Vital Signs

15

"Time to get up!" a voice called, stirring Marissa from what felt like a drugged sleep.

"The Williams' Oriental tour is about to begin and it starts with a stockman-style breakfast."

Marissa's eyes blinked open. Tristan was at the window, pulling back the curtain. Weak early morning sunlight streamed into the room.

"Let's go!" Tristan said. He came over to the bed and gave the covers a tug. Marissa grabbed them in panic. Tristan laughed, then spun on his heels.

"I'll expect you in half an hour in the morning room," he said before pulling the door closed behind him.

Marissa glanced at the room. It was the guest room in Tristan's small house on the outskirts of Charleville. The room was a dormered space, quaintly decorated with a flower print wallpaper.

The bed was wrought-iron with an eyelet comforter.

They'd moved swiftly once Tristan told Marissa he would accompany her to Hong Kong. They'd gotten back to Charleville before dark after an uneventful flight. From the air Marissa began to realize just how vast and and a country she was in. She had once read that Australia was the oldest continent on earth.

From above, it looked it.

She had spent the night at Tristan's house only after a mild argument. At first she'd been reluctant, but Tristan had been insistent.

"If you can't trust me to spend the night in my guest room, then how are you going to trust me in Hongkers?"

Marissa had relented in the end.

The evening had passed quickly. Tristan spent most of the time making arrangements to go on holiday. He called his colleague, Bob Marlowe, to arrange for him to cover Tristan's professional responsibilities.

Marissa had slept better than she had on the two previous nights.

Reluctantly, she slipped her legs from under the blanket and got out of bed.

After a hearty breakfast of porridge, eggs, and sausage, Tristan made a few more final arrangements, including a visit to his bank.

Then together they went out to the Charleville airport and boarded a Flight West commuter to Brisbane.

In Brisbane they transferred airports to catch the 11: 15 Qantas flight to Hong Kong. Before going through passporl control, Marissa took Tristan aside to tell him that the police inspector had asked her to stay on Hamilton Island.

"What if they detain me?" she asked.

"What if they arrest meT "Come on!" Tristan responded with a laugh.

"You don't really think Royal Australian police are that efficient, do you?"

The uniformed man in the passport control booth barely looked at her.

The flight was peacefully uneventful. Once again Marissa was amazed by the expansive Pacific. Until this trip, she'd had no idea what a big ocean it was. In silent testimony to how much better she was feeling now that she had Tristan to count on, Marissa soon drifted off to sleep.

Right on schedule, the Qantas jet's wheels touched down with a thump at Kai Tac Airport at 5:43 P.m." giving Marissa her first Hong Kong. Despite the purpose of their trip, she sight of couldn't help feeling a shiver of excitement.

From the air, the colony had looked like a peaceful collection of rocky, forested islands set in an emerald-green sea. But from the airport runway it already looked quite different. Across the impossibly congested harbor of bobbing vessels, it looked starkly urban, like a futuristic city crowded with skyscrapers of concrete, steel, and mirrored glass. Even through the plane's porthole she could sense the exotic, mysterious nature of the busiest and richest of all Chinese cities.

Formalities at the airport were swift. As they waited at the luggage carousel for their "swag," as Tristan called it, they were approached by a representative from the Peninsula Hotel, where Tristan had booked adjoining rooms. To Marissa's surprise, they were escorted out of the terminal building to a waiting RollsRoyce.

"Isn't this a bit extravagant?" Marissa asked as they pulled out of the airport.

"This must be one fancy hotel."

"And why not!" Tristan said.

"Don't you Yanks have the expression 'you only go around once'? I'm on holiday and I haven't been on holiday for years. I intend to try to enjoy myself, even if we are here on serious business."

Marissa wondered what Robert would say when he saw the charges.

The hotel car quickly got bogged down in rush hour traffic, the likes of which Marissa had never seen. She was shocked when the driver said traffic was better than usual.

Even in the hushed interior of the Rolls-Royce limousine, Marissa was overwhelmed by the clamor and clutter of the city.

As Tristan had implied, it was different enough from the Australian outback to make her think she'd traveled to another planet.

They were snared in a crush of double-decker buses, trams, cars, bicycles, motorbikes, and people, lots of people. By the time they arrived at the hotel, Marissa felt drained, as if she'd had to walk the entire route.

But once the hotel doors closed behind them, the world changed again. The huge lobby with its gilded ceiling was decorated in a restrained yet luxuriant fashion with only a hint of Oriental flavor. The most disturbing sounds were those caused by high heeled shoes clicking against the polished marble floor. The melodious sound of a grand piano added to the elegant atmosphere.

The check-in procedure was accomplished with minimum confusion.

They left their passports with the receptionist. A manager accompanied them up to their connecting rooms on the sixth floor. At Tristan's insistence, he unlocked the connecting doors.

Tristan said that there'd be no taking chances; he wanted ready access in case of any trouble.

