Vital Signs

16

A faint knock on her door roused Marissa. She decided to ignore it. She rolled over and stuck her head under the pillow.

Despite the pillow, she heard a second knock.

Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked who was at the door. She heard a muffled voice. Throwing back the covers, she slipped into a hotel bathrobe and went to the door. She repeated her question.

"Room service," a voice said.

"I didn't order room service," Marissa said.

"Room 604," the voice said through the door.

"Breakfast for eight o'clock."

Marissa unlocked the door and opened it. She barely had it open before the person waiting barreled in.

"Surprise!" Tristan said, jumping ahead of the room service cart. He handed Marissa a bouquet of flowers.

"You didn't order breakfast, but I did. Breakfast for two." Tristan directed the porter to set up the table by the window overlooking the harbor.

Marissa shook her head. She never knew whether to be pleased or irritated by Tristan's pranks.

"I've been out and about since sunrise," Tristan said.

"It's a glorious day." He came back and snatched the flowers from Marissa's hand. She hadn't moved from the door. Returning to the table, he stuck the blossoms into a vase he had ready for them.

"What are you standing around for?" Tristan asked, seeing that Marissa had not budged.

"We've got a busy day. Get a move on!"

Marissa headed for the bathroom. As she closed the door behind her she saw the porter back out of the door to the hall.

Marissa looked at herself in the mirror over the sink. What she saw frightened her. Her skin was sallow. There were dark circles under her eyes. Her hair hung down limply with none of its usual luster. Then she glanced in the full-length mirror behind the door.

That made her feel a bit better; at least she was losing some of the weight she'd gained on the hormones.

"I'll be anxiously waiting in my room," Tristan called through the door.

"Give a yell when you're ready for the tucker," Marissa smiled in spite of herself. Tristan's playful behavior, his good humor, and his Australian dialect were a balm for her troubled soul. Moment to moment she couldn't anticipate which bad thoughts would plague her: Wendy's violent death, her deteriorating relationship with Robert, her life that was generally in ruins, or her inability to conceive.

Marissa's smile faded as she thought about her life. There didn't seem to be much more that could go wrong. On top of everything else she still didn't feel physically or mentally normal, even though she'd been off the hormones for a week. She wondered when her old equilibrium would return.

A shower, some makeup, and clean clothes helped improve Marissa's spirits. When she was ready, she rapped on the connecting door. Tristan instantly appeared. They breakfasted in front of the window with a view of Hong Kong Island in the distance. As they ate, the green mountains slowly emerged from their enveloping morning mist.

"I already ordered a limo as you suggested," Tristan said as they sat back to enjoy their coffee.

"I told the concierge we wanted an experienced driver. He said that all their drivers were experienced."

"What's our schedule?" Marissa asked.

"First we should go to the bank where I wired the money," Tristan said.

"After the experience last night, I have a feeling that we'll be needing a lot of squeeze. Then I thought we'd follow through with your other suggestions and visit one of the hospitals.

We can ask about Wing Sin there, as well as TB. If we still don't have any leads for the, triad, we'll ask the limo driver. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me," Marissa answered.

When they got downstairs and walked outside the hotel, they found that the limo was already waiting. It was a black Mercedes sedan. The driver introduced himself as Freddie Lam.

"To the Hong Kong National Bank, Freddie," Tristan said as he settled comfortably in the back of the Mercedes.

It took almost half an hour to cover the quarter-mile of congested city traffic to the bank.

"We could have walked here quicker," Marissa commented.

The bank was an impressive marbled affair, and was extremely efficient. The impeccably dressed banking officer's expression did not alter when Tristan made his withdrawal.

"That seems like a lot of money," Marissa said as they climbed back into their limo.

"A lot of squeeze," Tristan corrected. Then, leaning over the seat, he told Freddie to take them to the New World shopping center.

"Don't you think we should go directly to the hospital?" Marissa said. She couldn't believe Tristan had any interest in shopping "Patience, luv!" Tristan said.

In a vast hall of waterfalls, escalators, and shops of every kind, Tristan pushed Marissa into one of the jewelry stores. There he insisted she pick out a watch to replace the one she'd lost the night before.

"Come on, Marissa," Tristan said when she tried to object.

"I feel flush today." He patted the side pocket of his trousers, where he'd stuck the money from the bank.

"Besides, I feel responsible for last night."

Eventually they both bought watches. Tristan paid cash after bargaining the price considerably lower. Proudly they wore their new watches out of the shop.

Climbing back into the car, Tristan again leaned over the seat.

"Back to the hotel, Freddie," he said.

Freddie smiled and touched the shiny black brim of his cap.

"That reminds me," Tristan said as he settled back.

"I have to replace that Aussie hat of mine. Too bad, it was just getting broken in."

"That hat looked as if you'd run over it several times with your plane," Marissa said.

"I did," Tristan replied.

"That's what it takes."

At the hotel they waited in line at the cashier's desk. When it was their turn, Tristan filled out a card for a safe deposit box.

They both signed it. Then Tristan deposited most of the cash he'd withdrawn from the bank.

With that accomplished, they went out to the limo and climbed back inside. Tristan leaned forward.

"Freddie, what's the biggest hospital here in Kowloon?" he asked.

"Queen Elizabeth Hospital," Freddie said.

"Then that's where we want to go," Tristan said.

As their limo lurched forward, the concierge stepped out of the hotel accompanied by three young Chinese men dressed in dark blue suits. The concierge pointed at the departing sedan as it made a left on Salisbury Road.

"That's their car," he said in Cantonese.

"Did you get a look at them?"

The three Chinese nodded.

"You've done well, Pui-Ying," one of the men said.

"The Wing Sin remembers its friends."

The three men climbed into their own waiting black Mercedes, instructing the driver to follow the sedan.

