Mara turned the radio off without answering.
A mile beyond the patrol boat they passed another naval ship that had been hit by a missile and was burning. A dozen smaller boats moved around it, some taking survivors to shore, others trying to put out the fire. An array of barges sat farther on, tied up in front of warehouses and wharfs filled with goods. Mara guessed that they would be the targets of the next wave of Chinese missiles.
A pair of junks and several small craft were tied together at the edge of the channel. Some had small lamps hung beneath the tentlike canvas sheltering the families and goods aboard. Others were completely dark. But there were people on all of them, watching silently as the ferry chugged along, one of the few craft moving on the river.
The river bent northward, then twisted back south toward Phu My Bridge.
“Missile boat, port side,” yelled Little Joe as they sailed toward the mouth to the Nha Be River.
The Vietnamese naval craft was protecting an oil refinery and storage area on the Nha Be. They stayed clear, heading southward, just barely clearing some rocks at the sharp corner of the peninsula.
The ferry’s radio came to life with a challenge.
Mara picked up the microphone.
“This is Sai Gon Ferry Two,” she said. “We have been ordered to report to Dong Hoa to take soldiers to reinforce the city.”
“We will speak to the captain,” said the voice on the radio.
“I am the captain,” said Mara.
“What is your name?”
“Speak to the general who sent me it you have questions,” said Mara. “Call central command.”
“What command?”
“Division command. I am not one to question orders,” she added. “If you think you can override a general, then do as you please.”
She snapped off the microphone and looked at Kerfer.
“Sounded bitchy to me.” Kerfer nodded. “They following us?”
She went across and stepped out onto the narrow deck that ran along the port side.
“They’re not moving,” she told him.
“Good.”
The Vietnamese ship didn’t have to follow to blow them up; a salvo of missiles would send them to the bottom in seconds. Mara climbed up the ladder that ran up topside to benches used by passengers on clear days. The river smelled like rotting fish, and she was sure that if she looked closely at the water, she would see plenty of beady eyes like those she’d seen in the storehouse- the Saigon River was legendary for its swimming rats.
The missile boat was lost in shadows behind them, its ominous tubes and the gun at the bow blurring into the mass of blackness.
“How long before we get to Vung Tau?” asked Josh, coming up from below.
“A couple of hours,” said Mara.
“What happens there?”
“We find the airport, helicopter comes to rescue us. You anxious to get home?”
“I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Your parents are probably worried.”
“My parents…” Josh’s voice trailed off. “My parents died when I was little. They, uh… It was a bizarre thing. Like a serial killer. Like
“Oh.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. Finally, Josh filled the awkward silence.
“I was raised by my uncle and his family. They’re farmers.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. They seem to be doing pretty well with the climate change. That’s The irony of it. Some places make out. Of course, who knows — a couple of years, their farm may be a desert.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really. It’s funny: change the amount of rainfall just a few inches, one way or another — the effect can be tremendous. There are so many things in play. Look at Vietnam. This country is suddenly the most arable land in Asia. Those fields we’re passing — they were swamps two or three years ago. Now they’re industrial rice farms.”
“I’m not sure I’d eat the rice,” said Mara, thinking of the sewage smell in the river.
“You probably already have.”
“Looks like something’s following us,” said Little Joe, who was standing a few feet away, looking toward the stern. “One of those little mama-san boats.”
Mara walked aft. Little Joe gave her his night goggles, but Mara couldn’t quite make out what he was talking about. She increased the magnification to max but still couldn’t see anything that approximated a boat.
“How fast can those little boats go?”
“Mama-san boats? Eh, if they got a motor, couple of knots. Twelve tops.”
“What’s a mama-san boat?” asked Josh.
“Little craft they use to get around with. Sometimes people live in them and stuff,” said Little Joe. “Smaller than a junk. Narrow. Longer than a skiff. Mostly they push ‘em around with these long poles. But a lot of ‘em have engines.”
Mara went back to the bridge. Kerfer had already heard from Little Joe over the radio.
“Probably nothing,” he said.
“You don’t really think that, do you?” asked Mara.
Kerfer smiled, and turned his attention back to the river.
19
Perhaps a safe house somewhere farther south. Or perhaps out to a boat waiting in the mouth of the river, at Soi Rap.
He had to think like his enemy if he was going to succeed. Jing Yo lowered his head, concentrating.
They were smart, and there were several of them. Half dozen at least.
Clever people. Worthy enemies, not the vulnerable prey he had assumed earlier.
His mistake. One he kept repeating.
The ferry would have been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Planning to take it would have been too difficult — too many contingencies. It had been an opportunity that presented itself.
And what did that tell him?
That they had a destination somewhere south. That it was far enough away to risk taking a large boat.
“We are coming close to shore!”
Jing Yo slid his hand on the tiller, taking them back toward the middle of the channel.
“I’m sorry,” he told Hyuen Bo.
She leaned back over the bow, keeping lookout.
Most likely, the scientist had come to Ho Chi Minh City to meet an airplane. When the airport had been bombed, he had changed his plans.
The most logical thing to do would be to find another airport.
“Is there an airport south of here?” he asked Hyuen Bo.
“Vung Tau?” she suggested tentatively. “It’s small.”
