Shock of War (7 page)

“We're over the water,” said Christian a few minutes later.

“What can you see?”

“Lights. I think I can see a boat. A ship, I mean. There's the coast.”

Obviously, the Chinese didn't think the Vietnamese air force was much of a threat, or there'd be a blackout.

The airplane suddenly dipped down. Something flew past Christian's window.

“Shit,” said Christian.

“Sshhh,” said Zeus. But everyone else was talking, and pushing toward the windows near them.

“Fighters,” said Christian.

“What are they doing?”

Christian didn't answer as the Fokker suddenly dipped down again. Zeus felt his stomach rising in his chest, and fought back a gag response.

Christian reached for the barf bag. So did several other passengers as the Fokker turned sharply eastward, tucking its left wing down and then pivoting even harder onto its right.

Zeus strained against the seatbelt, then felt himself pushed back as they leveled off. He wanted to look out the window, but Christian was in the way, getting sick. Zeus turned toward the aisle, trying to keep his own stomach from feeling too queasy.

The pilot came on with another announcement. His words seemed to come more quickly than before, though Zeus could only guess at what he was saying.

Don't worry. All is routine.

The plane leveled off. After a few moments, Zeus braved a glance at Christian.

“Maybe we should change seats,” he suggested.

“Yeah. Okay.”

“You all right?”

“No.”

Zeus stepped into the aisle, then slipped in as Christian got out of the way.

A set of lights blinked beyond the wing. One of the planes that had buzzed them earlier was now flying parallel to the Fokker. Zeus guessed it was a fighter, and that they had inadvertently strayed into a military area.

That didn't seem to make much sense, though—they were still out over the water.

Then he saw lights in the distance. At first, he thought he had spotted a city; then he realized he was looking at one of the Chinese aircraft carriers.

Zeus pushed against the glass, trying to get a better view. The Chinese had two carriers. The last he had heard was that they were operating together. But he could see only one.

Something was landing on it. From this distance it was impossible to tell what kind of plane.

Zeus turned his attention to the dots of light near the larger ship. They were escorts. The Navy probably already knew exactly which ships they were, how they were equipped, even who their captains were. Very possibly an unmanned spy plane was watching them at this very moment. Still, this was a real intelligence opportunity: Zeus studied the dots, trying to memorize the pattern. Two small ships flanking the carrier, with a larger ship to the south. Three other vessels behind, to the north. Two seemed relatively large and wide; he guessed they were supply vessels of some sort, with their own escort.

When they were past the last of the ships, the aircraft on the wing veered away. A cone of orange appeared at the back of the gray fuselage, changing from a circle to an ellipse as it made its turn. Zeus stared after it. When he finally turned his attention back to the cabin, he saw that the stewardesses were handing out towels. They were landing soon.

“You okay?” he asked Christian.

“Better. Sorry.”

“It's all right.”

“Funny thing is, I feel hungry now.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn't push that.”

Zeus went back to looking out the window. He couldn't see any more lights, just a dull, orange-brown glow ahead to his left. He glanced at his watch: fifteen past three.

Where had the time gone? And yet it had seemed to pass so slowly.

Ten minutes later, the plane began to bank in the direction of the glow. By now, it looked like a pale yellow foam rising from the crust of the blackness below. Zeus guessed it was Beihai, where they were headed.

The pilot confirmed it with an announcement a few seconds later. The only word Zeus recognized was the name of the city.

He tightened his seatbelt and waited patiently as the plane put down, the engines growing into a loud roar as the wheels hit the tarmac. The passengers applauded as the pilot feathered the engines and gently nudged the brakes.

The plane stopped a good distance from the terminal. A pair of buses waited nearby. Zeus watched a moveable stairway being pushed close to the fuselage.

The passengers got their things together, then filed out slowly, silently, no doubt wondering like Zeus and Christian what they were going to do next.

Solt was a few passengers ahead of them. Zeus angled to the left as he neared the bottom of the steps, intending to catch up. But as he reached the bottom of the stairs, the attendant standing there tapped his shoulder.

“This bus,” she said in English. “That one is full.”

Zeus turned dutifully and led the rest of the passengers to the second vehicle. The driver smiled and nodded as he boarded, greeting him in Chinese. Zeus found a seat a few rows back.

Christian slid in next to him silently. Zeus guessed that he was embarrassed that he'd gotten sick, though he had plenty of company.

The bus was quiet. When the last passenger had found a seat, the driver closed the door and put the vehicle into motion, gliding across the blacktop toward a two-story building about two hundred and fifty yards away. He stopped behind the first bus, which had already discharged its passengers.

Humming to himself, he opened the door, said something to the passengers in the front row, then hopped down the steps and trotted over to the building. No one moved; apparently he had told everyone to wait.

Zeus watched as the driver spoke to a pair of policemen standing next to a glass door, then ran back, hopped up the steps, and then said something in Chinese that Zeus assumed meant, “Everyone off the bus.” The passengers rose slowly and began filing out.

Zeus rubbed his temples as he joined the small herd walking toward the door. He hadn't slept now for more than a day, not counting assorted fitful turning in a cot aboard one of the boats they'd commandeered. He hadn't slept all that well for a few days before that, either.

The glass door opened on a narrow hallway, with rooms on the left and right. The passengers were directed to the room at the right, which was well lit by overhead fluorescents. It was a medium-sized office, bereft of furniture.

They organized themselves along the far wall. No one from the first bus was here; Solt was nowhere to be seen.

“Damn,” grumbled Christian, standing next to him. “I feel like I'm back in beast barracks.”

“A lot worse than this.”

“I guess.” Beast barracks was West Point slang for the freshman orientation period, traditionally a test for newcomers. Outright hazing by upperclassmen was no longer permitted, but the older students still found a way to make things hard for the new arrivals.

