Vital Signs

17

Dressed in his Sunday best and carrying a bouquet off flowers, Ned Kelly walked along Salisbury Road taking in the sights. He'd been to Hong Kong on a number of occasions. As always, he enjoyed the colorful scenery. He'd gotten in late the night before and had stayed at the Regent Hotel, thanks to Charles Lester. Ned had never stayed in such luxurious accommodations.

His only regret was that he'd arrived so late, he'd not been able to take advantage of any of the sizzling nightlife the Tsim Sha Tsui had to offer, As he approached the Peninsula Hotel, he began to look in the parked cars for Willy Tong. That had been the instructions. He found him sitting in a green Nissan Stanza parked in front of the Space Museum directly across from the hotel. Ned opened the passenger door and slid in on the front seat.

"You look smashing, mate," Willy said.

"The flowers for me?"

"I do look good, don't IT' Ned said, pleased with his Harris tweed jacket, gabardine slacks, and brown loafers. He laid the flowers on the backseat.

"What's the lay of the land?"

"It's been quiet since the uproar I caused," Willy said.

"I don't know what could have happened. It was a perfect setup. The lobby was crowded just the way you told me was best. I was no more than two or three paces away from Williams when he whirled and attacked me!"

"Bad luck!" Ned said.

"Was the woman there?"

"Of course," Willy said.

"She was standing right next to him.

In another ten seconds I'd have shot both of them."

"Maybe she recognized you from the boat," Ned said.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter. They still in the hotel?"

"Yes," Willy said.

"I've been here most of the night. I tried calling again and was immediately put through. They haven't moved."

"That's nice," Ned said.

"What about the gun?"

"I got it," Willy said. He leaned in front of Ned and snapped open the glove compartment. He took a handgun out and handed it butt first to Ned.

Ned whistled.

"A Heckler and Koch!" he said.

"My, my, this is first class. What about the silencer?"

Willy reached back into the glove compartment and handed Ned a small rectangular box. Ned opened the box and unwrapped the silencer.

"There's something nice about using new equipment," Ned said.

"One thing about FCA. They go first class on everything."

Ned screwed the silencer into the pistol. It lengthened the barrel by a third. Then he snapped out the magazine and checked the shells. After making sure the chamber was empty, Ned cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. It had a nice, full-bodied click.

"Perfect," he said.

Replacing the clip and ramming it home, Ned cocked the pistol. It was ready for action.

Twisting in his seat, he eyed Willy.

"This is not going to take long. I want you to pull the car over there in front of the hotel and have the engine running. Give me about five minutes before you come over, understand?"

"Righto," Willy said eagerly.

"I'm off," Ned said. He moved forward on the seat and slipped the gun into his belt at the small of his back. Reaching into the backseat, he lifted the bouquet. Then he got out of the car.

Hesitating before he crossed the road, he leaned into the car through the open window.

"I haven't seen this Williams fellow for several years," Ned said.

"Will I recognize him?"

"I think so," Willy said.

"He's about your height, sandy blond hair, angular features. Looks more like a stockman than an MD. "Got it," Ned said. He was about to leave when Willy caught his attention.

"You won't have any trouble recognizing the woman, will you?" Willy asked.

"Especially not if she's in her bathers," Ned said with a wink.

Ned dodged the traffic on Salisbury Road, mindful of the gun tucked in his belt. He didn't want to dislodge it.

At the Peninsula, the doorman opened the door for him, and he entered the lobby.

At that time of the morning, the lobby was relatively busy with international travelers checking in or checking out. Luggage was piled in heaps near the bellman's desk, where the bell captain was struggling to keep order. It was to the bellman's desk that Ned walked.

Ned singled out one of the younger bellboys and approached him as he was piling bags onto a bellman's trolley. Kelly had learned a smattering of Cantonese through his dealings with the Chinese over the years. In Cantonese he asked the young man for a favor. The boy seemed surprised to be addressed by a gwedo in his native tongue.

Ned slipped the boy a thousand dollars Hong Kong, more than many months' wages. The boy's eyes widened.

"Some friends are staying here," Ned said.

"I want to know their room so that I can surprise them. But I don't want them to know. Understand?"

The boy nodded, then flashed a broad smile.

"The names are Williams and Blumenthal. I don't know if they have separate rooms or a single."

The bellboy nodded again and dashed over to the bell captain's desk. Peering past the captain, who was busy on the phone, the bellboy perused the master guest list. In a flash he returned. Ned had lighted up a cigarette in the interim.

"Pleased to say that it is 604 and 606," the bellboy said with another smile and multiple bows. Ned reached out and stopped him from making a scene. Ned thanked him and walked over to the newsstand. While he leafed through the latest Time magazine with the flowers tucked under his arm, he kept his eye on the bell desk to make sure his dealings with the bellboy didn't arouse any suspicions. But they hadn't. The ecstatic bellboy had gone back to loading his cart as if nothing had happened.

Ned replaced the magazine. He switched the flowers to his right hand. With an expert eye, he picked out the hotel security people in the lobby. There were two, but neither one had particularly noticed him.

Walking directly to the elevators, Ned pushed the Up button.

Things were going smoothly. So far he was pleased. He anticiated giving Lester a call in about fifteen minutes. He was lookp ing forward to the substantial bonus Lester had promised him for a job well done.

By the time the elevator doors opened on the sixth floor, Ned's pulse was racing. Despite his conscious attempts to keep himself calm, when he got this close to action, he got tense.

Familiar with the customs of Hong Kong luxury hotels, Ned waited by the elevator once he was on the sixth floor. He gave the hall porter a chance to approach from his cubicle. Ned smiled broadly.

"Hello, friend," he said in Cantonese.

The hall porter was an elderly Chinese. He smiled weakly, confused as to who this man could be. He wasn't expecting any new guests that morning.

"I have a present for you," Ned said. He handed the man a thousand dollars Hong Kong.

The man's toothless jaw dropped.

Ned smiled again.

"I need you to help me for a moment," he said.

"I want you to open my sister's door. 604. It's her birthday."

Slipping the bills into his pocket, the hall porter led Ned down the corridor to 604 with a shuffling gait. He was about to knock, but Ned grabbed his arm before his fist hit the door.

"No," Ned said.

"It's a surprise."

The porter nodded, then fished in his pocket for his keys.

Selecting the proper one, he slipped it into the lock.

As the porter pushed in the key, Ned glanced up and down the corridor. Then he reached behind his back and extracted the long barreled gun.

The door opened a crack. The porter started to step aside, but Ned put his hands on the man's back and shoved him forward with as much force as he could muster. The porter's body collided with the partially open door, pushing it open with a bang. The porter sprawled head first on the carpet inside the room.

Instantly, Ned leaped into the room. He dropped the flowers and held the Heckler and Koch in both hands, elbows locked. His quarry was sitting on the bed with light from the window back lighting his sandy blond hair.

From Ned's position, looking down the sights of his automatic pistol, Tristan Williams looked confused as he sprang to his feet.

Ned shot him twice in the forehead, just above the eyes. The gun made only a spitting noise. Tristan went backward over the bed.

It was easy as pie.

Wheeling around, Ned looked for the Blumenthal woman. She wasn't in the room. Then he noticed the open connecting door.

From within, he could hear the sound of water running.

