Edge of War

But the soldiers, the Vietnamese…

What would he tell God, if he died now?

It didn’t work that way, not like the old-fashioned books claimed, where you stood in front of Saint Peter or God himself and answered for each sin.

M? shifted against him. The poor little girl was so tired she was sleeping again.

He’d have to find her a home. Maybe his uncle would adopt her.

So what would he tell God about the soldiers? If it did work that way, if he did have to account, metaphorically or literally, what would he say?

I didn’t kill them.

That was true. But not exactly the entire story.

Those men deserved to die so that I could live?

So that M? could live.

Don’t blame it on her.

What of the soldiers he had killed? The Chinese captain whose head he’d bashed in?

Were the extra blows justifiable? Were they relevant at all?

“Zoning out on us?” asked Squeaky.

“No, I’m here,” said Josh, realizing that he hadn’t paddled for several minutes. He pushed his oar back into the water.

“You do a J-stroke, right?” said Squeaky.

“I guess.”

“You know what I’m talking about?”

“Kinda. If we were in a canoe, we’d be steering it.”

“Exactly.”

“I was a Boy Scout,” said Josh. “For a little while.”

“There you go.”

“Mind if I ask you a question?” said Josh.

“What’s that?”

“When you shot those people — does it bother you?”

“Which ones?”

“The guys in the train.”

“Better us than them,” answered Little Joe, who was in front of Mara.

“Yeah,” said Josh.

“It’s true,” said Squeaky.

“I had to — I killed a couple of the Chinese soldiers behind the lines, before you guys got to me,” said Josh. “I think it was the right thing to do.”

“It absolutely was,” said Mara.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to second-guess yourself, Josh,” she said, putting her hand on his arm. “We’re in survival mode here. You’re getting back and telling the world what’s really going on. It’s going to make a big difference. Believe me.”

“M?, too.”

“And her. But you’re an adult. And a scientist. A reliable witness. People will believe what you say.”

“I hope so,” said Josh.

She smiled at him, then let go of his arm. He wished he could lean across and kiss her.

“They’re taking the bait,” said Squeaky, pointing to the Vietnamese navy ship. It had changed course and was heading for the ferry, which had started to angle itself slightly toward the western end of the channel.

Two sharp blasts of the patrol ship’s horn rent the air. A moment later, its forward gun cracked.

“Let’s start up the motor and get out of here,” said Mara.

* * *

They steered close to land as they rounded the peninsula near Dong Hoa, tucking into Ganh Rai Bay near Cao Gio. Aside from a pair of ancient fishing boats, the bay seemed deserted. The sun peeked over the land to the east, edging upward like a child stealing into his parents’ room on Christmas morning. Smoke rose in a pair of funnel clouds to the south, an ominous reminder that they were not yet free of China’s reach.

Mara needed to talk to DeBiase to arrange a time for the helicopter to pick them up, but she didn’t trust the sat phone anymore. She still had the cell phones.

She turned one of them on, and was surprised to get a signal.

Should she use it to call DeBiase? Assuming the call went through, it wouldn’t be encrypted. And the cell phone could be traced as easily as the sat phone.

But they wouldn’t know to look for it. Even if all communications were being routinely monitored, it might take hours for the information to reach someone who could act on it.

Mara dialed one of the access numbers for Bangkok.

“This is an open line,” she said as soon as an operator picked up, even though it would be obvious. “I need the Million Dollar Man.”

DeBiase came on a few seconds later. “Is this my favorite niece?”

“I need a time.”

“We’re still working on it.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It’s the best I can do.”

“Call me a half hour before it happens,” said Mara. “Use my old number.”

She hung up, then tossed the phone into the water.

23

Soi Rap

Jing Yo’s boat had two spare cans of gasoline, but even so, he had to stop twice for fuel, quickly stealing gas from wharfside pumps. The second time he stopped, he spotted a small fiberglass speedboat tied to the dock near the pump. He was able to start the engine without too much trouble. He and Hyuen Bo transferred their gas cans and things to the new boat and took it south, moving much faster than before.

They drew in sight of the ferry just in time to see the Vietnamese navy ship send a round from its deck gun into the wheelhouse. The ferry, its wheel and steering mechanism damaged, veered sharply toward shore.

The next shot landed in the large passenger compartment. At first, it seemed to have passed straight through without causing much damage. Then a thin finger of black smoke rose from the side where the shell had entered. Within moments, flames were leaping from the hole.

“Prepare to be boarded!” declared a loudspeaker. A rigid-hulled inflatable with four or five men left the side of the patrol boat and headed toward the ferry.

Jing Yo idled the engine and waited in the shadows of the shoreline, watching the boarders clamber onto the battered ferry. Two of the Vietnamese sailors climbed to the top deck of the ferry. They waved their arms at the patrol boat and fired into the air.

All clear.

So the scientist had gotten away.

Jing Yo glanced down at Hyuen Bo, curled against the side of the boat, sleeping. He felt a pang of both love and shame, for putting her into so much jeopardy.

Jing Yo eased his engines up, starting across the channel to the far shore. He was almost past the warship when he heard a challenge over the radio, a broadcast on the emergency band that told him to stop.

That was the last thing he was going to do. He pushed the throttle to max. The boat jerked its bow upward and began speeding downriver.