Marissa joined Tristan at the window. They had a sweeping view of Hong Kong Harbor, which was filled with boats of every description and size. Tristan pointed out the green and white air, ferries that were passing each other in their runs to and from Hong Kong Island across the way. There were junks and sampans with' graceful butterfly sails. Lighters were moored against the freighters anchored in the middle of the channel. Highly varnished launches sped through the choppy waters. Evena huge cruise ship was slowly edging its way into its berth at the ocean terminal.

The luggage quickly followed. Tristan tipped the bellman, who silently bowed and exited, closing the door behind him.

"Well!" Tristan said, rubbing his hands together.

"Here we are in Hong Kong. How do you like it so far?"

"I can see what you meant when you described it," Marissa said.

"It's a bit overwhelming."

"How about a little refreshment before dinner?" Tristan suggested.

Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the phone and called room service. He ordered beer.

"None for me," Marissa called before Tristan had hung up.

She'd had enough beer in Australia to last her for some time.

"Change that to champagne," Tristan said into the phone.

"Two glasses."

Marissa was about to object, but Tristan had already hung up.

"I'm not in much of a festive mood," she said.

"Come on now, Marissa," Tristan said, stretching out on the bed. He tossed his hat like a saucer into an easy chair.

"You have to lighten up a touch. You should enjoy yourself as well. There's no harm in it."

With Wendy's horrid death still on her mind, Marissa hardly felt she should be expected to enjoy herself.

"I want to get down to business," she said.

"How are we going to contact the Wing Sin Triad? What's our first step?"

There was a soft knock on the door before Tristan could reply.

He leaped from the bed and threw the door wide open. A waiter with white gloves bowed and entered. He was carrying a tray with a champagne cooler and two long-stemmed glasses.

"Now this is service," Tristan said with admiration.

"That's the fastest response time I've ever seen." He pointed to the desk.

"Right here, mate, if you would."

The waiter silently put down the tray, then backed out of the room with a bow.

Tristan had the wire cage off in the blink of an eye, then popped the cork. To his delight it caromed off the ceiling. He filled the glasses and carried them over to Marissa, handing her one.

Reluctantly Marissa took the glass he offered her.

Tristan raised his glass up to eye level.

"To our Hong Kong sleuthing," he said.

Marissa clinked his glass with hers. They both drank.

"Now that's what I call bubbly," Tristan said. Then, turning to the window, he pointed out.

"You haven't said anything about the view. What do you think?"

"It's astonishingly beautiful," Marissa said, eyeing the mountains of Hong Kong Island. White villas dotted the dark green foliage. Below, at the water's edge and beginning to creep up the hills, were the modern high-rises, opulent testimony to Hong Kong's power as a major economic center.

"It's more beautiful than I thought it would be," Tristan said.

Marissa agreed. She hadn't imagined it would be so modern.

But then Tristan's comment sank in. Turning to him she asked, "Haven't you been here before?"

"First time," Tristan said, still enjoying the view.

"But the way you talked about it," Marissa said, "I was sure you'd been here."

"A lot of my friends have been here," Tristan said.

"But not me. I've heard a lot about the place and have always wanted to come. Just never had the chance."

Looking back over at Hong Kong Island, Marissa felt a twinge of disappointment. She had counted on Tristan's knowledge of Hong Kong to speed their inquiries.

"So anyway," Marissa said, "back to my question. What's our first step in contacting the Wing Sin Triad?"

"I don't know," Tristan said.

"Let's try to come up with some suggestions."

"Wait a minute," Marissa said, putting her glass down.

"You're telling me you don't have any plan for contacting this Wing Sin Triad?"

"Not yet," Tristan admitted.

"But it's a big organization. I don't think we will have any trouble making contact."

"Oh, give me a break!" Marissa said.

"This is a fine time to let me know you've never been here before and that you don't have any ideas about contacting these triad people. What are we going to do, go out on the street and start asking passersbyl" "We'll do what we have to," Tristan said.

Marissa stared at him in disbelief. She was beginning to wonder what kind of ally she'd come up with.

"But first things first," Tristan said.

"Let's go to dinner. I'll call downstairs and get a proper suggestion for an authentic Chinese restaurant from the concierge."

"You do that!" Marissa said.

She took a shower and changed her clothes. By the time she

K was ready, she'd recovered her composure to a great degree, but she was still irritated with him. She felt deceived. At the same time she was thankful he'd come and that she wasn't on her own.

For dinner the concierge sent them to a "typical" Chinese restaurant. It was a four-story affair with a colorful facade painted bright gold and crimson. There were myriad dining rooms within, each lit by extravagant crystal chandeliers. Like Hong Kong itself, the place was bustling.

Both Marissa and Tristan were a bit unsettled by the apparent confusion. People were everywhere. Large tables of noisy diners dominated each room. Everybody seemed to be shouting. The scene reminded Marissa more of a stadium event than a restaurant.

Despite the hour, crying babies could be heard in every direction. And over the tumult floated strident Chinese music coming from hidden speakers.

Eventually Marissa and Tristan found a table. They were handed large menus bound in gold and crimson. Unfortunately for them the menus were written in Chinese characters with no translation. They tried to hail a waiter, but were roundly ignored.