Ned turned and silently closed the door to the hall. Then he pointed the gun at the hall porter, who was frozen with fear on the middle of the carpet. Ned motioned with the gun for the man to move toward the closet.

Ned opened the closet door, then roughly shoved the porter inside. He softly closed the door behind him, then locked it.

Moving back to the connecting door, Ned listened. The water was still running. Slowly, he leaned into the room. It was empty, and the bed was stripped of its linens. But the bathroom door was ajar about four inches. Now he could hear the running water more clearly. The Blumenthal woman was filling the tub.

Without a sound, Ned moved across the room to the bathroom door. Sucking in a deep breath, he raised a foot and kicked it open. In an instant, he was inside.

The Blumenthal woman was kneeling by the tub. Her back was to the door. He had surprised her completely. She was beginning to rise to her feet when Ned pumped two bullets into the back of her head. She pitched forward into the tub, overturning a bucketful of soapy water in the process.

Ned looked at the bucket with confusion. Stepping over the soapy water, he grasped the woman by the hair and yanked her head back.

"Damn!" he muttered. It wasn't the Blumenthal woman at all.

It was a Chinese cleaning lady.

Ned let go of the woman's hair. She slumped lifelessly back into the tub. He went back to the first room. Going around the bed, he bent down for a closer look at Williams' body. It was tough to get a good look at him, since the body was jammed between the bed and the wall. With some difficulty Ned managed to straighten Williams out. Then he sifted through his pockets and pulled out the man's wallet. Flipping it open, Ned swore aloud. It wasn't Williams! It was a Robert Buchanan! Who the hell was Robert Buchanan?

Ned straightened up. What had happened? Had the bellboy given him the wrong room? he wondered. He gave the room a quick search. In a suitcase at the foot of the bed he found a packet of American Express travelers checks. The name on them was Marissa Blumenthal.

Going to the door to the hallway, Ned put his ear to it and listened. Not hearing anything, he opened the door. The hall was empty. Taking the "Do Not Disturb" sign from its hook, he draped it over the outer doorknob. Then he left, closing the door behind him.

Descending to the ground floor, Ned casually strolled around the lobby. He wandered through the breakfast room and several of the function rooms. Nowhere did he see anyone resembling Williams or Blumenthal. Finally, he gave up and headed for the door.

Just outside the hotel's entrance, Ned found Willy sitting in the Nissan with the motor running. Ned opened the door and got in.

Willy could tell that something was wrong.

"Williams and the woman weren't there," Ned said with irritation.

"Are you sure you didn't see them leave the hotel?"

"No way!" Willy said.

"And I've been here almost all night.

They didn't leave."

Ned stared ahead through the windshield. He shook his head.

"Well, they weren't in their rooms. And now I've succeeded in messing things up even worse than you did. I killed the wrong people!"

"Hell!" Willy said.

"What are we going to do now?"

Ned shook his head.

"One thing that we aren't going to do is collect that bonus. That's the sad part. I suppose we'll have to turn it over to the Wing Sin. Let's go."

"I hate to say this," Marissa said, "but I think I like this watch better than the last one. It's more feminine." Marissa was admiring her Seiko tank-style watch.

"Quite attractive," Tristan agreed. He looked at his own.

"Maybe I should have tried a different style- Well, maybe I'll get my chance. We're still in Hong Kong. So far it's been a watch a day."

They inched ahead a few more feet.

"How long is this tunnel?" Marissa asked. She was starting to feel the way she did when they'd been locked in the trunk.

"Beats me," Tristan said. He scooted forward and lowered the glass separating the back compartment from the driver.

"Hey, Bentley, how long is this tunnel?"

"A little less than a mile, Mr. Williams," Bentley said.

Tristan settled back.

"Did you hear?" he said.

"Unfortunately," Marissa said.

"At this rate, it will take an hour just to get over to Hong Kong Island. I've never seen traffic like this."

Marissa and Tristan were in the depths of the Cross Harbor Tunnel. They'd met up with their new driver that morning after '46_ leaving the hotel through the employee entrance. Tristan,had thought it wise to leave as surreptitiously as possible.

Bentley had turned out to be just what they'd hoped. Bentley Chang, their new driver, was all muscle and the size of a Sumo wrestler. In the language department, he could have qualified for work at the UN. He spoke the Queen's English in addition to Japanese, Cantonese, Mandarin, and some Hakka and Tanka.

He also convinced Tristan that he was knowledgeable in kung fu.

He inspired Marissa's confidence with the pistol he carried in a shoulder holster.

His car was equally impressive. It turned out to be an armored Mercedes normally reserved for visiting dignitaries. When Marissa asked Tristan what it cost, he told her not to ask. He'd made the arrangements the night before, calling the limousine company himself instead of using the concierge.

By the time they got to the lower tram station for the run up Victoria Peak, it was nine-thirty.

"And I was hoping we'd be early," Tristan said.

Before they got out of the car, Tristan went over the instructions he'd given Bentley earlier, namely that Bentley was to drive to the peak and watch from a distance. If anything went amiss, Tristan would signal by running his hand through his hair twice.

If Bentley saw that, he was to intervene as he saw fit. If everything went off without a hitch, Bentley would drive down to the dropoff point and wait for Marissa and Tristan to come down in the tram.

"Any questions?" Tristan asked the muscular Bentley.

"Just one," Bentley said.

"If you are involved with narcotics, please let me know."

Tristan laughed.

"No, we're not involved with drugs of any kind."

"I will be angry if you are not truthful," Bentley said.

"I wouldn't want you to get angry," Tristan assured him.

The ride up in the red tram, which was really a funicular railway, turned out to be a delight. Quickly they left behind the concrete of Central and rose up into wooded slopes filled with bowers of jasmine, wild indigo, daphne, and rhododendrons.

Even from the confines of the tram, they could hear magpies singing.

The peak itself turned out to be a disappointment. The morning mist still shrouded the mountaintop, and Marissa and Tristan could see nothing of the reputed view. The foliage, however, was quite beautiful, particularly the exotic trees still beaded with dew.

Trying to make their presence apparent, Marissa and Tristan circled the Peak Tower a number of times. The tower was a three-story shopping mall with restaurants, an ice cream stand, a drugstore, and evena supermarket. Marissa was intrigued by the stalls that sold Chinese handicrafts.

As they wandered, they kept an eye out for the three men who'd abducted them the day before. But they saw no one they recognized except Bentley. He'd arrived as directed. As agreed, he remained unobtrusively in the background. Neither he nor Tristan and Marissa exchanged so much as a nod.

By quarter after eleven, Tristan and Marissa were ready to give up.

"I suppose word of the to-do at the Peninsbla got to them," Marissa said.

"Damn," Tristan said.

"Now I don't know what to do. We're back to the beginning."

Slowly they ambled back toward the upper tram station, feeling depressed. After such high anticipation, this was quite a letdown.

"Excuse me," an elderly woman said, approaching them. She was wearing a broad-brimmed straw hat with black fringe. She'd been sitting on a bench near the tram entrance.

"Are you Mr.

Williams?" she asked.

"I am," Tristan said.

"I am to extend apologies from Mr. Yip," she said.

"He was unable to make your morning meeting. But if you would please go to the old Stanley Restaurant, he will be happy to see you."

"When?" Tristan asked.

