”
“Easier said than done,” said Jackson. “The only air bases operating are in the south.”
“Launch it from a helicopter,” said Frost.
“I doubt that would work.”
“It doesn’t have to work,” said Greene. “It just has to look as if it could.”
“I don’t know, George. You’re awful close to the line,” said Jackson.
“The hell with the line.”
“What are the senators you’re having lunch with going to say if you tell them we’re helping Vietnam on the sly?”
“I’m not going to tell them. Besides, this isn’t much more than I’ve already done.”
“I don’t want to contradict you,” said Jackson.
“Then don’t.”
“Even sending General Perry was over the line.”
“I’ll worry about the line,” said Greene. “It’s only politics anyway.”
“Mr. President, there is one other factor that you should know about,” interrupted General Perry. “The Vietnamese — in order to go along with this, sir, they want Major Murphy to lead the operation.”
“I couldn’t pick a better man myself,” said the president.
18
Hyuen Bo tightened her grip around his midsection. “I’m coming with you,” she whispered.
“It’s too dangerous.” He pried her hand away and got off.
“I’ll turn you in.”
“You could never do that.” He touched her gently, then walked down the street toward the station, steeling himself not to look back.
He’d felt the same way when the time had come to leave the monastery. It was a difficult walk.
Jing Yo kept his head down as he passed the soldiers. One or two glanced in his direction, then ignored him. He wasn’t important.
Like the rest of the city, the main lights inside the station had been blacked out; a pair of small kerosene lanterns had been set up near the center of the waiting area. While in theory the blackout was a precaution against bombers, in truth the lights made no difference to the weapons the Chinese used, as the glow of fresh fires from the north and east proved. But turning off the lights was a tangible, if feeble, action the city could take in its own defense, important for morale if nothing else.
A man three times Jing Yo’s age stood at the desk in the far corner of the station’s waiting room, standing stiffly, as if at attention. The only other occupants of the waiting room were two men stretched out along the chairs, snoring. The plastic seats were improbable beds, but with their heads covered they were oblivious of the world.
“I wanted to book a sleeper on the midnight train to Ho Chi Minh City,” Jing Yo told the ticket clerk.
“The trains have been shut down as of five o’clock. The military has commandeered them. I’m sorry.”
Jing Yo nodded. He turned to leave, and was surprised to see Hyuen Bo there.
She brushed past him.
“Isn’t there a way?” Hyuen Bo asked the man. “My mother is there alone. We are afraid for her.”
“There’s nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing?”
Her voice was so plaintive and convincing that Jing Yo almost couldn’t tell that she was acting.
“Perhaps one of the buses,” said the man. “They’re still running.”
“When do they leave?”
“At five.”
Jing Yo left Hyuen Bo in the station, walking quickly out and back up along the road. He had to get away from her. After that, it would be simple matter to steal a car.
“Halt,” said one of the soldiers, barring his way.
Puzzled, Jing Yo stopped.
“Why are you out on the street?” demanded the soldier.
“I was trying to get a train.”
“Papers,” demanded the soldier.
Jing Yo reached into his pocket. He was unsure whether the soldier was just being officious, or had some reason to be suspicious.
He could take the gun from the private’s hand easily enough. But there were a dozen other men here. Could he kill enough of them to get away?
And what of Hyuen Bo?
The soldier grabbed the documents. “What unit are you in?”
“I am not in the army. I have a disability.”
“You’re not blind.”
“My heart is weak.”
The soldier scowled.
“What is the matter?” asked Hyuen Bo, running up to him. “I found out where the buses are.”
“Who are you?” asked the soldier.
“His wife. We were hoping to go to Saigon — ”
“The place has been called Ho Chi Minh City since before you were born,” snapped the soldier.
“My mother is there.”
“Use some sense then. Use the proper name.”
“Do you know when the trains will run again?” asked Hyuen Bo. “We have to get to her.”
“Everyone is to remain where they are. You’re not afraid of the Chinese, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Your boy is.” He threw the papers at Jing Yo, dismissing him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” said Jing Yo when they reached the scooter. He spoke softly, sensing the soldiers were still watching them.
“You need me,” said Hyuen Bo.
But it was the best option. Jing Yo had some plastic tubing to use as a siphon; he would steal gas along the way if he couldn’t find a gas station. He found a pair of water jugs on the street a short distance from the station and took them to use for extra fuel.
He thought of leaving Hyuen Bo, of just pushing her off and driving on, but he couldn’t do it. There were practical reasons — she’d already demonstrated how useful she could be dealing with the soldiers and officials — but the real reason was his love for her. He did not want to leave her, or lose her.
And yet, he would have to, at some point. Taking her with him surely exposed her to more danger, far more danger. If she was caught with him, she would surely be hanged as a spy.
“It’s a long ride,” he told her as they approached the highway. “Many hours. And it will be very hard.”
“We will be together,” she told him, wrapping her arms firmly around his chest.
