We’ll be crucified.”
“The president isn’t asking for a war vote,” said Jablonski.
“Not yet. But this is the first step. Sanctions. Of course, the vote would fail if it were in the Senate, you know.”
“It’s not in the Senate.”
“So what do you want to talk to me about, young man?” asked Grasso.
“I just wanted to, uh, tell you, uh — ”
“Josh was in Vietnam when the war broke out,” said Jablonski. He was behind the lines for a while.”
“Wait — you’re with the CIA?” asked Grasso.
“Uh, no, sir. I uh — I’m a scientist.”
“Scientist?” Grasso was acting confused. Josh realized it was an act — he was trying to draw him out, trying to be clever by playing dumb.
It made Josh angry. And that relaxed him. Slightly, at least.
“I was with a UN team. I was on a grant,” Josh told the senator. “We were in Vietnam. The Chinese came over the border one night. They were in black. Commandos or something like that. They killed the rest of the team. While they were sleeping.”
“No shit?”
Josh finally had the senator’s attention.
“Tell him about the village, Josh,” said Jablonski.
He reached the first floor and threw himself against the door, expecting to be met by a hail of bullets. But there was no one there.
It hadn’t been a trick. It was a change in plans.
He told himself to remain calm. To be the man he had trained to be.
He could still take the scientist. It would still be easy.
Jing Yo ran to the van behind the building. He started the truck and pulled forward, wheels squealing as he drove to the front lot.
Which way would the senator have gone?
Jing Yo stopped. He reached over to the glove compartment and took out the GPS tracking monitor.
There was a yellow dot on a map, along with a green square showing where he was.
The senator was to his left, going east, away from the UN.
Away from the UN? Was Josh with him? If so, it didn’t make sense.
But it was all he had to go on. Jing Yo looked at the map, then headed for the exit.
“I’m only three cars back, for cryin’ out loud. I can’t help it if that jackass cut me off.”
“There’s a merge up there, and traffic will pick up.”
“He’s only going to Manhattan. I’m sure I’ll find him.”
“Don’t be a backseat driver,” said Broome, leaning forward behind her.
“I’m in the front seat,” she said.
“Yeah, whatever. Watch it or Fred will give you the wheel.”
Mara folded her arms, staring at the traffic on the bridge ahead. She felt bad that she hadn’t gone with Josh, as if she’d chickened out.
That was stupid. The senator wasn’t exactly dangerous. She’d been with Josh in Vietnam, behind the lines — she’d been with him when things were truly bad.
Still, she felt as if she belonged with him now.
“They were definitely coming out of China,” repeated Josh. “It was a setup.”
“Tell me about that village again,” said Senator Grasso. “That little girl.”
“M?,” said Josh.
“Yes.”
“The president is bringing her,” said Josh.
“Really. She’s someone I’d like to meet. Now, you’re sure that village was in Vietnam?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you find it on a map?”
“I’m not positive. I’ve tried, from satellite photos. It’s not easy to get your bearings in the middle of the jungle.”
“I see.”
“I can show you where the camp was, and where I went.”
“Okay.” Grasso leaned forward. “Kevin, we have a map of Vietnam somewhere, right?”
He had to merge with a line of traffic to his left. Meanwhile, another stream of cars was moving in from the right a short distance ahead. The traffic was as bad as anything around Beijing. The sound was worse: the heavy thump of bass lines from several nearby cars shook the van, and every so often their disjointed symphony was interrupted by the blaring of horns.
The steel web of the bridge’s cantilever shell rose in the distance. Jing Yo urged the van forward through the traffic, wedging it into the flow as best he could. Manhattan lay ahead, high-rises and office buildings spread along the horizon.
Jing Yo needed to get the scientist before he got over to the other side. If he got too much of a lead once he was in Manhattan, he’d get to the UN before Jing Yo could.
He’d take him there if necessary.
The car in front of Jing Yo eased ahead, then hit its brakes. Brake lights were lit as far ahead as he could see.
The van was useless here.
He opened the window and craned his neck out the side. If the senator’s car was nearby, he’d just jump out and blow it up with the grenade launcher — climb on top of the van and let loose.
He couldn’t see it.
The scooter was in the back. He could use that.
Jing Yo threw the van into park and pulled on the emergency brake. Then he got up and squeezed into the back of the van, hitting the overhead light so he could see.
The senator’s car was undoubtedly armored. He opened the box to the grenade launcher, mounted an armor-piercing shell, then slung the gun over his shoulder. He put the P90 over his other shoulder. He still had the plumber’s coveralls on; the big Glock was in a holster and the derringer was in his pocket beneath them.
A horn sounded behind him. Jing Yo pushed open the door to the van. It slammed into something about midway — the hood of the car that had been following him.
The horn sounded again. Jing Yo pushed the other door open, but it too stopped halfway.
A cab was behind him. The driver was pounding on his horn, screaming out the window at him to move, asking what the hell he was doing.
Jing Yo kicked at the doors, then crouched in the open space between them. He swung the RPG launcher into his arm.
“Move back!” he yelled in English.
The cabdriver was too shocked to do anything. Stunned, his hand stayed on the horn.
“Out of my way!” Jing Yo yelled to the taxi driver in Chinese, menacing him again with the grenade