The man behind the Mercedes' wheel was an aggressive driver.

He was accustomed to Hong Kong traffic. Pedestrians gave way instantly upon seeing the license plate. It was 426. Without much difficulty, the sedan slipped in behind Marissa and Tristan as they proceeded north on Nathan Road.

"How should we do this?" one of the men asked.

"We won't know until we see where they are going," another said.

"It shouldn't be difficult."

The man who was riding in the front seat with the driver took a snub-nosed .38 caliber pistol from his shoulder holster. Holding the gun on his lap, he snapped out the cylinder to check a the chambers. Satisfied, he returned it to the holster.

They followed in silence as the sedan turned right on Jordan Road and merged into Cascoigne. They were surprised when the next turn put them on Princess and were even more surprised when the car they were following turned into the grounds of Queen Elizabeth Hospital.

"Maybe one of them is sick," one of the men said.

"We'd better be more careful here," another said.

"Occasionally there are police."

The driver slowed as Marissa and Tristan's car did. When Marissa and Tristan pulled to the side of the road and parked directly in front of the hospital's main entrance, the driver pulled up directly behind.

The men watched as Marissa and Tristan got out and walked into the hospital. They glanced around for any police. Seeing none, they got out of their car. Standing in the sunlight, they searched again for signs of the police, but there were none to be found.

"I suggest we use their car," one of the men said.

The others nodded. All three fit cigarettes, then walked ahead.

Freddie had rolled his window down and had picked up the morning's South China Morning Post. He loved the gossip columns.

As he was reading he suddenly felt a cold piece of metal pressed against the base of his skull, just behind his right ear.

Afraid to move quickly, he turned only his eyes to the right. He had an idea what had been pressed to his head. He saw that he was right: it was a gun.

Looking up, Freddie found himself looking into the face of a youthful Chinese man with a cigarette clenched between his teeth. Behind him were two others.

"Please get out of the car," the man with the gun said.

"Slowly and quietly. No one will be hurt."

Freddie swallowed with difficulty. He knew that these men were triad foot soldiers. Knowing how easily this type of man killed, Freddie was terrified. At first he couldn't move, but a nudge with the barrel of the gun helped. Slowly, he climbed from the car.

"Please walk back to the other car," the man with the gun told him. Freddie walked. When he reached the other car, the man told him to get inside. Freddie did as he was told. The man with the gun got in beside him. Ahead, Freddie saw the other two get into his sedan.

Arriving at Kai Tac Airport always filled Willy with happiness.

Although he felt himself to be Australian to the core, having been born in Sydney, his father and mother had come from Hong Kong. Willy had always had a great affinity for the colony.

Besides, he still had family there.

The first thing he did was rent a car. Although parking in Hong Kong was a nightmare, he wasn't concerned. The car was to serve as a base of operations and could be abandoned at any time. To rent it he used false documents. He had brought several sets.

His first destination was a restaurant in the Mong Kok section of Kowloon, one of the most densely populated areas of the world. The restaurant was located on Canton Street, which was narrow and grossly congested. But with an appropriate amount of squeeze to the local policeman, he left the car between two canvas-covered stalls filled with pots, pans, and dishes.

The restaurant was nearly deserted at that time of the morning.

Willy went directly into the kitchen, where sweating cooks were preparing the food for lunch. The floor was covered with an inch layer of grease and packed debris.

Beyond the kitchen were several rooms that served as offices.

In the first an elderly woman dressed in a black high-collared silk dress was sitting at a desk. Before her was an abacus. The wooden balls clicked as she went over some figures.

Willy bowed with respect, then told the woman who he was.

She didn't speak. She opened one of the desk drawers and extracted a package of brown paper tied with string. She handed it to Willy, who bowed again.

Back in his car, Willy pulled off the cord and peeled back the paper. The gun was a Heckler and Koch 9-millimeter. It was brand new. He hefted the weapon. It fit nicely in his hand.

Pulling out the magazine, Willy made sure it was loaded. He saw that there was a handful of additional shells in the brown paper. These Willy put into his trouser pocket, although he knew he wouldn't be needing them. In fact, he'd feel just as confident with just two bullets. The magazine held eight.

Sliding the gun into his inside breast pocket, Willy glanced at himself in the rearview mirror. The gun was bulky. He buttoned the jacket. He was wearing his best suit, knowing that he'd have to go into the Peninsula Hotel. He checked the mirror again.

With the button done, it looked much better.

After starting the car, Willy drove to Nathan Road and headed south. As he approached the Peninsula Hotel, he began to feet a tingle of anticipation. Of all the various things he did for Female Care Australia, this was the kind of action he liked the best.

Originally he'd been hired only because he spoke fluent Cantonese.

But gradually he'd been given other responsibilities, and he'd proven himself over the years. In the "security" department, he was second only to Ned Kelly.

Pulling up directly in front of the hotel, Willy parked in an empty slot despite a sign forbidding it. He got out of the car and approached the doorman. He palmed two hundred dollars in Hong Kong currency and gave it to the man.

"I trust my car will be all right where it is?" he asked in Cantonese.

The doorman bowed, slipping the money into his pocket.

Willy entered the hotel with a sense of pride. He was living testament to the Hong Kong ethic of diligent individual effort yielding success. As a child growing up dirt poor in Sydney, he had never imagined that one day he would be walking into a world class hotel and would feel comfortable doing so.

At a bank of house phones, Willy asked the operator to put him through to Marissa Blumenthal. He waited, hoping that she was indeed a guest. Without much ado, he was put through to her room. At first he planned on hanging up immediately, but he hated to forgo the thrill of speaking with his mark. But no one picked up.