"That is all I know," the woman said. She bowed and hurried off with a shuffling gait.

Tristan looked at Marissa.

"What does that mean?"

"I guess the man in the white suit is Mr. Yip."

"But when are we to go to the Stanley Restaurant?" Tristan asked.

"And where is it?"

"I would assume we should go directly," Marissa said.

"As for where, let's ask Bentley."

They descended in the peak tram. Bentley was waiting in the armored Mercedes by the time they got down. Marissa and Tristan piled into the backseat. Tristan asked Bentley if he'd ever heard of a restaurant called Stanley's.

"I have indeed, sir," Bentley said.

"Where is it?" Tristan asked.

"Why, it's in Stanley, sir," Bentley said.

Tristan slid back in the seat.

"Okay, Bentley," Tristan said, Let go to Stanley."

To Marissa's chagrin, the first leg of the trip was through another tunnel that was over two miles long. Until the experience of riding in the trunk of the car, she'd never known she'd disliked tunnels.

Thankfully the traffic moved relatively swiftly; although this Aberdeen Tunnel was longer than the Cross Harbor, the car went through it significantly quicker. When they emerged, the landscape had transformed from the urban sprawl of Kowloon and Central to an almost rural beauty. The beaches were rimmed with bright sand and the water was the emerald green Marissa had seen from the jet on their arrival from Brisbane.

As they motored along the attractive coastline toward Stanley, Tristan slid forward again.

"Bentley," he asked, "have you ever heard of a man by the name of Mr. Yip?"

"That is a common Chinese name," Bentley said.

"When we met this Mr. Yip he was wearing a rather distinctive suit," Tristan said.

"It was white silk."

Bentley turned to look at Tristan. The car did a little fishtail as he quickly redirected his attention to the road.

"You met a Mr. Yip in a white suit?" Bentley asked.

"Yes," Tristan said.

"Is that surprising?"

"There is only one Mr. Yip that I know who wears white suits," Bentley said, "and he is an enforcer."

"You'll have to explain," Tristan said.

"He is a 426," Bentley said.

"That means he's a red poll, which is an executioner for a triad. The executioner carries out all the triad's dirty work, no matter the activity: loan-sharking, prostitution, gambling, smuggling, anything like that."

Tristan looked back at Marissa to see if she'd heard what Bentley had to say. She rolled her eyes. She'd heard.

"We are going to the Stanley Restaurant to meet this Mr.

Yip," Tristan said.

Bentley braked and pulled over to the side of the road. He put the car in Park and turned off the ignition. Then he turned around to look directly at Tristan.

"We have to talk," he said.

For the next fifteen minutes, Tristan and Bentley renegotiated Bentley's hourly rate. Going to a meeting with Mr. Yip was not something covered by his basic fee. Once the deal was settled,

Bentley started the car, and they again pulled out into the road.

"Do you know which triad Mr. Yip is with?" Tristan asked.

"I'm not supposed to talk specifically about the triads," Bentley said.

"Okay," Tristan said agreeably.

"I'll name the triad I think he's with and you nod. How's that?"

Bentley considered for a moment, then agreed.

"Wing Sin," Tristan said.

Bentley nodded.

Tristan sat back.

"Well," he said.

"That confirms our suspicions.

Obviously Mr. Yip knows what we want to know. The question is whether he plans to tell us or not."

"This whole business has an unnerving way of escalating," Marissa said.

"Mr. Yip scared me the first time we met him. Now that I know who he is, I'm even more frightened."

"There's still time to change our minds," Tristan said.

Marissa shook her head.

"We've come this far," she said.

"I'm not giving up now."

Stanley turned out to be an attractive, modern suburban town built on a peninsula with broad sandy beaches on either side. The vista out over the emerald sea was magnificent. The buildings themselves were less impressive, most being four-story, unimaginative, white concrete affairs.

Bentley pulled into a parking area along the shore line, then nosed the car around so that it was pointing out into the street.

He turned off the engine and nodded toward the building to the right.

"That's Stanley Restaurant," he said.

Marissa and Tristan inspected the restaurant. From the outside it was as nondescript as the other buildings in the town.

"You ready?" Tristan said.

Marissa nodded.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

Bentley got out of the car and opened the rear door. Marissa and Tristan stepped out into the bright sunlight. Before they could take a step, doors opened on a number of other nearby cars, and a half dozen Chinese men got out. They were all dressed in business suits. Marissa and Tristan recognized three of them.

They were the men who'd kidnapped them the day before.

At first, Bentley reached for his gun, but he quickly reconsidered.

Several of the men had machine pistols in plain sight.

Thinking that her worst fears had materialized, Marissa froze in her tracks. She was amazed at the cool nonchalance the men exhibited in brandishing such firearms in public.

"Please remain where you are," one man said as he strode forward. He reached into Bentley's jacket and withdrew his pistol.

Then he spoke to Bentley in Cantonese. Bentley turned and got back into the Mercedes.

Turning his attention to Marissa and Tristan, he frisked them for weapons. Not finding any, he nodded toward the restaurant.

Marissa and Tristan started walking.

"Certainly helpful we brought Bentley," Tristan said.

"Nice to know my money was so well spent."

"They always seem to be a step ahead of us," Marissa said.

The interior of the restaurant was simple but elegant, with antique-style wooden tables and peach-colored walls. Since it was still before twelve, there were no customers. Waiters were arranging the flatware and polishing the crystal.

A French maitre d' in a tuxedo welcomed them and was about to ask them if they had a reservation when he recognized their escorts. Immediately he bowed and showed them to a small separate dining room one flight up.

Mr. Yip was sitting at a table. In front of him was his large ledger book as well as a cup of tea. He was dressed as before in a spotless white silk suit, Their escort spoke to Mr. Yip in Cantonese. Mr. Yip listened while he studied Marissa's and Tristan's faces. When his henchman had finished, he closed his ledger book and leaned forward on it with his elbows.

"You have insulted me by bringing an armed guard," he said.

"No insult was intended," Tristan said with an uneasy smile.

"We had an unfortunate incident yesterday. Someone tried to kill us."

"Where?" Mr. Yip asked.

"At the Peninsula Hotel," Tristan answered.

Mr. Yip gazed up at the man who'd brought Marissa and Tristan in to see him. The man nodded, apparently confirming the story. Mr. Yip looked back at Marissa and Tristan and shrugged.

"Attempted assassinations are not so uncommon," he said.

"It's the price of doing certain business in Hong Kong.

There have been any number of attempts on my life."

"It is not something we are accustomed to," Marissa said.

"Regardless," Mr. Yip said, "it was a mistake to bring a guard to a meeting with me. Besides, he could not have protected you."

"We are foreigners," Marissa said.

"We don't know the rules."

"I will forgive you this time," Mr. Yip said.

"Did you bring the money?"

"Too right, mate," Tristan said.

"But how about our information first?"

Mr. Yip smiled and shook his head in amazement.

"Please, Mr. Williams," he said.

"Do not trouble or irritate me any more than you already have. And don't call me 'mate."

"Righto," Tristan said.

"I suppose our bargaining position is a bit weak." He dug into his pocket and pulled out a hotel envelope in which he'd put ten thousand Hong Kong dollars. He handed it to Mr. Yip.

"For your entertainment expenses." He smiled.

Mr. Yip took the envelope.

