Shadows of War

either end of the bar, wiggling their surgically enhanced body parts at the crowd. Such a display would have been unheard of in Hanoi a decade before, but apparently was an accepted by-product of the latest push to entice business to the country.

Mara slipped through the crowd. There were only two empty tables; both were far removed from the stage. She took one. No less than a minute later a man came over and asked if he could sit down. He was middle-aged, Japanese, overly polite and slightly nervous.

“You can sit down if you want,” she told him in English.

“Thank you.”

“I’m waiting for a friend,” she told him as he pulled out the chair. A look of disappointment crossed his face. “But he’s late, and I don’t have a cell phone. Do you mind if I borrow yours?”

He handed it over. Mara had come to Hanoi with a mobile as well as a sat phone. She also had two untraceable SIM cards that would allow her to give the cell phone a new number and account. But why burn a clean SIM card when a phone with a perfectly innocent pedigree could be had for the asking?

She called the hotel; Fleming still hadn’t checked in. He didn’t answer the sat phone either.

She started slipping the phone into her purse. The businessman stopped her.

“My phone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “I thought it was mine. I’d forgotten. I’m so used to having one.”

Her attempted theft was the last straw for the man, who after a shallow nod excused himself and left. Mara waited a minute, then got up and went to the bar, sidling in near a man who’d left his wallet and cell phone next to his drink. He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the girl writhing on the stage nearby. A minute later, she was outside the hotel, his cell phone in hand.

Mara found a quiet lobby in the hotel across the street, then used the man’s phone to call every hotel in the Hanoi tourist guide. Fleming hadn’t checked into any of them.

Returning to the girlie lounge across the street, she couldn’t find the man whose phone she’d stolen.

“I believe one of your customers left this,” she told one of the bartenders, holding up the phone. “I found it on the floor beneath the stool.”

By now it was after two. Mara’s check-in with Thailand was well overdue. She walked several blocks before finding a minihotel off an alley. So-called minihotels were small budget hotels that generally catered to backpackers and other budget travelers, something like a Vietnam version of Motel 6, without the cute advertising or free soap. The clerk, a sleepy-eyed young man barely out of his teens, yawned interminably, then asked for her passport to make a copy — standard procedure in Vietnam.

“I have a copy already,” said Mara, producing one from her bag.

This, too, was common procedure; the clerk took it without checking against her actual passport, which had a different number and name.

“Do you have other Western guests?” she asked as he fished the key from its cubby behind him.

“A few.”

“A friend of mine sometimes stays here. He’s Belgian.”

The clerk began shaking his head even before she gave him the name or his country. “No Belgium, no.”

“He might seem French.”

“Don’t know. Your bag?”

“The airline lost it. I have to pick it up in the morning.”

The clerk’s expression made it clear he didn’t believe her. Mara shrugged.

“That’s what they told me,” she said.

“Maybe it will come.”

The room was smaller than even the bathroom at the Star, but it was clean, and the bed had fresh sheets. Mara checked for bugs. When she didn’t find any, she sat in the creaky wooden chair and took out her sat phone.

To her surprise, Jesse DeBiase, the Million Dollar Man, picked up. “Well, hello, darling,” he answered her. “About time you checked in.”

“I was looking for the duty officer.”

“Found him.”

“This late?”

“I’m a night owl.”

“You’re doing real work for a change?”

“Will wonders never cease? I expect pigs to be flying next,” he said. “Actually, I’m listenin’ to Charlie Daniels,” he added conspiratorially. “He’s gonna fiddle with the devil at the crossroads for his soul.”

“There’s a contest you’d win.”

“You assume I have a soul he’d be interested in. So how is Mr. Fleming?”

“Didn’t show.”

“Hmmmm.”

“ ‘Hmmmm’ as in something? Or are you humming a song with Charlie?”

“Neither one. Listen, darling, something may be going on.” The Million Dollar Man’s voice shifted slightly; though his tone was still light, Mara knew he was suddenly much more serious. “We’ve heard reports that the Vietnamese are testing the Chinese borders.”

“What?”

“Doesn’t make any sense,” added DeBiase quickly. “But the rumors are flying. Several of our people in Beijing have heard it.”

“Beijing?”

“Something to be aware of. You haven’t heard anything?”

“Not a peep.”

DeBiase was silent for a moment. Talking to the scientist was now ten times more important than it had been that morning; Mara worried that they would decide to send someone more experienced to deal with him. Not better — just more experienced. That’s how Lucas would put it.

“Are you staying at the Star?” said DeBiase finally.

“I am. I’m not calling from there, though. The room is bugged.”

“Of course. Make sure we can contact you.”

“Obviously.” She felt a surge of relief — she wasn’t going to be replaced. At least not yet.

“Don’t take any unnecessary risks, darling,” DeBiase added. “Stay close to the hotel. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt. There’d be no one left to enjoy my coffee.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Not really. I’m a lecherous old man. But harmless, at least until my hernia is fixed.”

They both laughed uneasily, then hung up.

14

Northwestern Vietnam, near the border with China

Josh’s first impulse was to tear through the jungle straight at the border, but in the dark that would be foolish. Much of the land close to the fence was mined — he could easily blow himself up in the dark. Besides, he didn’t want to climb the fence; he wanted to find someone near it who could help him, soldiers or a customs official. They’d be near the road.

He took a few steps sideways along the trail, keeping the fence in view, until finally he couldn’t see it. Turning and walking properly, he followed the path as it swung across a cleft in the mountain and met a narrow and uneven ancient road. Though used by traders and travelers for millennia, the roadbed had never been paved, and over the last forty or fifty years had seen less and less traffic. The hard-packed dirt and rocks had nonetheless successfully held off the jungle, trees and brush clustering at its edges but getting no farther.

As Josh began walking along the road, he heard a chain saw start up and buzz in the distance. The sound baffled him: who would be using a chain saw after dark?