Way. And yet, at this moment he felt closer to the men firing those guns than to the commander who had sent him here.
The monks would nod sagaciously at that.
Jing Yo thought of Hyuen Bo. The apartment he had left her in was southwest of where he was sitting, to his left. The attacks were to the north, concentrating on the airport and military facilities nearby.
The ground rumbled with a trio of salvos. A great red glow erupted in the distance. Jing Yo turned his gaze toward it, losing himself in meditation as if staring at the flame of a candle. Conscious thought floated away. His mind became a cloud, easing toward a hilltop, filtering into the trees, assimilating everything.
He would have his target. He was somewhere nearby.
The satellite phone rang. Jing Yo reached for it mechanically.
“Yes,” he said.
“Did you find him?” asked Mr. Tong, speaking Chinese.
“He was in the park at the river, with a woman and at least two other Americans,” said Jing Yo. “I lost him. But he remains nearby. I can sense it.”
“Where are you?” asked Mr. Tong.
“I am across from the Renoir Hotel.”
“You should be in a shelter.”
Jing Yo didn’t answer.
“Go to the basement of a building, and stay there until the attack ends,” said Mr. Tong.
Again, Jing Yo didn’t answer.
“Our people will help you find him,” said Mr. Tong, whose voice rose with his anxiety. “It is dangerous at the moment. Not just because of the attack. If the soldiers see you outside, they’ll think you’re crazy. They could lock you up as an insane person. You should not be outside.”
“As you wish,” said Jing Yo, ending the call.
Jing Yo sat next to her. By now the bombing had stopped. The stars and moon gave enough light for him to see the smooth curve of her cheek as it glided toward her mouth. Her skin was that of a doll, unblemished, its pale hue glowing.
“I saw my mother,” she said. “She came to me with her hand outstretched. She needed food.”
“What did you do?”
“I had nothing for her.”
“You’re with me now.”
He put his arm around her. Hyuen Bo’s body folded into his, becoming another arm and leg. Their lungs filled in a tight rhythm, his breathing hers.
The ground shook. More missiles were striking the city. This time the explosions were closer. Jing Yo guessed that the government buildings were being attacked. They were barely a mile away. The walls seemed to heave with the loud claps of the explosives as they ignited. A baby cried somewhere nearby.
Hyuen Bo’s body trembled against his. Gently, he pushed her to the floor and they began to make love.
11
Commander Silas grunted into the phone, then hung it up. Some things about being in the Navy never changed — no matter when it was you went to bed, someone was bound to wake you up.
In this case, it was Washington.
Or actually, suburban Maryland. When Silas keyed up the secure e-mail system, he found a message requesting that he contact the CIA officer supervising Southeast Asia on a secure line as soon as possible.
Which got his attention. A few minutes later, he found himself talking to Peter Lucas.
“We have people in Ho Chi Minh we need to get out,” said Lucas. “They were coming out by plane but it looks like the airport may be closed down permanently. Could you pick them up?”
“I’ll have to check the Saigon port facilities,” said Silas. “But it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“How long will it take?” Lucas asked finally.
Silas did a mental calculation. “Less than twenty-four hours, more than eighteen,” he said finally. “We may be able to shave — ”
“That may be too long. I want to get them out of there by daybreak.”
“Daybreak?”
“Saigon’s been bombed. The Chinese navy is moving down the coast. The sooner we can get them out of there, the better.”
“We have a pair of Seahawks,” said Silas. “I may be able to get close enough to the coast to have them there early in the morning. Not quite dawn. But by noon.”
“That’ll have to do. I’ll find a landing strip and call you back.”
12
The hotel staff began going door to door, telling the guests that they must meet for “special instructions” on the emergency, and escorting them down to the hotel’s grand ballroom. Kerfer suggested they bug out of the hotel immediately, but Mara decided it would be wiser to see exactly what the authorities were up to. The street didn’t seem to be a particularly safe place at the moment.
The ballroom wasn’t as crowded as she’d thought it would be. Fewer than two hundred guests were still at the Renoir, somewhere between half and a third of its normal complement. Management had rolled out a table with pastries and cookies, along with an array of nonalcoholic beverages. M?, clinging to josh, grabbed a fistful of cookies and stuffed them in her mouth.
Senior staff walked through the room, trying to make light chatter. The only thing guests wanted to talk about was the possibility of leaving the city, but this was the one thing the staffers couldn’t address. The stillborn conversations simply increased the anxiety. Mara stayed next to Josh and M?. Little Joe and Stevens huddled next to them, taking turns making faces at the little girl. Kerfer and the rest of the SEALs filtered out through the room, always circling nearby to keep an eye on them.
A young Australian couple introduced themselves to Mara and Josh, the woman swearing she had seen them at breakfast.
“Oh, uh-huh,” said Mara. She was certain that the pair must be intelligence agents of some sort, most likely curious about whether they were as well. “How long have you been in Saigon?”
“Just a few days,” said the Australian wife. “We got here before the war started. I didn’t think it was real until this evening. And how long have you been here?”
“Two weeks,” said Mara. “My husband is a scientist.”
“What do you do?” asked the woman.
“He’s a biologist,” said Mara, purposely misunderstanding. “He’s not feeling very well tonight. Something he
