“Let’s just go to the hotel.”
“We’re going to make sure it’s safe first.” She put her hand to his forehead. “You’re not as hot as you were.”
“Good. Your hand feels nice.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No. It hurts.”
“Where?”
“Here. When I eat. And everything.”
“Here, let’s sit on this bench.”
She took his elbow and guided him to the bench. Josh folded his arms in front of his chest, wishing away whatever it was that had gotten into his system. He closed his eyes.
He thought of the train, then the hand poking from the ground…
A siren wailing nearby jarred him. He jerked up, alert, worried. A police van rushed by, then another — they were at the head of a group of black Mercedes sedans. A pair of motorcycles escorted them. A troop truck took up the rear.
“What was that?” Josh asked.
“Just a diplomat,” said Mara. “Can you walk?”
Josh got up, legs stiff. Mạ looked at him doubtfully.
“Just two blocks,” said Mara. She hooked her arm in his. Mạ took his other hand.
Mara was nearly as tall as he was, far taller than any woman he’d ever dated.
“The hotel’s up there,” said Mara. “I’ll talk.”
Was he attracted to her? Or just feeling lonely?
He wasn’t lonely. Sick, yes. Tired. Not lonely.
The grip of her arm was reassuring.
“Okay?” she asked. “I’ll get the room.”
“Of course.”
* * *
DeBiase had arranged to forward money through the hotel’s international parent, but the hotel would disperse only a few hundred dollars cash. The clerk told Mara that the banks were still operating, and he gave her a list of nearby ATMs. She sensed that he was just trying to get rid of her.
She took Josh and Mạ up to the suite room. Mạ threw herself on the couch and immediately dozed off. Josh insisted he was fine, but Mara told him to go to bed. DeBiase had arrang
ed for a doctor; as soon as she was sure all of the SEALs were squared away — they were all in rooms on the same floor, Kerfer right next door — she called his office.
He was there a half hour later. He introduced himself as Dr. Jacques. His accent seemed more Russian than French, but Mara wasn’t about to question him. He took Josh’s temperature, then sent him to the bathroom with a cup for what he delicately called “le sample.”
“You’ve had sex?” the doctor asked.
“No,” said Josh. “Not recently.”
The doctor looked at Mara.
“I don’t know if he had sex,” said Mara. “And it wasn’t with me.”
“You have a urinary infection,” the doctor told Josh.
“What about my stomach?”
“There, too.”
Jacques opened the battered North Face backpack he used as a medicine bag. He took a prescription pad out. “This is an antibiotic,” he said. “The hotel can help you get it filled.”
He wrote out the prescription and handed it to Josh. Then he wrote another one and gave it to Mara.
“What’s this?” Mara asked. “A backup?”
“Both people need them.”
“We didn’t have sex.”
The doctor zipped up his bag without saying anything else.
Kerfer stayed with Josh while Mara went down to the desk to see about getting the prescription filled. After giving it to the concierge, she took a walk around the hotel, getting a feel for what was going on. The atrium lounge, normally fairly busy at this time of day, was almost empty; the only guests were a nervous-looking European woman and two small children, who were fidgeting on a couch packed with suitcases.
The hotel’s Kabin Chinese Restaurant was considered one of the best in Southeast Asia; Peter Lucas raved about its fish and dim sum. It was about a quarter full. Upstairs at the Club Lounge on the penthouse level, all of the tables overlooking the river were empty; the few patrons in the place were huddled near the bar.
The sun had just set. Ordinarily, the view of the river and nearby city would have been spectacular, lights beginning to glow everywhere, ships passing below. But now the view was one of a darkened city. Boats passed as shadows below in the waning light. The far bank looked like a cluster of cards set down on an uneven table, waiting for players to arrive.
A waiter approached as Mara scanned the horizon. “The lights will be turned off very soon,” he warned in English, “because of the war restrictions. Would you like a drink?”
“No, I’m good,” she said, though she instantly craved one. “I was just leaving.”
Josh and Kerfer were watching television when she got back to the room. The newscaster was telling a story about how the “glorious forces” had won a “courageous victory” against the “dastardly invaders.” The newscast was in Vietnamese, but an English translation, more or less accurate, rolled across the bottom of the screen.
“Things must be worse off than we thought,” said Kerfer, “if they’re already declaring victory.”
He drained the beer he had in his hand and went to the minifridge to fetch another.
“Better go easy on that,” said Mara.
“I’m not driving.”
The can opened with a loud pop. Kerfer took a swig, then went over to the desk and took a pad of paper from the top drawer.
Place bugged? he wrote.
“Maybe,” answered Mara.
“When do we get out of here?”
Good question, she thought. She bent over and wrote, I have to call home in a few minutes. I’ll find out.
“Good,” said Kerfer.
It will take a few minutes. I have to find a good place to call where I won’t be overhead.
Kerfer put his hand on her back. She almost jumped.
“Sooner we’re out of here, the better,” he whispered.
Mara straightened. “Yes.”
Kerfer pulled over the pad. You want me to go with you?
