see her elbow resting against the outcropped pin of the frag grenade buried in the wall. Very slowly, he moved her back away from him. Her elbow came off the pin.
Nothing happened.
Repositioning her, he lifted her across the wire and set her down beside him.
He lowered himself through the trapdoor, feeling the chill river water come up to the level of his waist. Then he maneuvered her through. In her state, he did not know how long she could survive underwater. He knew he had to be very fast; there was no margin for error. He hadn’t gotten this far just to drown her during the last stage of their escape.
In the water he ceded control to his tanjian eye, trusting it to guide him unerringly through the two trapdoors and out into the river itself. Bay was like a dead weight, dragging him down, entangling him in line and wire, fragments of rotten wood, and decades of silt raised up from the riverbed by the powerful kick of his legs.
But at last he could feel the strong pull of the current and knew he was in the open river. He got her head above water, striking out for the far riverbank. She was racked by a paroxysm of coughing as soon as he dragged her up the slope out of the water, and he was gratified to see no blood in what she spit up. Perhaps the cold had revived her. She began to moan as the pain cut through the temporary wall her endorphins had built. Opening his tanjian eye, Nicholas stimulated the area that produced these natural pain-suppressors.
“My God,” she whispered in a voice drugged by pain and shock, “what’s happened to me?”
“White phosphorus. I got it all out of you.”
She closed her eyes, turned her head away from him, her chest still heaving from her exertions.
While they had been buried alive in the tunnels of Cu Chi, dawn had come. The sky was pink and pale green. Birds called and an entire new set of insects droned and chittered in the underbrush. On the morning breeze came the strong scent of eucalyptus from the groves planted after the American defoliation of the area during the war.
He touched her on the shoulder. “I know you’re exhausted, but there’s no time to rest. I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”
“No need to bother yourself,” a deep voice said from above them on the riverbank. “I’m in charge of you both now.”
Nicholas looked up to see the figure standing over him, a pistol in his right hand. At the moment it was pointed at the ground beside him. Though there were perhaps a dozen soldiers around him, this man was dressed in the uniform of the Saigon police. He was a slender Vietnamese, not very imposing if one was in the habit of judging people by their size. But he had a wily face and yellow eyes and teeth. Shindo had summed him up quite correctly: a back-alley predator.
Chief Inspector Hang Van Kiet.
“Stand up, both of you!” Van Kiet commanded.
“I’m a citizen of—”
“I said stand up!” The pistol was now leveled at him.
Nicholas rose, dragging Bay with him. She moaned, shivering, and he said, “For God’s sake, she’s badly hurt. I had to cut burning phosphorus out of her leg. If you don’t get her to a hospital soon, she’ll die.”
“Is that so?” Van Kiet took a step down the bank, stared into Bay’s white, pinched face. He touched the muzzle of the pistol to the bloody bandage wrapped around her wound, and she cried out, nearly fainting. Then a curious smile wreathed his mouth, and his eyes snapped to Nicholas. “Whether you live or die will depend on me now, is that clear?”
Nicholas said nothing, but then he didn’t think Van Kiet had wanted an answer.
“You and this woman have been found in a proscribed area. What were you doing in the tunnels?”
“Sight-seeing.”
Nicholas’s tanjian eye felt the pistol coming up an instant before it did, but there was nothing at all in Van Kiet’s mind as he squeezed the trigger.
The explosion rang out, echoing across the riverbank as Bay was blown out of Nicholas’s
Nothing happened.
Repositioning her, he lifted her across the wire and set her down beside him.
He lowered himself through the trapdoor, feeling the chill river water come up to the level of his waist. Then he maneuvered her through. In her state, he did not know how long she could survive underwater. He knew he had to be very fast; there was no margin for error. He hadn’t gotten this far just to drown her during the last stage of their escape.
In the water he ceded control to his tanjian eye, trusting it to guide him unerringly through the two trapdoors and out into the river itself. Bay was like a dead weight, dragging him down, entangling him in line and wire, fragments of rotten wood, and decades of silt raised up from the riverbed by the powerful kick of his legs.
But at last he could feel the strong pull of the current and knew he was in the open river. He got her head above water, striking out for the far riverbank. She was racked by a paroxysm of coughing as soon as he dragged her up the slope out of the water, and he was gratified to see no blood in what she spit up. Perhaps the cold had revived her. She began to moan as the pain cut through the temporary wall her endorphins had built. Opening his tanjian eye, Nicholas stimulated the area that produced these natural pain-suppressors.
“My God,” she whispered in a voice drugged by pain and shock, “what’s happened to me?”
“White phosphorus. I got it all out of you.”
She closed her eyes, turned her head away from him, her chest still heaving from her exertions.
While they had been buried alive in the tunnels of Cu Chi, dawn had come. The sky was pink and pale green. Birds called and an entire new set of insects droned and chittered in the underbrush. On the morning breeze came the strong scent of eucalyptus from the groves planted after the American defoliation of the area during the war.
He touched her on the shoulder. “I know you’re exhausted, but there’s no time to rest. I’ve got to get you to a doctor.”
“No need to bother yourself,” a deep voice said from above them on the riverbank. “I’m in charge of you both now.”
Nicholas looked up to see the figure standing over him, a pistol in his right hand. At the moment it was pointed at the ground beside him. Though there were perhaps a dozen soldiers around him, this man was dressed in the uniform of the Saigon police. He was a slender Vietnamese, not very imposing if one was in the habit of judging people by their size. But he had a wily face and yellow eyes and teeth. Shindo had summed him up quite correctly: a back-alley predator.
Chief Inspector Hang Van Kiet.
“Stand up, both of you!” Van Kiet commanded.
“I’m a citizen of—”
“I said stand up!” The pistol was now leveled at him.
Nicholas rose, dragging Bay with him. She moaned, shivering, and he said, “For God’s sake, she’s badly hurt. I had to cut burning phosphorus out of her leg. If you don’t get her to a hospital soon, she’ll die.”
“Is that so?” Van Kiet took a step down the bank, stared into Bay’s white, pinched face. He touched the muzzle of the pistol to the bloody bandage wrapped around her wound, and she cried out, nearly fainting. Then a curious smile wreathed his mouth, and his eyes snapped to Nicholas. “Whether you live or die will depend on me now, is that clear?”
Nicholas said nothing, but then he didn’t think Van Kiet had wanted an answer.
“You and this woman have been found in a proscribed area. What were you doing in the tunnels?”
“Sight-seeing.”
Nicholas’s tanjian eye felt the pistol coming up an instant before it did, but there was nothing at all in Van Kiet’s mind as he squeezed the trigger.
The explosion rang out, echoing across the riverbank as Bay was blown out of Nicholas’s
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