VON ROTH WAS inside the palace walls and everything was a shambles. He had been surrounded by an entourage, and Link never got a clear shot. Now we had to go with Plan B. When Byron relieved Link of the German assault rifle, Link started running through the park toward the canal. I followed, and it seemed to be just the two of us. I had feared that Byron would trail me, trying to help after all, though he was not supposed to. I had to trust he would stick with the plan. Meanwhile, Link didn’t look back. He seemed completely indifferent to my existence.
Suddenly I felt unreal. Were these feet my feet? Was this body my body? I ran faster, panting, the humid air smothering my lungs. It felt like drowning by degrees. This wasn’t panic, was it? I’d never felt like this before.
Calm down, Lena. This is it.
I focused on the pounding of my feet on the packed earth, like a drumbeat, like a call to war.
Link looked strong as he ran. He’d regained his strength once the drugs were out of his system, but I was worried about his mental state. Byron let slip that Link had been in a straightjacket in the hospital. He shouldn’t be doing this, but he had fixated on this mission as the only thing worth doing with his life. And Bill had gone along, a selfish bastard as always, because it fulfilled his orders from Miss Maggie. Link had already been punished enough by Miss Maggie, so he shouldn’t have to die for her now. I would do everything I could to keep him safe.
Reaching the edge of the Talad canal, I could not see anything under the inky black surface, which was about ten feet below street level. The tunnel entrance Bill had seen was about fifty feet west. Thick trees and vines blocked the shore from further foot travel, so we would have to swim now. Just ahead of me, Link set down his pack to pull out his goggles and fins, which he needed to set the limpet bomb underwater. This task was assigned to him by Miss Maggie, Bill said. Of course, since it was the most dangerous. As I finished putting on my own fins, Link dived in, cutting smoothly through the surface. He did not wait for me. I hurried to secure my gun in the rubberized invasion bag, and, fumbling, tightened the shoulder straps. Link was swimming a precise crawl, the distance between us increasing. At least he had not been lying about his abilities. He had claimed to be a strong swimmer, having crossed the lake at his family’s cottage in Ontario every summer since he was twelve. I wished we could have met then. We could have pushed each other playfully into the lake, sunned on the dock, and had our first sweet kiss. Those things don’t last, but they don’t need to. It would be enough to have something pure to remember.
I jumped into the canal, sputtering as I came up. At least the water was warm, and I followed the shining wake that Link left behind him in the water.
Swimming alongside the wall, Link felt underneath the hanging shrubs and vines foot by foot until he found what he was looking for. A metal grille barred the tunnel entrance. Inside, we had been told, there was enough space between the water level and the curved ceiling for a small boat to pass. As we had expected, Link couldn’t squeeze through the bars, so he dove underwater to place the bomb. I started swimming away from the blast area, which was supposed to extend less than thirty feet. He was using a short three-minute timer, so I waited anxiously until Link reappeared at the surface and started to move away.
There was a dull whump and the surface boiled. Ripples splashed my face and the water lifted me up, but it soon subsided. Link was about fifteen feet to my right. We each swam back toward the tunnel, though I slowed as my arms grew tired. We had no cottage when I was a girl. I grabbed the gate to rest a second. A gap had opened between it and the wall, and Link had already slipped through. I moved through after him. In the darkness, my hand found a ledge inside the tunnel, and I hauled myself out of the water to sit on it.
Link busied himself taking his gun and flashlight from his frogman’s pack, still paying me no attention. I wanted to hiss, Link, but that would be foolish. I took my own gun from the waterproof invasion bag, shoved my fins away, and wedged my feet into shoes. Link’s beam revealed a low ceiling, and the ledge continued parallel to the waterway as far as I could make out. We crouched down to hurry along the ledge as best we could. The low ceiling prevented running, but it still was faster than swimming. The curved roof was discoloured with green and rust streaks, and stale water dripped onto my head, tepid and unpleasant.
