Vung Tau was on a small peninsula that jutted out from Ganh Rai Bay. Some years before, it had been a tourist area, but the discovery of oil offshore had altered its complexion. Large platforms lined the shallow waters near the shore, extending well into the ocean. The airstrip at Bai Sau was not a large one — it didn’t appear on many maps — but it would be big enough to accommodate a propeller-driven aircraft or a helicopter.
It was a destination at least. He would follow down the river, and if he didn’t see the ferry, he would head in that direction.
20
Commander Silas glanced around the ship’s combat information center. Not one head was turned toward him; every sailor in the compartment was working his or her gear.
Absolutely as it should be.
“Their distance?” Silas asked.
“Fifty-two miles,” said his executive officer. “On that heading, they should be within sight in two hours. If they keep their speed up.”
“I’ll be on the bridge,” said Silas, making his voice firm and sharp, if not a little curt.
He could feel the adrenaline starting to build. They were in the open water, and there was no reason for the two Chinese ships — besides the cruiser, there was a smaller frigate about a quarter mile to the northeast — to challenge them, much less fire on them. But Silas sensed they would. He knew it the way he knew how to walk.
So maybe the old ways weren’t completely dead.
His orders from fleet were to avoid conflict and to remain in international waters. Those were his only orders — the request to pick up the CIA officer had not been passed on through official channels.
Which could be interpreted in many different ways, unless you were an old Navy hand, in which case there was only one way to see it: the admirals didn’t want to get caught with the splatter if things went wrong.
21
“Eight?” Zeus couldn’t believe it. “The Vietnamese navy has only eight rigid-hulled boats?”
“They are marine boats,” said Quach. “The navy has none.”
“You’re sure?”
Quach turned to the colonel whose unit had been assigned to supply the manpower for the mission and said something to him in Vietnamese. Quach, a short, thin man in his early fifties, was a member of the intelligence service, and unlike the others, was dressed in civilian clothes. He hadn’t given his title, but he clearly had status — Zeus had noticed how even the senior officers straightened when he walked by.
But status wasn’t what they needed at the moment. Zeus, tired — he’d been working on this all night, and it was now nearly dawn — rubbed his forehead and looked back at the map. It was roughly 120 miles across the Gulf of Bac Bo to Hainan; while the water was generally calm, that was a long way to go in the small open boats. They weren’t the largest models, either — barely seventeen feet long, the tiny craft were designed for seven men and were intended as utility boats, the sort of little runabouts that might be used off cabin cruisers or maybe to host a diving party. The debris that Zeus needed to bring — the entire reason for the mission — would add considerable weight; even divided up among the eight boats, there’d only be room for two or at most three people aboard each.
“The colonel assures me there are no other boats,” Quach told Zeus. “I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
Zeus glanced around the conference table. The colonel had brought three aides to the meeting; besides them, there was an officer from the general staff and another member of the intelligence service. The room stank of tea and cigarette smoke. Ordinarily, Zeus didn’t like tobacco of any kind, especially the stale remains of cigarettes. But right now he was glad for the stimulant.
“They have done exercises like this before,” said Quach. “And I have been put ashore from one of the craft. I believe they will work.”
“I guess they’ll have to.”
The inflatables weren’t the only limitation. The marines didn’t have night glasses, short-range radios, or GPS systems. Zeus had a satcom he could use to get intelligence from the data that was being sent to Vietnam’s army headquarters, but he’d have to use it sparingly, on the assumption that the Chinese would be able to detect, though not decrypt, the signal. Just knowing someone was in the middle of the gulf might increase the alert status on Hainan; everything depended on things remaining calm there.
Still, it was doable. The marines had Chinese police uniforms, which might come in handy. And the unit had received considerable training in infiltration and sabotage.
They worked for a bit longer, sketching out contingencies.
“We’re going to need a contact here,” Zeus said. “A contact at headquarters I can talk to directly if the shit hits the fan.”
“Shit?”
“If there’s a problem,” Zeus told Quach. “Someone who can stay on the phone with me. And get things done.”
“The colonel,” suggested Quach.
“He’s gotta speak English.”
Quach and the colonel spoke again in Vietnamese. Finally, the colonel turned to one of his aides. The aide seemed to be arguing, but then finally put his head down.
“Tien will be happy to help,” said Quach. “His English is very good.”
“Why is he frowning?” Zeus asked.
Quach said something in Vietnamese to the captain. Tien shrugged. Quach said something else. Tien looked toward the floor.
“What’s wrong?” Zeus asked Tien, deciding that if he spoke English, there was no need for a translator.
Tien rose, bowing his head slightly in what impressed Zeus as an overly subservient display. “Working as your translator here means I cannot go on the mission,” said Tien.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No one else on the staff speaks English,” said Tien. “It is unfortunate.”
“Well, maybe Mr. Quach can act as the coordinator here,” said Zeus.
“That will not be possible,” said Quach. “I am going with you.”
Zeus looked at Quach. He was perhaps five four, and weighed no more than 110. And that was counting the packs of cigarettes he had in his shirt pocket.
“I don’t know,” said Zeus.
“I speak Chinese, and have been to the island many times. We will have one other of my agents with us,” added Quach. “This is a difficult plan as it is, Major. You would not do well without people who know the island and can speak the language.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Zeus. “But you’re — ”
“Old?”
“Well — ”
