"Who are you?" she asked simply.

"My name is Sal Casio. I'm a private investigator."

"And the other man?"

Pitt stepped from the shadows and stood under the glow from the spotlights above the bed. "I believe you know me."

There was a faint flicker of surprise in her voice, but nothing else. "Mr. Dirk Pitt."

"Yes."

"Why have you come?"

"You are a slimy parasite who sucked the life out of untold innocent people to build your filthy empire. You're responsible for the death of a personal friend of mine and also for that of Sal's daughter. You tried to kill me, and you ask why I'm here?"

"You are mistaken, Mr. Pitt. I am guilty of nothing so criminal. My hands are unstained."

"A play on words. You live in your museum of Oriental artifacts, shielded from the outside world, while your grandson did your dirty work for you."

"You say I am the cause of your friend's death?"

"She was killed by the nerve agent you stole from the government and left on the Pilottown."

"I'm sorry for your loss," she said gently. The politeness and sympathy were without a trace of irony. "And you, Mr. Casio. How am I to blame for your daughter?"

"She was murdered along with the crew of the same ship, only then it was called the San Marino."

"Yes, I recall," said Min Koryo, dropping all pretense. "The girl with the stolen money."

Pitt stared into the old woman's face, examining it. The blue eyes were bright and glistening, and the skin was smooth, with only a bare hint of aging lines. She must have truly been a beautiful woman once. But beneath the veneer Pitt detected ugliness, a cesspool locked in ice. There was a black malignity inside her that filled him with contempt.

"I suppose you've smashed so many lives," he said, "you've become immune to human suffering. The mystery is how you got away with it for so long."

"You have come to arrest me?" she asked.

"No," Casio answered stonily. "To kill you."

The piercing eyes blazed briefly. "My security people will come through the door any second."

"We've already eliminated the guard at the receptionist's desk and the one outside your door. As to others"-Casio paused and pointed a finger at a TV camera mounted above her bed-"I've reprogrammed the tapes. Your guards at the monitors are watching whatever occurred in your bedroom a week ago last night."

"My grandson will hunt you both down, and your punishment will not be quick."

"Lee Tong is dead," Pitt informed her, relishing every syllable.

The face altered. Now the blood flowed out of it and it became a pale yellow. But not with the emotions of shock and hurt, Pitt thought. She was waiting, waiting for something. Then the flicker of expectancy vanished as quickly as it had come.

"I do not believe you," she said at last.