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Lucienne was unfazed. In fact, she was rather relieved—she wouldn’t have to crawl through fifty feet of cramped tunnel. She stroked a string of colorful beads around her neck with a smile.

Vladimir shook his head. “The drawing on the ceiling represents fifteen hundred years of Tibetan religion and culture.”

“If we’re dead, we won’t appreciate it,” Lucienne said. “Besides, the 1980s’ renovation is hardly relic. If you had studied the monastery’s history instead of fooling around, you would know the Chinese Red Guard destroyed most of the monastery during the Cultural Revolution.” Lucienne eyed the monks, who were closing in on them from both sides of the passage. “I need a hand.”

Vladimir held Lucienne’s waist, hoisting her up. “I studied the monastery’s history instead of fooling around. I just hope you understand I’m in kind of a sentimental mood right now.”

“We’ll discuss your mood later—if we get back in once piece,” Lucienne said. She removed the strings of beads from her neck and pressed them against the ceiling.

As soon as Vladimir set Lucienne down, they sprang to a safe distance and quickly inserted earplugs. Lucienne twisted her left earring.

The beads erupted with sparks of fire, followed by clouds of smoke. Cement, splinters, and rocks poured down. An opening bigger than a manhole appeared in the ceiling, letting in sunlight through the dirt and smoke.

The monks ceased their advance, gesturing frantically, and shouting among themselves.

Lucienne darted toward the hole, looking up. On the roof a few yards away from the edge of the open ceiling sat a marble lion head. “I didn’t blow it up!” she said with delight, tossing a military grappling hook. Its claws caught the lion’s head.

Lucienne tugged on her end of the rope, making sure the hook bit the lion tight. Pulling the earplugs out of her ears, Lucienne jumped up the rope and climbed with the skill of a lizard.

The monks’ shouting boomed through the passage. They were suffering hearing loss from the blast, but that didn’t stop them from charging blindly toward their enemy.

Lucienne yanked out a seven-foot steel whip, and Vladimir produced his sanjiegun. The sanjiegun was state-of-the-art, with three sticks linked by steel chains. He spun it through the air, warning the monks to back off. The sanjiegun whooshed. To enhance the effect, Vladimir mimicked Bruce Lee’s battle cries.

The warriors exchanged looks of annoyance, then fury. But in Lucienne’s eyes, her partner’s moves were like poems.What a magnificent animal!she thought. In a few seconds, she had reached the ceiling. Her long legs swept up onto the roof. Lucienne landed in a crouch, amid the debris.

“Hey, Lucia, don’t leave without me!” Vladimir called. “The monks will tear me apart.”

“I doubt it.” Lucienne swung the rope toward him. Still wielding his sanjiegun, Vladimir snatched the rope and started climbing. The monks charged like a runaway train.

Two spears from opposite directions thrust toward Vladimir. One spear went for his ribs while the other tried to slice the rope above his head. Vladimir’s sanjiegun snapped out, knocking the sharp head of the spear away from his ribcage. “That was mean, dude,” he told the monk in Tibetan.

Wrapping her feet around a bronze bell at the edge of the ceiling, Lucienne dove back through the opening. Her whip lashed out, just in time to wrap around the other spear that almost sliced the rope and yank it up. The two monks attacking Vladimir staggered back, surprised.

Lucienne’s whip tossed the spear toward the ranks of the monks. The warriors fell back to dodge it.

Vladimir hoisted himself up to the roof like a big cat at top-speed. Forcing her whip to make one last stinging snap, Lucienne followed him.

The broad open space brought Lucienne joy—cloudless blue sky and endless tiled roofs. The late afternoon sunlight trickled through Vladimir’s golden eyelashes, turning his hazel eyes the color of the sun-dazzled ocean. His golden brown hair captured the sunbeams and smelled of spring rain. Lucienne drank in the sight of his beautiful tanned face, smiling as if swimming under the influence of aged wine.

“Can’t get enough of me, I know.” Vladimir flashed a lopsided grin. “But now’s not the time for romance.”

“You’re being ridiculous again.” Lucienne’s smile turned to a growl.

Vladimir dragged her up. “Well, here’s something that’s not ridiculous—run!”

Lucienne glanced over her shoulder to see the monks climbing through the hole in the roof.

Vladimir and Lucienne dashed onto the rooftop. Under their feet, Samye Monastery was laid out like a giant mandala. “We’re far from Wuzi Hall,” Vladimir said. Wuzi was the main temple that represented Mount Sumeru. The Tibetans believed that Mount Sumeru was the mythical mountain at the center of the Universe. Lucienne had witnessed how the pilgrims prostrated toward the temple.

“We’re close to the east corner of the Ling temple,” Vladimir continued, looking at the mountains in the distance. “We’ll get to the wall and climb the mountain, then head to our glider. What would you like for dinner?”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t worry about dinner right now,” Lucienne said. “Look down.”

Tibetan drumbeats blasted from the courtyard. A dozen warrior monks made their way through the herdsmen’s ritual dance, followed by at least a hundred monks maneuvering through dancing girls wearing pink hats. The crowds clasped their hands and followed thedancers’ chanting, as if sword-carrying monks and explosions were simply part of the celebration.

Lucienne and Vladimir hopped from a sloping shingle roof to a cement-tiled roof. “We need to break for the wall at the southeast corner. It’s closest to Mount Hepori.” Vladimir pointed at an oval stone wall topped by tiny chortens that surrounded the entire monastery. The gates were heavily guarded by the warrior monks.

“Between the wall and Mount Hepori is a vast plain,” Lucienne said.