aside. There were no signs of any real struggle. No defensive wounds, no . . . ”
Fong cut him off. “Mr. Hyland never climbed that ladder. It was placed on the stage after Mr. Hyland was dead. Get me six men, access to the man who pulls those fly ropes and a hundred-and-eightypound dummy and I’ll show you how it was done.”
“Now?”
Fong looked at his watch. The theatre would just be opening. He had other things he could do before he proved his point, so he said, “No. Tomorrow. Get us in there tomorrow first thing.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE VOYAGE OF JOAN SHUI
J oan Shui assumed she had been chosen because she was new to the movement and hence probably not known to the authorities. Authorities like her. Being a cop was probably another reason they had chosen her. She’d been a member of the Hong Kong constabulary for almost ten years. Before that, she’d done an advanced degree in chemistry. It was that degree that allowed her immediate entrance to the elite Hong Kong arson squad. Her father, the first fireman in her life, had been so proud. For a moment, she wondered if he would be proud of what she was about to do. “We can hardly please the living, how can we hope to please the dead?” she asked the emptiness of her office.
She looked out her office window. The deterioration of Hong Kong was subtle but it was there. It had started quickly after the mainland took back the British protectorate in 1996. At first it was just little things, neon signs that didn’t flash, stores with shorter hours, vacancy rates rising, but of late the rot was threatening to break into the open. No longer was it just cosmetic. Something in the heart of Hong Kong could be dying.
That was why she was a supporter of Dalong Fada. She did believe in the exercise regime, but it was the fact of opposition to the Communists now that Hong Kong was no longer free that drew her to the movement. Without some form of opposition, Beijing would run even further amok then it had already. Dalong Fada was the only credible opposition in the entire country.
Her initial steps toward Dalong Fada had seemed so natural. A flirtation with a high-ranking member. A contact with an American-Chinese man. A series of discreet meetings and she was – a part of it.
Now there was a message and an assignment. For the briefest moment she wondered if this was what an al-Qaeda freak felt like. One moment a normal working stiff, the next a man with a bomb. Then she shook that off. She was not involved with bombs. Nothing that she was doing had anything to do with hurting people. She was a member of Dalong Fada because China needed a real opposition to the Chinese Communist Party – period, the end.
The phone on her desk rang. Joan let it ring as she remembered a call at almost exactly this time two days ago – when life was considerably simpler, a different reality. It had been a young lab technician with the results from her investigation of a fire on Peak Road. Insurance companies were taking a bath as fear of Beijing’s control gripped Hong Kong and drove land values down. Many fashionable buildings were no longer financially viable. Better to burn them down and collect the insurance than to declare bankruptcy and face the shame, even in a financial centre like Hong Kong, that accompanied monetary failure.
Joan had nodded as she jotted down notes from the lab. Traces of accelerant had been found in the apartment building’s basement. No planch was discovered, but the burn pattern was nothing if not suspicious. She thanked the technician and made a series of further requests for data. She sensed his hesitancy. “What?” she asked. The young man hemmed and hawed then finally said, “Are you doing anything Saturday night?” His question was no surprise to Joan. She was an attractive, unmarried, educated woman in her mid-thirties. She had a good job, beautiful if hard facial features and curves that attracted many eyes. What was she doing Saturday
Fong cut him off. “Mr. Hyland never climbed that ladder. It was placed on the stage after Mr. Hyland was dead. Get me six men, access to the man who pulls those fly ropes and a hundred-and-eightypound dummy and I’ll show you how it was done.”
“Now?”
Fong looked at his watch. The theatre would just be opening. He had other things he could do before he proved his point, so he said, “No. Tomorrow. Get us in there tomorrow first thing.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE VOYAGE OF JOAN SHUI
J oan Shui assumed she had been chosen because she was new to the movement and hence probably not known to the authorities. Authorities like her. Being a cop was probably another reason they had chosen her. She’d been a member of the Hong Kong constabulary for almost ten years. Before that, she’d done an advanced degree in chemistry. It was that degree that allowed her immediate entrance to the elite Hong Kong arson squad. Her father, the first fireman in her life, had been so proud. For a moment, she wondered if he would be proud of what she was about to do. “We can hardly please the living, how can we hope to please the dead?” she asked the emptiness of her office.
She looked out her office window. The deterioration of Hong Kong was subtle but it was there. It had started quickly after the mainland took back the British protectorate in 1996. At first it was just little things, neon signs that didn’t flash, stores with shorter hours, vacancy rates rising, but of late the rot was threatening to break into the open. No longer was it just cosmetic. Something in the heart of Hong Kong could be dying.
That was why she was a supporter of Dalong Fada. She did believe in the exercise regime, but it was the fact of opposition to the Communists now that Hong Kong was no longer free that drew her to the movement. Without some form of opposition, Beijing would run even further amok then it had already. Dalong Fada was the only credible opposition in the entire country.
Her initial steps toward Dalong Fada had seemed so natural. A flirtation with a high-ranking member. A contact with an American-Chinese man. A series of discreet meetings and she was – a part of it.
Now there was a message and an assignment. For the briefest moment she wondered if this was what an al-Qaeda freak felt like. One moment a normal working stiff, the next a man with a bomb. Then she shook that off. She was not involved with bombs. Nothing that she was doing had anything to do with hurting people. She was a member of Dalong Fada because China needed a real opposition to the Chinese Communist Party – period, the end.
The phone on her desk rang. Joan let it ring as she remembered a call at almost exactly this time two days ago – when life was considerably simpler, a different reality. It had been a young lab technician with the results from her investigation of a fire on Peak Road. Insurance companies were taking a bath as fear of Beijing’s control gripped Hong Kong and drove land values down. Many fashionable buildings were no longer financially viable. Better to burn them down and collect the insurance than to declare bankruptcy and face the shame, even in a financial centre like Hong Kong, that accompanied monetary failure.
Joan had nodded as she jotted down notes from the lab. Traces of accelerant had been found in the apartment building’s basement. No planch was discovered, but the burn pattern was nothing if not suspicious. She thanked the technician and made a series of further requests for data. She sensed his hesitancy. “What?” she asked. The young man hemmed and hawed then finally said, “Are you doing anything Saturday night?” His question was no surprise to Joan. She was an attractive, unmarried, educated woman in her mid-thirties. She had a good job, beautiful if hard facial features and curves that attracted many eyes. What was she doing Saturday
Similar Books