"You are learning our Hong Kong business practices quickly," he said. He tore open the envelope and flipped through the money. Then he slipped the money into his jacket pocket.

"I have learned that the Wing Sin are doing business with an Australian company called Fertility, Limited," Mr. Yip said.

"They have been bringing out pairs of Chinese men from the People's Republic for several years, about every two months. The Wing Sin have been arranging transportation from a pickup on the Pearl River north of Zhuhai to Aberdeen. From there they take them to Kai Tac and put them on planes for Brisbane. It has been a comfortable, profitable business relationship: not overwhelmingly so, but it is adequate."

"Who are these men?" Tristan asked.

Mr. Yip shrugged.

"I don't know and I don't care. It was the same with the students from Tiananmen Square. We didn't care who they were. We just wanted to be paid for their transport."

"Why are they being smuggled out of the PRO." Tristan asked.

"No idea," Mr. Yip said.

"It is not important for the Wing Sin."

Tristan threw up his hands in frustration.

"You haven't told us anything that we didn't know before," he complained.

Marissa shifted uneasily. She was afraid Tristan would irritate the man.

"I agreed to make inquiries," Mr. Yip said.

"And indeed I did.

Perhaps to mitigate your chagrin I can offer one additional service.

Perhaps you would find it beneficial to visit the captain of the junk who does the actual pickup."

Marissa could tell Tristan was livid. She was terrified he might do something to jeopardize their safety. She hoped he would be interested in Mr. Yip's offer. She knew she was. Maybe the captain could provide the information they were looking for.

Tristan caught her eye.

"What do you think?" he asked.

"You interested?"

Marissa nodded.

"Okay," Tristan told Mr. Yip.

"We'll give it a go. How do we find this captain?"

"He's in Aberdeen," Mr. Yip said.

"I'll have one of my business associates show you the way." Mr. Yip then gave their escort instructions in rapid Cantonese.

"I was so afraid you were about to do something silly in there," Marissa said.

"That rat bag cheated us," Tristan said indignantly.

"That hoon poofter took our money and gave us a bunch of claptrap."

"Sometimes I wonder if you speak English," Marissa said.

They were back in the armored Mercedes with Bentley at the wheel. They were following a comparably armored Mercedes that was leading them to the captain Mr. Yip had mentioned.

Bentley was quiet, humiliated by the episode in the Stanley Restaurant parking lot.

"This junk captain better have something interesting to say," Tristan warned.

"Or you'll do what?" Marissa questioned.

"Get the Wing Sin after us as well as our friend from Female Care Australia? Please, Tristan, try to remember who we're dealing with."

"I suppose you're right," he said morosely.

As they drove into Aberdeen, both Marissa and Tristan forgot their concerns for the moment. The town was extraordinary. The enormous harbor was choked with thousands of sampans and junks of all sizes lashed together to create an enormous floating slum. In the middle of the squalor were several huge floating restaurants gaudily decorated in crimson and gold.

"How many people live out there on those boats?" Marissa I questioned.

"About twenty thousand," Bentley said.

"And some of them rarely step onshore. But they are being relocated by the government."

"And no plumbing," Tristan said with disgust.

"Probably not a proper dun ny in the lot. Can you imagine the E. coli count in the water?"

When they got into the town proper, they saw a number of jewelry stores and banks. Aberdeen, it was clear, was a city of haves and have-nots.

"It's from smuggling," Bentley said in response to a question from Tristan.

"Aberdeen was the center of smuggling and piracy long before Hong Kong existed. Of course it wasn't called Aberdeen then."

Near the Ap Lei Chou Bridge, the lead Mercedes pulled over to a sampan dockage. Mr. Yip's henchmen got out. Bentley pulled into a parking area. By the time Marissa, Tristan, and Bentley got to the quay, the man had secured a motorized sampan.

The small diesel engine was chugging and sending off puffs of black smoke from its exhaust.

Everyone climbed on board. The sampan operator pushed off and they motored out into the turbid water.

"Hope this boat doesn't capsize," Tristan said.

"One dunk in this water and we'd all die."

At that very moment they saw a group of young children dive off a nearby junk. Frolicking in the water, they squealed with delight.

"My word," Tristan said.

"Those kids must have impressive immune systems!"

"Who are these people?" Marissa asked, even more amazed at the floating city from close up. Entire families were in evidence, with clothes hung in rigging to dry.

"Mostly the Tanka," Bentley said with a touch of derision in his voice.

"They and their ancestors have been living on the sea for centuries."

"I take it you are not a Tanka?" Tristan said.

Bentley laughed as if Tristan were comparing him to some subhuman race.

"I'm Cantonese," he said proudly.

"A little prejudice in the Heavenly Kingdom?" Tristan quipped.

Mr. Yip's associate directed the sampan operator up a row of junks then alongside one of the larger ones. When the sampan stopped they were abreast of an opening at about chest height. A powerfully built Chinese man suddenly appeared and glared down at them. He had a scraggly goatee and wore his black hair in an old-fashioned braid. He was wearing a quilted vest. His pants were loose but short, coming only as far as his calves. On his feet were leather thongs.

Standing with his legs spread apart and his hands on his hips, he cut an imposing figure. With a deep, gravelly voice, he spoke in animated Chinese. Bentley said he was speaking Tanka.

Mr. Yip's henchman launched into an animated discussion with the man. Both sides seemed angry. Marissa and Tristan began to feel nervous. In the middle of the debate, a doll-faced, wide-eyed child of about three suddenly appeared, staring down at the strangers from between her father's solid legs.

"They are having some disagreement about money," Bentley explained.

"It doesn't involve us."

Marissa and Tristan felt relieved. They took the opportunity to examine the captain's boat. It was about forty feet long with a beam of approximately eighteen feet. The wood was an oiled tropical hardwood, giving the craft a honey color. The deck was in three levels with a poop at the stern. Just forward of midships was a mast that rose up about twenty feet.

Suddenly the captain turned to Marissa and Tristan. Pointing at them, he spoke in angry, guttural tones.

"Okay," Bentley said.

"We can go aboard."

"You can go aboard," Marissa said. She looked up into the captain's fierce eyes. They were staring at her unblinkingly.

"Please," Bentley said.

"If you do not go aboard now he will be offended. He has invited you."

Marissa looked uncertainly at Tristan. Tristan laughed in spite of himself.

"Well, luv," he said, "are you or aren't you?"

"Give me a boost," Marissa said.

As soon as Marissa, Tristan, and Bentley were on board, the sampan chugged away. Marissa was alarmed by its unexpected departure.

"How are we to get back?" she questioned.

"Don't worry," Bentley said.

"The sampan will be back for us.

The other fellow is going to get some money that was supposed to be given to the captain."

They followed the captain through a room filled with ship's stores as well as family furnishings. In one corner, a pressure stove was lit; on top of it was a simmering cauldron.

The captain led them forward out onto the forward deck.

From there they climbed a ladder to the main deck.

"The captain would like to introduce himself," Bentley said as they all sat down on bamboo mats.

"His name is Zur FaHuang."

Marissa and Tristan smiled and bowed as did the captain.

Then they had Bentley introduce them. After more bowing and smiling Tristan asked Bentley if the captain was aware of what they wanted to know.

