“In Vietnam. Northern Vietnam.”
“Where precisely?”
Her voice was sweet, not shrill. Now that she was close, she spoke almost softly. Her English had a slight accent — Chinese, Josh thought, though he couldn’t really be sure.
“It was near the border,” said Josh. “We had established a camp — ”
“It’s okay, Josh. She’s trying to provoke you,” whispered Jablonski in his ear. “She’s probably some sort of spy. Let’s go.”
“I didn’t make anything up,” said Josh. “We were north of a place called Ba Sin Sui Ho. I may not be pronouncing it right. We were studying climate change, its effects on the jungle and the life there.”
“It’s all right, Josh,” repeated Jablonski. “Come on. Mara’s here. Let’s go.”
“I’m not lying,” he told Jablonski.
“They’re trying to provoke you. Don’t let them.” Jablonski looked up at the reporters. “You have all the data on the images and the approximate location of the massacre,” he said loudly. “You can download all of the information off the State Department Web site.”
“She called me a liar,” he said as Mara slipped in next to him.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, son,” said Congressman Joyce on the other side of Josh. “These reporters — they spout bull just to get your reaction.”
“I doubt that was a reporter,” said Jablonski, who’d gotten into the front. “Probably a Chinese spy.”
He leaned over the seat.
“Can you check on it?” he asked Mara.
“Sure,” she said, wishing he hadn’t said anything.
“I think it went very well, all things considered,” said the congressman. He slapped Josh on the knee, then looked across to Mara. “And you are…?”
“Mara Duncan.”
“I take it you’re with the FBI?” He glanced at Jablonski.
“State Department,” said Jablonski. “She’s our liaison.”
“Good, very good,” said the congressman, sitting back.
Mara looked at Josh. He was sweating, and staring at her.
“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” Mara told him. “Relax.”
“I know what I saw. I was right there. We were right there.”
“I know you did, Josh,” said Mara. “Don’t worry.”
7
Light from the interior of the terminal building washed over the apron where the planes were parked, tinting everything yellow. The planes themselves were unlit, seemingly without power or crews. That killed any temptation he might have had to fantasize about boarding one and hijacking it.
And there were simply too many soldiers around to think about running, much less overpowering them. Another truck crossed ahead at the end of the terminal building; as it passed, a floodlight on the building illuminated the faces of five men hanging from the back, giving them a ghostly pallor.
“What, do they have the whole damn Chinese army here?” grumbled Christian, a little louder than Zeus would have liked.
“They’re under attack, remember?”
“What the hell are we going to do?” Christian asked. “Where are they taking us?”
Zeus had no answers. Better to go along, say nothing, hope for the best.
That was his tactical instructor’s motto at West Point. Zeus wondered how he’d deal with this. That was one thing they didn’t teach you at the Point: how to be a successful spy.
As they drew parallel to the end of the terminal gate building, the soldier leading them turned right about forty-five degrees, and began walking across a long, open area toward another building. A row of armored personnel carriers sat to his right, about thirty yards away, blocking off part of the apron area.
Zeus went into G-2 mode, assessing the vehicles as an intelligence officer would. They were short and squat, with turrets toward the rear of the hull: NVH-1s, very old vehicles, with 30mm or 25 mm guns in the turret. They’d hold nine soldiers, plus two crewmen.
You’d expect older gear on Hainan, so that fit.
Had they been upgraded? The Chinese got a lot of use out of their older vehicles by outfitting them with the latest technology.
So where had they come from?
Probably they were kept on the military side and just rushed over, assigned to take up positions in case the Vietnamese counterattacked. It would be standard procedure.
How many?
One company at least. How many had he passed now? How many were on the other side of the building?
Were they army or air force? How were the Chinese divisions organized — would these be attached to a regular division, or a separate unit?
There were two self-propelled antiaircraft guns in the distance, close to the runway; he could see the barrels rising above the hulls.
Two barrels. Which made them… what?
Russian ZSU-57s?
No way. Too old.
They weren’t aligned very well for defense. The positioning was the sort of thing you would see if you were expecting some sort of civil disturbance.
They were still in that mode, not quite ready for the war they were actually fighting.
A vehicle moved from the shadows ahead. It had its running lights but not its headlights on. At first glance, Zeus thought it was a sedan, but as it approached he realized it was a crew cab pickup. There were soldiers standing in the back, leaning over the roof.
The man who had been leading them raised his hand as it pulled up. There were two soldiers sitting in the front seat. The man opened the rear passenger side door and gestured toward Zeus.
“We can’t get in,” whispered Christian. “Who the hell knows where they’re taking us?”
“We don’t really have much choice at this point,” Zeus told him. “Just relax. We’ll get through this.”
“Fuck you, relax.”
“Listen to me. Just play along — we’re businessmen. Do not change your story.”
“Businessmen get arrested by half the army?”
Zeus climbed in. The cab smelled funny — like roasted peanuts, he thought.
Neither of the two men in front said anything. The soldiers who had escorted them slammed the door shut after Christian got in.
“What the hell?” hissed Christian.
Zeus shook his head. The truck started forward in a gentle glide, barely moving at first, then gradually