It took about fifteen minutes to reach the end of the tunnel, where three boats were at the ready. So what the guard said was true. Circling them I saw that, while they were old, they had been motorized, which would speed our escape. Link walked over to a metal ladder bolted to the wall, which led to a trapdoor in the ceiling. He checked his naval issue watch. Bill’s informant had said the guards passed the temple above us every half hour. Each time they paused a moment, reverently, at the door of the temple that housed the Emerald Buddha. Link climbed the ladder and pushed on the trapdoor, but it didn’t budge. It was locked.
Link took out a pouch of small tools. Though we had rehearsed this many times, he stared vacantly at the metal pick as though he’d never seen it before. This was not the time for him to lose it. Climbing up to his level, I grabbed the tools from him. He did not protest as I motioned him down and started on the task of picking the lock. I had always found it peaceful. It required a total focus that blocked all other thoughts and feelings, including fear. I turned the tension wrench left, right, until I found the spot where there was less give. I kept it in place while I inserted the pick to fiddle with each pin in turn, at the same time finessing the pressure on the wrench. Okay, one, two. Two more to go.
“So you were a bank robber?” Link asked from below. His words echoed in the underground room.
My hands froze. I was terrified that he had spoken, but also, in the next instant, I was outraged that he knew. There were only two people who could have told him, and not for a second did I think Byron would do it. Only Bill had holed up for hours on end with Link when he was coming off the drugs, Byron told me that much. Calming myself, I returned to picking the lock. I didn’t have time to rage or defend my past to Link. I had to get this done now.
Three, four, then the satisfying release of turning the tension wrench further, just like a key.
Link drew his weapon and gestured at me to come down. It seemed threatening somehow, and I wondered uneasily if Link could still hate me so much that he’d kill me tonight as well as von Roth. Well, there was nothing to do but carry on at this point. I’d just have to watch out for myself. I climbed down, and Link hurried up the ladder to push the trapdoor open. The warmer air struck my face as it spilled down the hole while Link vanished upward into the temple. Though he had not bothered with caution up to that point, he shut the trapdoor softly behind him. I was left behind in total darkness. Feeling my way up the ladder, I peeked through the crack of the door and sensed only the deep silence of emptiness—or so I would have to hope. I flipped the door open fully and climbed up into the temple, scanning a full circle around me with the Walther before I spotted Link heading toward an altar screen. I followed him. Candles flickered everywhere, casting long shadows. Beside us was a tiered gold throne, and on its highest platform sat the Emerald Buddha, covered in a gold mail robe. The way it shone, it had to be real gold, as were the four statues flanking the icon’s base. The richness was incredible, but I was no robber here.
As I reached Link’s shoulder, we peered around the altar screen into the vast bare rectangle of the temple proper. Staying close to the wall, ducking to avoid windows, we ran past continuous murals of armies and strange beasts until we reached the exit. I pressed my ear against the door. Link rushed past me, leaving me standing in surprise while he ran into the courtyard, completely exposed. I was scared and angry at his recklessness. I waited for the gunshots, but there was nothing.
As I followed Link with silent footfalls, I was alarmed to notice dark prints behind me on the temple stairs. My clothes were already drying in the warm air, so I prayed these markers of our damp passage would soon evaporate.
In the courtyard, I froze at the sight of men holding spears—but it only took a second to realize they were moving even less than I was. There were statues everywhere. A gang of false men laboured to hold up the base of a stupa. Everything had a sense of pressure. Nearby a dark tower rose from a pagoda like a missile, as though threatening to bust the sacred building to pieces. The silhouette of the temple roof was littered with curved ornaments like scythes, poised to cut down the stars. Would I be able to detect a real person among all these garbled forms? At least this visual confusion would camouflage us, as well. We made our way around corners and through zigzag passages toward the palace. It was strange to think I had arrived once as an invited guest through the main portal, and now we were here to commit murder through the back door.
Did I have to think the word murder? Could I not think justice, when von Roth was a war criminal? But I had never killed a person. Even at second hand, I had felt sick when I read the part in Byron’s journal where Bill murdered an old man in the cabin they wanted to use as a hideout. I reminded myself that was a vicious death by bludgeoning. I hoped that a bullet would feel clean.
