HONG KONG

HONG KONG is Stephen Coonts' ninth published novel, his eighth novel starring Jake Grafton, today's most popular action-adventure hero.

Jake Grafton takes his wife, Callie, along when the U.S. government sends him to Hong Kong to find out how deeply the U.S. consul-general is embedded in a political money-raising scandal. And why not? Jake and Callie met and fell in love in Hong Kong during the Vietnam War, and the consul-general is an old friend from his Vietnam days, Tiger Cole.

A lot has changed since those days, as the Graftons quickly discover. They find Hong Kong is a powder keg, ready to explode. The closure of a foreign bank by the communist government is the spark that lights the fuse... and Tiger Cole is right in the middle of the action.

When Callie is kidnapped by a rebel faction, Jake finds himself drawn into the vortex of a high-tech civil war. Drawing on the skills of CIA burglar Tommy Carmellini, in order to save his wife Jake Grafton must figure out who is wearing the white hats among the Chinese patriots fighting for the future of China... and make sure the right side wins.

As usual with Stephen Coonts' novels, HONG KONG is full of action, high adventure, and fascinating characters. Readers will also be captivated by the Sergeant York robots, the 21st Century replacement for the main battle tank. If you think high-tech is all Palm Pilots and email, think again!

Deborah and I went to Hong Kong in the summer of 1996 to see how it had changed in the years following the Vietnam War. I had visited the city about six times in the period 1971-1973, but hadn't been back since. The changeover from British to Chinese Communist rule was supposed to happen in 1997; I thought that event would trigger renewed world interest in Hong Kong. The story I had in mind involved a Japanese invasion of Hong Kong while the Russians invaded northern China. I eventually decided that plot was too complicated and dropped China completely from the story, ending up with a Japanese invasion of Siberia. The book was published as FORTUNES OF WAR.

The city Deborah and I visited that summer of 1996 had grown tremendously in the 24 years since I had last seen it, and most of the growth was straight up. The Central District had become a downtown of glass-covered skyscrapers, huge, towering buildings that filled city blocks and created concrete canyons. I couldn't even recognize the neighborhood where the old China Fleet Club had been. A McDonalds stood where the old Red Chinese department store had been near the Kowloon ferry pier. The alleys of the Wanchai District were gone, redeveloped into miles of high-rise housing for Hong Kong's millions.

The smells had changed too. In the early 1970s the Chinese had used the sidewalks for kitchens. Shark and fish and unrecognizable stuff was fried on every corner. There was little of that remaining in 1996. The people of Hong Kong were much more prosperous and did their cooking in kitchens in the high rises. The smell of Hong Kong that summer was the smell of the sea or the deep pungent aroma of China when the wind was off the land.

The people we talked to presented a brave face over the coming Communist transition. They were optimistic. We thought we detected more than a hint of wishful thinking, for the transition was absolutely inevitable. Still, the undisputable reality was that the political and economic forces that had created the miracle of Hong Kong were about to undergo a drastic change.

Like everyone else, the following year I idly watched the transition on television and read about it with little interest since my story idea had changed. The transition occurred in an orgy of Chinese patriotism, sobered somewhat by the memory of Tiananmen Square.

In 1999, while my publisher and I racked our brains to come up with a book idea to follow CUBA, someone, I have forgotten who, brought up the subject of Hong Kong. I remembered the 1996 visit and my fascination with the people who were about to become subjects of the last great communist regime, and readily agreed to do a story based there.

Thinking about the story on the train home, I began to see the shadowy outlines of a high tech revolution that pulled Jake into the vortex of the storm. I have been looking for some time at ways to get Callie more involved in a story, and this idea seemed to have promise. Cyberwar was a natural outgrowth of my desire to incorporate a "what's happening now" aspect into the story.

I had the characters up and going and the story well underway although I didn't have a climax in mind. This violated my first rule of storytelling: Know where you are going before you start. I was in a panic. I didn't want to write hordes of revolutionaries shooting it out in the streets with uniformed Chinese soldiers--that scenario would be dead on arrival in New York. I needed something a lot better than that.

