“Please get out of the car,” the man with the gun said. “Slowly and quietly. No one will be hurt.”

Freddie swallowed with difficulty. He knew that these men were triad foot soldiers. Knowing how easily this type of man killed, Freddie was terrified. At first he couldn’t move, but a nudge with the barrel of the gun helped. Slowly, he climbed from the car.

“Please walk back to the other car,” the man with the gun told him. Freddie walked. When he reached the other car, the man told him to get inside. Freddie did as he was told. The man with the gun got in beside him. Ahead, Freddie saw the other two get into his sedan.

Arriving at Kai Tac Airport always filled Willy with happiness. Although he felt himself to be Australian to the core, having been born in Sydney, his father and mother had come from Hong Kong. Willy had always had a great affinity for the colony. Besides, he still had family there.

The first thing he did was rent a car. Although parking in Hong Kong was a nightmare, he wasn’t concerned. The car was to serve as a base of operations and could be abandoned at any time. To rent it he used false documents. He had brought several sets.

His first destination was a restaurant in the Mong Kok section of Kowloon, one of the most densely populated areas of the world. The restaurant was located on Canton Street, which was narrow and grossly congested. But with an appropriate amount of squeeze to the local policeman, he left the car between two canvas-covered stalls filled with pots, pans, and dishes.

The restaurant was nearly deserted at that time of the morning. Willy went directly into the kitchen, where sweating cooks were preparing the food for lunch. The floor was covered with an inch layer of grease and packed debris.

Beyond the kitchen were several rooms that served as offices. In the first an elderly woman dressed in a black high-collared silk dress was sitting at a desk. Before her was an abacus. The wooden balls clicked as she went over some figures.

Willy bowed with respect, then told the woman who he was. She didn’t speak. She opened one of the desk drawers and extracted a package of brown paper tied with string. She handed it to Willy, who bowed again.

Back in his car, Willy pulled off the cord and peeled back the paper. The gun was a Heckler and Koch 9-millimeter. It was brand new. He hefted the weapon. It fit nicely in his hand.

Pulling out the magazine, Willy made sure it was loaded. He saw that there was a handful of additional shells in the brown paper. These Willy put into his trouser pocket, although he knew he wouldn’t be needing them. In fact, he’d feel just as confident with just two bullets. The magazine held eight.