Willy dialed the operator again, this time asking for Tristan Williams. There was no answer in his room either. Willy guessed they were out together. That was a good sign. He needed them together. His plan was simple. He would walk up and shoot each of them once in the head. Preferably, he would make his move in a crowded area. Then he would simply drop the gun, leave, and melt into the crowd. He'd done it plenty of times before. In Hong Kong, it was easy. In Australia, it was a lot more difficult.

Leaving the phones, Willy went to the newsstand and bought himself a copy of the Hong Kong Standard. With newspaper in hand, he walked into the main part of the lobby and took a seat where he could keep an eye on both the front door and the front desk. What he planned to do was wait for his quarry to come to him.

"Medicine in Hong Kong is an interesting mix," Dr. Myron Pao said.

"I was trained in London, so obviously I favor Western-style medicine. But I don't ignore the traditional medicine either. Herbalists and acupuncturists have their places."

Marissa and Tristan had found an internist who was on the staff of the hospital and who was happy to show them around.

Accustomed to private hospitals in Boston, Marissa was amazed by the conditions in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital but impressed by the productivity. The number of patients seen in the clinics and treated on the wards was astonishing. Dr. Pao explained that Chinese families handled much of the inpatients' personal care themselves.

"What about tuberculosis?" Marissa asked.

"Is that much of a problem here in Hong Kong?"

"Everything is relative," Dr. Pao said.

"We see an average of about eight thousand new cases of TB each year. But that's with a population of about five and a half million. Considering the crowded living conditions, I don't think that is alarming. I'm sure that one of the reasons we don't see more is because we vaccinate children with BCG. Contrary to your experience in North America, we find BCG quite effective."

"Has there been much of an increase in the incidence of TB over recent years?" Marissa asked.

"There was when boat people from Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos first arrived," Dr. Pao said.

"But currently that is being contained in the Lantau Island compounds."

"What about TB salpingitis?" Marissa asked.

"I haven't seen anything like that," Dr. Pao said.

"None?" Marissa asked. She wanted to be sure.

"Not that I know of," Dr. Pao said.

"What about in the People's Republic of China?" Marissa asked.

"Do you know what their experience is with TB?"

"They have a bit more than here," Dr. Pao said.

"Respiratory problems in general have a high incidence in the PRC. But they also use BCG extensively with equal success."

"So there's no big problem?" Marissa asked.

"No recent upswing, anything like that?"

"Not that I know of," Dr. Pao said.

"And I'd have heard. We have a significant amount of communication with the PRC on medical matters, particularly with Guangzhou."

Marissa was at a loss.

"Do you know anything about the Wing Sin Triad?" Tristan asked.

"That's a dangerous question in Hong Kong," Dr. Pao said.

"I know they exist, but that's about all."

"Would you know how to contact them?" Tristan asked.

"Definitely not," Dr. Pao said.

"One other question," Marissa said. She was beginning to feel they were taking too much of the doctor's time.

"Can you think of any reason for mainland Chinese to go to Australia to learn in-vitro fertilization techniques or, on the other hand, if they could at all contribute to in-vitro?"

Dr. Pao thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"I certainly can't," he said.

"The problem the Chinese medical authorities face is how to prevent conception, not promote it."

"That was my feeling as well," Marissa said.

"Thanks for your time."

Together, Marissa and Tristan walked out of the bustling hospital.

Marissa shook her head dejectedly.

"That was a waste of everybody's time, especially Dr. Pao's. Did you see the fist of patients he's scheduled to see today?"

Tristan held one of the main entrance doors open for her to pass.

"Sometimes negative results are as important as positive ones," he said, taking her arm.

"Don't be so hard on yourself.

Coming here was a good idea."

"What are we going to do now?" Marissa asked as they walked toward their limo. From the hospital grounds they could hear the dull roar of the city as it throbbed in the background.

"We'll ask Freddie," Tristan said. He looked at her dark brown eyes and smiled.

"Then we'll know if that thriller you read in the past had the real lowdown."

When they arrived at the car, their driver jumped out of the driver's seat and opened the rear door. Marissa had one foot inside the car when Tristan pulled her back. He had realized the driver wasn't Freddie anymore. At almost the same time Marissa spotted a second Chinese stranger sitting in the backseat.

"Where is our other driver?" Tristan asked. The man holding the door was younger, lighter, and wearing a dark blue business suit, not a chauffeur's uniform.

"Please, but the other driver had another engagement," he said.

"Isn't that a bit irregular?" Tristan asked.

"Not at all," the man said.

"It happens frequently when customers request particular drivers."

"There's a man in the car," Marissa said.

Tristan bent over to look.

"Please get in the car," the man holding the door said.

"Tristan!" Marissa exclaimed with a gasp.

"He has a gun."

Tristan straightened up. Glancing down, he saw a snub-nosed revolver in the man's hand. The man held it close to his side, pointing it at Tristan's belly.

"What is this, mate, some sort of joke?" Tristan asked, slightly shifting his feet.

"Please get in…" the man repeated. But he was cut short by Tristan's blow first to the side of his neck, then to his wrist. With the second blow, the man's gun clanked against the pavement. A spinning kick to the man's chest hurled him against the car, slamming the door in the process.

Tristan grabbed Marissa's hand and yanked her through low bushes that bordered a small patch of grass. On the other side of the grass was the street with its usual complement of traffic and pedestrians. Hazarding a look back, Tristan saw that another man had joined the two that had been in their limo, and now all three were coming after them.

Tristan had hoped that as soon as they got to a city street, they could merely melt into the crowd. But unfortunately this wasn't the case. They hadn't gotten enough of a head start. The men could still see them. All they could do was keep running.

They ran west into the Yaw Ma Tei section of Kowloon, desperately looking for one of the policemen they'd seen on motorbikes when they had been driving earlier. They would have settled for a traffic cop, but none were to be found.

