Shock of War

The complex ran in both directions. Zeus reasoned that the portion near the highway would be the most heavily guarded. It was also the place where the sentries would be most jumpy. So he started moving to his left, pushing quietly through the brush.

What if the Vietnamese heard him and thought he was an infiltrator, testing the line?

Zeus moved back, aiming to circle across to the dirt road. Christian gave him a perplexed look, then joined him silently.

Before they’d gone more than thirty yards, Zeus spotted a sandbagged position in the jungle. There was open ground all around it, a clearing that would make any intruder easy to spot.

The camp was about twenty-five or thirty yards beyond. He could see the roofs of several buildings, and the sides of a few tents.

There were two men behind the sandbags.

Vietnamese? Or Chinese?

Impossible to tell.

“Let’s circle around the other side and see if we can get a look at their uniforms,” said Zeus.

They retreated, carefully treading their way through the vegetation.

Zeus held his breath as they came back around. A floodlight had turned on behind the sandbagged post, throwing long shadows toward them.

They must be beyond the line, Zeus reasoned.

He was feeling good about this, finally very positive. The long ordeal was finally over.

All right, he told himself. Almost home.

“What’s the Vietnamese word for hello?” Zeus asked Christian as he crawled next to a tree.

Christian grabbed his shirt. “You’re not going to need it. Those guys are Chinese. Look at the guns in the shadows. They’re bullpups, not AKs.”

17

Eastern Pennsylvania

Mara woke up feeling stiff but relaxed. If not completely restored to her old self, she had more energy than she’d had in days. She took a long shower — the water pressure was surprisingly good — then had a cup of the surprisingly not-bad complimentary coffee in the room. Dressed, she went out into the hall and found that the marshal service bodyguard they’d been assigned was gone from his post.

That must mean Josh was gone as well. She knocked on his door just in case; when there was no answer, she went downstairs and asked the clerk at the desk where the best place was for breakfast. He directed her to a small shop around a side street in the middle of town, a five-minute walk.

They were sitting in the far corner. The marshal’s plate was scrubbed clean except for some egg stains and a few crumbs from his toast; Josh’s looked as if he had hardly touched his.

“How’d you sleep?” she asked him, pulling out a chair.

“Read this,” he said tersely, shoving a newspaper in front of her.

Mara saw the headline, then flipped the paper over to the back.

“I don’t see why people think the Knicks are a legitimate basketball team,” she said pointedly. “They never win.”

“It’s all bull,” said Josh. “They’re saying I’m a liar.”

“They’re going to do that.” She tapped his forearm lightly, then looked at the marshal. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

Mara looked up as the waitress brought a menu.

“Coffee to start, hon?” asked the waitress. She was younger than Mara, but already had the matronly waitress bit down pat.

“Please.” Mara took the menu.

“Maybe I’ll just go home,” said Josh darkly.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” answered Mara.

He curled his arms across his chest.

Mara looked at the marshal. “Beautiful day,” she said to him. “Not even cold.”

“Yup.”

“Is there fishing around here?”

“Outta season.”

“No hunting either, then, huh?”

“You hunt?”

“I’ve been known to.”

“Yeah. Outta season,” he said.

He sounded slightly skeptical, doubting that she did actually hunt. She was tempted to ask how bad he thought the breath of a Malaysian tiger stank, but didn’t.

“Isn’t there an amusement park or something around here?” she said instead.

“Sure. There’s Hershey’s out a ways,” said the marshal, his Texas accent twanging. “It’s like an amusement park.”

“Want to do that, Josh? Better than sitting around all day.”

He frowned.

The waitress brought her coffee. Mara ordered two eggs over easy with French toast, home fries, and bacon on the side.

“That’s what I like,” said the waitress. “A woman with an appetite.”

When she left, Mara leaned over and whispered in Josh’s ear. “Let’s ditch the chaperone. What do you say?” She put her hand on his thigh.

Josh turned red.

“Maybe we should go to Hershey’s,” he said aloud. Then he put his hand on hers, and squeezed before letting go.

“Hershey’s,” said Mara, straightening. “How do we get there?”

The marshal was just about to explain when Josh’s phone rang. It was Jablonski.

“Maybe you shouldn’t answer it,” said Mara.

But Josh did.

* * *

Jablonski was almost supernaturally calm.

“You really can’t take this too seriously,” said the political operative. “You have to expect the Chinese to fight back.”

“But they’re lying.”

“It’ll come out in the wash.” He pronounced “wash” as if it were spelled wha- sssshhhh. “Now what you need to do is get on down to D.C. for your congressional hearing. It’ll start promptly at one.”

“What hearing?”

“Senator Grasso’s. You’ll testify before his committee. Don’t worry, he’s now your biggest fan.”

“You didn’t tell me about a hearing.”

“It just came up. Don’t worry. It’ll go fine.” Jablonski made a sucking noise from the side of his mouth. “Listen, Josh, I have to get going. I’ll get someone to make hotel arrangements. You want to stay at the Watergate? Or you want a quiet place out of town?”

“Who gives a crap,” said Josh, killing the line.

18