“Brandon, is that you?” Father Mike crossed himself as he approached the bodies. “They’re all dead, are they?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, Father.”

Father Mike knelt next to Condley, examining his wound. “What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“I found the guy who killed my Marines. Remember?” The rest of it was too complicated. Condley thought about it and came up with some shorthand. “He murdered Sal Marino this morning.”

Father Mike crossed himself again, closing his eyes. “May the Lord bless Sal and keep him.” He looked at Condley. “And you decided to kill him in return, did you?”

“No, I didn’t kill him,” said Condley dismissively. “Father, I need to get out of here. There are some well-connected people who are going to be upset about those bodies over there. And the Thai police can be extremely weird.”

“An astute observation,” nodded Father Mike. “If you’re in line for some form of retaliation, I don’t think it would be healthy for you to be spending the night in a Bangkok jail cell.”

“Not to mention that I need very badly to catch a plane tomorrow.”

Hanson Muir groaned unbelievingly. “I need a doctor, Brandon, not an airplane.”

“Trust me, Professor. An infected leg is better than a dead brain.”

Father Mike tested the bandage on Muir’s thigh. Muir winced when the priest pushed on his wound, and then groaned, fainting. “If you didn’t kill him, then this man did?” asked Father Mike.

“No,” said Condley, chuckling at the absurdity of that thought. “It was pretty messy. Look around you, Father. Look at us. There were a lot of guns.”

“I understand,” said Father Mike, probing Muir’s wound again. “But most of them seem to have been pointed at you. So, who? Who killed him?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t. The guy came from nowhere, and he took off when he was done. I only shot one man. Because he was trying to shoot the man who saved me.”

“Only one?”

“Only one.” He could not stop himself from laughing. “I tried to shoot the white guy but I missed. Then this deadeye dinger showed up. What a show, I’m not kidding.”

“Brandon, Brandon,” sighed Father Mike. “There’s always something, isn’t there? I think you were simply born to be shot at.” The priest began humming softly as he worked on Muir. “It’s not a bad wound. And you seem fine. So what do you need?”

“You didn’t see us here, Father.” Father Mike watched him carefully, his soft face going stubborn in the shadows. “In fact, you’ve got to get us out of here before somebody else does see us.”

“Are you asking me to lie?”

“Actually, yes.”