The crowds of Chinese pedestrians parted as they ran. They seemed curious but not willing to become involved.

Tristan and Marissa came to a wide thoroughfare totally jammed with double-decker buses and stalled traffic. Even the bicycles had been forced to a standstill, making crossing the road difficult. Reaching the other side, they could see that the width of the road was all that separated them from their pursuers.

Once they were in the heart of the Yaw Ma Tei district, the congestion got worse still. Without meaning to, Marissa and Tristan turned into a market street with hundreds of canopied stalls loaded with herbs, clothes, fish, kitchenware, fruits, sweets, and other foods. In their haste, they collided with shoppers and even some of the vendors.

Despite her fear, Marissa began to falter. The hormones and her added weight made running a strain. Unintentionally she began to pull against Tristan's hand.

"Come on!" he urged when he realized she was falling behind.

"I can't!" she cried through gasps.

Tristan knew she wouldn't be able to keep up with him much longer. What they needed was a place to hide. Tristan veered between several stalls, frantically searching. There seemed no place to go. The space between the line of stalls and apartment blocks was filled with discarded produce rotting in the sun. Cats foraged in the gutter for whatever they could find. There were no open doorways. Everything was shut tight. Even the windows on the ground floor were tightly shuttered. Then Tristan noticed a small side street about half a block away.

"Come on," he urged.

"Just a little further."

Reaching the street, they turned into it. It was so narrow only one car could drive down it at a time. They passed an open-air shop with a row of skinned ducks hanging by their necks. Next door to that was a shop that sold edible insects and then another that sold snakes.

Separated from the general din of the market street with its clamor of car horns, jackhammers, and spirited bargaining, the side street was comparatively quiet. The main sounds came from hidden radios and from the click of Mah-Jongg tiles. Elderly Chinese were busy playing the game on wooden tables. As Marissa and Tristan dashed by, the elders gave them a cursory glance before going back to their gambling.

"Who are these people chasing us?" Marissa managed between labored breaths.

"What's going on? Why are they after us?"

"I have no clue," Tristan said, equally as winded.

"But I'm quickly learning to dislike Hong Kong. Swimming in croc-infested rivers in the Northern Territories is healthier, I'm convinced.

I've always had a dislike for guns." Nervously, Tristan glanced over his shoulder. He was relieved to see no one was following them down the narrow street.

"I've got to sit down for a moment," Marissa said. With all her infertility treatments and little or no exercise, she wasn't in shape for this kind of exertion. Just ahead there was a tea shop with gleaming pots hanging above a beaded doorway. She pointed.

"How about something to drink?"

After another look behind them, Tristan reluctantly agreed.

The tea shop occupied a windowless room that looked more like a storeroom than a public space. The tables were worn, unfinished wood. A handful of customers were seated at several.

In the usual Chinese tradition, they spoke at a level just below a shout. Combining the loud conversation with the de rigueur Chinese music blaring from a tiny Panasonic, the atmosphere was hardly restful. Even so, Marissa was pleased to sit down. Her legs ached and she had a pain in her side.

The proprietor eyed them suspiciously. He walked over to them and addressed them in guttural Chinese.

"Sorry, mate," Tristan said.

"Don't speak Chinese. How about a cup pa tea. Any kind. You choose."

The man looked at Tristan without comprehension. Tristan mimed tea drinking, then pointed to the other customers. Apparently understanding, the man disappeared through a back doorway covered with strings of beads matching those that hung in the entrance from the street.

"Convenient there were no police around," Marissa said sarcastically, her chest still heaving.

"We've been in Hong Kong for less than twenty-four hours and we've had to run for our lives twice. Neither time have we seen a single policeman."

"I warned you that this trip wouldn't be a proper holiday, Tristan said.

"Should we go to the police now?" Marissa asked.

"I don't know what we'd tell them," Tristan said.

"Besides, they certainly wouldn't be apt to help us find the Wing Sin."

"Maybe we're in over our heads," Marissa said.

"That's obvious." Tristan turned around and looked for the proprietor.

"Where in blazes is our tea?"

Marissa wasn't concerned. She didn't care about the tea particularly.

Tristan stood up.

"Hong Kong is a place of extremes," he said.

"Orders come instantly or take forever." He walked toward the curtain the proprietor had disappeared through. Parting the beads he looked within. Then he returned to the table and sat down.

"There's a bevy of scraggly old guys in there smoking pipes," he said.

"I think we've stumbled onto one of the old-fashioned opium dens the authorities tolerate for the sake of a handful of aged addicts. Opium is one of the grimiest and most despicable legacies of British colonial history, yet it provided the basis for the founding of Hong Kong."

"Should we go?" Marissa asked. At the moment she wasn't interested in history.

"Whenever you're ready."

"How are we going to get out of here?" Marissa asked.

"We'll skirt around through these back streets," Tristan said.

"When we get to that large thoroughfare we ran across, we'll snag a taxi."

"Let's do it," Marissa said.

"The sooner I get back to the hotel the better I'll feel."

Tristan pulled the table back for Marissa to stand. Getting to her feet, she stretched each of her aching legs, then walked stiff legged to the door and ducked through the beads. When Tristan did the same he bumped into her. Marissa was frozen. Directly in front of the tea house was a black limousine.

The three men in dark blue suits who had been chasing them earlier were casually lounging around the car in various states of repose. Spotting Tristan and Marissa, the man near the front of the car straightened up. Marissa recognized him as the one who'd posed as Freddie. His snub-nosed revolver wasn't in evidence.

Instead, he had a more serious-looking machine pistol dangling at his side.

Tristan grabbed Marissa's wrist and turned back into the restaurant only to see its heavy wooden door slam shut in his face.

He was about to try to force it open when he heard the locks on the other side slide into place.

With resignation, Tristan turned back to the street.