While Bentley was speaking to Zur, Marissa noticed that two women had appeared from below, both dressed in black. The younger woman was carrying a small infant. The little girl they'd seen earlier was clinging to her mother's leg.

Bentley turned back to Marissa and Tristan.

"Mr. Yip's man told the captain that it was permitted for you to ask him about people he has been smuggling out of the Middle Kingdom. I trust you understand what that is about?"

"We do indeed," Tristan said.

"Then the first order of business," Bentley said, "is to determine how much this will cost you."

"You mean I have to pay this bloke as well?" Tristan asked with dismay.

"If you want any information," Bentley said.

"Bloody hell," Tristan said.

"Find out what he wants."

Bentley negotiated. In the middle of the conversation, the captain appeared to get angry and leaped to his feet. He proceeded to parade around the deck, gesturing wildly.

"What's happening?" Tristan asked Bentley.

"He's talking about inflation," Bentley said.

"Inflation?" Marissa questioned with disbelief.

"Well, he didn't use that term," Bentley admitted.

"But what he's irritated about amounts to the same thing."

Marissa watched the man, trying to remember that they were dealing with a swaggering, modern-day pirate who happened to be living in one of the unabashed capitals of capitalism.

Finally a price was established at a thousand Hong Kong dollars. After Tristan gave the man the money, he sat back down and tried to be helpful.

With Bentley as translator, Tristan asked about the men that Zur had been smuggling into Hong Kong for the Wing Sin and ultimately for Female Care Australia: who were they and where did they come from? Unfortunately, the answers were short. Zur had no idea.

Tristan couldn't believe it.

"I paid a thousand Hong Kong dollars to hear that he doesn't know?" he asked with aggravation.

Tristan got to his feet and paced like the captain had.

"Ask him if he knows anything at all about these people. Anything!"

Bentley asked.

Once the captain had replied, Bentley turned back to Tristan.

"He says that some of the men were monks. Or at least he thinks they were."

"Now that's helpful," Tristan said irritably.

"Tell me something

I don't know."

The captain talked to Bentley at length while Tristan fumed about all the money he'd paid for nothing.

Bentley turned back to Tristan.

"The captain is upset you are not happy. He has made another offer. It seems that he is leaving this afternoon at six P.M. to make another one of these pickups.

That was what he was arguing about with Mr. Yip's man. He was supposed to have more up-front money. He says that for two thousand Hong Kong dollars each, you and your wife can go with him. It only takes about three or four hours to cross the pearl River. Then you can talk directly to the men he picks up and get answers to all your questions."

Taken off guard by this unexpected offer, Tristan hesitated Without conferring with Marissa, he said to Bentley, "Tell him that I will only pay three thousand dollars Hong Kong, and that's final."

While Bentley translated for Zur, Marissa stood up and went over to Tristan.

"I hope we know what we're doing," she said.

She was miffed he hadn't consulted her and fearful about the venture

It hardly sounded safe.

"Are you sure we should go through with this?"

"It could be our best bet," said Tristan.

"If we can talk to a pair of these mainlanders before they get to Australia, we would most likely get to the bottom of this whole affair."

"Possibly, but we're talking about smuggling," Marissa said.

"We'll be in Communist Chinese waters. And what if it involves drugs? Smuggling drugs is a capital crime in most of Asia."

"You're right," Tristan said reluctantly.

"But we can find out if it's drugs."

Tristan went over and interrupted Bentley and Zur.

"Ask him if picking up these men involves drugs in any way," Tristan said.

Bentley did as he was told. Zur listened, then shook his head.

After a short conversation, Bentley turned back to Tristan.

"No drugs," he said.

"Zur has on occasion been involved with drugs, but not lately. He says that drug running has become too dangerous.

"What about his price?" Tristan asked.

"Three thousand five hundred," Bentley said.

"I can't get him down any lower."

"Fine!" Tristan said.

"Tell him we'll be back at six."

"Tristan," Marissa said.

"I don't know..

"How do we get off this junk?" Tristan asked, interrupting Marissa. He motioned for her to be quiet.

"We are not going on that piece of 'junk," Marissa said the moment they climbed into the armored Mercedes. She was irritated with Tristan for committing them without her approval.

"Even if Zur is not involved with the drug trade, he goes into Communist China waters. If we get picked up, we could be in prison for God knows how long. We can't take that kind of risk."

"Seems to me we've been taking more risk just being here in Hong Kong," Tristan said.

"The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that going with Captain Fa-Huang will be the only way to solve this affair: trace it back to its origins. That had been my original idea."

"Where to?" Bentley said from the front seat.

Tristan motioned for Bentley to wait.

"People go to the PRC all the time," he said.

"I happen to know that we can get visas in a matter of hours. It just means paying a little extra. If there is any trouble, then we can just say that we'd hired the captain to take us to the PRC, which is true. We'll say we were supposed to go to Guangzhou, but that the captain cheated us."

Turning, to Bentley, Tristan asked: "Aren't there a lot of people going back and forth between Hong Kong and the PRCT' "More and more each day," Bentley answered.

"The PRC encourages people from Hong Kong to come to spend their dollars. I have a permanent visa and go frequently to Shenzhen."

"Good," Tristan said.

"Because I was hoping you'd come with us."

"It's possible," Bentley said slowly.

"But we'll have to renegotiate my hourly wage."

"I expected as much," Tristan said.

"I'm finally beginning to understand how Hong Kong works." Then, turning to Marissa, he said: "Will that make you feel a little better?"

Marissa nodded, but she still had an uneasy feeling about the proposed venture. Tristan could tell she still wasn't convinced.

"Well," he said.

"If you really don't want to do this, just say the word. We can still catch a plane out of here this afternoon.

I personally think it's less risky than what we've been doing here in Hong Kong. Zur's apparently been doing it for years."

Marissa wasn't sure what she wanted to do. She was anxious about the proposed trip, but she hated the thought of giving up.

Finally she said, "Why don't we go ahead and get the visas. Then later we'll talk about it again."

In a private suite in the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation building, Ned Kelly waited patiently to see Harold Pang, one of the Taipans of the city. As the chairman of the board of several corporations, he was one of the most powerful men in the colony. Befitting his station, his was one of the most sumptuous homes on Victoria Peak. Yet in addition to his far flung legitimate business connections, he was also the Dragon Head of the Wing Sin. It was largely due to this illicit position that he'd been able to achieve so much legitimately.

Ned had met Harold on several occasions, both in Hong Kong and in Brisbane. He remembered him as a gentle, cultured man who was a master at tai chi chuan.

"Mr. Pang will see you now," a tall, soft-spoken receptionist said in a sultry voice. Ned saw that the slit of her skin-tight traditional Chinese dress went clear up to her hipbone. He shivered from the effect, wondering how anyone got much work done with her walking around.

Mr. Pang got up from his massive desk when Ned entered his office. Behind him, through floor-to-ceiling glass, was the entire sweep of the harbor with Kowloon and the new territories in the background.

"Welcome, Mr. Kelly," Mr. Pang said.

"G'day, Mr. Pang," Ned said.

"Mr. Charles Lester sends his warmest regyards."

Mr. Pang bowed, then clapped his hands. Almost immediately the receptionist reappeared with an ancient porcelain tea service.

Soon Ned was relaxing on a long leather couch, balancing one of the priceless cups on his knee. He waited until the receptionist withdrew before speaking.