Almost at my wits' end, I was watching the Discovery channel one evening when a program on robots aired. I sat fascinated. Robots! Here was my climax: fighting robots leaping and bounding along like mechanical supermen. As usual, I immediately consulted my neighbor, engineer and physicist Gil Pascal, who was a gold mine of information about neural networks, UWB radar and WB cell phones.

If the military is working on robots like Sgt. York the program is black, which means it is highly classified. Network-centric warfare is here now. One suspects that fighting robots could not be far behind.

All in all, I was pleased with the way the story turned out. It was very linear, which is not the usual structure for a thriller, but I thought it told the story of Jake and Callie and Tiger Cole and some of the people of Hong Kong in an entertaining way, which was the goal I wanted to achieve.

I hope you like the tale.

Hi Steve, just re-read Hong Kong and get a kick out of your use of Moline. Having lived there for 4 years we do understand the reference to this area and the people.  Been going though all the books in order, or semi-order with Intruder series, and always enjoy the stories.  Waiting to read The Assassin in a few weeks.  Thanks again for all the good stories and it was a real pleasure to meet you last year at Paine Field.
John Dalke July 16, 2008

Just wanted to let you know I finished Hong Kong. WOW !! I can not believe that was not made into a movie!! I had a very hard time putting the book down - thanks for a lot of nights with only a few hours sleep!! Those York units - I could see them clear as day! Loved it!!  I am one of your biggest fans from NH -
Thanks again for hours of entertainment.
Bob Salter July 14, 2008
 

I was delighted to find you were writing the sort of books I like - at 73 I've read most of the books of my favourite authors.
Just a tiny niggle - the crowd outside the Orient Bank in "Hong Kong" Chapter 2 could not possibly have been "disbursed" though it could have been "dispersed"!
Tony Hill August 24, 2007

Hi Stephen, I just finished reading Hong Kong in two days. It was exciting enough that I could not put it down. It must have been the good efforts of your wife that made it so readable (ha) I have two copies of Cannibal Queen on my shelf- one to keep and one to loan. I am also a private pilot and keep hoping that you will fly the Queen to Wichita Falls, Texas and give me a ride. If you should ever come to Texas, I would enjoy meeting you. Again, congratulations on a fine novel." -- Jerry Woods February 3, 2006 Dear Mr. Coonts, This is the first time I have ever written to an author but I wanted to take the time to thank you. I have been a proud member of the U.S. Air Force for over 16 years now and somehow seem to be drawn toward your books during times of crisis. During Desert Shield/Storm I picked up a copy of Flight of the Intruder from the book exchange. Being a huge fan of Naval aviation, in particular carrier ops (don't ask why I joined the AF) I thought it would be a good read. I wasn't disappointed, from the opening chapter I was hooked. After reading "Flight" I quickly followed up with Intruders and Final Flight with Intruders being my favorite. Being the type of person who enjoys taking things apart (much to my dear wife's dismay) just to see how they work, your in-depth descriptions of carrier ops, in particular the launch and recovery systems was like candy to me. I am currently pulling a one year remote in Iceland and once again separated from my family during a time of crisis. When I reach critical mass on all the horror, tragedy and sorrow of recent events it is Jake Grafton to the rescue. My wife sent me a copy of Hong Kong last month not knowing that I was fan. As luck would have it (good or bad I don't know) it seems your excellent writing and captivating storyline will help me through this difficult time. I can forget about the real world as I become engrossed in Admiral Grafton's exploits, and for that I cannot thank you enough.