"Please," the man with the machine pistol said. He motioned toward the back of the car. Tristan saw a large tear at the elbow of the man's suit. He guessed it happened when he'd knocked him down.

At first neither Tristan nor Marissa moved. But the man with the gun would no longer tolerate delay. A short burst of fire from his machine pistol against the pavement was a forceful persuader.

Bullets ricocheted haphazardly down the street, forcing the MahJongg players to dive for cover. This was a man who could be casual about killing.

After that display, Marissa and Tristan complied with his wish.

They approached the car's rear door, but the man with the gun shook his head. With his gun, he motioned toward the back of the car. One of the other men unlocked the trunk and lifted the hood.

"You want us in the boot?" Tristan asked.

"Please," the man with the gun said.

"This should be cozy," Tristan said is he climbed into the small space and curled up. Marissa hesitated, but followed suit, curling up against Tristan.

Then the hood was slammed, plunging them into complete darkness.

"First time I've ever embraced a woman in a boot," Tristan said. His right arm was draped around Marissa's body.

"Can't you be serious for once?" Marissa said.

"Kind of like a couple of kippered herrings in a tin," Tristan said. They heard the car engine start, then they lurched forward as the limo proceeded down the narrow alley.

"The expression is 'sardines in a can,"

" Marissa said.

"Not where I grew up," Tristan said.

"Tris, I'm scared," Marissa said, fighting tears.

"What if we suffocate in here? I've always been terrified of tight places."

"Close your eyes," Tristan suggested.

"That will help a bit.

Just breathe normally. Smothering's not our worry. It's where they're taking us."

To help mitigate Marissa's claustrophobia, Tristan chatted on about anything he could think of.

After innumerable turns, starts, and stops, the car came to a final halt and the engine cut off. Marissa and Tristan could hear the car doors open and close. A few seconds later, the trunk was unlocked and the hood was raised.

The same three men were staring down at them.

"Out of the car, please," the man with the gun said.

A bedraggled Marissa climbed from the trunk, followed by Tristan. They were inside a huge warehouse piled high with seagoing containers.

"Move," the man with the gun said. He pointed to a space between two containers.

Tristan put his arm around Marissa. With shared terror, they walked together in the direction indicated, worrying what was about to happen. Beyond the containers was a closed door. They stopped, waiting for further instructions. One of their abductors opened the door and motioned them inside.

Entering through the door, Marissa and Tristan found themselves in a long hallway. Following unspoken commands, they walked to the end of the corridor before being stopped before a blank door. One of the men knocked. From within someone replied in Chinese, and the door was opened.

Marissa and Tristan were pushed inside.

The room looked like an office, complete with a desk, file cabinets, office equipment, bulletin boards, and huge calendars with photographs of oceangoing vessels. At the desk was a Chian somewhat older than the three who had abducted nese m Marissa and Tristan. He was immaculately dressed in a white silk suit with gold cuff links and tie tack His coal-black hair was brushed back from his forehead and held in place with lacquer like hair spray. Another Chinese man in a gray business suit stood at his side.

As Marissa and Tristan were nudged before the desk, the man in the white suit leaned back, putting his hands behind his head.

He studied Marissa and Tristan from head to toe. Then he rocked forward, propping his elbows on a large ledger open on his desk.

The man spoke in rapid Chinese. Immediately several of the men in the blue suits stepped forward and searched Marissa and their wallets and watches and put them on Tristan. They removed the desk. Then they stepped back.

As if he had all the time in the world, the man in the white suit fit a cigarette. He clamped it between his teeth like a cigar.

Cocking his head to the side to keep the smoke from his eyes, he picked up the wallets and went through them, looking at pictures and credit cards. What money was there he removed and put on the desk. Then he looked up at Marissa and Tristan.

"We are curious as to why you have been asking about the Wing Sin," he said in perfect English with an English public school accent.

"Triads are against the law in Hong Kong. It is dangerous to talk about them."

"We are doctors," Marissa said before Tristan could respond.

"All we are interested in is information. We are trying to investigate a disease."

"A disease?" the man asked with disbelief.

"Tuberculosis," Marissa said.

"We're trying to follow the trail of a certain type of infection of tuberculosis that has been showing up in the United States, Europe, and Australia."

The man in the white suit laughed.

"What is this?" he questioned.

"Triads are now being looked to for medical knowledge?

What an irony! Politicians have been calling the triads a disease for years."

"We're not after medical knowledge from the Wing Sin," Tristan said.

"Just information about illegal aliens that the Wing Sin has been bringing out of the People's Republic of China for an Australian company called Female Care Australia or Fertility, Limited."

The man in the white suit eyed both foreigners.

"The astonishing thing about this conversation is that I believe you," he said with another, less humorous laugh.

"What you are saying is so preposterous, no one would be capable of making it up. Of course, true or not, it does not absolve you from the dangers inherent in talking about the Wing Sin in public."

"We're willing to pay for information," Tristan said.

"Oh!" the man in the white suit said. He smiled as did his henchmen.

"You Australians have a commendable way of striking to the heart of a matter. And since everything in Hong Kong is for sale, perhaps we might be able to do business. In fact, if you were to offer something small like ten thousand dollars Hong Kong, I'd be willing to make a few inquiries and see what I could find out for you. No guarantees, of course."

"How about five thousand," Tristan countered.

The man in the white suit laughed again, "I admire your courage," he said.

"But you are not in a bargaining position. Ten thousand."

"All right," Tristan said.

"When do we get our information?"

"Meet me at the top of Victoria Peak at ten tomorrow morning," the man in the white suit said.

"Be sure to take the tram."

"Fine," Tristan said. He stepped forward and reached for Marissa's and his wallets and watches.

The man at the desk deflected Tristan's hand. Then he picked up the wallets and handed them to him.