“I can manage,” she said.
* * *
“She ain’t that bad-looking,” Kerfer told Josh after Mara left.
“I didn’t say she was.”
“But that’s what you were thinking. You go for the brainy type, I’ll bet.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Sure you do. Everybody’s got a type.”
“What’s your type?”
“Naked and drunk. In that order.” Kerfer laughed and sat down in his chair. “I think she likes me. What do you think?”
Josh shrugged.
“You want her for yourself, huh?” Kerfer laughed again. “Don’t worry, Josh. If it turns out we’re going to be here for a while, we’ll find somebody for you. Plenty of girls in this town.”
“Uh-huh.”
“That how you got sick?” “No.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Probably from something you drank,” said Kerfer. “Shame, though. You gotta pay the price, you oughta at least enjoy the meal.”
* * *
Mara crossed the street in front of the hotel and began walking north along the edge of the park bordering the river. A naval patrol craft was tied up at the landing nearby. She walked past it, catching glimpses of the ship through the trees.
Mara spotted a bench as she neared the entrance to the ferry slip across the Saigon River. There was no one else nearby, so she sat down and took out the phone.
DeBiase answered as soon as she called. “I hope they fluffed the pillows for you,” he told her.
“First-class service,” she said. “What’s the deal on our flight?”
“We’re still working on it. We’re trying to stay under the radar.”
“Damn it, Jess, this is bullshit. Just get us the hell out of here.”
DeBiase took a long, slow breath, the sort he always took before putting on his sturdy professional voice. Sure enough, his next words were almost surreally calm.
“We’ll get you out. There’s a lot of politics involved, Mara. Not just there, but at home.”
“Crap on the politics.”
“I know you’re tired. Keep it together.”
“I’m not tired,” she said. “Josh is sick. He’s got some sort of urinary tract infection. The doctor said it might be in his kidneys. We have to get him out.”
“Did you get him medicine?”
“I’m working on it. That’s not the point.”
“Tomorrow the airport will reopen. The airplane will come in. You’ll go out. Why don’t you get a good night’s sleep? That’s what you need.”
Politics. Mara wondered if maybe some people in the agency didn’t want them to get out. Maybe they wanted to see Vietnam crushed. Or maybe a few dead Americans would help whatever cause they were pushing.
Maybe somebody’s father or uncle or brother had been killed during the Vietnam War. Ancient history to most people — but not if the war took someone close to you. Personal grudges had a lot more to do with what happened in the geopolitical world than people thought.
“You’re still with me, Mara?”
“I’m here.”
“Listen, I’m getting pinged,” he said, using one of his slang expressions for receiving a message over the secure text message system. “Lucas wants to talk to you. He needs to talk to Josh, too. He’s in D.C.”
“Josh isn’t with me.”
“That’s okay. Can you get him?”
“I don’t know. He may be sleeping. I told you, he’s sick.”
“I know… Why don’t you see if you can get him, though? We’ll call you in a half hour.”
“When you call, tell me when the airplane is going to pick us up,” she said.
“I’m doing my best.”
5
Ho Chi Minh City
Ms. Hu’s assistant Mr. Tong gave Jing Yo the key to an apartment in District 5, better known as Cholon, or Chinatown. The area would not have been Jing Yo’s first choice. But he was not in a position to argue.
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A notice was posted in the entrance hallway to the building declaring that the city was under complete blackout rules as of 8 p.m. All patriotic citizens were expected to comply. A similar handbill had been pushed under the door of the apartment.
The unit was spacious, with two bedrooms besides a large living room and kitchen. There were a few pieces of furniture, low couches and tables in the Vietnamese style, as well as two Western-style easy chairs.
“Some tea?” Jing Yo asked.
Hyuen Bo went to the kitchen to make it. Jing Yo followed.
“I don’t want this tea,” said Jing Yo loudly, inspecting the cupboard. “I’ve had this tea — it is always disagreeable.”
Hyuen Bo looked at him, confused.
“Let’s see if there’s a shop on the street,” he told her. “It should take only a minute. Come.”
She followed him out silently. He explained on the street.
“It is likely our conversations will he overheard by spies,” Jing Yo told her. “I should have realized this before. You must be very careful. Talk very little.”
“How long are we staying?”
“I’m not sure,” said Jing Yo truthfully.
His phone rang. It was Mr. Tong.
“Your subject is in District One. Near the river. We will give you more details shortly.”
The line went dead.
“I have to go see someone,” Jing Yo told Hyuen Bo. “I’ll be back.”
“When?”
“Soon. I’m not sure. In the meantime, trust no one.”
“I trust you.”
Jing Yo felt a pang. He was the last person she should trust, though he didn’t have the heart to tell her.
6
Ho Chi Minh City
Kerfer insisted that Josh eat something and had a burger and fries sent up from room service. As a precaution he had it delivered to Little Joe’s room, but it still got to Josh steaming hot.
The grilled meat tasted far better than Josh had thought it would, and he quickly finished it, surprised at how hungry he was.