"Mr. Lester wanted me to thank you for the long and profitable business relationship Fertility, Limited, has enjoyed with the Wing Sin."

"It has always been a pleasure," Mr. Pang said.

"As friends, we profit together. It has been a good marriage."

"Mr. Lester has also asked me to request another favor of the Wing Sin," Ned said.

"There are a man and woman in Hong Kong who are interfering in our established business relationship.

They must be eliminated."

"Are these people public figures?" Mr. Pang asked.

"No," Ned said.

"They are only doctors. One is Australian and one American."

"If they are not public figures," Mr. Pang said, "then it will cost only one hundred and fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars."

"Isn't that somewhat high for an old business friend?" Ned asked. He felt a twinge of hope; he knew the figure was less than the bonus he had been offered. He was hoping to pick up the difference.

"Such a price only covers expenses," Mr. Pang said.

Ned nodded.

"It must be done immediately," he said.

"Then you must go to see the enforcer today," Mr. Pang said.

"This afternoon Mr. Yip is at the Shanghai Shipping Company's container facility in Tai Kok Tsui. He will be expecting you."

Ned bowed. He was relieved. He was also confident. When the Wing Sin promised to do something, it always got done, no matter what.

Bentley pulled the armored Mercedes directly into the receiving dock in the back of the Peninsula Hotel. The early afternoon had passed quickly with the effort of obtaining entry visas for the People's Republic of China. Bentley had proved invaluable. He'd known exactly where to go and had taken them directly to the China Travel Service office as soon as they left Aberdeen. He'd also known where to go to get the necessary passport-style photographs.

Bentley stopped the car and turned around to face his clients.

"Well," he said, "what have you decided?" He knew that Marissa still had reservations about going.

Tristan looked at Marissa, "What's it to be?"

Marissa hesitated. As the business with the visas had progressed, she began to feel better about the venture. After all, they would have the necessary documents. But she still had her doubts.

"Bentley, you'd better wait," Tristan said.

"It appears that we still haven't decided."

Getting out of the car, they walked into the hotel lobby. Tristan went to the front desk and used the safe deposit box to get more money for the captain if they decided to go. While he was occupied, Marissa kept an eye out for the Chinese man who'd attacked them the day before.

After obtaining the money and returning the safe deposit box,

Tristan led Marissa to the elevators. Marissa didn't relax until the elevator doors closed behind them.

"This tension is driving me crazy," she admitted.

"I'm not sure I can take too much more of it."

"Which is another reason to go on the junk," Tristan said.

"As soon as we find out what this is all about, the better. Then we can get out of this place and let them give it back to China."

The elevator arrived on the sixth floor and they stepped out.

They walked slowly to their doors, weighing the pros and cons of going with the Tanka captain.

"Where's the hall porter?" Marissa asked as they neared their doors. She'd grown accustomed to the man's miraculous appearance every time they arrived on the floor.

"That is strange," Tristan said. He looked up and down the hall for signs of the man. Then he spotted the sign hanging from the knob of his door.

"What the hell? Why is there a Do Not Disturb sign on my door?"

"Something's wrong," she said.

Tristan backed away from his door.

"You're right," he said.

Turning, he walked back toward the elevator. Marissa followed him, looking nervously over her shoulder.

They went inside the hall porter's empty cubicle. In the corner they saw a hot plate with a teakettle on it. The kettle was red hot, the water having long since boiled away.

"Something is definitely wrong," Tristan said. Going back to the elevator, he picked up the house phone and asked for security.

Two minutes later the elevator opened and two security men stepped out. One was a muscular Chinese, the other a beefy Englishman.

The security men remembered Marissa and Tristan from the episode in the lobby the day before. With Marissa and Tristan standing to the side, they used their passkey to open Tristan's door.

The room was quiet except for the sound of water running in the bathtub. The connecting door to room 604 was ajar. The bed was stripped. A maid's cleaning cart was pushed to the side.

The Chinese man entered first, then the Englishman. Marissa and Tristan remained on the threshold. The Chinese security man headed for the bathroom while his partner glanced into 604.

"George!" the Chinese man called urgently. George quickly joined his partner at the bathroom door. Both their faces blanched. Then the Englishman turned to Marissa and Tristan, motioning for them to stay where they were. He explained that there had been a death.

Clearly shaken, the two security men left the bathroom and went into 604. Marissa and Tristan exchanged an uneasy glance.

"My God!" the Englishman said.

In a moment, both security men appeared back in 606. The Englishman went to the phone at the desk. After covering the handle of the-receiver with a cloth, he called the manager and told him that there had been two murders: a cleaning woman and apparently a hotel guest.

Meanwhile, the Chinese security man approached Marissa and Tristan.

"I'm afraid we have two bodies in here," he said.

"Please, do not touch anything. We don't recognize the man in the other room." Addressing Tristan he said, "Perhaps, sir, you might have a look and see if it is someone you know."

Tristan started forward, but Marissa stopped him by pulling at his arm.

"I'm a doctor," she said to the security man.

"I think I should look as well."

The security man shrugged.

"As you like, madam."

With the security man in the lead, Marissa and Tristan walked into 604.

When Marissa looked down at the body, she gave out a little cry. Her hand went to her mouth in horror. The victim was lying on his back, staring open-eyed at the ceiling. There were two holes in his forehead. On the carpet behind his head was a pool of blood in the form of a dark halo.

"It's Robert!" Marissa gasped.

"It's my husband-Robert!"

Tristan took Marissa in his arms and pulled her away from the grisly sight.

Then they heard a knocking from the closet.

The Chinese security man called to the Englishman. He bounded into the room. The Chinese man pointed at the closet.

They heard the knocking again. Both men went to the door; the key was in the lock. With one standing to the side, the other unlocked the door and yanked it open. Inside they discovered the cowering hall porter.

After some encouragement, the security men managed to coax the porter out into the room. Once he understood that he was safe, he began speaking rapidly in Chinese.

When the porter finally fell silent, the Chinese security guard turned to the other.

"He says the killer threatened him with a gun and made him open the door. He says the killer was a gwedo. e.:

"Ask him to describe the killer," the Englishman said.

"And ask whether he'd seen him before."

The Chinese security guard again addressed the hall porter.

The porter responded with another long harangue. When he was done, the Chinese security guard turned to the others.

"He says that he'd never seen him before, and he can't describe him because all gweilos look the same to him!"

The hotel manager arrived at the door to 606 and called out.

Together, all five of them went through the connecting door and out into the hall.

Marissa was in shock. Tristan stayed by her side, keeping his arms around her. She hadn't said a word from the moment she'd recognized the dead man as Robert. She had no tears. At the moment, all she felt was a severe chill, as if the air conditioning had been turned up too high.

"The police are on their way," the manager said nervously. He was an Italian with a heavy accent.

"Where are the bodies?"

The Chinese security man motioned for the manager to follow him and they made a brief tour. When the manager returned, he had trouble speaking.

"The hotel apologizes for this inconvenience," he said to Marissa and Tristan.

"Especially after the trouble you had only yesterday."

The Englishman leaned over and whispered in the manager's ear. The manager's eyes widened as he listened. He swallowed hard before speaking again.

"I'm so sorry," he said, speaking directly to Marissa.

