Rude awakening

>> Kaimuki

Fon Du awoke in a panic. A vehicle with a big rumbling engine had just pulled into the driveway in front of Bodhicita Guzman's cottage. Headlights flashed through the gauzy white curtains like spotlights.

He rolled off the couch, grabbed the black plastic knife and pistol from the coffee table, crawled into the kitchen. If they were coming in the front door, he was going out the back.

Outside he heard voices above the low rumble of the idling engine.

"You take that side, I'll meet you around back," a male voice said. "Check the shadows and shrubs."

It sounded like the guy in black who had attacked him and two of his Te-Wu colleagues.

Through the kitchen window, he saw the beam of a flashlight darting through a red hibiscus hedge, up into a plumeria tree.

He leaned against the back door, listening.

"There's the key, right where she said it would be," the second voice said. "Pointing due north."

"As a security measure?" Michael Tenzin Campbell had asked. "So you'll know if anyone disturbed it?"

"Actually," Bodhicita replied, "feng shui."

Fon Du had not known that, but allowed himself a moment of self-congratulation for good spycraft. He'd replaced the key exactly as he found it under the green Astroturf doormat.

But only a moment. They were coming in.

"Wait here," the one in black said. "I'm going in the front. Give me 30 seconds to go back around. We'll open the doors at the same time."

Fon Du started moving, quick and silent in his running shoes, counting the seconds. One-thousand-one, one thousand-two ...

He was out the front door in less than seven seconds.

In the glow of the street light and the reflection of headlights in the front window, through the windshield Fon Du saw Bodhicita and the lama in the back seat of a big red Ram 1500 double-cab, noses pressed together, eyes closed, breathing deeply.

In fact, the second Lama Jey Tsong Khapa and Bodhicita, his eternal consort, were involved in some light tantric canoodling.

He had two options, drive or run. Having left his clothes inside, and given his attire and lack of funds ... One-thousand nine, one-thousand-ten ...

He sprinted to the driver's side door, pulled it open, jumped inside, threw the transmission into reverse.

Bodhicita opened her eyes. "You're not Khan or Michael!" she said.

The driver threw it into drive, burned rubber as he accelerated away.

"Who are you?"

And why was he wearing her pink velour bathrobe from the Royal Hawaiian Hotel?