Larry Bond's Red Dragon Rising Blood of War by Larry Bond & Jim DeFelice

Author:Larry Bond & Jim DeFelice [Bond, Larry & DeFelice, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: A Tom Doherty Associates Book
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

39

Da Nang

Ric Kerfer didn’t like being talked down to by anyone. But it really torqued him to be talked down to by a supervisor in the CIA. While there were exceptions, the agency bosses were a collection of pansy-assed pretty boys and the occasional tomboy out to prove they were smarter than anyone else. They drove their best field people crazy or out of the profession.

Usually both.

So he wasn’t in the best mood to take Mara’s call, especially when she missed the appointed time. He had half a mind to just turn his sat phone completely off and ignore her and her boss. Instead, he went to a bar on the waterfront in Da Nang’s tourist center, commandeered a table in the corner, and ordered a beer. He’d already finished his chores, arranged for the airplane and turned everything over to Setco. The CIA para wasn’t exactly broken up by the change in plans.

“Fine,” was the entirety of his response.

The war had thinned what would have been a healthy late-night crowd in the hotel bar, a fancy penthouse affair overlooking the ocean. Only three other tables were occupied in the room, one by an older woman who seemed to be British, and the others by pairs of middle-aged Asian men who cast occasional nervous glances in Kerfer’s direction but otherwise kept to themselves.

Kerfer had spent more than his share of time in countries at war. They all shared certain qualities, most especially a hollowness that came from staving off despair. Unlike in the movies, visible panic was rare, certainly in the absence of actual gunfire or bombs. But fear was nonetheless a permanent condition in such places, barely kept hidden by the usual conventions of booze and drugs. Cynical sneers and nervous laughter were mostly Western devices; in Asia, feigned stoicism and forced indifference were the general shields.

Thus the waiter with the very stiff gait stood at precise attention when Kerfer asked if he could have a Guinness, which was advertised by a small plate on the tap at the bar. The waiter nodded and left without a word, only to return a short time later to tell him there was no more.

It was a fact he had undoubtedly known, though he played out the charade as if life were normal and all of the taps full.

“What do you have?” asked Kerfer. “Just tell me.”

The only beer they had was Chinese beer—the waiter said the words very quickly, without naming the beer.

“Tsingtao?” asked Kerfer.

“Chinese,” said the waiter.

It didn’t matter what it was, if it was the only choice.

“That’ll be fine,” Kerfer told the man, who bent his head ever so slightly and left.

Kerfer took his phone from his pocket and put it on the table. He gazed out the window. It was late. He should try to sleep.

As if that were possible. He laughed at himself, a little too loudly—everyone else in the room glanced at him, then looked away as he turned in their direction.

Kerfer smiled. Anyone seeing him would surely think he was a spy.

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