Shadows of War

more delicate.

The agency wanted to plant listening devices in the area to spy on the Chinese — without Vietnamese cooperation — and Fleming had been asked to survey possible sites. Mara was supposed to see how things were going.

Though planned months before, the mission had taken on extreme significance because of recent Chinese troop movements nearby. The intelligence about those movements was so sensitive that Lucas couldn’t even tell Mara about them. If he did, and she somehow was captured, by the Chinese or the Vietnamese, America’s intelligence-gathering capacities would be severely compromised.

That wasn’t going to happen, Lucas thought to himself. Basically, the assignment was a long, late dinner, with maybe some cocktails later on. Fleming would be in Hanoi for only a day, dropping off some snail mail and picking up supplies before heading back by truck to the survey area.

“The border area between the two countries is sensitive, as always,” added Lucas. “So ask him about it. The more information you can get, the better. Check in when you get there. Yada yada yada; you know the drill.”

“Don’t talk to locals?”

She was referring to the CIA bureau in Vietnam. Lucas hesitated. He trusted Mara, and knew she was connected to the problems there, but wanted to tell her only what was absolutely necessary.

“You should not talk to the locals, no,” he told her.

“Not at all?”

He shook his head.

“Okay. If I have problems I check in here?”

“Absolutely. You think you can handle all this?”

“In my sleep.”

“Let’s try it awake, just for practice.”

7

Northwestern Vietnam, near the border with China

The path Josh had taken swung back into the jungle for roughly a mile before starting to descend along the valley. It wove a zigzag path downward, the cutbacks easing, though not completely eliminating, the angle of the slope. The bottom of the valley was not a river as Josh had first supposed, but rather a road; though not paved, it was much wider than the path, with tire tracks that looked relatively fresh. Yellow dirt and silver-white rocks lined the bed; the shoulders were rutted grass and occasional ditches.

He couldn’t see the village from where he was, and had lost his sense of which way it would be.

A monkey screeched in the distance. Another joined in, then another. The sound rattled Josh, seemingly vibrating in his teeth. He decided to go left.

What was the word for hello?

Xin chao!

Can you speak English?

They would know right away that he was an American, smell it before they even saw him — Americans and Europeans smelled like the soap they washed their bodies with. His clothes, his haircut, his face, his manner — everything about him would make it obvious.

They would know he was an American and they would help him get back to Hanoi.

Good God, had it all been a dream? How could it be possible that robbers had come in and murdered the whole camp? What strange twist of fate was this, to have to endure two massacres in a lifetime?

What luck was it to have escaped both times?

Josh heard chickens clucking ahead. His heart pounded even harder.

“I need help,” he mumbled to himself, rehearsing. “My friends have been killed.”

He started to run.

“I need help,” he said louder. “I need help.”

He turned the corner. The chickens, a dozen of them, were scattered in and along the road. When they saw him they moved toward him excitedly.

The buildings sat above an elbow in the road at his right. Josh began running toward them, looking for people.

“Help!” he shouted. “I need help!”

Two cottages sat very close to the road. Both were one-story, windowless structures made of wood. Their steeply pitched roofs paired wood and sheets of rusted tin in a patchwork that seemed more artistic than functional. A slanted fence used for drying clothes stood to the right of the closest one; two large sheets and a man’s pants hung on it, flapping in the wind.

“Hey!” yelled Josh. “Help! I need help!”

He ran up the path, along the front of the house to the open door.

“Please,” he yelled. “Please.”

He slowed as he neared the door, then stopped.

“Help!” he shouted. “Hey! Hey!”

Inside, the house was dark. There was a table and chairs on his left, a primitive stove beyond them. Bedding was laid out on the right.

A loud moo startled him — the only inhabitant was the family’s cow, its long oval eyes blinking at him from the corner.

Josh had been raised on farms, but the cow being in the house unsettled him. The animal mooed again, and Josh took a step backward, unsure of himself.

Perhaps everything was a dream, a nightmare that extended all the way back to his childhood.

Moooo.

The sound was more grunt than moo. The animal followed him out. It wasn’t a cow but an ox.

It wouldn’t be unusual for a family to keep their animals in the house with them if they were very poor.

There was a noise behind him. Josh swung around, expecting to see a person. But it was a monkey.

The animal made a face at him, then ducked past into the house. It ran into the shadows at the side, scampering around among some furniture, then emerged with what looked like a potato, its white flesh revealed by the animal’s chiseled bite mark. The monkey shot by and scampered into the jungle, chattering as it ran.

“Hey!” yelled Josh. “Is anybody around? Hey? Hey!”

No one answered. The ox looked at him quizzically.

“Hello? Hey! Hello! Where is everyone!” shouted Josh, twisting around. “Can you help me? I need to get in touch with the authorities. I’ve been robbed.”

There was no one in the house next to the first, either. Walking up to a second cluster of buildings, he found a small shack set just off the clearing, at the side of what appeared to be a garden. It reeked of dung. He stuck his head inside, saw nothing except for a pile in the corner, then retreated, gasping for fresh air.

Josh wondered whether it might be market day. The people didn’t seem to have left in a hurry; there were no plates on the tables, no food in the pots, no possessions seemingly left for the moment. He walked in a circuit around the settlement, calling, expecting someone to answer at any second. As each minute passed, he became more optimistic, more set in the opinion that the villagers had gone off to either their chores or some nearby event. Finding them was only a matter of time.

The hamlet was wedged into the hillside, and his circuits took him up and down the incline flanking the road. Cleared but unplanted fields lay above and below the houses.

He was hungry. If the people didn’t mind a monkey stealing their food, they surely wouldn’t begrudge him. He’d pay them back, as soon as he was rescued.

Josh walked to a hut next to the lower field. It was built directly into the slope at the back, but otherwise was just like all the others, its large roof extending below the walls. He ducked his head to get through the door, then stood just inside the threshold for a few seconds as his eyes adjusted.

The area to the left was used by the family to sleep; the bedding was disheveled, piled haphazardly. Some of