“Mara.”
“Mara, this is Peter — ”
“What the hell is going on?” she asked. “I just got a call from a reporter on CNN. Have you seen this YouTube video?”
“Which one?” asked Lucas.
“There’s more than one?”
“There’s one on the incident in Malaysia.”
“I saw that. I’m cut into a newscast. Where did it come from?”
“Where do you think?” said Lucas. “There’s one that focuses on you at the UN. Do a name search and you’ll find it.”
She did. A snippet of video of Josh and some others walking through the hall appeared. She was alongside for about three seconds, then eighteen in the slow-motion portion that followed the main part. Her head was conveniently circled with a light halo. The video had been seen only by 876 people.
There were three comments, all in English.
CIA agent Mara Duncan
Paid liar helps Vietnamese propaganda.
For better sex, call 202-555-8900
The number was her home phone number, fortunately disconnected a year before.
“The Chinese did this, obviously,” said Mara.
“That or you pissed off an old boyfriend.”
“I’m really, really not laughing, Peter.”
“Neither am I, Mara. Nor is the director.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Come in and we’ll talk about it. Where are you?”
“I’m in D.C.”
“Oh?…Well, good. Get over here.”
“Damn.
“It’s not the end of the world.”
“Not for you. My cover’s totally blown.”
“In a way, they’re doing us a favor,” said Lucas. “We weren’t positive it was blown. Now we are.”
“You thought it was blown and you didn’t tell me? When?”
“When the money disappeared in Hanoi.”
“Well, thanks for telling me.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ll get through it. Listen, in the meantime, stay away from Josh MacArthur.”
“I’m hanging up, Peter.”
And she did.
20
They were large ZTZ99s — main battle tanks, massive beasts designed to do battle with the best the West had to offer, including the U.S. Army’s M1A1. The Vietnamese had nothing in their inventory that could match it.
Two dozen tanks, that he could see; undoubtedly more over the small hill to his right, just out of view. Where had they come from? They would surely have been spotted by American satellites on the way down, yet there hadn’t been one word about them in any of the briefings he’d given the Vietnamese.
They’d be seen soon, if they hadn’t been spotted already. At least one Global Hawk should be covering the area 24/7. All China and Southeast Asia now had the highest priority from the satellite surveillance program. The camo netting might throw off the count slightly, but something this large wasn’t going to escape notice.
Had they just gotten here?
Zeus kept crawling in the direction of the motor hum. It seemed more muffled inside the fence perimeter.
Strange.
There were voices to his left. Zeus froze, staring in the direction of the buildings, trying to see who was coming and where they were.
All he could see in the moonlight were hacked tree trunks, a small grove of them, clustered on a gentle rise.
He decided they would be good cover. Still crawling, he made his way toward them.
He didn’t realize they weren’t tree trunks until he reached them. They were plastic tubes sticking from the ground, covered in material and screening so that they looked like tree trunks.
Just as the enormity of his discovery dawned on him, Zeus heard a fresh rumble fifty yards to the south. He raised his head in time to see a dark cloud billowing from behind the small hillock. Something emerged from it, moving toward the tanks he’d just passed.
Another tank. There was a vast underground garage below. The Chinese had moved down their tanks well before the beginning of the conflict, storing them here in preparation for this moment.
Two more tanks appeared while Zeus watched. They drove over to the field where the others were parked. Men scurried back and forth.
Zeus retreated, working his way back to the fence. A bank of clouds moved in, covering the moon; by the time he reached Christian, he could barely see two feet in front of him.
“What’s going on?” asked Christian.
“There’re a whole tunnel of tanks down there,” said Zeus. “I saw three more come out. God knows how many there are.”
“A tunnel or a bunker?”
“I don’t know. One way or the other, it’s vast. For all I know, it’s a tunnel that goes back to Beijing.”
“We’d better get out of here,” said Christian. “If they’re taking the tanks out, then they’re going to use them. Tonight.”
“We have to stop them,” said Zeus.
“Oh yeah, right. What do you suggest? Call in an air strike?”
“If I had a radio, I would.”
“Well, we don’t have a radio. And the Vietnamese couldn’t get close enough to attack them. Their best hope would be artillery, and most of that is to the west.”
“We can stop them,” said Zeus.
“Maybe we should steal one of the tanks and go south in it,” suggested Christian sarcastically.
He wasn’t serious, but Zeus thought about the idea. The tanks had three-man crews: a driver, a gunner, and a commander. Two men could easily handle it, if they knew what they were doing.
Which they didn’t. But Zeus wondered how hard it could be.
“You’re not really thinking about it,” said Christian.
“We could get into them. They don’t have any guards posted on this side. At least not that I could see.”
“It’s that last sentence that spells trouble.”
Zeus smiled. It
“We have to get as far south as we can, as fast as we can,” added Christian. “Maybe we can warn the Vietnamese. It’s better than nothing.”
Calmer now that he was rested, Christian was back to being the somewhat competent Army officer he’d known before cracking. Ironically, now it was the nut they needed — the wild man, as Rosen used to say — a