Sincerely, Thomas Woodfield

"I just completed HONG KONG. One word, sir: FANTASTIC! I really had difficulty putting that one down. To be honest, it was better than AMERICA. I am VERY tempted to just by Liberty at full price. Being a book collector, I wouldn't even bat an eye but my wife happens to handle the money in our family! *chuckle* So, I guess I will have to wait until it goes on sale again at B&N or it's released in paperback. To be honest, you are a better writer than Clive Cussler and I have read each of his novels. Keep up the great stories, I will continue to buy your books and recommend to others. Would be a real treat to see one or more of your recent novels on the big screen, like Ian Fleming's James Bond. Thanks again for another great work!"--Jesse Helmick, August 31, 2003

"Dear Sir, Not being a great fan of reading, when I stumbled across your book Hong Kong and was able to complete it in a week-end (a book this size would normally take a month), I was hooked on your writing. It has been a month since purchasing Hong Kong, and I have also purchased and completed Cuba. Currently I am working on America, and expect to be done it within the week. Congratulations on the excellent work and I look forward to reading the old and new novels that you write."

"Mr. Coonts, I have been an avid reader/fan since FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER. I look forward to each Jake Grafton novel. Thank you for making such an enjoyable and respected character. To tell the truth he was part of the reason we named our second son Jake. The most inspiring part, for me, of Jake Grafton's make up is his imperfections, but he is perfectly himself. He is always trying to do what is right. These traits are in short supply today and it is refreshing to see these ideals, even if they are only in print. I am sure you have based his character on yourself or people you have known. Please keep up the great work and I look forward to the next novel." --Mike Kalette April 8, 2001

"(Thanks) for the hours upon hours of enjoyment. After I devoured Mr. Clancy's works extant some years ago, I searched long and hard for another author who could carry me away as he could and found only you. So I bought and read all your fiction and continue to buy and read your work as you publish. I continue to faithfully plow through Mr. Clancy's work, but know in the reading of it that he has lost sight of something....I think he loves his words too much.... Sorry...this wasn't intended to turn into a critique of another author save to say that I don't feel you've done that. You are an outstanding author. Keep your eye on the ball and I and many others will continue to buy and read your work. Anyway... thanks very much." --Trent , March 21, 2001

"Mr. Coonts, I have enjoyed reading every one of your novels that had Jake Grafton as the main character. Most of the novels I find difficult to put down in order to go to work or eat. I have served in the Navy for over 34 years and can appreciate the accuracy and professionalism that you project in your novels. Your first novel, "Flight of the Intruder" was one of my all time favorites with its subsequent sequel. So thanks very much for the pleasure you have given all of your readers over the years. In the novel that I'm presently reading, HONG KONG, in the dedication, you mention that your wife dreams up literary tangles, I might mention that my wife tells me of the novels she is reading that has always such convoluted plots, that I wonder how in the world can any one solve them." --Don Ellwood, March 22, 2001

"Dear Mr. Coonts, I spent 20 years in Hong Kong serving as a grade school teacher in a Chinese school, editor and layout artist for an Asian Catholic News Service, and as a social worker of sorts in the Vietnamese detention centers. I left Hong Kong in late 1994 to work here at our Center in Ossining, NY.
"Last week, while browsing our library, I came across your book HONG KONG, on tape. Once I began listening, I could not stop. Not only did it make me home sick for Hong Kong, but the story you weave is very compelling. Your also paint a fascinating picture of a somewhat backward China juxtaposed
with a modern, techno smart Hong Kong. I like your characters, some of whom I might have known (or known of) myself in Hong Kong. Thank you for an entertaining weekend and for taking me back to a place I love and miss very much. Also, a place for which I have much concern since the Chinese take
over in 1997." --Sister Martha January 29, 2001

"Dear Mr. Coonts, I absolutely loved HONG KONG. I have to tell you though, I'm really ready for your next Jake Grafton Novel. It seems to me that there are several places in history between the Viet Nam conflict and the present that Mr. Grafton could find himself at the stick saving the day. I am anxious to read about them. I really admire your work. Always have and thank you for the 'memories'." --Mike Casey, January 14, 2001

"Just finished HONG KONG. Enjoyed it as much as the others. One advantage of being retired is being able to stay up half the night to finish a good book. Looking forward to the next one." --Mellissa Brown, January 13, 2001