Finally one waiter approached. At first he pretended not to speak English. Then he seemed to change his mind. He spoke to them in English, but he was distracted and less than helpful in translating the menu. Despite these obstacles, Marissa and Tristan ordered dinner.

"Do you have any idea what we'll be getting?" Marissa yelled over the din after the waiter disappeared.

"I haven't the slightest," Tristan answered.

The noise in the restaurant precluded normal conversation.

Marissa and Tristan were content merely to observe.

In short order, their dinner arrived. It included a sizzling wok filled with unidentifiable wriggly vegetables. There was a basket of dumplings, something from the sea in a dark, salty sauce, several bowls of rice, and some haunches of greasy bird. There was also a pot of green tea.

Perhaps most surprising of all was that the food was delicious.

Even if in the end they weren't quite sure what it was, they heartily enjoyed it.

Leaving the boisterous restaurant, they stepped out into the street, whose traffic had scarcely lessened from rush hour time.

They were on the Kowloon side of Hong Kong in the Tsim Sha Tsui section. Rather than hail a cab, they decided to walk back to the hotel.

The city was ablaze with color and light. Huge neon signs stretched two stories high. Every shop was open, their windows filled with Panasonic radios, Sony Walkmans, cameras, VCRs, and TVs. Every third doorway was an entrance to an underground bar or nightclub. Music blared. Attractive, saucer-faced Chinese women in tight, Chinese-style dresses beckoned with coy smiles. In addition to the noise and visual panoply, Marissa was bombarded with an array of smells: a potent combination of food, cooking oil, incense, and diesel exhaust.

Despite a press of people, Marissa and Tristan were able to talk as they walked, provided they stayed close enough.

"I've got an idea about contacting the Wing Sin Triad," Tristan said as they waited for a traffic light.

"Wonderful," Marissa said.

"What is it?"

"The concierge!" Tristan said.

"Those blokes are supposed to know everything in the city. If he knows where to eat, he probably knows the triads." Tristan flashed a knowing smile.

Marissa rolled her eyes. As far as she was concerned, it wasn't a masterful suggestion.

"I have an idea, but not about contacting the triads," Marissa said.

"It might be helpful to visit one of the big hospitals in town.

We can find out if TB is currently a problem here in the colony.

We can even ask if they've seen any TB salpingitis."

"Good thinking," Tristan said.

Once they reached their hotel, Tristan insisted they go directly to the concierge's desk. While they waited to speak with him, Marissa began to have second thoughts about questioning the concierge about the triads- She thought it would be like going to New York and asking to get in touch with the Mafia. Excusing herself, she stopped by the front desk for their passports, then went across the lobby to wait in a sitting area.

"Can I help you?" the concierge asked Tristan in impeccable English.

"I think so, mate," Tristan said. He looked over his shoulder to make sure no one was listening, then he bent forward.

"I need some confidential information."

The Chinese man leaned away from Tristan, eyeing him uneasily. sai'd' I want to talk to somebody in the Wing Sin Triad," Tristan "I've never heard of it, sir," the concierge said.

"Come on now," Tristan said. He took twenty dollars from his pocket and put it on the desk.

"I've come a long way."

"Triads are illegal in Hong Kong," the concierge said. He pushed the money back to Tristan.

"I don't really care about their legal status," Tristan said.

"I just want to talk to somebody in the Wing Sin. I need some information. I'm willing to pay."

"I beg your pardon," the concierge said, "but I don't know anything about triads." He seemed nervous, even edgy.

Tristan studied the concierge's face for a moment, then nodded.

"Okay, but why don't I leave this twenty here in case you remember. We'll be here for a few days."

The concierge looked down at the twenty-dollar bill with disgust.

It was hardly enough to justify the risk. As far as tips and squeeze were concerned, the Australians were the worst. They truly were barbarians.

The concierge raised his eyes and watched the man cross the lobby and meet with a dark-haired Caucasian woman, then head up to the bar. As soon as they were out of sight, he reached down and picked up the receiver on one of his many telephones. He'd had a lot of strange requests since he'd worked at the Peninsula, but t1tis was one of the strangest.

Marissa swirled the ice cubes in her glass of mineral water and listened to Tristan reminisce about his childhood in a suburb of Melbourne. It sounded idyllic. He'd commuted each day to an English-style public school in the city via a green tram and a red train. He'd had a stamp collection and went to church on Sunday.

His father was a schoolteacher.

"It was a sheltered life," he admitted.

"But very pleasant. To this day, I have a definite nostalgia for its simplicity.

"Unfortunately my father died," Tristan said.

"He'd never been the picture of health. All the sudden he wilted and died.

Wasn't even sick that long. After that, we moved from Melbourne to Brisbane where my mother's family was involved in the restaurant business on the Gold Coast. That's how I happened to go to the University of Queensland."

Marissa was exhausted. The traveling was taking its toll. She enjoyed listening to Tristan, but was eager to turn in. She was also thinking about phoning Robert.

"Maybe we should call it a day," she said when there was a lull in the conversation.

"I think I'd better give my husband a ring to let him know I'm here."

