went through.
“Yeah, it’s me. A whole shitload of trouble,” she told whoever was on the other side of the line. “The Chinese had helicopters. Jimmy’s people got mixed up in the firelight. We split up. I have the scientist. He’s got a kid with him. What can you do for us?”
Josh folded his arms in front of his chest. He didn’t like the way she’d mentioned M?, as if he’d been expected to make a business presentation and had shown up with a kid in tow.
Mara turned to him, apparently in response to a question from whoever was on the line.
“You do have the tape, right?” she asked.
“I got it.”
“We’re good,” she told the phone.
She listened some more.
“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll try.”
“What are we going to try?” asked Josh after she hung up abruptly.
“To stay alive. Come on. That trail leads to a road, and there’s a deserted village a mile off it that the Chinese haven’t occupied yet.”
“How do you know?”
“I just had them look at a satellite image. Come on.”
5
“Mrs. Prime Minister, thank you for returning my call,” President Greene told Ivory Chatham as he retrieved the British prime minister from hold. “I trust you’re well.”
“Tolerably well,” she told him. “The weather here has been just awful. Even for England.”
“I’m sorry to hear.” Mandatory chitchat finished, Greene plunged into the reason he’d placed the call. “I’ve been speaking to both my secretary of state and my national security adviser about your concerns.”
“I’m going to save you the embarrassment, George,” said the prime minister, cutting him short. “His Majesty’s government is not currently in a position to help you on the resolution.”
Greene stifled a growl. “Why not?”
“I’m sorry, George. The financial situation is very difficult here.”
“You’re not going to succumb to blackmail, are you? This is a critical point. Crucial.”
“I know. The financial situation is very precarious right now,” added Chatham. “And I’m afraid that my government would not be able to sustain a challenge.”
“I hadn’t realized the situation was so… precarious.” Greene shifted in his chair. Part of the problem, he believed, was that Chatham faced a no-confidence vote in the Parliament in a few days. She had barely survived the last, and undoubtedly didn’t want to do anything to tip more votes against her.
“It’s the bonds, George. The Chinese have been very clear that they will withdraw their deposits.”
“They’ve hinted the same to us. It will hurt them more than us. Certainly in the long run.”
“You’re not in the position I am. And frankly, the Chinese have public sentiment on their side. People think the Vietnamese are getting what they deserve. I’m surprised that’s not the case in your country.”
It probably was, though Greene had made it a point to avoid looking at any public opinion polls on the matter.
“People have seen the photos the Chinese have spread around,” added the prime minister. “I know what you’ve said about them, but they’re very convincing. Very, very convincing.”
“What if we had proof that the Chinese staged the entire incident? That the Vietnamese never launched an attack.”
“Of course we suspect that.”
“But if the public had proof. Would it make a difference to you?”
“Well, if we had public opinion on our side, in that case…”
“Then let me ask you a favor. Do nothing. For a few days — take no stand on the resolution.”
“You have proof?”
“We’re working on it,” said Greene.
6
More blood. A big splotch and a little one.
Two more steps and there were three drops, all very large.
The brush got thicker. More branches were broken as they passed, the enemy’s haste making its path easier to follow.
It
Jing Yo moved ahead carefully, his eyes straining to see through the brush. There was a shadow ahead.
Stealthily, he crept toward it. It wasn’t until he was three meters away that he was sure it was just a tree.
A few steps beyond the shadow, the scattered splotches of blood became a steady line, thin and narrow, then wider. After a few strides, Jing Yo heard a groan ahead.
He strongly suspected a trap. He circled to his right, moving quietly through a group of trees. The enemy soldier had fallen against a bush and was leaning there, half suspended, facedown.
But he was still alive. His hand was clawing at the ground, as if he were a turtle trying to right itself.
Jing Yo sprang forward, rushing toward the man. The enemy soldier had dropped his rifle on the ground.
The gun was Chinese. He wore Chinese uniform pants and top under a bulletproof vest and a regular-issue camo tac vest.
Was he Chinese? What was going on?
Jing Yo reached him just as the soldier managed to push himself faceup.
He looked Chinese.
“Who are you?” demanded Jing Yo, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him. “Comrade, what unit are you?”
The man grimaced, clearly in pain. His eyes opened and closed. He was barely conscious.
Jing Yo squatted down. The bulletproof vest was not Chinese; it was cut higher and was thinner. The inserts seemed to be made of a thousand spheres rather than the stiff plates used by the Chinese and most other militaries.
His radio was foreign as well. He had German-made field glasses, unusual in Asia.
Jing Yo’s bullets had caught him in the thigh and groin, tearing apart the flesh. Not serious at first, the wound had been made much worse by the soldier’s exertions running through the jungle. Blood was now oozing out onto his uniform at a steady pace.