Christian cupped his face with his hands. “I gotta get out of here and get some rest.”

“I know what you mean,” answered Zeus. “We'll have a chance soon. They're probably just figuring out hotels and stuff.”

“Where's Solt?”

Zeus shook his head.

A man in a dark suit came into the room after the passengers. He told them something in Chinese that didn't seem to please anyone. They began murmuring and making clucking sounds with their tongues. The man behind Zeus said something out loud that made the airline official redden. The two men began arguing; other passengers joined in. Finally, the airline official left.

“What the hell is going on?” Christian asked.

“Does anyone here speak English?” asked Zeus, deciding there was no sense keeping quiet anymore.

A young woman—the only woman in their group—said something in Chinese, which prompted one of the older men near them to begin speaking to them. It was clear he was trying to explain the predicament, but Zeus had no way of understanding the words. He listened as carefully as he could, and nodded to encourage the man to continue, but the sounds flowed over him like the ocean.

“Let's go find somebody that can help us,” insisted Christian. “Or at least get to Solt. Hell.”

“She may not be using that name,” said Zeus.

“I don't care anymore,” said Christian. “I want to get the hell out of here. I feel claustrophobic.”

“Relax.”

“Don't tell me that anymore,” said Christian, starting for the door. “My head's going to explode.”

The airline official who'd been speaking inside was talking to another employee in the hallway. Christian strode up to him and in a loud voice demanded to know what was going on.

The airline official briefly glanced at him, then went back to his own intense discussion with his fellow employee.

Christian grabbed his shoulder. “What's going on?”

The airline official jumped away from Christian's grip.

“Easy, Win,” Zeus told Christian. “You're not helping. He doesn't understand what you're saying.”

“I don't give a shit.”

The airline official stepped back, hands out in horror. His companion began backing up the hall.

“He didn't mean anything,” Zeus told them. “He's just a little tired.”

The airline officials exchanged a look, then retreated farther into the building.

“Let's go after them,” said Christian. “There has to be somebody who works for the airline who speaks English.”

“They'll get somebody. Wait,” said Zeus. But Christian had already started after them.

Reluctantly, Zeus followed in the direction that the two men had taken. A pair of policemen stood in the hallway just around the corner, blocking the way.

“Excuse me,” said Christian.

Neither man moved. Zeus saw that Christian's face was beet red again, and his voice was shaky.

“Do you speak English?” Zeus asked the policemen. “A little? We're trying to find out what's going on. No one seems to be able to help us.”

The man on the right said something in a sharp tone, then pointed behind them, indicating they should return to the room.

“What if we don't want to go back?” snapped Christian.

The policeman began gesticulating, thrusting his finger toward Christian's chest as he spoke in a rapid and clearly angry Chinese staccato.

Zeus suddenly had a premonition of what was going to happen.

“No!” he yelled, reaching for Christian.

But it was too late.

“I'm not taking this shit anymore!” said Christian, launching a left hook that caught his antagonist square in the side of the head.

11

Eastern Pennsylvania

Once the interviews were finished,
the Marshal Service took Mara and Josh to a motel in eastern Pennsylvania where they could rest and not be bothered for the rest of the night. But even though they had rented an entire floor of the motel, they were concerned enough about security to tell Mara that she couldn't go out for a walk by herself.

Josh went right to bed, and fell asleep as soon as he'd pulled the thin blanket over his chest. He slept soundly, and woke smoothly and quickly, rising in the unfamiliar room about a half hour before dawn.

The heat was on, but after Vietnam, it felt cold. He pulled on a sweatshirt, then went to take a walk.

“Hey now, where do you think you're going, son?” asked the marshal sitting in the hallway when he emerged from his room. He had a Texas accent, accentuated by a pair of scuffed boots that poked far out of his pant legs.

“Walk,” said Josh.

“Uh, not a good idea.”

“Why not?”

The Texan blinked at him.

Josh shrugged and went to the stairs. The marshal hesitated for a moment, then got up to follow.

The crisp air outside felt bracing. The motel was located at the end of the town's business district, a mix of nineteenth- and twentieth-century Victorian storefronts and 1960s-era highway development. The stylistic mishmash was comforting to Josh—it reminded him of the area where he'd grown up. A large Mobil sign lit the corner ahead. Josh walked to it, thinking he would find a cup of coffee there. But the station wasn't open yet. He continued through the lot, trailed by his bodyguard, who for some reason didn't seem inclined to get very close.

A light shone through the window of a cement block building across the street. Josh glanced both ways, then crossed toward it. The place turned out to be a bagel shop, and there were people inside—the baker and his helper, along with two customers who sat talking at a corner table as Josh came in. Coffee was served at a counter to the side. Josh helped himself to a cup, then went and got two bagels.

“I'll get it,” said the Texan, coming into the shop.

“Thanks,” said Josh. He stood back and waited while the marshal poured himself a coffee. The two customers were talking about a high school football game, apparently played years before.

“Feel like walking some more?” asked Josh when the marshal finished paying.

He nodded.

Josh started to go out the door when the headline on the local newspaper caught his eye.

QUESTIONS RAISED ON

CHINA INVASION CLAIM

Invasion? It was a massacre, not just an invasion.

He nearly bumped into the marshal as he turned back to look at the paper. It was a tabloid, and the headline, in large bold type, ran over an unrelated photo of a local house fire. It referred to a story inside the paper.

Josh went back and bought the paper. He stood back from the counter, folding the paper over so he could read it.

Chinese officials immediately questioned whether the footage was authentic.

“All along, the Vietnamese have been very adept at manipulating public opinion,” said Xi Hing Lee, a Chinese representative to the UN. “They have posted things on YouTube that are clearly fake.”

“And I guess the missile on the bridge was made up, too?” said Josh aloud.