Marissa had told Tristan about her childhood in Virginia and about her surgeon father and how she'd ended up in medical school. She'd also been careful to tell him about Robert, purposefully avoiding mention of their current marital problems.

"Yes, of course, call him!" Tristan said, standing up for Marissa.

"Why don't you go on up? I'll be along soon. I thought perhaps I might quiz some of the taxi drivers about the Wing Sin."

Marissa took the elevator to the sixth floor. She had her key in hand, but the moment the elevator door parted, the hall porter appeared from nowhere and opened her door for her. She tried to thank the man but he bowed and wouldn't even look her in the eye.

She called Robert as soon as she got in. She decided to make it a collect call, not sure how her finances would hold out.

"You just caught me on the way to the office," he told her after accepting the charges.

"Have you sold the stock?" Marissa asked. She thought of it as the call was going through.

"No, I haven't sold the stock," Robert admitted.

"When are you coming home? And where are you? I tried calling your hotel.

I was told you'd checked out."

"I'm not in Australia anymore," Marissa said.

"I'm calling to let you know I'm in Hong Kong."

"Hong Kong!" Robert yelled.

"What the hell are you doing in Hong Kong?"

"Just a little investigative work."

"Marissa, this is too much!" Robert fumed.

"I want you home.

Do you understand?"

"I'll take it under advisement," Marissa said, echoing Robert's reply to her request to sell his stock. Marissa hung up. There was no point trying to talk to him. He didn't even inquire about how she was feeling.

Marissa went to the window and gazed out at the scene. Even in the dark of night, Hong Kong boiled with activity. It could just as well have been the middle of the day. The lights of multitudinous vessels moved like fireflies over the surface of the water.

Across the harbor in Central on Hong Kong Island, the windows in the office high-rises were all ablaze, as if the businessmen could not dare to take an hour off. In Hong Kong the seductive ness of capitalism was complemented by the sheer power of human endeavor on a twenty-four-hour basis.

Just then Marissa heard a door close. She assumed it was Tristan. Within seconds there was a knock on the connecting door. Marissa told him to come in.

"Good news, luv," Tristan said excitedly.

"One of the Caucasian doormen gave me a tip. He said there is a place not far from here where the triads reign supreme."

"Where?" Marissa asked.

"In an area called the Walled City," Tristan said.

"It isn't really walled, but it was way back when. It was built as a fort in the twelfth century by the Sung dynasty. The Japanese occupying forces in World War II had the walls torn down to extend the runway at Kai Tac Airport. But the salient feature is that the British and the Chinese could never decide who had jurisdiction.

So this little area has existed over the years in a kind of political limbo. Yet it's right here on the outskirts of Kowloon."

"You sound like a tour operator," Marissa commented.

"Apparently it's rather infamous," Tristan said.

"The doorman said that if we wanted to contact the triads, he thought the Walled City would be a good place to start. What do you say about heading over there and giving it a go?"

"Now?" Marissa questioned.

"You're the one who's so eager," Tristan said.

Marissa nodded; it was true. It was also true that her unsatisfying phone conversation with Robert had filled her with nervous energy.

"Okay!" she said.

"Let's give it a try."

"Good show," Tristan said. He got his hat. Together they headed for the door.

The Chinese taxi driver wasn't enthusiastic about their intended destination.

"I don't think you want to go to the Walled City," he said. Marissa and Tristan were already in the backseat of his Toyota.

"It's not a place for tourists."

"But we're not going as tourists," Tristan said.

"The Walled City is a pocket of crime," the driver warned.

"The police don't go in there."

"We're not looking for the police," Tristan said.

"We're looking for the Wing Sin."

Reluctantly the driver put the car in gear.

"It's your heads," he said.

They pulled away from the hotel and turned up Nathan Road into the gaudy glow of Tsim Sha Tsui nightlife. Just like the harbor, the city was as busy as it had been during the day. Their cab inched through swarms of pedestrians, cars, and buses.

Above, garish neon fights lit the night sky. Across the road hung banners emblazoned with huge Chinese characters.

Feeling overwhelmed by the sights, Marissa turned inward into the taxi. With all the talk about triads, she asked Tristan what they were.

"They're secret societies," Tristan explained, "with all the usual secret oaths and rituals. The term triad comes from the relationship among heaven, earth, and man. They started hundreds of years ago as subversive political organizations, but soon found crime more rewarding. Especially the ones that either came to Hong Kong or were founded here. There are supposed to be about fifty gangs in Hong Kong alone, with thousands upon thousands of members."

"That's comforting," Marissa said with a short laugh.

"The Chinese have the dubious distinction of being the inventors of organized crime," Tristan continued.

"That's one of the reasons they're so good at it. Centuries of experience. These days the bigger triads have branches in Europe, the U.S." Canada, even Australia. Anywhere there is a Chinese community there are likely to be triad members."

"And maybe also TB salpingitis," Marissa added.

Tristan shrugged.

"Possibly. But Chinese crime is nothing new."

"I have to admit," Marissa said, "until I met you, I'd never heard of triads."

"I'm not surprised," Tristan said.

