Shock of War (14 page)

According to the hit counter, the video had already been seen 3,289 times. It appeared to have been posted only an hour or two earlier.

Mara's phone rang again. This time she examined the number before answering. It was an agency number.

Peter Lucas.

“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.
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

On the border of China and Vietnam

Zeus crawled across a carpet
of weeds and jungle debris, skirting the area where the tanks were parked.

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.

Vents.

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
was
nuts.

“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 game-changing commander who could do the unexpected.

“Maybe we can blow up the tunnel,” said Zeus.

“How?”

“Those explosives back on the bridge.”

“Zeus … you have to plant explosive in pretty strategic spots to blow up a tunnel,” said Christian. “Or a garage or whatever the hell they have.”

“Maybe we can block the door.”

“You're crazy.”

“We gotta do something,” said Zeus, starting back for the bridge.

Love

1

On the border of China and Vietnam

The jungle had turned
into a mélange of grays, with the occasional splash of brown and black. Zeus couldn't see more than a few feet in front of him, and what he did see was jagged and chameleonlike, altering shape as he approached. He found the gully by accident, stumbling into it and sliding down into the water. That hadn't been his plan, but it worked just fine. The ankle-deep water swelled his shoes; he felt his way along the side of the crevice and worked his way slowly toward the bridge.

“Christian, where are you?” he asked when he cleared the water.

“Up here.”

“We can walk through this channel and we'll be right under the bridge.”

“Yeah. And get soaked at the same time.”

Zeus kept going. The plan was still only vaguely formed, but it wasn't the logic of it that drove him—it was the feeling, the emotion, that he had to do it. He had to stop these tanks somehow. He was just going to, whatever it took. Because not doing anything felt like a sharp stab to his stomach.

The shallow ravine widened as he walked. Water squished from his shoes. Something shot overhead, close, in the trees—a bird? A monkey?

Just the wind?

Zeus forced his eyes to focus in front of him. He couldn't afford other thoughts or distractions.

The noise from the camp seemed louder. They'd be planning on moving out in a few hours. There must be a large infantry concentration somewhere; you couldn't move tanks through a jungle like this without infantry supporting them.

Maybe they were coming down the road, meeting with the tanks. The crews didn't seem to be there, either.

He had to stay alert. Apprehension stoked his adrenaline and pushed him on. The overpass loomed ahead.

It was dark underneath, extremely dark. Zeus found the first charge by feel, a blind man slowly groping along the steel. He began collecting them.

In the demolition course he'd taken—that was three, four years ago now?—the instructor had had them assemble and disassemble simple charges in the dark.

That was child's play compared to what he had to do now. He'd been in a room with dummy charges, his feet dry and stomach full. No one was going to die if he screwed up. There was tension, sure, but it was child's play.

After they were done, they'd hit a bar.

Two bars, as he recalled.

He followed the wires to the second, then to a third.

“Where are you?” called Christian in a stage whisper.

“Here. The north end. Go the south.”

“All right.”

“You know what you're doing?”

“I know how to wire them. It's the dark I have trouble with.”

They had to find the detonators. Zeus suspected there would be at least two, one on each side of the bridge.

Of course, it was possible there would be only a receiver—or worse, bare wires, waiting to be hooked up to the controller or timer.

“I don't know how the Chinese arrange their demos,” said Zeus.

“Yeah, me neither.”

“Be careful with the wire.”

“You think they booby-trapped it?”

“No,” said Zeus, though in truth he had no idea. “There'd be no reason for that. It wouldn't be logical.”

“I hope these guys are big on logic.”

Zeus laughed.

He found two more charges, tracing the wire along. Whoever had set up the demolitions had used far too much explosive—a common failing.

“Hey, look at this,” said Christian from the other side.

Zeus made his way over. Christian had found a small mechanical hand unit wired in as a back-up detonating device, a slightly more modern version of the old-fashioned plungers used to ignite TNT in thousands of old Western movies.

“They're making it easy for us,” Zeus told Christian, feeling his way to the wire connections.

“Can you see what the hell you're doing?”

“No. You?”

“I can see the screws with the wires and your fingers are nowhere near them.”

Zeus stared down at his hands.

“You can see that?” he said.

“Here,” said Christian, putting Zeus's fingers on the contact.

“Thanks.”

“You going blind?”

“I didn't have my carrots today.”

“Always with a joke.”

“I'm rubbing off on you,” answered Zeus. “You're making them yourself.”

They pulled eight more charges off the bridge. There were probably more, Zeus thought, but they couldn't carry them.

There were certainly enough explosives to blow a tank, perhaps two or even three, depending on how they were situated.

The moon poked back through the clouds as they walked, sending silver slivers through the trees.

“What's the plan?” asked Christian when they reached the fence.

“I'm not sure yet.”

“That's not a plan,” said Christian.

“I'm going to have to improvise something. We'll put the charges under a tank, come back, blow it. We don't need more of a plan than that.”

“What good is blowing one tank?”

“We can get two.”

It did seem like a pathetic gesture—where was the wild man who'd just inhabited Christian?

But it might delay the Chinese even so. They'd think they were under attack. Even a few hours might help the Vietnamese.

“We string the wire as far back as we can, we blow it, and move back here,” said Zeus, sketching the route with his finger in the air. “We go that way. We get as far from the camp as we can, then cross over into Vietnam.”

“That's a bullshit plan.”

“You got something better?”

“I'm not going to be a martyr for Vietnam.”

“Just wait here.”

Zeus stuck his elbow under the fence, then pushed himself through.