We pressed ourselves against the wall that separated the temple precinct from the palace grounds. We were close to the heart of things now. At any time, we might see von Roth—if he didn’t see us first. Link looked calm and purposeful. I didn’t like that. Fear would offer him more protection, more caution. Don’t die tonight. Please. We’re not done yet, you and me.
Link removed some rope from his rucksack and untied the alpine coil, which had a weighted pouch on one end for momentum. Staring at a finial on the wall’s pitched roof, he made the throw. The rope didn’t catch and the weight thumped to the ground. Nervously, I scanned the area, but there was no sign of any guards. He gathered up the rope and bent his knees to make the throw again, and this time the rope snagged the finial. Link wrapped the rope around his hip in a mountaineer’s belay and flicked his chin at me, to go up. Not friendly, but at least he wasn’t abandoning me. He leaned back to brace himself while I climbed the twenty-foot wall, my palms burning as I gripped the rope. I wanted to stop but couldn’t, as Link kept taking in the rope, almost hauling me up against my will. I started to feel dizzy, and could hardly make myself take my hands off the stones in the wall to pull myself higher. My hands were sweating. Two-thirds of the way up, I made the mistake of looking down. I clung to the rope. I was paralyzed, but the rope yanked relentlessly against my waist. I had to keep going. I made myself grab another stone in the wall. Upward. Finally reaching the top, I pressed myself against the peaked roof, as far from the edge as I could be, panting with fear. I anchored my feet in the tile gutter as I wound some rope around the finial and held it tight, so Link could follow. Once he was safely crouched beside me, he hauled up the rope and stuffed it into his pack.
Cautiously, we raised our heads above the peaked roofline of the temple wall. A wave of laughter and shouts met our ears. What was going on? Below us was only darkness and silence. From the map I knew the French-style chateau just south of us was the Borom Phiman mansion, where the king sometimes slept for a change from his newer Dusit Palace. To the southwest I could see the larger Chakri hall where the charity reception had been held. From that night, I remembered its three extravagant towers, Asian wedding cakes grafted atop a severe European box. A large, formal garden to the southeast featured rows of trees, each pruned into balls at the end of every branch, like lollipops gathered in a child’s hand. These strange topiaries loomed over a shrubbery maze. I thought of Alice in Wonderland and felt that I was through the looking-glass now.
We had to find out where the ruckus was coming from. We ducked below the roofline and ran along the inside gutters, around the corner and onto the western temple wall. In the middle of it, above a doorway, there was another set of multi-level roofs for cover, and we peered into the grassy courtyard below. A burst of machine-gun fire made me duck, my heart racing, until I realized they hadn’t shot at us. I hazarded another look. Giant floodlights illuminated bull’s eyes set up near the outer wall of the palace complex. Some of the targets had been blown to smithereens, with only the stands left behind. Link pulled out binoculars and scanned the crowd. Silently, he handed them to me, but I didn’t need them. I could see von Roth’s blond head clearly, where he stood right beside the king.
Von Roth. His gall was incredible, and, I had to admit, his genius formidable. King Ananda was known to be a gun connoisseur and keen marksman. So apparently von Roth had organized a shooting party, allowing him to haul in weapons under the very noses of the guards, many of whom had gathered, laughing and cheering, in the courtyard.
For the admiration of the king and his entourage, von Roth held out a rifle, which I recognized immediately as a Sturmgewehr 44. I wished Link still had his. It had a lot more firepower than our pistols. Well, we had one advantage: von Roth did not know we were here. We had to keep it that way.
The men grabbed pistols from a portable table covered with bottles, which were apparently filled with liquor, judging by the men’s behaviour. They shot wildly at the remaining targets, making an incredible racket. Perfect cover for silenced weapons, I thought as I stared through my sights. Link steadied his pistol on the ledge. Under the floodlight, von Roth’s blond head made a clear target, but he needed to step away from the king. If the shot was more than six inches off, Ananda would be killed instead.
