again.
“Put his shirt and cap on,” he told Hyuen Bo. “Tuck your hair up. You’ll look more like one of them.”
She did so. It worked — to a point.
The soldiers manning the first blockade they came to accepted them as militiamen, but would not let them through.
“Our orders are no one, not even government officials,” said the sergeant who stopped them.
Jing Yo backed the truck away without arguing. He went down the block and took a turn toward the river. There were soldiers on the corners, but no roadblocks until Dien Bien Phu. Here a policeman waved him to the right without bothering to question them, recognizing the vehicle as one of the militia trucks.
A crowd of soldiers massed at Ho Ky Hoa Park, and the overflow extended down toward the main roads, with military jeeps and trucks blocking sidewalks. Jing Yo drove around the back of a row of stores and found a place to park in a small yard next to a garage.
“Stay close to me,” he told Hyuen Bo, leading her across the back alley to the row of small buildings on the opposite side. He helped her onto the roof of a small shed at the back of one of the buildings, then brought over a garbage can for a boost and climbed up. From there they made their way to a fire escape that went up four stories to the back of the tallest building on the block.
Jing Yo surveyed the downtown area from the roof. There were several fires to the west and the north, in the general vicinity of the government buildings. By contrast, the area near the river, where he had seen the scientist earlier, was dark.
Had he been sent in the wrong direction? Were the spies so confident of their position that they would purposely risk his capture?
Or was the scientist actually where they said?
He didn’t have the luxury of puzzling it out. He had to act. Jing Yo decided to look by the river, where he had seen him earlier.
If he didn’t find him, he would cross the water and take Hyuen Bo to a new hiding place. The old one was in too dangerous an area, even if he had not been betrayed.
16
Stevens was waiting at the first landing below the club level. The man he had killed was crumpled against the wall. He was wearing dark clothes, and had no identification on him. Like the others, he was armed with a Chang Feng.
Stevens had already taken the goggles and was two floors below. Kerfer sent Squeaky and Little Joe to round up the others and meet them in the basement.
“We’ll take the stairs down,” Kerfer told Mara. “I say we hurry.”
“I want to see if he has a wallet,” said Mara, rifling the dead man’s pockets.
“What are you going to do, steal his credit cards?”
“I want to see who it is who’s out to kill us,” said Mara.
“Gotta be Chink spies,” said Kerfer. “Don’tcha think?”
Mara ignored him. The man’s pockets were empty. It was possible he was just a thief, but Kerfer’s theory — minus the ethnic slurs — made the most sense to Mara.
“Josh, you okay?” she asked.
“I’m good. Feeling better.”
“How’s M??”
“Okay.” He had his hand covering the back of her head, pressing gently so her face stayed toward his shoulder. Given everything she’d seen earlier, though, it was doubtful he was protecting her from very much.
“Do you have your medicine?” Mara asked.
“I, uh — ”
“You left it in the room,” said Mara.
“Yeah.”
“We ain’t goin’ back to get it,” said Kerfer.
“I’ll get it,” said Mara.
Kerfer grabbed her arm as she started down the steps. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. You think they sent only three people into the hotel?”
“I don’t know how many they sent,” said Mara. “But we’re only one floor away. He needs the damn medicine.”
“We’ll get more once we’re out of here.”
“Who knows when that will be?”
Mara knew she was being stubborn, but she pushed on anyway, going down to the next level and cautiously opening the door. The battery-fed emergency lights had come on, bathing the hallway in a pale yellow. She pulled the goggles down around her neck and eased out into the hall.
“Clear,” she whispered.
“We’re staying here,” said Kerfer.
“That’s fine.”
Mara slipped into the hallway. She started to tiptoe, then realized that made no sense. She walked slowly, sliding against the wall as she came to the elevators. One of them had stopped on the floor, door open; it was empty.
She eased past and walked to the room, taking the key card out of her pocket.
The nearby emergency light would frame her as she entered. She backed over to it, then reached up with the butt of the gun and broke both bulbs.
Most likely, there was no one in the room, she told herself.
Most likely.
Mara got down on one knee, her body against the wall, and reached over to put the card in the lock. She plunged it down.
The lock’s LED didn’t light. Apparently emergency power wasn’t routed to the locks.
Mara put her hand on the door handle and pressed down. It didn’t budge. Even without power, it remained locked.
Mara pulled out her wallet and retrieved a thin piece of metal from behind the credit cards. She slid it into the lock space, positioned the hard surface of her fist against it, and gave it a sharp rap, opening the lock.
Then she threw herself down as bullets exploded through the wood.
A second later, something protruded from the door.
A head.
A gunshot rang out from down the hall. The man went down. A second man, behind him, fired a burst, then retreated.
“You shoulda opened it from the side,” grunted Kerfer, running up next to her. His gun stank of cordite.
The man he’d shot had fallen against the door, propping it open. Mara, submachine gun ready, slid down on her belly and eased toward the room, angling slightly toward the opposite wall.
Whoever was inside had retreated into the bedroom at the right or into the bath area on the left. It was impossible to tell which one.
There was no way to get inside without exposing herself.
It wasn’t worth it.
“What are we doing?” Kerfer asked.
Mara was just about to start backing out when she heard something on her left.
