Shadows of War

lounge area, grabbing a cup of coffee before proceeding down the hall to Secure Room 1, where Jesse DeBiase was coordinating the efforts to wring as much intelligence as possible from the various sponges and stones the CIA had planted throughout Southeast Asia over the past decade.

“How we doing, Million Dollar Man?” asked Lucas.

“We’re doing. Very slowly. Nothing real to report. The Vietnamese still don’t know what the hell’s going on.”

“That’s the assessment there?”

“That’s my assessment. I don’t trust Hanoi. But yes, when you pick through what they said.”

DeBiase knew all about the situation there. He was, in fact, Lucas’s first choice to become the new station chief — though he clearly didn’t want the job.

“And what do our people say?”

“They think the real attack is going to come in the east. Probably that’s the majority view of the government as well. Like I say, they’re so confused they don’t know which way is up.” DeBiase wheeled his seat forward a few inches. “Who’s going for Mara?”

Lucas grimaced, and pulled over a chair.

“We’re leaving her there?” said DeBiase.

“I don’t know what we’re doing. Park doesn’t want us sending anyone into the area.”

“We can’t leave her.”

“Just because she’s a woman, Jesse, doesn’t mean she can’t take care of herself.”

Lucas turned the screen on the computer next to DeBiase, and started paging through the recent communications.

“Seriously, what are we going to do?” asked DeBiase.

“Seriously, I don’t know. I’ve been told we’re not allowed to run any operations in Vietnam.” Lucas kept his eyes fixed on the screen, partly in hopes of reading something that would give him an idea of what precisely he should do.

“Peter, we can’t leave her on her own up there. Her Vietnamese is patchy. She has no equipment. God knows how banged up she is after the plane crash. She was never supposed to be in that area in the first place. If the Chinese find her, she’ll be taken prisoner. The Vietnamese will do the same thing.”

Lucas continued paging through the data, which was an unfiltered hodgepodge of reports, ranging from NSA intercept summaries to second- and thirdhand accounts sent via instant message to CIA officers around the world. The real trick wasn’t getting information — there was tons of it here. It was organizing it into a coherent shape. And the more there was, the harder that became.

“It doesn’t look like they’re heading in her direction,” Lucas said finally. “It looks from this that they’re going directly south.”

“She’s not all that far from Lao Cai.”

“Far enough.”

“Peter, we can’t leave her there.”

“I’ll talk to her,” said Lucas. “Then I’ll figure out how we’ll get her.” “She’s supposed to call in another hour.”

“I don’t want to wait. Call her now.”

“She turned her phone off to conserve the batteries.”

“Sounds like Mara,” said Lucas. “Always thinking ahead.”

8

Northwestern Vietnam, near the border with China

Josh crossed over the ridge and walked for at least an hour before taking the satellite phone from his pocket. The delay was an act of will, a test to see if he could withstand temptation — to demonstrate to himself that he had the mental toughness he needed to survive. Because to survive, he could not give in to temptation, and he suspected that there would be many more instances of temptation before he reached safety. So he left the phone in his pocket as he walked south, skirting the edge of the fields he’d seen earlier, moving parallel to the hilltops until finding a dry streambed gouged into the hill.

A cluster of half a dozen houses sat in the lap of two hills between the terraced fields. Josh skirted it, walking deeper into the jungle. He’d have to stay away from the settlements, at least during the day; anyone pursuing him would search there first. With water and a gun, he could wait until nightfall to get food.

He would wait. He would do what he had to do to survive.

South of the village, surrounded by thick jungle, Josh finally allowed himself to examine the phone. There were no markings on it, but he was convinced it was one of the team’s. It looked exactly like his — so much so that only when his personal ID didn’t unlock it was he sure it wasn’t.

The model was designed so that it wouldn’t turn on unless its owner’s identification code was entered properly. But it came from the factory with a default code. Josh wondered if maybe its owner hadn’t changed it. Most people, he’d heard, didn’t bother.

But what had the code been? He seemed to remember that it had been four similar digits. He tried the 0’s, then 1’s. Neither worked. 2’s, 3’s — he went through all of the digits without unlocking it.

It had to be one of those. Maybe if he took the battery out, the memory would die and the code would reset.

Josh tried it, then hit 0-0-0-0. Again he got a PIN failed message. He tried 1-1-1-1.

“Locked,” flashed on the screen.

He snapped the red Off button, angry.

Stay in control, he told himself. With or without the phone, you’ll get out of here. With or without it.

Sliding the phone into his pocket, he began walking again. It was starting to get dark. He had trouble seeing until he stumbled onto a narrow dirt trail, nearly falling as he pushed past some brush. He took a quick step back, looking left and right to make sure no one was nearby. Not trusting his eyes, he remained motionless a while longer, listening for any sound. Finally satisfied, he turned to the left and began walking along the edge of the path, moving as quietly as he could.

The trail seemed to meander almost without purpose or direction. He began stopping at every turn, peeking forward around a tree or thick bush, sure he was going to spot a village just ahead. But there was nothing.

Gradually, Josh began to relax. He picked up his pace. Finally, perhaps two kilometers after starting on the path, he smelled the faint odor of a fire in the distance. A few minutes later, he smelled food.

I’ll stop here now, he told himself. I’ll find a place to hide until nightfall. Then I’ll go and see what I can find of use in the village.

Food.

He didn’t want to get too close to whatever village the food was being cooked at — if he was too close, his hunger might take over and he would do something stupid. He walked for a good ten minutes before finding a good place to stop, a low niche in an embankment formed by large tree roots along the side of the trail. The shadows would hide him completely, yet he’d still be able to see the trail. He climbed into the spot, a bird stealing another’s nest.

Josh took a sip of water. The sky had been clear; once the moon came out, there would be plenty of light to see by. Sneaking into the village would be easy. Getting inside one of the huts might be a little harder — he’d have to do it without being heard, difficult in their small houses.

Was that what had happened in the village he’d been in? Maybe the Chinese hadn’t killed the people at all — maybe it had been someone as desperate to survive as he was.

No. The entire village had not only been killed; they’d been buried. He knew what he had seen, and he had the proof in his pocket.

Josh arched his back, slipping his hand into his pocket for the satellite phone. He turned it on again, different number combinations running through his head.

As the device powered up, a message flashed briefly on the screen: emergency service only. The phone was