"Most people haven't. The Mafia gets all the attention and the triads like it that way. But the triads are worse than the Mafia. At least the Mafia has a family oriented morality, no matter how twisted it may be. Not so with the triads. The triads only concern themselves with money. Profit is the only ethic they know."

"I don't like the sound of all this," Marissa said uneasily.

"I warned you," Tristan said.

The taxi driver stopped on Tung Tau Tsen Road.

"Where's the Walled City?" Tristan questioned, leaning between the seats to see ahead.

"This is as far as I go," the driver said. He pointed through the windshield.

"See those tunnel openings across the street? That's how you get in. The Walled City is this mess here to our right. If you want my advice, don't go in. It's dangerous. Let me take you to a nice nightclub, real sexy."

Tristan opened the taxi door, got out, and held it for Marissa.

"Thanks for your advice, mate," he said.

"Unfortunately, we've got business with the Wing Sin."

As soon as the door closed, the taxi made a quick U-turn. The driver hit the gas and was off.

"Are you sure about this?" Marissa asked. The taxi driver's warning and Tristan's rundown on triads made her wonder how dangerous it was.

"Looks rather formidable, doesn't it?" Tristan said.

They were standing before a honeycomb of tenements, ten to eleven stories high. The buildings were jammed together and had fallen into utter disrepair. What more recent construction there was appeared to have been completely haphazard. Clothes were strung on lines that stretched from building to building. No roads led into this corner of town. There were only the dark tunnels the taxi driver had pointed out.

"Let's give it a go," Tristan said with a shrug.

"We can always leave."

Reluctantly Marissa followed Tristan along Tung Tau Tsen Road, heading for one of the tunnels. On one side loomed the dark mass of the concrete slum. On the other side, in sharp contrast, were brightly lit windows of a row of dentists' offices containing jars of pickled teeth, parts of jawbones, and sets of smiling dentures. Above the dental offices were more normal appearing apartment blocks with balconies, potted plants, and TV aerials.

There were plenty of people on the dental side of the road, with the usual sounds of blaring radios, TVs, and conversation. But the other side of the road was ominously quiet and dark, with only infrequent lights.

Leaving the area of normal life and activity, Marissa and Tristan approached one of the tunnels that led into the walled city.

Together they peered down the lonely corridor. The view was hardly inviting. The narrow, dark passage ran for about fifty feet before angling off to the side. The floor was loose dirt littered with broken pieces of concrete. The walls were covered with graffiti. The ceiling was a tangle of electric wires and cables with infrequent bare light bulbs. Water dripped into slick puddles in several spots.

Suddenly a horrid screaming noise occurred that made Mafissa involuntarily grab Tristan. Both leaped from fright as a 747 thundered overhead heading for a landing at Kai Tac, barely missing the tops of the buildings.

"I'd say we're a bit high-strung," Tristan remarked with a nervous laugh.

"Maybe we'd better skip this Walled City," Marissa suggested.

"I don't know," Tristan said.

"If we want to contact the Wing Sin, this place looks promising to me."

"It looks terrible to me," Marissa said.

"Come on," Tristan urged.

"As I said before, we'll leave if it doesn't work out."

"You first," Marissa said reluctantly.

Tristan stepped within the opening; Marissa followed close behind. They walked down the narrow passageway that soon began to smell like a sewer. Just after turning the first corner even Marissa had to bend to keep her head from touching the tangle of electric cables that ran along the ceiling. The farther they trekked, the more the sounds of the city died away.

After several more turns the passageway led to a confluence of tunnels heading in several directions. There were also darkened stairways that led both above and below ground level. Everywhere there was trash and debris.

Choosing at random, they walked down another passage.

Rounding a corner, they saw the first signs of life. In a series of ill-lit alcoves sweating men and women labored over antiquated sewing machines. They seemed to be making men's shirts. Marissa and Tristan nodded greetings but the people just stared at them as if they were ghosts.

"Anybody speak English?" Tristan asked brightly. If anyone did, they didn't volunteer.

"Thanks anyway," he said. He motioned for Marissa to move on.

They delved deeper into the maze. Marissa began to wonder if they would be able to find their way back. She wavered between disgust and fear. She had never been in a more revolting place in her life. Such standards of living were beyond her imagination.

Rounding another corner that smelled particularly rank, Manssa saw a pile of rotting garbage with a pack of feeding rats.

"Oh, God!" she cried. She hated rats.

The passageway opened up again with another series of narrow alcoves. In some, open-pit fires burned, adding to the oppressive smell and heat and transforming the place into a kind of medieval vision of hell. They passed a bakery where loaves of bread were stacked on its dirty floor. Next door was a snake vendor with some of his wares hung up by wire. Others were housed in wicker baskets.

"Are you looking for heroin?" someone asked.

Marissa and Tristan turned. A young Chinese boy of about twelve years of age was standing in the shadows behind them.

"Ah!" Tristan said.

"Just what we need. Someone who speaks English. We're not interested in drugs, mate. We're looking for someone in the Wing Sin Triad. Can you help?"

The boy shook his head.