"I didn't know that you knew the victim. My heartfelt condolences." Then to both Marissa and Tristan he said: "When I spoke to the police a few moments ago, they told me that you are not to be allowed into your rooms. You are not to touch anything. For your comfort,

I've taken the liberty of preparing our Marco Polo for the interim. We will provide whatever you need in the way of toiletries and such."

Fifteen minutes later Marissa and Tristan were escorted to the lavish suite. Marissa sank into an armchair, feeling drained and immobile.

"I can't believe any of this," she finally said, speaking for the first time since seeing Robert's body.

"It's all too fantastic. Why did he come? It's the last thing I'd expected. Especially after our last phone conversation."

"What happened?" Tristan asked, hoping to get her to speak.

He pulled a chair close by her. He reached out and gripped her hand.

Marissa spilled her heart out. Although she'd never made reference to Tristan about her difficulties with Robert, she now admitted that her marriage had seriously deteriorated, especially over the last few months. She told him that Robert had refused to come to Australia after Wendy died. All he wanted her to do was come home. For Robert to come to Hong Kong suddenly was entirely out of character. She buried her face in her hands.

"He wouldn't have been here if it weren't for me."

Tristan shook his head.

"Marissa," he said. It was hard for him to say what was on his mind, but he knew he had to be direct.

"You can't blame yourself for this tragedy. You'll be tempted to, but you mustn't. You're not to blame."

"But I feel so guilty," Marissa said.

"After Wendy, now Robert!

If it weren't for me they would be alive today."

"And if it weren't for me, my wife would be alive today," Tristan said.

"I know how you feel. I've been there. But you didn't make Robert come here. He came of his own accord. You didn't even know he would be here."

"Robert is such a good man. It's too awful. Maybe it wasn't him," she said suddenly.

"Maybe I was wrong."

Tristan eyed Marissa warily. He remembered how strongly he had wished news of his wife's death away. Denial was powerful in the face of such horrendous shocks.

"Call the manager," Marissa said suddenly.

"We have to make sure it was Robert."

"You sure you want me to do that?" Tristan asked.

"Yes," Marissa said, tears welling in her eyes.

Tristan went to the phone by the desk. It took him a few minutes to get the manager on the line. After a brief conversation, he returned to his chair.

"The name in the wallet and on the passport was Robert Buchanan," Tristan said softly.

Marissa stared at Tristan with unseeing eyes. For a few moments, she didn't say anything.

"I can still see him clearly," she said at last. Her voice was flat and lifeless.

"I can see him at his computer. Whenever he worked he always had the same expression."

"I know," Tristan murmured. Watching Marissa brought back memories of his own. He knew what she was going through.

"What time is it now on the East Coast of the United States?"

Marissa asked.

Tristan studied his watch.

"Between three and four A.M." I believe," he said.

"I have to make some calls," Marissa said. She stood up and walked into the bedroom to use the phone by the bed.

Tristan let her go. He didn't know what to do. He was concerned about Marissa's mental state. Robert's murder had to be a horrendous blow. He would have to keep a close eye on her.

More than anything, he would try to get her to express her grief.

Marissa first called her parents in Virginia. Her mother offered for them to come to Hong Kong immediately, but Marissa told her not to. She would come home as soon as the authorities allowed.

Hanging up, Marissa tried to gather her courage for an even more difficult phone call. She knew she had to call her mother-inlaw, and she knew how much the news would devastate her.

Marissa wouldn't blame her if she held her responsible for Robert's death. But to her surprise, Mrs. Buchanan had no words of criticism for her. After an awful silence, she simply informed Marissa that she would come to Hong Kong immediately. Marissa didn't try to talk her out of it. By the time she hung up the phone, Tristan was in the doorway.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said, "but that bloody porn police inspector is here to talk with us and he wants to talk to you first."

The police inspector stayed for almost an hour, taking statements from both Marissa and Tristan. He told them that there would be a thorough investigation and that they would not have access to their belongings until it was completed. He apologized profusely for any inconvenience. He also informed them that there would be an autopsy on both victims and a formal inquest, and that they were not to leave the colony until the formalities were completed.

After the police inspector left, Marissa and Tristan sat alone.

Tristan took the opportunity to try to get her to talk about her feelings.

"I just feet numb," Marissa said.

"I have trouble believing it has really happened."

"Maybe we should do something," Tristan said.

"Instead of just sitting here."

"I think it might help to get out of this hotel," Marissa said.

"Good idea," Tristan said, glad to hear Marissa make any kind of suggestion.

"We'll move to another hotel." He got to his feet, wondering which one to choose. Only then did he remember Captain Fa-Huang.

"I have a better idea," he said.

"What about going on the junk? We need to do something. We need something to occupy our minds."

"I'd forgotten about the junk trip," Marissa said.

"I don't think I'm up to it. Not now."

"Marissa!" Tristan said.

"Too much has happened for us not to follow the trail to its conclusion." He stepped over to her and grabbed her shoulders.

"Let's do it! Let's get even with these bastards."

Marissa's head was spinning. She couldn't even look at Tristan.

Sometimes she thought he was crazy.

"Come on, Marissa!" Tristan urged.

"Let's not let them get away with this."

Finally she looked up at him. She could feel his determination.

She didn't have the strength to argue or even resist.

"All right," she said.

"At this moment I feel as if I have nothing to lose."

"Good show!" Tristan cried. He gave her a forceful hug, then leaped to his feet. He looked at his watch.

"We don't have a lot of time!" Rushing over to the phone, he called room service and ordered a number of boxed lunches as well as bottled water.

As soon as their order came, Marissa and Tristan descended to the lobby and exited through the service entrance as they had that morning. Bentley had moved the Mercedes to the alley. He was reading a newspaper while he waited. Tristan opened the rear door for Marissa, then ran around and jumped in the other side.

"Aberdeen!" Tristan told Bentley.

"We're going smuggling."

They drove out of the alley and over to East Tsim Sha Tsui, then into the Cross Harbor Tunnel. Almost immediately they slowed to a crawl in bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Tristan eyed his watch nervously in the dim tunnel light.

"Damn!" he said.

"It's going to be close if Captain Fa-Huang weighs anchor at six sharp."

Marissa closed her eyes. She felt numb, as if nothing that was happening were real.

The enforcer looked over his desk at the hit man. The tension between them was natural for two experts in the same small field.

They each knew that the other did similar things, just in different worlds. Mr. Yip thought that Ned was a crude barbarian. Ned thought Mr. Yip was a hoon poofter in a white suit.

They were sitting in the same office where Mr. Yip had Marissa, and Tristan brought on their first meeting. Willy was outside with some of Mr. Yip's men.

"I trust that Mr. Pang rang you," Ned said.

"He did indeed," Mr. Yip said.

"But he only said that we were to do business. He said that it involved dealing with a couple, for which you were to pay the Wing Sin one hundred and fifty thousand Hong Kong dollars. He did not provide further details."

"It is a man and a woman," Ned said.

"One Australian, the other American. Late thirties for the man, early thirties for the woman. Their names are Tristan Williams and Marissa Blumenthal.

They're staying at the Peninsula Hotel, but that may soon change."

Mr. Yip smiled to himself, realizing immediately that the Wing Sin was about to profit from both sides of a conflict.

"This is a coincidence," he said.