"Dear Stephen, I've read all of your works since FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER came out, and love 'em all. I work in the computer industry (about all I could do with the spook background I acquired in the Army Security Agency in Viet Nam) and am reasonably well versed in artificial intelligence and robotics. Hence I was intrigued by the Sergeant York robo-soldiers in HONG KONG... Sergeant York may not be with us yet, but it looks like "mechanized infantry" is about to take on a whole new meaning!" --Terry Shannon, January 12, 2001

"Hello how you doin? I'm another one of these mad people who's read almost everything you've ever written. well everything that I've found anyway and id like to say how much I enjoy reading your work, its really good reading. When reading the opening pages of FLIGHT OF THE INTRUDER I can almost smell the fear in the cockpit and I automatically apply GLOC during the dogfights and such and that carries on right through the whole series, it really is a pleasure to read. So what is Jake doing next and is the Toad man going for the ride? I hope to find out soon. HONG KONG was great by the way." --Father David Blinman, January 13, 2001

"G'day Steve, Just received a copy of your newest book HONG KONG as a Christmas present from my 7 year old daughter, Jacqui. Couldn't put it down. Fortunately, I was blessed with a hot 'do-nothing' day (36 degrees Celsius), and no in-laws, and so was able to enjoy the story in one long read. A rarity in my family! I will certainly be reading it again. Thank You." --Matt Robinson, Brisbane, Australia. December 26, 2000

"Hi! Just wanted to let you know I enjoyed your HONG KONG. At the end of September I was in Sam's with my sister; saw your book, told her she could buy it for me for my birthday. She did and I read it. I don't usually enjoy blood & guts adventure, but this one is a winner. You flew for the Navy during Vietnam, and I was sitting in the U.S. Consulate (in the CIA offices) at the time. I remember those parties at the Hilton when the navy guys would hire the ballroom for a cocktail party. Those were also the days of the walla-wallas which operated after the Star Ferry closed. I subsequently left the CIA. after a two-year tour in HK and married the chief-sub at the China Mail (the afternoon paper of the South China Morning Post which was owned by the Brits -- although there were always lots of Australian journalists on both papers and, in fact, some who had worked for Murdock)... I never wanted to "go back" to Honkers." --Ann Williams October 28, 2000

"Dear Mr. Coonts: Having just finished Hong Kong I can tell you that I have rarely enjoyed a book more. I have devoured all that you have written and look forward to your next book with great anticipation. I spent many years in Asia with Hong Kong as my "base of operations." The Regent hotel being ground zero for me. You captured the flavor and spirit of what was, and is for me, a vibrant and exciting and very mysterious part of the world. Thank you for taking me back to my second favorite city in the world and giving me a glimpse of how it is since the turn over." --Stuart Leopold, October 5, 2000

"Bought HONG KONG this afternoon; just finished it. Loved it. It doesn't have the same global feel that Cuba did even though the subject is headed toward something much more vast; it's much more personal with Callie so deeply involved in the action. I think it's the interplay of the several small stories that give your novel such an intimate feel. I also detect the touch of a woman in some of the telling. But then you did acknowledge your wife Deborah's collaboration. Your vivid description of Hong Kong brought back fond memories of the place from a little visit on R & R during my service to the same master you served, the U.S. Navy at about the same time you did, and definitely in the same place. I might have even being doing plane guard for you. Thanks again for Hong Kong; keep up the great work." --Phil Reed September, 13, 2000

AN EXCERPT FROM STEPHEN COONTS' HONG KONG

CHAPTER ONE

One tiny, red, liquid drop of blood was visible in the center of the small, neat hole in China Bob Chan's forehead an inch or so above his right eye. Chan's eyes were wide open. Tommy Carmellini thought his features registered a look of surprise.

Carmellini pulled off his right latex glove, bent down, and touched the cheek of the corpse--which was still warm.

Death must have been instantaneous, and not many minutes ago, Carmellini thought as he pulled the glove back onto his hand.
The diminutive corpse of China Bob Chan lay sprawled behind his Philippine mahogany desk in the library of his mansion on the south side of Hong Kong Island.

When Carmellini had eased the library door open a few seconds ago, he had seen the shod foot protruding from behind the desk. He scanned the room, then entered the library.