"The money and the watches, unfortunately, we'll have to keep," he said.

"I'm sorry, but it is a bit of booty for my men for bringing you to me. The money we can consider as down payment for the ten thousand dollars." He then shuffled through the cash and pulled out a single ten-dollar bill. He handed that to Tristan.

"For travel expenses from the dropoff point."

Tristan took the bill.

"Thanks, mate, kind of you. But tell me, are you a member of the Wing Sin?"

"Knowing you are unfamiliar with civilized behavior coming, as you do, from Australia, I will forgive you for asking such a question. I should also like to warn you to avoid the police between now and our meeting. You will be watched. I will see you tomorrow with the money."

With a mere wave of his hand, the three men in suits came forward and escorted Marissa and Tristan out of the room. As they exited, the man in the white suit went back to his ledger book.

"Friendly bloke," Tristan commented with obvious sarcasm as they marched down the long corridor and out into the warehouse.

At the car they paused.

"Not in the boot again, mate!" Tristan said as one of the men raised the trunk hood.

In the same position as they'd arrived but with a bit less apprehension, Marissa and Tristan were motored out of the warehouse.

"I could learn to like this mode of transport," Tristan said, snuggling up closer against Marissa.

"Tris!" Marissa said.

"Come on. Talk to me like you did before. It took my mind off being shut in here."

"Well, for one thing," Tristan said, "it's obvious why they put us back in here. They don't want us to know where this warehouse is located."

"Tell me more about your childhood," Marissa said.

After clearing his throat, Tristan obliged her.

The second trip was much shorter than the first. In fact, when the trunk hood was raised they were surprised, not only because so little time had passed, but also because the motor of the sedan was still running.

Getting out into the harsh sunlight, Marissa and Tristan squinted as they tried to get their bearings. They were on a city street in front of the Mong Kok entrance to the Hong Kong subway. A few pedestrians stopped and gawked at them momentarily, but then moved on. It was enough to make Marissa wonder if it was common to see people climbing out of the trunk of a car in Hong Kong.

The men in the blue suits did not say a word. They calmly got back into the car and drove off.

"So much for an interesting morning," Tristan said.

"How about going back to the hotel?"

"Please!" Marissa said.

"I'm a nervous wreck. I don't know how you can be so calm. Feel me, I'm shaking." Marissa put her hand on Tristan's forearm.

"You are shaking!" Tristan said.

"I'm sorry for putting you through all this, but at least we've now made contact. Maybe things will go better from now on. Provided, of course, that you want to go on."

"I think so," Marissa said. She didn't sound certain.

"But I don't think I could handle another chase."

They descended into the MTR. They were pleased to find it clean and bright. The ride to the Tsirn Sha Tsui station was rapid, comfortable, and-better still-uneventful.

From the MTR station it was only a short walk back to the hotel. Passing one of the many jewelry stores along the way, Marissa jokingly mentioned that they needed new watches again.

"If this keeps up," Tristan said, "keeping us in watches will be the dearest part of the whole trip."

Stopping at a traffic light, Tristan took Marissa's arm and leaned over to talk into her ear.

"I hate to alarm you again, but I think we are being followed. There are two men behind us, dressed like the ones who chased us. They've been with us since the underground."

"Oh, no!" she said.

"What should we do? I'm not running. I can't."

Tristan straightened up.

"Relax!" he said.

"We're not running; in fact, we're not going to do anything. The man in the white suit told us we'd be watched. These men behind us are probably his men. I suppose the only thing we shouldn't do is talk to any policemen."

Marissa's eyes roamed the busy intersection. In contrast to all their prior experience, there were now plenty of policemen. In their smart blue uniforms, they confidently patrolled the streets.

"Where were these guys when we needed them?" Marissa asked.

"This is a tourist area," Tristan explained.

Reaching the hotel, they paused as the doorman graciously bowed and pulled the door open for them.

"I want to stop at the front desk," Tristan said as they entered.

"I've got to get more oney out of the safe deposit box. I'd also like to go over and give that concierge a king hit. I have a feeling he's the one who tipped off the triad. And to think he took my twenty dollars to boot."

"Don't cause any scenes," Marissa said, taking his arm to press her point. Knowing Tristan, she wouldn't have been surprised if he'd walked over and slugged the man.

Together they stepped up to the marble-topped counter. While Tristan vied for the attention of one of the hotel staff, Marissa's gaze roamed around the lobby. As usual, it was crowded. High tea in the elegant lobby had been a tradition at the Peninsula for over half a century. Jeweled women and men dressed to the nines were seated at cloth-covered tables. Waiters with white gloves scurried back and forth from the kitchen. Trolleys of confections and pastries were wheeled through the elegant set. Classical piano music provided the ultimate touch.

Suddenly Marissa's grip on Tristan's arm tightened enough for him to wince.

"Tristan!" Marissa gasped.

"There is a man coming this way. A man that I think I recognize."

Marissa's eyes had originally passed over this man as just another face in the crowd. But then her mind had forced her eyes back to look at him more closely. There was something about his face and the way he wore his coal-black hair that had jogged her memory. She'd watched him put down his paper and stand up.

She'd seen him look at her and then start across the room. She'd seen his hand go inside his jacket. That had been when she'd ripped Tristan's arm.

"Who's that, luv?" Tristan asked.

"He's headed our way," Marissa whispered.

"The Chinese man in the gray suit. I've seen him before. I think he's the man who threw the chum in the water when Wendy died!"

Tristan's eyes swept the lobby. There were so many people. But he quickly picked out the Chinese man elbowing his way through the milling crowd. His right hand was thrust into his jacket. He appeared to be holding something.

