Jing Yo presented his passport to the desk clerk, who took it with a quizzical look, then entered the name into the computer for the reservation. Jing Yo was surprised when he handed it right back. In most Asian countries, the passport would have been held on to at least until the hotel had copied it, if not for the entire stay.
“What I need is a credit card for additional charges,” said the clerk.
Jing Yo gave him an American Express card.
“This is your first stay with us,” said the clerk.
“Yes.”
This seemed to please the clerk, who began running down a list of the hotel’s amenities, including its gym and free Internet. Jing Yo had no use for either, but he listened politely, nodding occasionally. Finally, the clerk gave him his key card. Jing Yo picked up his bag.
“I’ll have that sent right up,” said the clerk. “You don’t have to carry it.”
“Carry?”
“Your bag, sir. We’ll take care of that.”
Jing Yo hesitated. There was nothing in the bag that would give him away — it had to be “clean” to get through customs, in case it was inspected — but as a matter of general principle, he didn’t want to lose control of his things, even temporarily.
On the other hand, he didn’t want to seem suspicious.
“I think I will carry it,” he said finally. “For a shower.”
“Suit yourself,” said the clerk.
Jing Yo had no idea what that meant, though the man’s smile indicated he was releasing him. He went to the elevator, got in, and pressed his floor number, 6.
The room was at the end of a twisting hall, across from a door to the back stairwell. It was a good size, with two king-sized beds and a small couch. Light flooded in from the windows.
Jing Yo put his suitcase down on the bed closest to the door and began looking around. The Americans were clever, he knew; they could have mounted a bug anywhere and he would be unlikely to find it. But examining the furnishings helped him assimilate. He needed to know his environment.
There were no bombs hidden here, at least. No messages from the intelligence service or its spies, either.
Jing Yo flipped on the television and began trolling through the channels. He stopped on Fox News.
There was a map of Vietnam on the screen. It showed what it claimed were the approximate lines of the war. Jing Yo looked at them and decided they must be wrong — they were no farther south than when he had left the battlefield in pursuit of the scientist several days before.
A pair of experts were discussing the war. One was a historian, the other a general. The general declared that Vietnam would be forced to surrender within a few days.
The historian disagreed. The government would last at least another month, and then a guerrilla war would follow.
“I could see that,” said the general. “But unlike their war with us, they won’t have outside support from Russia. The insurgency will wither on the vine.”
Jing Yo wasn’t sure what that meant, though both men seemed to agree that the war would end soon in China’s favor.
“The Vietnamese should never have attacked China,” said the general. “It was a classic blunder of hubris. Their egos got the better of them.”
Jing Yo flipped the television off.
The West was populated by fools. While this benefited China, it nevertheless disgusted him.
11
Her name was Solt Thi Jan; her given name (the last) was short for Janice. The name as well as her exotic features revealed a mixed family background that included an American grandfather. Despite her ancestry, she seemed to speak little or no English, relying on Quach to translate when Zeus spoke to her. But Quach assured Zeus that she was a skilled operative who also had been on Hainan before. He had no trouble, he said, putting himself in her hands.
As small as she was, Jan shouldered all of her own gear, which included a rubber pouch for her AK-47, which had a paratrooper-style folding stock. Zeus had no reason to object.
They set out an hour before the sun went down, giving themselves a few extra minutes to avoid the approaching Chinese surveillance satellite, which crossed just before dusk. They paired up, each group leaving sixty seconds after the other. Poorly equipped, the Vietnamese marines had no radio communication among the boats; they used small flashlights to signal each other. It was, Zeus mused, an effective means of radio silence.
Zeus and Christian borrowed wet suits to wear, along with small Mae West-style life vests, tac vests, and special bags for their gear. They also had civilian clothes for Hainan. The wet suits were the largest the Vietnamese had, but they were still tight, especially around the crotch; too much of this, Zeus thought, and he wouldn’t have to worry about birth control for a while.
He had the helm in the lead craft, where he could use his GPS and act as a pathfinder for the others. Besides two marines, Solt was in the boat as well; her Chinese would be handy when they came to shore. Christian was in the third boat. Quach took the last craft, on the theory that he would have the easiest time if separated from the others.
Unlike the infiltration boats American units used, these Zodiacs and their engines were not purpose built. Starting life as normal pleasure or work craft, they had undergone a few modest modifications — they were now black instead of the original gray, their motors had detachable mufflers, and they carried extra fuel. But otherwise the little craft were so sturdy that there was no need for extensive changes. The marines had a lot of practice with them, and even with the heavy load of debris each carried, they made good time across the open water.
An hour after setting out, Zeus checked their location on his GPS unit and found they were almost ten miles farther than planned. Under ordinary circumstances, this would have been an excellent start, but they were running ahead of the diversion. At least three Chinese ships were in the area east of them; if they kept going they were sure to sail right into them.
Zeus gave the order to stop, then signaled for the other boats to draw close. The waters were choppy, with the wind kicking up, but the marines brought the boats together expertly.
“We need to wait,” Zeus told the others, explaining what had happened. “We need to give the Chinese destroyers to the east time to grab the bait.”
“I think waiting is a fool’s mission,” said Christian. “We’re as likely to be seen here as anywhere.”
“The major is right,” said Quach. “To wait now tempts fate as much as going ahead.”
Zeus checked his watch. The Vietnamese patrol boats were leaving with the satellite. By now they would be broadcasting their position with a series of “sloppy” radio messages sure to be intercepted. So the Chinese should already be on their way south.
Or not. There was no guarantee that they would take the bait at all.
“All right,” said Zeus. “Everybody have their knives?”
The marines held them up. It was a not-too-subtle reminder that, to protect the mission, the Zodiacs and the weighted debris were to be scuttled to avoid capture.
“Let’s move ahead.”