The side of the room opposite the door consisted of a series of large plate-glass windows accented with heavy burgundy drapes. Through the windows was a magnificent view of the harbor at Aberdeen. Beyond the harbor was the channel between Hong Kong Island and Lamma Island. A few lights could be seen on sparsely populated Lamma, and beyond that island, the total darkness of the South China Sea. Tonight the lights of the great city of Hong Kong, out of sight on the north side of the island's spine, illuminated a low deck of stratus clouds with a dull glow.

The band at the party on the floor below this one was playing an old American pop hit; the tune was recognizable even though the amplified lyrics were muffled by overstuffed furniture and shelves of books that reached from floor to ceiling.

Tommy Garmellini looked around, trying to find the spent cartridge. There, a gleam of brass near the leg of that chair. In the subdued light of the library he almost missed it.

He stepped over, bent down, looked.

7.65 millimeter.

That cartridge was designed for small, easy-to-conceal pocket pistols. Difficult to shoot accurately, they were serious weapons only at point-blank range.

Standing in front of the desk, he put his hands on his hips and carefully scanned the room. Somewhere in this room Harold Barnes hid a tape recorder eleven days ago when he installed the wiring for a satellite dish system.

Presumably Chan had ordered the system so that he could watch American television. Perhaps he was a fan of C-Span, which was broadcasting the congressional hearings concerning foreign--i.e., Chinese--donations to the American political parties in the last election; in the past ten days his name had certainly been mentioned numerous times in those hearings.

Alas, Barnes had left no record of where he hid the recorder. He had been shot in the head the night after he completed the installation.

Carmellini was certain Barnes would have used a recorder, not a remote transmitter, which would have been too easy to detect and find. One reason he was certain was that he had known Barnes, a quiet, careful, colorless technician who had gone through the CIA tradecraft course with Carmellini. Who would have suspected that Barnes would be the first of that class to die in the line of duty?

The mikes...Harold ostensibly spent four hours on the television satellite dish system, a system he should have been able to install in two. If he followed normal practice, he would have hardwired at least two tiny microphones, one for each track of the recorder.

The chandelier over the mahogany desk caught Tommy's eye. Ornate, with several dozen small bulbs, it would attract Harold Barnes like sugar attracts a fly.

Carmellini studied the chain that held the chandelier. There was a wire running down it... no, two wires--one black wire and the other smaller, carefully wound around the chain.

Barnes could have put a mike in the chandelier, another anywhere in the room--maybe the desk or over by the reading area--and hidden the recorder behind some books, perhaps on the top shelf. Surely there were tomes that didn't get removed from the shelves once a decade.

Carmellini stepped to the nearest bookcase, studied the spines of the books that filled the thing. Not a flake of dust.

A diligent maid would not be good.

So...

He pulled a chair over under the chandelier, then stood on it.

Aha! There it was, taped in the junction of the main arms of the chandelier. With the bulbs of the chandelier burning brightly, the tiny recorder would have been almost impossible to see from the floor.

Carmellini reached. In seconds he had the two reels out. Maybe three-quarters of the tape had been used, about six hours' worth.

Back on the floor, he was tempted to put the reels into his pocket, then thought better of it. He pulled up a trouser leg and carefully shoved them down into one sock.

He had a new tape in his other sock, but with China Bob dead, the recorder seemed superfluous. Should he cut the wires and remove the device?

How much time did he have?

If China Bob Chan killed Harold Barnes, why was the recorder still there? Was he waiting for someone to come for the tape?

Suddenly aware that time was fleeing, Tommy Carmellini pushed the chair back to its former position. He vigorously rubbed the upholstered seat of the chair to remove any marks his shoes had made.

As he straightened, he heard a noise. It seemed to come from the secretary's office. When he stepped in that direction the light in the smaller office came on.

Carmellini moved swiftly and flattened against the wall. The door to the secretary's office was to his right. He listened intently for footsteps.