Tristan sensed danger was at hand. There was something volatile in the way the man was approaching them. Tristan felt he had to do something. There was no time to flee, especially with the crowds pressing in on them. Behind him he could hear the assistant hotel manager calling his name. The Chinese man was only ten feet away. He was almost on them. He seemed to be smiling.

The hand in his jacket started to move. Tristan saw a glint of metal.

With a high-pitched yell, Tristan pushed off the hotel desk and tackled the man. In the last instant before he made contact, Tristan saw the gun coming from beneath the man's lapel, but Tristan collided with the man before he had pulled the gun free.

The force of Tristan's momentum carried them both backward to slam into a large round marble-topped table. The table tipped over, sending china and cakes flying in every direction. The eight people who'd been seated at the table were hurled to the floor.

In an instant, panic spread. What had moments ago been a scene of utter decorum now gave way to pandemonium. People scattered, some screaming, others simply running for cover.

Tristan was only interested in the gun. As he and the Chinese man rolled off the upended table, Tristan managed to grab the man's wrist. The gun fired, sending a shot into the gilded ceiling.

Attempting to use a kung fu move, Tristan was shocked to find himself thwarted, his opponent as fast and as practiced as he.

Giving up on martial arts, Tristan bit the man's arm. Only then did the gun clatter to the floor.

But biting the man caused Tristan to lose his position. The stranger took full advantage, flipping Tristan over his shoulder.

Tristan cushioned himself as best he could as he crashed to the floor with a thud. As soon as he hit, he rolled to avoid being kicked. Then he bounced to his feet, assuming a crouched position.

But before he could move he felt himself seized from behind by several other men.

In front of him, Tristan saw the Chinese man back away.

Another man tried to restrain him, but the Chinese executed a perfect kung fu move, sending the interloper to the floor with a crushing kick to the chest. The Chinese man made a run for the front door, darting through panicked hotel guests. Once outside, he melted instantly into the large crowd that had formed in front of the hotel.

Tristan did not struggle against the men holding him. Having noticed the small radio transmitters on their belts and earpieces in their ears, he was confident they were hotel security people.

Marissa. ran over and demanded that Tristan be released. She even started to tug on the house detectives' arms when they ignored her. But the assistant manager had an immediate effect.

Having witnessed the whole episode, he had Tristan immediately released.

Marissa threw her arms around Tristan's neck, and pressed herself against him.

"Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"Just my pride," Tristan said.

"The bloke was better at kung fu than I was."

"Should we have you see the house doctor?" the assistant manager asked.

"Don't bother," Tristan said, motioning toward Marissa.

"This is all the treatment I need." Marissa. was still holding him tight with her head buried against his chest.

"How did you know the man was armedT' the assistant manager asked.

"Just an Aussie's sixth sense," Tristan said..

"The hotel owes you something for your bravery," the assistant manager said, "Undoubtedly that man was planning on a robbery of some sort."

"A liquid reward wouldn't be refused," Tristan said.

"Do you people have any Foster's?" He put his arms around Marissa and squeezed her back.

Once he got out of the hotel, Willy turned right and slowed his pace to a rapid walk. He didn't want to draw attention to himself by running. His desired destination was the crowded Star Ferry terminal. When he reached it, he was relieved to lose himself in the throng. Hundreds of people were milling about waiting for the next ferry, which was just then nosing into the pier.

After the Kowloon-bound passengers were allowed to disembark, those waiting were allowed to board. Willy let himself be swept along by the human tide.

He remained on the lower deck with the majority of the people.

He stayed close to a large family, as if he were a member. No one seemed to think twice about his presence. After the short ten minute trip, Willy disembarked and walked up toward the Mandarin

Hotel.

The Mandarin was in the same category as the Peninsula. He

Sknew he'd have no difficulty making an overseas call from there.

The problem wasn't making the call, but rather that it would be so unpleasant. It was Willy's first major failure, and he wasn't pleased.

Before he entered the Mandarin Hotel, he took advantage of his reflection in a store window to straighten his clothes and comb his hair. Once he felt he looked presentable, he went into the lobby. Downstairs, in a room just outside the men's room, he found a bank of telephones affording some privacy. Taking a deep breath, he rang Charles Lester.

"The Blumenthal woman is here," Willy said as soon as he had Lester on the phone.

"I know," Lester said.

"Ned found out through emigration.

She took a flight from Brisbane."

"I tried to have a conference with the interested parties a few. minutes ago," Willy said, using their established patois in case, they were overheard.

"But things went badly. I failed. The Williams fellow was uncooperative and actively canceled the meeting before I could use my material."

Willy held the phone away from his ear as a string of Australian expletives sizzled over the line. Once he heard Lester revert to a more normal pitch, he put the phone back to his ear.

"The situation keeps getting worse and worse," Lester complained.

"It will be much harder to have a conference now," Willy admitted.

"Everyone will expect us. But if you would like, I'll do my best to arrange another meeting."

"No!" Lester said.

"I'll have Ned come and have the meeting.

He has more practice. All I want you to do is make sure that these customers don't get away. Watch the hotel. If they change hotels, follow them. It would only exacerbate the problem if we lose contact with the Blumenthal woman in Hong Kong."

"I also lost the material I was going to show them," Willy said.

"It was left at the conference site."

"Then you'll have to get some more," Lester said.

"Was what you had adequate?"

"It was perfect," Willy said.

"Absolutely perfect."

The Royal Hong Kong police inspector was what Tristan called a "bloody porn" when he described him to Marissa later on. He even looked British with his gray skin tones and his baggy

English suit, complete with a vest and fob. He and Tristan were sitting in the manager's office of the Peninsula Hotel.

"Let us go over this again," the inspector said in his clipped English accent.

"You'd just handed over your safe deposit key when you became aware of this gentleman of Oriental appearance approaching you."