Link took the shot.
Even a silenced weapon is painful to the ear when only a few feet away, and I was stunned. Von Roth jumped backwards, but no one else seemed to have noticed anything. He did not fall. He was not hit, but he must have felt the air disturbed by the bullet. He spoke into the king’s ear and made a low bow. The king hardly looked at him, distracted by the shooting and laughter of the other men, while von Roth calmly made his way toward the temple wall. He was still carrying the StG 44 close to his chest. He seemed to know what direction our shot came from and was staying out of the roof’s sightline. Frantically, I waved Link forward. We scooched along the inner wall, back to the south side, which had a view toward the main gatehouse through which von Roth had arrived. Link must have guessed the Nazi was planning to leave the same way. Maybe we would have one more shot at him before he reached it. The guards were occupied watching the king’s antics in the courtyard, and the shooting party’s noise would easily conceal us.
Von Roth should have been on the walkway below us by now, but there was no sign of anyone, either there or around the silent mansion that housed the king’s bedroom.
I heard footsteps inside the temple walls. I pushed myself up against the gatehouse roof, putting my arm instinctively across Link’s chest to draw him back. Panicked, I had a childlike impulse to close my eyes.
Link took a shot onto a path lining a small pagoda.
Von Roth dived onto the ground, recovered, and disappeared around one of the many dogleg corners in the temple precinct. He was running too fast to be injured.
I wanted to scream at Link. Where was his sense? Blood pounded in my ears. Before I had time to think, Link slid down the roof and grabbed the tiled gutters, hanging on his arms. Then he jumped to the ground, landing in a roll that must be painful on the stone ground. It looked very far down, but I knew I had to follow. I hung, the ground wavering below my dangling feet. Dear God, don’t make me do this, I thought. I was scared, but the rough tile edges were digging into my hands. I let go. Pain shot up from my ankles and through my legs. I stumbled, then righted myself.
I drew the Walther and kept my finger on the trigger guard as I ran after Link. My feet pounded on the stonework, and the sound refracted off the walls of the temple maze. I halted at Link’s shoulder where he stood at a corner, and he poked his head around it. Then he ran into the square. I followed, keeping close to the wall. I saw no one in the small courtyard, just silhouettes of strange grey statues, men with wings and beaks, standing guard over a pagoda. Dark passageways led off each side.
There was a shout in Siamese. On the wall near Link’s head, a spark ricocheted. Link ducked and popped up again, letting off a shot from his silenced Walther. A man fell to the ground in front of him, by the pagoda door, his gold buttons shining in the moonlight. A dark amoeba formed on the white of his uniform. Blood. Link ran and took cover behind the slumped man.
An arm grabbed me in a chokehold and I gagged. I couldn’t see who it was. I could only smell something like pine sap, but more cloying. I strangely wondered if it was frankincense, from the Bible, from the death of Christ. Was this von Roth? No, the man seemed to be my size, while von Roth was much taller. It must be a guard. I struggled, but the man’s grip was strong. The click of a trigger cocking echoed throughout the courtyard, but Link didn’t take the shot. The guard had me as a shield. He raised his revolver to aim at Link. The guard’s disembodied arm stretched in front of me, as though it was my own. Now that he only had one arm around me, I tried to grab the gun, but I couldn’t breathe and it made me weak. The report of his weapon, unsilenced, exploded in my ears.
Was Link hit?
My blood surging in my panic, I felt the straps tight around my forearm. It was the knife Bill gave me, and it called me to my senses. I yanked it from my sleeve and stabbed behind me, where the man’s soft stomach would be. He screamed and let go of me.
The air was displaced beside me, very close. With a surprised yelp, the guard fell to the ground. His white uniform seemed to glow like phosphorescence in the sea. Link had taken the shot. It was risky, but it had missed me and hit its mark. I ran to the pagoda staircase where I’d last seen Link sheltered behind the dead guard. I found him standing behind a pillar.
I tugged at his sleeve, but he would not move. He looked everywhere except at me, scanning the courtyard, his eyes glassy and strange.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” I whispered.