"This is 14K territory," he said proudly.

"Is it now?" Tristan said.

"Now where would we be apt to find Wing Sin territory" The boy pointed to his left down a corridor as a number of fierce-looking teenage boys stepped out of doorways.

"Thanks, mate," Tristan said. He touched the brim of his hat.

Then he pulled Marissa away.

"I don't like this at all," Marissa said as they groped in a particularly dark passage, half bent over. She stepped in a puddle of water and wondered what kind of foul fluid it was.

"At least we're getting close," Tristan said.

"That boy was the first person to acknowledge he'd heard of the Wing Sin."

The corridor opened up again on a small, rubbish-strewn courtyard. A young girl was sitting on a stairway.

"Would you care for some honey" she asked timidly.

"Only two dollars."

"Honey!" Tristan repeated.

"That's an old term."

"What does it mean?" Marissa asked, staring at the girl. She was dressed in a ragged, Chinese-style dress with a high collar and a traditional slit.

"We Australians prefer to use the T' word," Tristan said.

Marissa was appalled.

"But she's only about ten!"

Tristan shrugged.

"The Chinese like their whores young."

Marissa couldn't take her eyes off the girl. The child stared back at her blankly. Marissa shuddered. Never had she realized just how sheltered she'd been, growing up in Virginia.

"Uh oh!" Tristan said.

"Looks like a welcoming party."

Marissa followed his gaze. A group of young toughs dressed in leather outfits decorated with stainless-steel chains was approaching.

Their ages ranged from about fifteen to twenty.

A particularly muscular member of the group held up his hand, effectively stopping the others.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded in fluent English.

"Don't you know that gweilos are not allowed in the Walled City?"

Tristan told him that they were trying to contact the Wing Sin Triad.

"What for?" the young man asked.

"Are you after drugs or sex?"

"Neither," Tristan said.

"We're looking for information.

We're willing to pay."

"Let's see your money," the man said.

Tristan wasn't sure what to do. He would have liked to defuse the situation, but he didn't know how. He scanned the intent faces watching him. No one made a move, but Tristan knew they were prepared to. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and drew out his wallet. Taking a few bills out, he held them up.

"One of them has a knife!" Marissa whispered, spotting a glint of steel.

"Run!" commanded Tristan, tossing the money into the air and giving Marissa a push back the way they'd come. Needing no more encouragement than that, Marissa turned and fled down the dark passageway. She stumbled over debris and bumped into a wall. Behind her she heard Tristan following. She soon reached the confluence of passageways they had passed moments before.

She couldn't remember which way they'd come from. Tristan collided with her, then grabbed her hand. Together they ran down the widest corridor.

Behind them echoed unintelligible shouts from the youths who'd confronted them. Having seized the money, they were now in hot pursuit.

Marissa and Tristan realized they were lost. They arrived at a courtyard they had not yet seen. A small, shuttered house stood at its center. Above was the first patch of sky they'd seen since they'd entered the Walled City.

Skirting the house, they entered another tunnel. From the shouts and catcalls they could tell that the thugs were gaining on them. The Chinese youths had an unfair advantage: they knew the place.

Rounding a corner, Marissa and Tristan came across another spate of alcoves. One of the rooms was a restaurant with a large cauldron of boiling crab-claw soup. A half dozen simple wooden tabIcs surrounded the pot. A few old men were playing MahJongg at one of them.

Skidding to a stop, Tristan pulled Marissa into the tiny restaurant. Several of the tables overturned. Mah-Jongg tiles scattered on the rough wooden floor.

The pursuers were on them in a flash, as out of breath as Marissa and Tristan. Several were brandishing knives. Their faces were tight with determination.

Pushing Marissa into a corner behind him, Tristan assumed a kung fu stance, expecting one of the young Chinese to make a lunge at him. instead everyone froze again, including the elderly patrons, who'd moved against a far wall, as far from the frenzy as possible.

The Chinese youths seemed to respect, perhaps even fear, Tristan's threatening posture. The muscled fellow stepped forward.

Tristan eyed him warily.

"You're not being very friendly," he said, trying to make light of the situation.

"If you tell us how, we'll be happy to leave. Just say the word."

"For a little squeeze we'll show you out," the youth said.

"Squeeze?" Tristan questioned.

"Money," the youth said.

"The rest of your money. And your watches as well."

"Then you will let us go?" Tristan asked.

"You'll show us out of here?"

"Yes," the Chinese youth said.

"We will accept that your debt has been paid."

The youths with the knives lowered their weapons slightly, as if to display their sincerity.

Tristan reached for his wallet again. Pulling it out, he withdrew what money he had in it and put it on the nearest table. He then pulled off his watch and put that on top of the bills.

"And the woman's," the muscular man said.

"That's not very chivalrous," Tristan said.

The man sneered.

"On the table," he said.

"Sorry, luv," Tristan said. He stuck out his hand. Marissa slipped off the watch that Robert had given her and handed it to Tristan. He added it to the small pile on the table.

"There you go, mate," Tristan said.

"Now let's have you live up to your side of the bargain."