"That's right, mate," Tristan said. He knew his jocular Australian phraseology would grate on the inspector's nerves. It was purposeful torture. The police inspector had been grating on him for almost two hours.

Tristan tried to be patient. He knew that the reason the inspector was making a fuss over the incident was because the police didn't like to have trouble in an area so crucial to tourism, particularly tourism in a place as posh as the Peninsula Hotel.

At that point you turned around and saw the man coming at you," the inspector continued.

"That's right," Tristan said. It was the twentieth time they'd gone over this.

"How did you know he was approaching you rather than someone else?" the inspector asked.

"He was looking directly at me," Tristan said.

"Giving me the evil eye," Tristan glowered at the inspector in mock imitation.

"Yes, of course," the inspector said.

"But you had never seen this man before?"

"Never"' Tristan said with emphasis. He knew this was the point of particular interest to the police. But Tristan had not been willing to divulge that it had been Marissa who had recognized the man. As long as the police failed to question Marissa, they d never find out. Tristan didn't want to admit to everything he knew, fearing that if he did so, the meeting with the Wing Sin the following morning would be compromised.

Finally, after two hours, the inspector gave up, but he concluded by saying that he might want to question Tristan further and that Tristan should stay in Hong Kong until further notice.

Immediately upon his release Tristan went to the house phone and called Marissa.

"I'm free at last," he said.

"Let's celebrate by going out and replacing our watches!"

They went back to the same jewelry store where they'd gotten the first replacements. The second time around, Tristan insisted on an even better deal than before. After a brief protest, the clerk obliged.

Returning to their rooms, they locked themselves in. They decided to stay in for the remainder of the day. Not having eaten since breakfast, the first thing they did was order food.

While they waited for room service they sat by the window in front of the spectacular view.

"Hong Kong's beauty reminds me of the Great Barrier Reef," Marissa said, gazing out the window.

"Its splendor masks its violent eat-or-be-eaten core."

Tristan nodded.

"As the man in the white suit said, everything is for sale. Everything!"

"Do you think he'll still show?" Marissa asked.

"I wonder if the Wing Sin will learn of your two hours with the police?"

"I don't know," Tristan said.

"But you can bet that episode in the lobby will make the newspapers. So he'll read about it and at least we'll have an excuse."

Marissa sighed.

"What an experience Hong Kong has been. I know you warned me, but I could never have imagined what we've had to go through. I'm a nervous wreck. I'm afraid to leave the hotel, Hock, I'm afraid to go down to the lobby. Just getting these new watches was an ordeal. I kept expecting something dreadful to happen."

"I know how you feel," Tristan said.

"Remember, we can always just leave. We don't have to see this through."

"I suppose we could," Marissa said halfheartedly.

For a few minutes Marissa and Tristan watched the harbor in silence.

"I think I want to keep going," Marissa said at last. She straightened up in her seat.

"As much as all this terrifies me, I can't give up, not now. I'd never be able to live with myself. I can't help but feel we're close to figuring it all out. Besides, every time I close my eyes, I see Wendy."

"And I see my wife," Tristan said.

"I know I'm not supposed to say this, but being with you reminds me of her. Please don't take offense; I'm not making conscious comparisons. It's not that you look like her or even act like her. It's something else, something about the way you make me feel." Tristan surprised himself

It wasn't like him to be so up front about how he was feeling.

Marissa gazed into Tristan's blue eyes. She could only imagine the anguish the man must have suffered when his wife died.

"I won't take offense," she said.

"In fact, I'll take it as a compliment."

"It was meant as one," Tristan said. Then he smiled self%41 consciously and looked away toward the door.

"Where the devil is that food? I'm famished."

During their meal, they remembered Freddie, the limo driver.

They wondered what had happened to him. They hoped he was all right. They couldn't believe that he was comp licit in their kidnapping, but then again, in Hong Kong everything had its price.

"Talking about Freddie reminds me," Tristan said.

"If we're going to persist in this, I think we should hire another car and get a driver who could double as a bodyguard."

"And who speaks Cantonese," Marissa added.

"There've alreaay been several times when that would have been helpful."

"Maybe if we're lucky he'll let us ride in the trunk," Tristan teased.

Marissa smiled. How Tristan could keep his sense of humor through all this was beyond her.

After they finished their meal, they pushed the table aside and returned to the chairs by the window. Marissa sipped the remains of her wine while Tristan enjoyed another can of Foster's Lager the hotel had managed to find for him.

Marissa's thoughts had drifted back to the incident in the lobby.

"If that Chinese man downstairs was the same one who threw the chum in the water back in Australia, then he must be in the employ of Female Care Australia."

"That's what I assumed," Tristan said.

"They must really want us out of the way. They must be desperate, especially to try to shoot us in public like that. With Wendy they went to great pains to make it look like an accident."

"The irony is they must think we know more than we do," Tristan said. "if I were they and I knew how little we know, I wouldn't bother with us."

"Maybe they're not as afraid of what we know as what we could find out," Marissa sighed.

"I wonder how he tracked us down."

"That's another good question," Tristan said.

"Maybe we should change hotels."

"I don't think it would make much difference," Tristan said.

"This city seems to have an information underground. Take the proprietor of that tea sho, for instance; obviously he let the Wing Sin know we were there. I bet that if we change hotels, it wouldn't remain a secret, not for long. At least here the security people are on the alert and will recognize the fellow who tried to attack us if he tries to come back."

"And we'll have to be very careful," Marissa said, "especially tomorrow morning when we rendezvous with the man in the white suit."

"My thoughts exactly," Tristan said.

"I think we can assume that his loyalty will lie with whoever pays him the most squeeze.

We might have to take more than the agreed-upon ten thousand Hong Kong."

"Can you afford this, Tris?" Marissa asked.

Tristan laughed.

"It's only money," he said.