She never saw his body fall through. But she heard the squeal of metal, felt the wild shuddering of the fan blades. She collapsed to her knees, retching into the darkness below.
When the heaving finally stopped, she forced her head up.
Her other attacker had vanished.
Across the courtyard, on the opposite walkway, something gleamed. The barrel of a gun being lowered. A small face peering at her over the railing. She struggled to make sense of why the boy was there, why he had just saved her life. Stumbling to her feet, she whispered, Oliver?
The boy merely put a finger to his lips. Then, like a ghost, he slipped away into the darkness.
Dazed, she heard shouts and the thud of approaching footsteps.
Willy! Are you all right?
She turned and saw Guy. And she heard the panic in his voice.
Dont move! Ill come get you.
No! she cried. The grateits broken
For a moment, he studied the spinning blades. Then, glancing around, he spotted a workmans ladder propped beneath a broken window. He dragged it to the railing, hoisted it over and slid it horizontally across the broken grate. Then he eased himself over the railing, carefully stepped onto a rung and extended his arm to Willy. Im right here, he said. Put your left foot on the ladder and grab my hand. I wont let you fall, I swear it. Come on, sweetheart. Just reach for my hand.
She couldnt look down at the fan blades. She looked across them at Guys face, tense and gleaming with sweat. At his hand, reaching for her. And in that instant she knew, without a shred of doubt, that he would catch her. That she could trust him with her life.
She took a breath for courage, then took the step forward, over the whirling blades.
Instantly his hand locked over hers. For a split second she teetered. Guys rigid grasp steadied her. Slowly, jerkily, she lunged forward onto the rung where he balanced.
Ive got you! he yelled as he swept her into his arms, away from the yawning vent. He swung her easily over the railing onto the walkway, then dropped down beside her. He pulled her into the safety of his arms.
Its all right, he murmured over and over into her hair. Everythings all right
Only then, as she felt his heart pounding against hers, did she realize how terrified hed been for her.
She was shaking so hard she could barely stand on her own two legs. It didnt matter. She knew the arms now wrapped around her would never let her fall.
They both stiffened as a harsh command was issued in Vietnamese. The people gathered about them quickly stepped aside to let a policeman through. Willy squinted as a blinding light shone in her eyes. The flashlights beam shifted and froze on the air-conditioning vent. From the spectators came a collective gasp of horror.
Dear God, she heard Dodge Hamilton whisper. What a bloody mess.
MR. AINH WAS SWEATING. He was also hungry and tired, and he needed badly to use the toilet. But all these concerns would have to wait. He had learned that much from the war: patience. Victory comes to those who endure. This was what he kept saying to himself as he sat in his hard chair and stared down at the wooden table.
We have been careless, Comrade. The ministers voice was soft, no more than a whisper; but then, the voice of power had no need to shout.
Slowly Ainh raised his head. The man sitting across from him had eyes like smooth, sparkling river stones. Though the face was wrinkled and the hair hung in silver wisps as delicate as cobwebs, the eyes were those of a young manbold and black and brilliant. Ainh felt their gaze slice through him.
The death of an American tourist would be most embarrassing, said the minister.
Ainh could only nod in meek agreement.
You are certain Miss Maitland is uninjured?
Ainh cleared his throat. Nodded again.
The ministers voice, so soft just a moment before, took on a razors edge. This Barnard fellowhe prevented an international incident, something our own people seem incapable of.
But we had no warning, no reason to think this would happen.
The attack in Bangkokwas that not a warning?
A robbery attempt! Thats what the report
And reports are never wrong, are they? The ministers smile was disconcertingly bland. First Bangkok. Then tonight. I wonder what our little American tourist has gotten herself into.
The two attacks may not be connected.
Everything, Comrade, is connected. The minister sat very still, thinking. And what about Mr. Barnard? Are he and Miss Maitland the minister paused delicately involved?
I think not. She called him awhat is that American expression? A jerk.
The minister laughed. Ah. Mr. Barnard has trouble with the ladies!
There was a knock on the door. An official entered, handed a report to the minister and respectfully withdrew.
There is progress in the case? inquired Ainh.
The minister looked up. Of a sort. They were able to piece together fragments of the dead mans identity card. It seems he was already well-known to the police.
Then that explains it! said Ainh. Some of these thugs will do anything for a few thousand dong.