The man came forward and picked up the money and the watches. He hastily divided the money among the others. The watches he pocketed.

"As long as we're now on good terms," Tristan said, "what about the Wing Sin? Are you fellows part of that illustrious organization?"

"No," the leader growled, "We're the Wo Sing Wo. The Wing Sin are pigs." He spat on the ground.

"Any idea where these pigs could be located?" Tristan asked.

The man turned to confer with one of his companions. At length he said: "Tse Mau will show you out of the Walled City.

Don't come back." One of the toughs stepped forward, glaring menacingly at Tristan.

"After this type of welcome," Tristan said, "I can assure you that we will not be back."

The Chinese youths parted, allowing Tristan and Marissa to pass. Tristan reached behind for Marissa's hand and led the way.

"Ah!" Marissa yelled when one of the youths reached out and squeezed one of her breasts. Tristan whirled, but Marissa pushed him forward.

They walked quickly through the maze, the young Chinese staying five or six paces ahead. They didn't talk. After taking a half dozen turns, Marissa began to fear that they were not being led out, but only farther within. But after another turn the passageway suddenly opened out into the cool night air. Across the street the well-lit dentist's office appeared like a beacon. Even the strident Chinese music coming from the radios sounded better to Marissa now that they were out.

Tse started back into the corridor, but Tristan called him by name. The man turned.

"Do you speak English?" Tristan asked.

"Yes," he said haughtily. Marissa estimated that he was about twenty; he seemed to be one of the older members of the group.

"That makes things easier," Tristan said.

"I wanted to ask a favor. You see, we're low on cash at the moment. I know you were given some money back in that rat hole. Could you spot us a bit to get back to the hotel?"

Tse responded by pulling out his knife. It was about eight inches long, with an upward curve at the tip like a miniature scimitar.

Marissa winced. She couldn't believe that Tristan had risked the youth's wrath with such a request.

But Tristan's move was calculated. He'd hoped the thug would brandish the knife again under these different circumstances. As soon as the knife appeared, Tristan struck with lightning speed.

In an instant, the knife clattered to the ground. With a yell,

Tristan treated Tse to a series of punches, followed by a spinning kick that knocked him down.

Tse cowered against the wall as Tristan kicked the knife into a street sewer. Then he went over to the Chinese youth and yanked him to his feet by the front of his leather vest.

"Now about that money you were so kindly offering… Tse hastily withdrew the bills he had in his pocket and handed them over. Tristan checked the man's wrist.

"Too bad," he said.

"No watch."

"Tristan!" Marissa called.

"Let's get out of here!"

"Ta," Tristan said to Tse, then he calmly followed Marissa.

"Did you have to do that?" Marissa demanded angrily when Tristan caught up with her.

"Was that stunt some kind of masculine ego trip? We'd just gotten out of one mess and you were trying to get us into another."

"That's not the way I see it." Tristan said.

"Besides, we needed cab fare.

"Hold it!" Tristan said, stopping abruptly.

"What now?" Marissa cried.

"We have to go back," Tristan said.

"I lost my favorite hat."

Marissa yanked her arm from Tristan's grasp and strode off.

She didn't find his antics the least bit entertaining. She was beginning to tremble. The confrontation in the Walled City had unnerved her, and the initial shock was wearing off. It had been a mistake to go in there. She was angry at Tristan for having jeopardized them in the first place; she was even angrier with him for taking the risk of the final confrontation with Tse.

Tristan again caught up with Marissa and fell in step without another word. Only a block away from the dark entrance to the Walled City, the normal hectic confusion of Kowloon began.

They easily found a cab that carried them back toward the Peninsula

Hotel.

During the ride, Marissa brooded. She began to realize that she would have to come up with some idea of how to contact the Wing Sin Triad if that's what they hoped to do. If the venture to the Walled City was the best thing Tristan could come up with, she'd better not rely on him.

Some years back she'd read a thriller where the hero needed information in a strange town. He got it by hiring a limousine.

The idea was that a good limo driver knew his city inside and out, the legitimate side and the illegitimate.

Turning to Tristan she said, "I've got an idea."

"Wonderful," Tristan said. "let's hear it."

Robert paced his study, swearing under his breath, occasionally punctuating his string of curses by stopping to pound a fist on his desk. Marissa had indeed caught him as he was about to leave for work. But the call had so irritated and disturbed him, he'd put down his briefcase to fume until he got some composure back.

"What the hell is she doing in Hong Kongr' he said aloud.

She's carrying this nonsense to ridiculous extremes, chasing around the world on a whim."

Robert at down in front of his computer. He wondered if he 'should call their doctor. What if Marissa was having a nervous breakdown? Shouldn't he intercede?

Robert sprang out of his chair and began pacing again. He just couldn't stay still. What should he do? Up until that moment, he'd thought the best thing was to let Marissa wear herself out with this wild-goose chase. Australia was one thing, but Hong Kong!

"Why did I ever marry?" Robert asked himself, reverting back to a verbal dialogue with himself.

"Oh, for those good old bachelor days when my worst worries were getting my shirts from the laundry." He stopped his pacing.