“Not till we get von Roth.”
“I know where he is. Come on.” I don’t know why I said that, but it did the trick and Link followed me. I had the uneasy feeling that we hadn’t seen the last of von Roth, and I didn’t need to know where he was to find him. He would find us.
We slipped through the claustrophobic passageways, checking around each corner, until we were back at the main temple where the tunnel was. I eased open the giant door. I froze at the sound of chanting, which seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Then my eyes made out the source: at the far end of the temple, in front of the Emerald Buddha, two monks in orange robes were kneeling, their backs to us. They were near the altar gate that accessed the tunnel. How could we get by them?
There was a muted bang, once, twice. The monks slumped forward, silent, blood blooming on their robes. I stared at Link in horror. His arm was still outstretched, holding the pistol. Smoke wisped from the barrel. When he ran, I followed him, desperate now only for escape. They were monks, I thought, again and again, like my own dark mantra. How could Link kill them?
We descended through the trapdoor, closing it behind us with a click as I set the lock. I was shocked by the pure blackness. Link found his flashlight and turned it on to illuminate the chamber. The royal boats still sat waiting in the flat, dark pool, and we ran to the largest one. To cut the rope, I reached into my sleeve to pull out my knife, but it wasn’t there. I must have dropped it after I stabbed the guard. At least it was unmarked. That in itself could suggest secret service, though hopefully no one would know which country’s. Well, nothing could be done now. Link cut the rope with his own knife and we jumped aboard. We each grabbed a long wooden paddle from out of the keel and shoved against the wall to start the boat on its way. We would wait to start the engines until we reached the canal, far enough away that the sound could not be heard from the palace.
As we paddled through the tunnel, the ceiling got gradually lower until we had to fold ourselves forward. I realized I was breathing loudly and quieted myself. The light was getting blue, so we must have been nearing the exit to the canal. I used the paddle to nudge the boat off the far wall toward the small raised ledge by the gate—our escape hatch. I fired up the engine, but Link stayed seated in a dreamy state. Why didn’t he open the gate? I nudged his ribs with the paddle and he jumped onto the ledge. He tugged at the gate. Mangled from the blast, it barely moved. He jumped into the water and, bracing his legs against the wall, wrenched it open enough for the slender boat to get through. He climbed back aboard and the boat nosed through the vines, their tendrils dragging across my face as we passed underneath them.
From the canal I looked back at the entrance, which was concealed by the screen of hanging plants. It was as though we’d never been there, and I could not help thinking we were going to make it. Soon we would meet Byron on the river and shove this boat away, to drift with the current to the ocean, while we would race in a speedboat back to the palazzo.
We were escaping, but Link had not killed von Roth. And I was supposed to be in charge of this mess. What would Miss Maggie say—or do—when she learned that von Roth was still free to murder the king? Surely von Roth would abort his mission after the chaos of dead guards and monks we left behind, I told myself. Security around the king would increase tenfold after this. Was that not a form of success?
Maybe not in Miss Maggie’s books, but at least I had seen Link out safely. I exhaled.
He’d saved me, too. He’d killed the guard who had grabbed hold of me. Or had he not cared if he killed me also? The bullet had been close, too close. I stole a glance at Link as we travelled down the canal. He was staring back into the distance, a smile on his face. It disturbed me. Was he completely unhinged? I supposed I should be glad he had gone into this strange passive mode, rather than insisting on staying behind to finish off von Roth.
We reached the lock at the end of the canal, the last barrier between us and the river. We were nearly free.
I navigated alongside a hanging cord and pulled it to signal the lock-keeper in the tower to let us out. The engine idled as I kept us in place, and the metal gate slowly, excruciatingly, yawed open. I had time to picture Bill’s hired man looking down at us, bemused by the goings-on of these strange visitors to his land, the usual lock-keeper unconscious at his feet. As soon as there was room to pass through, I revved the boat into the lock. The metal gate shut again and the water began to pour in, floating us up to the river’s level, slowly, slowly.