"I'm sure that the couple that you are describing have been here to see me in this very office."

"For what reason?" Ned asked.

"They paid me for information," Mr. Yip said.

"They were interested in the people we have been smuggling out of the PRC for Fertility Limited."

Ned shifted nervously in his seat.

"And what were they told?"

"Very little, I can assure you," Mr. Yip said.

"The Wing Sin has never bothered to interfere in Fertility, Limited, business.

So," continued Mr. Yip, "how much is in this for me?"

Accustomed to doing business in Hong Kong and with the Wing Sin in particular, Ned was not surprised by this direct request for squeeze.

"The usual ten percent," he said.

"The usual is fifteen," Mr. Yip said with a smile.

"Done," Ned said.

"It is a delight to do business with someone accustomed to our ways," Mr. Yip said.

"And we are in luck. The couple in question is scheduled to leave this afternoon on a Tanka junk to make one of the Fertility, Limited, pickups. That will make the deed extremely easy and efficient. The bodies can be dropped into the sea. Very neat."

Ned pulled his sleeve back to look at his watch.

"What time are they leaving?" he asked.

"Around six," Mr. Yip said. He got up from his chair.

"I think we'd better leave immediately."

A few minutes later they found themselves stuck in traffic.

"Isn't there a faster way?" Ned asked with frustration.

"You must relax," Mr. Yip said.

"Consider the job done."

Even the Aberdeen Tunnel was crowded at that time of day. As they got out of the tunnel, the south shore proved equally congested.

It was stop-and-go traffic all the way to Aberdeen.

Tristan was frantic. He could hardly sit still, looking at his watch every few minutes. In contrast, Marissa sat immobile, staring blankly ahead. Her mind was in a turmoil as her emotional numbness was beginning to wear thin. She was thinking of Robert and the better times they'd had. Not only did she feel responsible for his death, to a large degree she felt responsible for the rough months before it. Tears began to well in her eyes. She averted her head to keep Tristan from seeing. Except for a powerful apathy that overwhelmed her, she would have asked if they could turn around.

On top of her emotional pain, Marissa also began to fear going out on the open sea, worrying that she might get seasick to add to her problems. During the ride out to the junk in the motorized sampan, Marissa again considered demanding they go back. The sound of the water and the thought of the ocean not only made "FA her queasy but also brought back the memory of Wendy's death with stark vividness.

"Good show!" Tristan exclaimed as they rounded the row of junks and saw that Captain Fa-Huang had not yet departed. The sampan pulled alongside the receiving port.

Marissa saw that the captain had company. A couple of fierce looking

Chinese men were standing at the railing on the poop deck, watching their arrival with interest.

Grabbing Tristan's arm, Marissa pointed.

"Who are those men?" she asked.

"They look like bandits."

"Dunno," Tristan said.

"Must be the crew." e Bentley scrambled up into the opening, then turned to lend a hand. Tristan handed up the boxed lunches and the bottled water.

"Okay, luv," Tristan said taking Marissa's arm.

With a boost from Tristan and a pull from Bentley, Marissa found herself aboard the junk.

Once on the boat, they went forward and climbed the ladder to the main deck. The captain bellowed a greeting and introduced them to Liu and Maa, the two deckhands. Everyone bowed. Then the captain yelled a command and the men fell back to work.

The junk was in the final stages of preparation. Even the two women that Marissa had seen earlier were occupied. They were busy lashing down a cage containing four live chickens.

Within fifteen minutes of their arrival, the mooring lines were cast off the junk. With much straining the boat was eased out of its berth by sheer muscle power. Once in the channel, the captain fired up his twin diesels. Soon the boat was pulsating with the deep, throaty vibration of its engines, and slowly the ponderous craft chugged out of the congested harbor.

They headed due west toward the setting sun. In other circumstances,

Marissa might have found the experience exhilarating.

The scenery was magnificent, especially once they cleared the tip of Ap Lei Chou Island. It was then that they had a view of the wooded Lamma Island to port and the much larger mountainous island of Lantau directly ahead.

But the beauty was lost on Marissa. She sat by the railing with her eyes closed and held tight. She was glad for the strong sea breeze; it dried the tears from her cheeks before anyone could see them. And on top of everything else, she was beginning to feel a little seasick as the boat began to pitch.

Ned Kelly swore as only an Australian can swear when he found himself looking at the empty space where he'd hoped Fa-Huang's junk would be moored.

"Couldn't we have gotten here faster?" he steamed. Coming from Australia, he had trouble understanding how people could conduct their lives with so much traffic.

"Ask the neighbors if Williams and Blumenthal were on the boat!"

"I am not your servant," Mr. Yip said. Ned was irritating him more than usual.

"Stone the crows!" Ned exclaimed, peering heavenward to muster some patience. He well knew Yip was a character to be reckoned with, particularly on his home turf.

"Please ask them," he said.

"I'm sorry if I insulted you."

Mr. Yip spoke to the family on one of the junks that had been next to Fa-Huang's. He spoke to them in Tanka, a language Ned did not understand.

Turning back to Ned, Mr. Yip said: "There were two white devils on board. That is a literal translation."

"It must be them," Ned said.

"Can we go after them?"

"Of course," Mr. Yip said.

Ordering the sampan operator back to the quay, Mr. Yip had one of his henchmen bring around a sleek speedboat. Ned climbed in the front seat with Willy and the driver. Mr. Yip and two of his men got in the back. Both the men were armed with machine pistols.

With a roar, they left the quay and raced down the length of the harbor. Ned was encouraged by the boat's speed. But when they reached open water, his mood soured. The ocean was dotted with junks. They all looked alike. After cruising by a handful with no luck, they gave up.

This American is living a charmed life," Ned complained.

He twisted in his seat and yelled to Mr. Yip over the sound of the powerful engine: "What should we do? Wait for them to come back, or what?"

"It's not necessary to wait," Mr. Yip called out, "Enjoy the boat ride. We will talk when we get to the restaurant."

"What restaurant?" Ned asked.

Mr. Yip pointed. Ahead was one of Aberdeen's enormous floating restaurants with gold dragons and crimson banners.

Among the throng of dilapidated junks, it was an improbable oasis.

Fifteen minutes later Ned found himself dining in style. The OWL-sun had set and the lights of Aberdeen were blinking across the harbor. Mr. Yip took it on himself to order a lavish feast. It was enough for Ned to forget his anger.

In the middle of the meal, one of Mr. Yip's men brought in a nautical chart. Mr. Yip spread it out on the table.

"This is the ZhuJiang Kou estuary," Mr. Yip explained.

"Most foreigners call it the Pearl River. Here is Guangzhou." He pointed with his chopstick.

"And here, above Zhuhai, just north of the special economic zone that the PRC has set up above Macao, are a group of small offshore islands. It is there that Captain FaHuang picks up your people. If you go tonight with some of my men you can meet them. You don't have to wait for them to get back."

"How do I get there?" Ned asked, looking at the map. He could tell it wasn't that far: maybe fifty miles.

"We have a special boat coming for you," Mr. Yip said.

"It is what they call a cigarette boat."

"Wonderful," Ned said. He knew that cigarette boats were capable of speed in excess of fifty miles per hour.

"There is only one problem," Mr. Yip said.

"What's that?" Ned asked.

"I'll need a bit more squeeze."