3
Nature made its own gesture, removing the rain that had made it difficult to drive and see. Jing Yo and Hyuen Bo stopped for a brief lunch, then set out again, moving at a good but not desperate pace. Considering the shelling an omen, he turned westward, reaching Route 14 in an hour. They passed several military convoys, but the soldiers took no notice of them, rushing north to meet the advancing Chinese army.
Jing Yo was able to buy gas in Buon Ho; they bought some vegetables as well as a snack. They stopped once more in Dong Nar, a small town north of Cat Tien National Park. With their gauge near empty and their reserves gone, they found the town’s only gas station closed.
Jing Yo drove down the quietest side street he could find. He found a row of cars parked behind some houses. He drove next to them, and within moments fuel was flowing down his tube to the scooter. But as he checked to see how close to full he was, a man came out from one of the houses and began shouting. Jing Yo yanked the tube out and whipped away, losing the scooter’s gas cap in the process.
It was nearly six before they came within sight of Ho Chi Minh City. Jing Yo made his way to the Go Vap district on the northern side of the city.
The area combined dense residential neighborhoods with farm fields close to the river. Jing Yo navigated toward a set of large fuel-storage tanks not far from the city university, crisscrossing through the traffic as he zigzagged toward them. Finally he turned down a dirt road that dead-ended at a field near the tanks. He turned down the lone intersection and drove to a large house that sat incongruously between small sweatshops and broken-down warehouses.
A wide five-bay garage sat at the side of a large gravel parking area before the house. A gray panel van with a single round window sat in front of the last bay. Jing Yo parked his bike next to the van. He knew he was being watched, though there was no sign of a watchman.
“You have to wait for me,” he told Hyuen Bo. “Just stay.”
The house was nearly two hundred years old, built in a European style with a two-story portico in front. Two men stood behind the pillars at the front. They held guns — not the AK-47s common in the Vietnamese army and militia, but newer and deadlier German submachine guns.
As Jing Yo came up the steps, a thin man in his forties opened the door and stood on the threshold. He wore a black pin-striped business suit, and looked more like a banker than a butler or doorman.
He was neither. His name was Tong, and he was one of a rotating group of assistants used by the woman Jing Yo had come to see.
“Can I help you?” asked Mr. Tong, using English.
“My name is Jing Yo. I have come to speak to Ms. Hu.”
Mr. Tong stepped back, letting Jing Yo in. Jing Yo had been here several times before, but if the man recognized him, he gave no hint of it.
“Sit here, please.”
Jing Yo remained standing. The building smelled of exotic spices, jasmine and vanilla mixing with star anise and an earthy pepper. The wooden inlay of a dragon peeked out from beneath two heavy rugs. The chairs Jing Yo had been bidden to use were more than a hundred years old, made in and imported from France, and covered with Chinese silk that looked brand new, though it was as old as the wood.
Mr. Tong returned. “This way.”
Jing Yo followed him through the central hall of the house, out onto a glass-enclosed patio, and from there into a garden at the back of the house. An older woman, known to Jing Yo only as Ms. Hu, sat at a small table near the center of the garden, sipping tea. Behind her, water bubbled in a large fountain. Statues lined the pebbled paths and grottoes in front of the trees, shrubs, and flowers that were arranged in the various beds: Here a Buddha sat under the tree after his rapture. There a Foo lion guarded the symbol of life.
“We have been expecting you, Jing Yo,” said Ms. Hu.
Jing Yo bowed his head. Ms. Hu was small, not quite five feet. She was thin, though not quite so thin as to seem fragile. Her skin was extremely white, almost bleached, and far smoother than normal for her age, which Jing Yo had been told was near sixty. She wore a long dress. While of modern design, it was cut in a way that suggested tradition.
“They doubted you would make it by nightfall,” said Ms. Hu. “Did you have a difficult time?”
“It was easier than you would imagine.”
“Good.”
“You have information for me?”
“I have much information. Have some tea.”
A butler stepped forward from the nearby shrubs, a cup in his hand. Jing Yo waited while he poured. The light scent of jasmine tickled his nose.
“Thank you,” said Jing Yo before taking his cup.
“The man you are after is on his way to Ho Chi Minh City. We believe he was trying to get to the airport, but the authorities closed it a few hours ago. Where he will go from there we don’t know. Not yet.”
“I see.”
“Most likely he will go to District One and stay in one of the hotels,” continued Ms. Hu. “I have several men in the area, searching. We have people throughout the city.”
“Is he using his satellite phone?”
“He has. But it is not as easy to track in the city. The Americans have not been so kind as to share all of their technology with us.”
Ms. Hu took another sip of her tea. Her style was reminiscent of a cloistered medieval Chinese empress, concocting political plots behind the emperor’s back with understated finesse.
“I’m grateful for your help,” said Jing Yo.
“Do not take this as an insult, Jing Yo,” said Ms. Hu. “I admire your persistence. But it seems that you have not been your usual effective self. Not everyone is pleased with you.”
Jing Yo lowered his head. It was a warning more than an admonition.
“If our men are in position to kill him, they will do so,” continued Ms. Hu. “I mean no insult, but this is a matter of some importance. I have heard from the premier’s office directly.”
“I appreciate your assistance,” said Jing Yo again.
Ms. Hu nodded. “Why did they give you this mission?” she asked.
“I did not ask the question.”
“Sending you behind the lines on your own — does your commander not wish to see you return?”
“I could have selected men to accompany me.”
Ms. Hu took another sip of her tea. “You have someone with you,” she said. “A girl?”
“She helped me get out of Hanoi. She has been very useful.”
“She may prove to be a chain around your neck. You brought her here. That is not a good thing. Not for her.”
“I vouch for her.”
“I’m sure. Mr. Tong will give you an address where you can stay. Take the girl to the house and have her stay there. Mr. Tong has a phone for you as well. When we have information, you will be called.”
“I intend to continue searching for him,” said Jing Yo.
