The elevator had been so crowded that Xu opted to hike up all six flights of stairs to the top floor of his building. As an Olympic gymnast and specialist on the rings and pommel horse, he possessed considerable upper body strength, but he had also worked hard to improve his legs, turning them into sinuous sticks of solid rock. Consequently, all those stairs should not have posed a problem. Yet even he was exhausted, in part from all the adrenaline and anticipation.

Xu was billeted in one of twenty such apartments constructed in the western part of the village dubbed the Residential Quarter, where another twenty buildings rose to nine floors. More than sixteen thousand athletes and officials were staying there, and Xu had encountered at least a half dozen languages within the first ten minutes of arrival.

In two weeks the opening ceremonies would commence, and until then all of the athletes could spend time training and familiarizing themselves with their new quarters--and their new roommates.

Xu's roommate had yet to arrive. The man was from Taiwan and competing on their shooting team, but that was all Xu knew about him.

Taiwan . . . Of all the countries his roommate could have been from . . .

Xu's first thought had been to seek a new room or at least swap rooms with one of his teammates, but in the spirit of the Olympic Games, he thought he would at least give the man a chance. Perhaps they could engage in some interesting political debates.

However, just mentioning Taiwan made Xu's breath grow shallow and his chest tighten. He would never forget the bitterness of his father and the lament of his mother as they spoke of the land they only referred to as Formosa.

He rose from the bed, went to the window, gazed down at the forest that stretched out between the buildings. Hundreds of people milled about down there, with knots of athletes and reporters conducting interviews on nearly every corner.

"Hello," came a voice from the doorway.

"Oh, hello."

A muscular man with short black hair and a fiery gaze stood in the doorway. He would have resembled any other Taiwanese man, were it not for those eyes.

Xu shifted to the man and offered a light handshake. "You are Fang Zhi?"

"Yes, and you're Xu Dingfa."

He nodded. "This is our apartment."

"Yes."

Their exchange was cold, formal, and Xu hoped it might remain that way. Perhaps the less they said to each other, the better.

Fang shifted inside, noted the wrinkles on the bed Xu had chosen, then carefully moved to the other bed. "I will sleep here?"

"Yes."

"So you are in the army? So was I."

Xu frowned. Why had Fang's tone lightened? First those eyes, which suggested he would be anything but friendly, and now an attempt at casual conversation?

"Fang. I must be honest. I was not happy to learn that I would be sharing a room with someone from--"