Satori

a trap outside the window. He could sense him out there, and later, when Nicholai sensed that he had withdrawn, he had looked out the window to see that the bushes were bent down and the slightest trace of footprints were still extant.

There was something else lingering… something that his proximity sense warned him of…

Momma drew in a breath of apparent shock. “I am devastated, monsieur! Devastated! Desolee!”

“Apologies are unnecessary, madame,” Nicholai answered, “but I need to leave right away.”

“I will telephone -”

“By the frothing jism of Jove, let me pass, sir!”

Nicholai heard De Lhandes’s indignant voice echo down the hallway.

“I will have him -”

“Let him through,” Nicholai said.

A few moments later, an even more than usually tousled De Lhandes came into his room.

“I thought you betrayed me,” Nicholai said.

“I thought about it, believe me,” De Lhandes answered.

“Why didn’t you?”

“I’m not entirely certain,” De Lhandes responded, “and were I you – a tantalizing concept now that I think on it – I wouldn’t advance that query too much further less it impel me to change my mind – a great flaw of mind, by the way, this dithering to and fro – and market you like a hung hog in a boucherie. But what made you suspect that I had played the Judas?”

Nicholai told him about what he had sensed in the hallway.

De Lhandes frowned. “The Cobra.”

“While I usually find your non sequiturs charming -”

“There is a rumor,” De Lhandes said, “more of a legend, really, although the distinction between those two qualities is vague at best when one considers -”

“For God’s sake, man.”

”- of someone they call ‘the Cobra,’ “De Lhandes said. “Supposed to be absolutely deadly with a blade, and… this is not good news, I’m afraid… it is whispered in certain circles that the Corsicans are, collectively, the Cobra’s chief employer.”

“L’Union Corse.”

“Just so, by the cursed blood of Bonaparte, may it boil in hell,” De Lhandes said.

So it’s the Corsicans, Nicholai thought. Their first attempt turned into a bloody burlesque, so they decided to hire their best talent for the next attempt.

But why?

Realizing that this wasn’t the time to ponder that question, he asked, “Did you see her?”

“She said she will come to you.”

“And the papers?”

“Safely stored, Michel.”

146

DIAMOND LEFT THE HOTEL frustrated and angry.

The blonde bitch that had cuckolded the emperor wasn’t in her room.

He put men out on the Saigon streets.

Himself, he went to lead the search for Nicholai Hel.

147

BAY VIEN WALKED into Nicholai’s room at the brothel and said, “You have to leave now.”

“Not until I hear from her.”

“The Surete are coming,” Bay argued. “Don’t just think of yourself. You’re endangering everyone in this house. We’ll keep looking for her, we’ll bring her to you.”

It’s true, Nicholai thought. He had no right to do that. “Where are we going?”

Bay told him.

“What about Solange?” Nicholai asked. “She thinks I will be here.”

“I’ll get word to her,” De Lhandes offered.

“And my men will bring her to you,” Bay said.

Appropriately, Nicholai thought, to my hiding place – the Swamp of the Assassins.

148

THE RUNG SAT LAY southeast of Saigon, east of the mouth of the Soirap River where it drained into the South China Sea. A wilderness of swamps, mangrove forests, bamboo, and countless little tributaries formed an impenetrable maze to all who didn’t know it well.

The Binh Xuyen knew it well.

This was their birthplace and sanctuary, where their old pirate raids had originated and returned, the place from which their famed assassins emerged to slip into the city, kill, and then slip back again.

Nicholai lay in the bottom of the skiff as it came downriver then turned east on a small channel in the dense swamp. The terrain was surprisingly varied – now a flat, sun-drenched stretch of low vegetation and algae, then a dark, dense stand of mangroves, then a wall of bamboo. This pattern repeated itself for an hour, and then the boat slowed onto narrower channels, pressed hard by the mangroves that loomed beside and above and at times shut out the sky, casting the boat into a diurnal darkness.

A man could get lost in here, Nicholai thought.

Get lost and never find his way out.

Finally the skiff pulled up alongside a houseboat anchored against a line of mangroves. The boat was squat and wide, with open decks fore and aft and a cabin in the center. Binh Xuyen troopers, machine pistols slung over their shoulders, stood on guard. Bay Vien emerged from the aft cabin door and stood on the deck as Nicholai stood up.

“You are nothing but trouble, Michel,” he said, helping him onto the boat.

“Is she here yet?” Nicholai asked.

“No,” Bay said impatiently.

He led Nicholai into the cabin, which had a small kitchen with a gas cooker, a table, and a couple of chairs. A narrow set of stairs led down into the hull where there was a small hold and sleeping quarters.

“You’ll be safe here,” Bay said, “until we can get you on a ship out.”

That was the plan – hide him and Solange here in the swamp until the next night, then take them by boat to a freighter coming out of the Saigon docks.

“Have you heard from her?” Nicholai asked.

“You’re monotonous,” Bay said.

“Answer my question.”

“No,” Bay Vien said.

“I’m going back to look for her.”

“In the first place,” Bay said, “no one will take you back; in the second place, you can’t get back on your own; in the third place, even if you did, you would only be killed. Her karma is her karma now.”