Shadows of War

bike’s engine to pay attention. After a few minutes of coaxing and gentle cursing, the bike revved to life.

“Good Honda, yes?” said the owner, a broad smile on his face.

“Does the light work?”

Tom translated, and the owner flicked it on. The beam grew stronger and weaker in rough sync with the uneven engine.

“How much?” asked Mara.

The two men began negotiating in Vietnamese. Finally Tom turned to her and said, “He’ll rent both for two hundred American.”

“I want to buy. And just one.”

“He won’t sell. Rent.”

“Tell him it’s unlikely I’ll be back.”

“He’s not going to sell.”

“Tell him. Tell him the Chinese are coming.”

“He won’t believe that.”

“I’ll tell him.”

Tom turned back to the owner and began explaining that she wouldn’t be able to get back — or at least Mara thought that’s what he was saying; she couldn’t keep up with the words as they flew back and forth.

“He will rent both for one seventy-five. Last offer.”

“I want to buy them,” Mara insisted.

“Not going to happen.” He smiled, obviously proud that he knew an appropriate piece of American slang.

“I just want one.”

“If I come with you, I can find someone to drive the motorcycle back,” said Tom. “This is cheaper than buying, no? And you need a guide.”

“All right,” said Mara finally. “I need to go back to the village to get the money.”

She didn’t have that much cash, but figured she could borrow it from Kieu. Tom, nearly ecstatic, began negotiating for gasoline. His tone was even more enthusiastic than before, and the two men appeared close to arguing before Mara finally cut them off.

“We’ll take his price, his last price,” she said. “I don’t want to be here all night.”

Kieu was sleeping soundly when she returned. Mara felt guilty as she went through his pants, now folded and placed carefully on his shoes at the side of the bed. The money she’d given him earlier was clipped in a wedge in his hip pocket, apparently untouched by the man looking after him, though Mara guessed it was more money than he would see in a year. His honesty made her feel even more guilty, and after counting out the bills — along with a little extra to help her get to Hanoi — she decided she would write out an IOU to make it clear that she intended to return the cash. The only paper she could find was the credit card receipt for the fuel; she tucked it into the wedge of bills and pushed it back into his pocket, folding the clothes at the edge of the bed.

“Someone will be back for you, if it’s not me,” she told him, though he hadn’t stirred. “We’ll pay for the plane.”

She saw the village doctor standing by the door as she tiptoed out.

“I’m going to pay him back,” she said. “I gave him the money in the first place.”

He didn’t answer.

“How long before he can travel?” she said, ignoring his stern look of disapproval.

“Four or five days. The pain will be greatest tomorrow.”

“I’ll be back,” said Mara, but her cracking voice didn’t even convince herself.

12

Bangkok

Peter Lucas massaged his forehead, trying to rub away the fatigue.

“You think this guy is real?” he asked DeBiase.

“There is a MacArthur on the team. Who would go to the trouble of faking this?”

“The Chinese maybe. The Vietnamese.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“The satellite phone number belongs to the team.”

“Somebody could have found it. The Chinese.”

“What would they have to gain by this?”

“Yeah.”

Still, Lucas didn’t like it. It was too enticing somehow, a big prize that had dropped into his lap.

Or maybe a prize. The guy could easily be dead by now.

“Best way to find out is to try calling the number,” said DeBiase. “It will go through our system, bypassing the jammed satellite. You have nothing to lose.”

The Chinese wouldn’t be able to jam the incoming call, but because Josh was using a commercial phone, the call could not be encrypted. If the Chinese happened to pick up the frequency — not a certainty, but a definite possibility — they’d hear everything.

But there was no other alternative — what the scientist had said was too enticing to pass up.

“Let’s give it a try,” Lucas told DeBiase. Then he leaned back against the console, waiting.

* * *

A thousand miles away in Vietnam., Josh McArthur had come to the end of his energy. Embedded in his small hollow near the side of the road, he stopped fighting fatigue and let his eyes close.

His mind began drifting. Different thoughts floated through his consciousness. Suddenly he was talking to his uncle, explaining what was going on.

Except it wasn’t his uncle. And he was no longer dreaming.

“Everyone at the science camp was killed?” said the voice.

“What’s your name?”

“Peter. My name is Peter. You’re sure of what you saw?”

“Everyone was killed. And in the village.”

“Could you find the village on a map?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want you to tell me where it is,” added the voice quickly. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Josh had only a rough idea now anyway “I have video.”

“Video?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Was he sleeping? Josh realized he was awake — truly awake. The phone had rung and he’d answered it still mostly asleep, with his brain working on automatic.

They’re going to rescue me. This is real.

He pushed out of his niche, standing on the road. The air seemed cool.

“Can you get me out of here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Yeah. We will. It’s not going to be easy.”

“I know that. Are you going to get me out?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Soon. For the time being, stay where you are.”

That’s impossible, thought Josh. But he didn’t want to disappoint the man, who might be his only chance for help.