“Get down, Lena,” Link said, so calmly it took a moment to register it was a warning.
Then I saw the silhouette of a man holding a pistol. He was standing above us on the edge of the lock, which was now our cage. A bullet zinged nearby and cracked the boat’s wooden hull. Water surged in. Link stood up, tall and unwavering as a Viking figurehead on a ship’s prow.
He took aim and fired.
Von Roth ducked and rolled. He did not cry out or fall off the ledge. Link had missed.
The boat kept rising in the lock, bringing us ever closer to the ledge where the Nazi waited. Von Roth took aim from his prone position and fired. Link stared in stunned amazement at his chest. Then he let off one more shot, wildly, and collapsed.
“Link!” I yelled.
On the floor of the boat, I stayed huddled under my wooden seat. I expected von Roth to kill me at any moment. The water was now six inches deep in the bottom of the boat and my legs were soaked. I would soon be nearly level with von Roth. I stared up at the starry sky, a sight of infinity and beauty. This did not have to be the end. I wanted to live.
I pulled the Walther from my holster.
Von Roth was standing in full view at the edge of the canal, as though waiting to give me his hand to step ashore. His pale hair gleamed ghostly under the moonlight. I knew this man. Warner. I raised the pistol and, as it so often did these days, my hand shook.
“The lovely Vera,” von Roth said gently.
My hand steadied as I thought, I’m someone else now.
After the shock of the gun’s report, I heard a moan, and Warner toppled sideways to fall on the cement ledge. The water lifted me until I stared straight into his eyes. They were lost somewhere, whether the past or future, I couldn’t say. He was already more dead than alive.
I looked away. Why hadn’t he shot at me? He was a Nazi. He’d killed hundreds of people, but he had danced with me. Did he have some strange selective morality that stilled his hand? Or had he believed that I was too weak and would not kill him, that I would now stand beside him, go to bed with him, the conqueror?
Had I been more cold-blooded than a Nazi?
I turned to Link. Blood streamed into the water around him, where he lay face up on the bottom of the boat. My steps sloshing in the deepening water, I rushed to feel the pulse at his wrist. It was faint and erratic. The hole in his chest was small, but I knew the exit wound, at his back, would be large and gaping. There was no time to staunch the blood. Oh God. The boat was over a foot deep in water now, and would sink before I could get it to the dock where Byron waited upriver. I’d have to swim.
I yanked at the lid of a padlocked wooden trunk built into the side of the boat, but it only budged an inch. Through the gap, I could see red lifejackets inside. The trunk’s lock was small, the wood old. I leaned down and, averting my eyes from Link’s wound, slid the dagger from the sheath on his arm. I used it to pry open the lid. The wood splintered and squealed, the blade bent, but the clasps flew off. The knife was ruined and would not fit back in its scabbard, so I threw it overboard. I pulled out the lifejackets, putting one on myself first. Then I gently raised Link’s head to slide it through the neck opening. He was floating a little in the deeper water in the boat now, which made it easier to put the straps behind him and clip them to the front of the lifejacket, though he groaned at the jostling. I made out faint words.
“Is he dead?”
I blinked back tears. “Yes. You got him.” A smile played on his lips, or so I thought, and I traced my fingers there.
“I’m sorry,” I said, my voice quavering. “I’m so sorry.”
The gates of the lock were opening. Somewhere above us, the false lock-keeper looked down on our drama, unwilling to get involved, or uninterested in the outcome. A man doing his job. I jumped into the river and grabbed the gunwale of the sinking boat, to bring it nearly level to the water so I could pull Link out as gently as possible. Once he was floating beside me in the river, I clutched the collar of his lifejacket and started to swim awkwardly toward the dock where Byron was supposed to be waiting. It’s not far, I told myself. Swim harder. Byron will be there—he’s always there. I took one last look over my shoulder, but already I couldn’t make out von Roth’s form on the ledge. All I could see was the tall silver silhouette of the lock tower, like a monument.
I swam away in the dark river, warm as blood, the green mats of lotus parting before me.