"Hell," he snapped.

"I still have to get my shirts from the laundry." He tried to think of what marriage had brought him, and at that moment he couldn't think of anything.

"What am I going to do?" he wondered.

"What should I do?

What can I do?" he said aloud. Deep down, more than anything, Robert simply wanted his wife back. If she wouldn't come willingly, maybe it was time to go get her.

Robert stopped his pacing and stared out the window. He had another thought. What if she wasn't in Hong Kong? What if she'd been lying or was being sarcastic? Then he remembered the call had been collect. Sitting down in his desk chair, Robert dialed the phone company. After a minor hassle, he got the calling number. It was a Hong Kong number. He dialed it, hoping to find out the name of the hotel or wherever it was she was staying. When the phone was picked up he had his answer: the Peninsula Hotel, the same hotel that he'd stayed in the two times he'd been to Hong Kong on business.

Robert disconnected but kept the receiver in his hand. One thing was clear: he could not sit idly by forever and allow Marissa to chase around the world as she pleased. He had to put his foot down and stop this craziness, esptxially thinking how much it was undoubtedly costing.

On an impulse Robert called the airlines to find out about direct service from Boston to Hong Kong.

When he was finished with the airlines he called his office and had his call put through to Donna.

"Donna, I might not come in today," Robert said.

"All right," Donna said.

"Anything special you want me to do?"

"Just be sure to get those letters out that I dictated last night," Robert said.

"And one other thing. I don't think I'll be able to make dinner tonight after all."

"Now that's too bad. Why not?"

Willy Tong knocked on the door of the two-story house on the corner of Eucalyptus and Jacaranda streets in Charleville. A dog barked inside the house, but Willy wasn't worried. He could tell it was one of those little lap dogs probably a Yorkie. From inside, someone flipped on a porch light. It was one of those big bowl fixtures like an opaque goldfish bowl. Finally the hardware clicked and the door swung inward.

Instinctively Willy positioned himself for the worst-case possibilities.

But the man he was facing was hardly a threat. He was built like a broomstick, with thick glasses.

"Are you Dr. Marlowe?" Willy asked.

"Righto," Dr. Marlowe said.

"The Royal Flying Doctor Service gave me your name," Willy said.

"I called to talk with Dr. Williams, but they said he was on holiday and you were available for his patients."

"I am indeed," Dr. Marlowe said.

"Is there some kind of problem?"

"It's my wife," Willy said.

"When will Dr. Williams be back?"

"In about a week," Dr. Marlowe said.

"He left this morning.

His departure was unexpected so I'm afraid he was unable to inform his patients. What's the problem with your wife?"

"She's been ill for years," Willy said.

"It took me a long time to convince her to allow Dr. Williams to attend her. I know she won't see anyone else. She's not sure about Western medicine."

"I understand completely," Dr. Marlowe said.

"If it's not an emergency, you can wait for Dr. Williams to return."

"Perhaps a phone call would do," Willy said.

"Maybe if he just adjusted her medications. Would it be possible to ring him?"

"If you don't mind ringing Hong Kong," Dr. Marlowe said.

"He left word that he could be reached at the Peninsula Hotel. If you'll wait a moment, I have the phone number." Dr. Marlowe ducked back inside his house.

Willy glanced through the screen door. A small, dark-brow nand tan long-haired dog snarled at him. He tried to think of a way to find out about the woman, but nothing came to mind.

"Here you go," Dr. Marlowe said, coming back to the door and handing out a slip of paper.

"Good luck. If you need me, just ring."

Willy stalled for a moment, hoping to think of something. But his mind couldn't come up with anything that didn't sound suspicious.

Instead, he merely thanked the doctor and walked back to his rented car.

Once in the car, Willy sped back to the — Charleville airport.

While he waited for his charter flight to be fueled, he called Charles Lester.

"I found out something interesting," Willy said as soon as Lester had picked up the phone.

"Tristan Williams left suddenly for Hong Kong this morning."

"That doesn't sound good at all," Lester growled.

"Was the Blumenthal woman with him?"

"I don't know," Willy said.

"If I stayed here I might be able to find out."

"I want you in Hong Kong immediately," Lester said.

"For the moment we'll assume she's with him. Fly through Sydney; there are more connections. Ned is checking with emigration about the woman; by tomorrow we'll probably know for sure.

Any idea where he's staying in Hong Kone."

"The Peninsula Hotel," Willy said.

Good show," Lester said.

"If she's there, kill her. And while you're at it, kill Williams too. With him out of the country his death will cause fewer questions."

"You want it to appear like an accident?" Willy asked. Such an assignment would be difficult.

"Whatever," Lester said.

"Just get the job done. The Wing Sin will supply you with a weapon. And even if the woman's not around, kill Williams anyway. He's been a thorn in our sides ever since he wrote that damned paper."

Willy rang off, pleased with his assignment. Knowing Hong Kong as well as he did, it would be an easy one.

Walking over to the charter desk, Willy leaned over.

"There's been a change," he said to the agent.

"I'm going to Sydney, not Brisbane."