Carmellini desperately wanted to avoid being caught in this room with a dead man on the floor and a tape in his sock. True, he had diplomatic immunity as the assistant agricultural officer at the consulate, but the publicity and hullabaloo of an arrest and interrogation, not to mention expulsion from the country, would not be career-enhancing.

He heard the scrape of a chair being moved.

Coiled, ready to lash out if anyone came through the door, he approached it, staying back far enough that he remained away from the glare of the light.

Someone was sitting behind the secretary's desk, someone small. My God, it was a kid! A boy, perhaps ten or twelve.

Carmellini stepped back so he would be out of sight if the youngster glanced this way.

Now he heard a computer boot up.

There was one other exit from this room, at the far end. Carmellini didn't know if the door was locked, but it led to another suite of offices which opened into the hallway near the elevator.

He walked toward the door, moving quietly and decisively.

The knob refused to turn. Locked. There was a keyhole, but he could not see the brand name or type of lock.

He removed a leather packet from his pocket and unfolded it, revealing a carefully chosen selection of picks. He took one, inserted it in the lock.

As he bent down to work on the lock, he saw for the first time the heads of the bolts in the door. They had been painted the same dark color as the door to make them less noticeable.

Even if he got the lock open, the door was bolted shut.

He put the pick away and stowed the packet in an inside jacket pocket as he walked back toward the secretary's open door.

Standing at least six feet from the door, he moved so he could see inside.

The kid was at the computer, typing.

Now he sat back in the chair, waiting. . .

In seconds a naked woman appeared on the screen, a woman holding what appeared to be a giant penis in her hand. Now she--

Jesus, the kid is into porno!

Just what the woman was going to do with the penis, Tommy Carmellini never discovered, for at that instant the door from the hallway opened and a woman walked in. The boy took one look at the intruder and closed the screen, but not before the woman got a good look at it.

She cuffed him once, said something in Chinese.

The boy ran through the icons, closed the Internet connection as the woman spouted Chinese as quickly as her lips would move.

Carmellini stepped back against the wall and waited.

He heard the computer go off, heard the scrape of the chair and footsteps, then the door to the hallway close firmly.

He peered into the office.

Empty.

He opened the hallway door a crack, just enough to see the woman and boy disappear into the elevator at the end of the hallway.

He paused for a second, then went back into the library and scooted the chair under the chandelier. Installing the new tape in the recorder took about thirty seconds; then he found the on-off switch and turned off the recorder. He put the chair back where it belonged and rubbed the seat again.

At the door in the secretary's office, Carmellini checked to ensure no one was coming, then stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut until it latched. Strains of Gershwin's "An American in Paris" were audible here.

As he walked toward the staircase that led to the rooms below where the party was being held, Carmellini stripped off his latex gloves and put them in his pocket.

Downstairs he found Kerry Kent sipping champagne and talking animatedly with a long-haired intellectual type who was gazing hopefully at her. Kerry was a tall English woman with a spectacular mass of reddish brown hair who spoke both Cantonese and Mandarin fluently. On most working days she labored as a translator at the Greater China Mutual Aid Society, an insurance firm, but in reality she was an officer in the British Secret Intelligence Service, the SIS. Tonight she was wearing an elegant dark blue dress that just brushed her ankles and a modest borrowed diamond necklace.

"Oh, there you are, darting," she said lightly, laying a hand on Tommy's arm. "I have been talking to this brilliant playwright--" She said his name. "His new play is opening next week in the West End. My sister told me quite a lot about it, actually. What a coincidence! When we get back to London we must see it."

Carmellini shook hands with the scribbler and gently led Kerry away. "Did anyone watch me come in?" he asked, just loud enough for her to hear over the hubbub of cocktail party chatter and music.

"I don't think anyone was paying much attention. What were you doing up there?"

"Watching porno on the Internet. Fascinating stuff! I'll tell you all about it later. Who is this sicko stalking you?"

He was referring to a Chinese man who was standing six feet away and openly staring at Kerry. When she moved, he moved.

"An admirer from the provinces, obviously, hopelessly smitten. All my life I've had this devastating effect on men. It's such a bore. I'm thinking of having chest reduction surgery to end these unwanted attentions."

