TANG STOOD IN THE HALLWAY AND QUIETLY DIGESTED THE new developments.
The Americans were involved?
Unexpected, to say the least. But not insurmountable. He was about to step back inside and conclude his time with Lev Sokolov when the phone again demanded his attention.
He answered.
“My Russian handler just informed me,” Viktor said. “Malone, Vitt, and Pau are coming to China.”
“Do you know how?”
“The Russians are going to assist. They are working with the Americans.”
Troublesome on one count, a relief on another. He listened as Viktor explained the travel plan, then said, “That should allow us the opportunity to eliminate them all at once.”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“When are you returning?”
“In a few hours. I’m already booked on a flight.”
“I’ll need you to personally take charge, once you’re here.” He thought of the spies in his office. “Communicate with me only. There are few here I can trust with this information.”
“I’ll finalize everything while on the way,” Viktor said.
“I realize that you may actually enjoy Malone’s death, but I’ve sensed that it’s a different matter with regard to Vitt. Earlier you made clear that she would not survive the night. Of course, that did not happen.”
“Because of Pau’s interference.”
“What you really mean is
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. I ordered the strike on Ni, which failed. Pau obviously retaliated, which caused unforeseen problems.”
“You’re in charge,” Viktor said.
“Still, I sense you are somewhat glad I interfered, at least as it relates to her.”
“I do as you say.”
“I want to know.” He paused. “Any reluctance on your part to Vitt dying with the others?”
The line stayed silent a moment.
He waited.
“None,” Viktor said. “I’ll handle it.”
FORTY-ONE
HALONG BAY, VIETNAM
THURSDAY, MAY 17
7:00 AM
MALONE STARED AT THE MAGNIFICENT SCENE.
He knew the tale. Once, a great dragon ran toward the coast with its tail flailing, gouging valleys and crevasses along the way. As the beast plunged into the sea, water filled the low spots and left towering monoliths, like a crop of unfinished sculptures, one after the other, rising skyward. Standing on the dock, admiring Halong Bay, whose name meant “where the dragon descended into the sea,” he found it easy to believe that legend. The tranquil waters stretched over six hundred square miles, eventually spilling out into the Gulf of Tonkin. Three thousand islands dotted the turquoise expanse, most uninhabited blocks of gray limestone. Verdant shrubs and trees sheathed most of them, the startling contrast of their spring color to the dull sheen only adding to the surreal scene.
Malone, Pau Wen, Cassiopeia, Stephanie, and Ivan had flown on a U.S. Air Force EC-37 from Belgium to Hanoi. The modified Gulfstream had made the trip in a little over ten hours, thanks to a free pass over Russian airspace courtesy of Ivan. They’d then taken a helicopter for a short flight east to the coast and Quang Ninh province. Russia apparently enjoyed a close relationship with the Vietnamese, as their entrance into the country had been met with unquestioned cooperation. When Malone had inquired about the lovefest, Ivan had only smiled.
“Have you ever been here before?” Cassiopeia asked him.
They stood near a cluster of houses that formed a floating village. Multidecked tour boats rested at anchor, as did many of the junks, their fan-shaped sails finding no wind. A tiny boat appeared with a fisherman standing in it, rowing with two oars crossed in an X. Malone watched as the man found his footing and tossed a net out into the water, its weights opening the mesh like a flower.
“Once,” he said, “years ago. On an assignment, I came through on the way into China.”
“As you will today,” Ivan said. The Russian was studying the sky, looking for something. “Border is less than two hundred kilometers north. But we do not go that way.”
“I get the feeling you’ve done this before,” Stephanie said.
“Sometimes.”
Pau Wen had remained quiet during the long flight, sleeping most of the way, as had they all, trying to adjust to a six-hour time difference. Pau gazed out at the calm sea with a sense that he’d been here before, too. A light fog steamed from the sea’s surface, filtering a rising sun. Oyster-colored clouds dotted a blue sky.
“Tran Hung Dao, Vietnam’s grand commander, faced off Kublai Khan’s army here,” Pau quietly said, “in 1288. He placed bamboo stakes in the rivers so that when the Chinese boats arrived at low tide, which he knew they would, the hulls would be pierced. When that occurred, his troops swooped down and slaughtered the invaders.”
Malone knew the rest of that story. “But the Chinese returned, conquered, and dominated here for nearly a thousand years.”
“Which explains why Vietnam and China are not friends,” Ivan said. “Long memories.”
On the flight, Malone had read what Stephanie had hastily amassed on Pau Wen. His background was one of academics, focusing on history, anthropology, and archaeology, but clearly he was a consummate politician. How else could someone become the confidant of both Mao Zedong and Deng Xiaoping, two utterly different personalities, and prosper under both?
“My uncle was a fisherman,” Pau said. “He sailed a junk. As a boy, I would go out on the water with him.”
Maybe fifty or more of the distinctive ships floated in the bay.
“The cotton sail is dipped in a liquid that comes from a plant similar to a yam,” Pau said. “That’s what gives the red-tan color. It also prevents rot and mildew. My task, as a boy, was to care for the sails.” Pau made no effort to hide a nostalgic tone. “I loved the water. I still recall sewing the coarse cotton panels together, one seam at a time.”
“What are you after?” Malone asked.
“Are you always so direct?”
“Do you ever answer a question?”
Pau smiled. “Only when I want to.”
Cassiopeia grabbed three bags from the dock. Earlier, she’d volunteered to find food and drink, and Ivan had provided her with several hundred Vietnamese dong.
“Soft drinks and bread,” she said. “Best I could do this early. In another hour there’s a cafe open just beyond the end of the dock.”
A small village nestled close to the shore—a cluster of low-slung pastel-colored buildings, rooftops bare and silent, a few faint curls of smoke wafting from several of the chimneys.
Malone accepted a Pepsi and asked Ivan, “Let’s see if
