A good portion of the population had been moved by the government or fled on their own. Most of the people who remained were working on various defenses, filling sandbags and posting them on street corners, erecting barricades, preparing gun positions. Twisted pieces of metal intended as tank obstacles were piled on one side street, waiting to be deployed. There weren’t many troops in the city; most were north, waiting warily for the Chinese attack.
A company of home guards were being drilled on one of the side streets as Zeus and Nuhn passed. Nuhn told Zeus to wait at the intersection and trotted over to speak to the captain who was supervising the drill. A few minutes later he appeared with a member of the guard in tow. The man was well into his fifties, and nearly as chubby as Nuhn.
“This is Uncle Vai,” said Nuhn, introducing the soldier. “He will drive us to Hanoi.”
Uncle Vai was a farmer who lived at the edge of the city. He led them back the way they had come, turning northward near the center of town and then wending through a series of narrow alleys behind a warren of tiny houses. Zeus was beginning to feel a little dizzy when finally Uncle Vai reached over a gate and undid the wire holding it in place. He led them into a narrow yard between two brick garages. Both buildings pitched toward the yard; it wouldn’t take much to knock them down.
A small truck was parked behind one of the buildings. The hood and windshield were covered with a tarp. Zeus and Nuhn helped Uncle Vai remove the tarp, following his directions to fold it carefully so it could be tied beneath a pair of large ropes on the flat back of the vehicle. Then they stepped out to the small alley and waited as Uncle Vai maneuvered the vehicle from its parking spot.
At some point in its life, the vehicle had been a panel van, the sort used to deliver goods to small shops during the 1960s and ‘70s in Europe. The rear compartment had been removed, replaced by planks to make a flatbed. If the condition of the planks was any indication, this had happened many years ago.
The front of the van had been altered as well. The original seat had been replaced by one slightly larger; the edges of the seat stuck out into space where the door closed, so that when Zeus got in on the passenger side he had to slam the door several times before he could get it to latch. About half of the dashboard was missing, leaving Zeus with an open space in front of him — a blessing, really, since it left him more room for his feet. The vehicle had a manual transmission, mounted on the floor. Nuhn had to pull his legs back and hold his breath every time Uncle Vai shifted.
The answer to the second question was in the fields they passed as they drove back to Hanoi. The generously watered crops would feed a good portion of the Chinese population in the south, particularly hard hit by the climate shifts over the past few years.
There was no good answer to the first question.
“Your doctor will be very impressed,” he told Zeus.
Zeus stared at the blossoms. He’d never seen flowers this beautiful before. He barely thought of flowers as pretty — they were gifts, accessories. He felt as if he were seeing flowers for the first time.
His mind drifted from the flowers to the doctor.
“Major, this is you!” said Nuhn cheerfully.
Zeus looked up. They had reached the checkpoint to his hotel.
“Right.” Zeus squeezed his hand into the door latch. The door sprang open, a bird released from its cage. “Thanks.”
Nuhn slammed the door behind him, then opened the window and leaned out.
“Good luck!” shouted the captain cheerfully.
The men at the barricade pretended not to be watching Zeus as he walked past them. They didn’t bother checking his identification; the fact that he was a westerner was ID enough.
There were more people inside than there had been that morning. Even so, the lobby was hardly full. Zeus walked to the elevators, curious about who might be still in the city, but not wanting to talk to anyone. He pushed the button and stepped to the side, waiting.
He had a few hours before she got off. The first thing he was going to do was take a shower. After that…
After that he had to make sure he didn’t fall asleep. His body was starting to droop.
A man in his twenties came up next to him, tapping the elevator button even though it was already lit. He gave Zeus a sideways glance, then an embarrassed smile.
“Never trust them,” he said in English. His accent seemed British.
The elevator doors opened a second later. Zeus let the other man go in first, then got in himself. They were headed for the same floor.
“Nice flowers,” said the man as the doors closed.
Zeus glanced down at them. “Yeah.”
“Do you think the hotel is safe?”
“Probably as much as any place.”
“Bret Cannon.” The man stuck his hand out. “AP.”
“Uh, Zeus Murphy.” Zeus shook hands awkwardly.
“Been here long?”
“Few days. What’s AP?”
“Associated Press.” Cannon smiled again, this time looking like a man who had just confessed that he had inherited a great deal of wealth. “I’m covering the war.”
“I see.”
“You?”
“I work for the embassy.” He didn’t say U.S.; it would be obvious.
“Ohh,” said Cannon knowingly.
“I’m not actually a spy,” added Zeus, “but it does sound more romantic if I leave it open-ended.”
“What do you do then?”
“I’m not really supposed to say, but basically I keep machines working.”
“A copy machine repairman, eh?”
“Pretty much.”
Cannon gave him a smirk. He thought they were playing a game — that by saying he wasn’t a spy, Zeus had in fact admitted that he was. Zeus didn’t mind that; spies were expected. What he didn’t want to do was let on that he was here as a military adviser.
“How long do you think the Viets can last?” Cannon asked.
“Got me. A long time, I hope.”
“I give them a week. At most.”
The doors opened. “See ya around,” said Cannon, stepping out. “I’ll buy you a drink sometime.”
“Sure.”
Zeus thought of stepping back into the elevator and going downstairs; he didn’t want Cannon to know which room was his. But it would be a waste of time; anyone with ten bucks could probably bribe a hotel worker for the information.
Inside his room, Zeus peeled out of his clothes, then tried to take a shower. The water trickled from the spout, and it was cold. He washed anyway.
Not long. A week wasn’t a bad estimate.
There was a knock on the door as Zeus toweled off. He thought of ignoring it, sure it must be Cannon. But