That comment was intended as a joke, for Kerry had a slim, athletic figure.

Carmellini snarled at the staring man and guided Kent away by the elbow.

"Did you get it?" She meant the tape.

"It wasn't there. China Bob is stretched out behind his desk with a hole in his head."

"Dead?" A furrow appeared between her eyebrows.

"Very."

"You found the recorder?"

"In the chandelier. But the tape was missing."

Kerry Kent sipped champagne as she digested Carmellini's lie. Just why lying to her was a good idea he couldn't say, but his instinct told him not to trust anyone. Someone shot Harold Barnes, and another someone, perhaps the same one, put a bullet in China Bob Chan's head--and Carmellini had known Ms. Kent for precisely three days, not exactly a long-term relationship.

There were at least three ways to get from this floor of the mansion to the floor above: two staircases and an elevator. Carmellini had slipped up one set of stairs after he went to the men's room, which was out of sight of the ballroom, just down the hall toward the back stairs. Anyone in this room could have done precisely the same thing in the last few hours, and probably several of them had.

Perhaps the tape held the answer.

Carmellini scanned the crowd one more time, trying to fix the guests in his mind. The cream of Hong Kong society was here tonight.

"Tell me again," he said to Kerry Kent, "who these folks are."

She scanned the crowd, nodded toward a man in his sixties in the center of a small crowd. "That's Governor Sun Siu Ki, surrounded by his usual entourage--officials and bureaucrats and private industry suck-ups. The gentleman of distinction talking to him is Sir Robert MacDonald, the British consul general. The tall, blond Aussie semi-eavesdropping on those two is Rip Buckingham, managing editor of the China Post, the largest English-language daily in Hong Kong. Beside him is his wife, Sue Lin. Over in the far corner is the American consul general, Virgil Cole, talking to China Bob's sister, Amy Chan. Let's see, who else?"

"The fellow in the uniform with the highball, standing by the band."

"General Tang, commanding the division of People's Liberation Army troops stationed in Hong Kong. He's been in Hong Kong only a few weeks. The papers ran articles about him when he arrived."

"The man talking to him?"

"Albert Cheung. Educated at Oxford, the foremost attorney in Hong Kong. Smooth and silky and in the know, or so I've heard."

She continued, pointing out six industrialists, three shipping magnates, and two bank presidents. "These people are the scions of the merchant and shipping clans that grew filthy rich in Hong Kong," she said, and named names. "If ever a group mourned the departure of the British, there they are," she added. "Never saw so much of the upper crust chatting it up together."

Any person in the room could have gone upstairs and popped China Bob, Carmellini reflected. All of them had probably excused themselves and gone in search of the facilities once or twice during the evening. Or someone could have ridden the elevator from the basement or walked to the library from another area of the house. The field was wide open. Still, Tommy Carmellini took one more careful look at each of the people Kerry had pointed out, then said, "Perhaps we should leave now before the excitement begins."

"A marvelous suggestion. Let me say a few good-byes as we drift toward the door."

Five minutes later, as they stood waiting for the consulate's pool car to be brought around, Carmellini asked Kerry, "So what's on the agenda for the rest of the evening?"

"I don't know," she said lightly and turned toward him. He accepted the invitation and kissed her. She put her arms around him and kissed back.

"You are such a romantic," she said when her lips were free.

"And single, too."

"I haven't forgotten."

"I don't recall mentioning my marital status before."

"You didn't. Your reputation preceded you. Tommy Carmellini, unmarried burglar, thief, second-story man . . ."

"And all-around good egg."

"James Bond without the dash and panache."

"Don't knock the recipe until you've tried it."

"You'll have to sell me."

"I'm willing to give it a go, as you Brits say."

"Tell me about the Internet pornography. Little details like that spice up action reports, make them interesting."

The consulate pool car pulled to a stop in front of them, and the valet got out. "I was saving that morsel for later," Carmellini said as he tipped the man and accepted the keys. "After all, the night is young."

Copyright 2000 © by Stephen Coonts