Five years after the ambush on Basilan Island, Fang Zhi stood on a street corner, smoking a cigarette and reading his newspaper in the late-afternoon glare. Yellow taxis lined the curb, and across the street, near the Toyota dealership, Fang's man, Yeh Chun-chang, sat parked in his gray sedan, waiting for a cell phone call from Fang.

In less than thirty minutes, a man would die.

And not just any man.

This individual represented the primary obstacle between Fang and his future life. It was not the man's fault. He was simply a victim of his own skills.

With car horns resounding in the street and the wind of a passing bus buffeting him as it roared by, Fang tried to calm himself. Nothing could go wrong. He had spent too many hours planning it all, waiting, watching, determining exactly what he must do.

Nearby, a small group of middle-aged Americans obviously on vacation were marveling over the cans of Coca-Cola they had just bought, cans imprinted with Chinese characters. Fang wanted to strangle the smiles from their faces.

Their country provided the model of arrogance, wealth, and self-indulgent lifestyle that had poisoned Taiwan's government. Officials routinely exploited their citizens to benefit themselves and gain American support. In doing so, they had created a culture of haves and have-nots, just like in America.

The Republic of China (ROC) Army in Taiwan, taking its cue from the government, behaved the same way. They would march Taiwanese troops into the fire if it would please the United States.

The more Fang thought about it, the shallower his breath became.

He scowled at the tourists as they walked by, then his gaze shifted to a man standing on the corner.

Fang did a double take. It was Sze Ma! Old Sergeant Sze Ma from Fang's last mission as an army officer. He was dressed in civilian clothes but still wore a crew cut, suggesting he might still be in the army. Fang tucked his newspaper under his arm, ditched his cigarette, and approached the man.

Sze Ma, who was simply waiting for the light to change, glanced up. His lip twitched as he recognized Fang. Probably out of habit or reflex, he blurted out, "Captain."

Fang's voice came coldly. "Sergeant. What are you doing here?"

"I came to look at a car across the street."

"How have you been?"

Sze Ma frowned. "Captain, years have passed, but I will never forget that night. That terrible night. And now, seeing you here again . . . I don't know what to say."

Fang bared his teeth, slapped a hand on Sze Ma's shoulder, shocking the man, and said, "Do you think I deserved what happened to me?"

"It doesn't matter what I think."

"I want to know."

"I'm sorry, Captain."

Fang grabbed Sze Ma's arm and tightened his grip. "Are you married now? Do you have a family?"

"Yes, one little girl."