In a vast hall of waterfalls, escalators, and shops of every kind, Tristan pushed Marissa into one of the jewelry stores. There he insisted she pick out a watch to replace the one she’d lost the night before.

“Come on, Marissa,” Tristan said when she tried to object. “I feel flush today.” He patted the side pocket of his trousers, where he’d stuck the money from the bank. “Besides, I feel responsible for last night.”

Eventually they both bought watches. Tristan paid cash after bargaining the price considerably lower. Proudly they wore their new watches out of the shop.

Climbing back into the car, Tristan again leaned over the seat. “Back to the hotel, Freddie,” he said.

Freddie smiled and touched the shiny black brim of his cap.

“That reminds me,” Tristan said as he settled back. “I have to replace that Aussie hat of mine. Too bad, it was just getting broken in.”

“That hat looked as if you’d run over it several times with your plane,” Marissa said.

“I did,” Tristan replied. “That’s what it takes.”

At the hotel they waited in line at the cashier’s desk. When it was their turn, Tristan filled out a card for a safe deposit box. They both signed it. Then Tristan deposited most of the cash he’d withdrawn from the bank.

With that accomplished, they went out to the limo and climbed back inside. Tristan leaned forward. “Freddie, what’s the biggest hospital here in Kowloon?” he asked.

“Queen Elizabeth Hospital,” Freddie said.

“Then that’s where we want to go,” Tristan said.

As their limo lurched forward, the concierge stepped out of the hotel accompanied by three young Chinese men dressed in dark blue suits. The concierge pointed at the departing sedan as it made a left on Salisbury Road.

“That’s their car,” he said in Cantonese. “Did you get a look at them?”

The three Chinese nodded. “You’ve done well, Pui-Ying,” one of the men said. “The Wing Sin remembers its friends.”

The three men climbed into their own waiting black Mercedes, instructing the driver to follow the sedan.

The man behind the Mercedes’ wheel was an aggressive driver. He was accustomed to Hong Kong traffic. Pedestrians gave way instantly upon seeing the license plate. It was 426. Without much difficulty, the sedan slipped in behind Marissa and Tristan as they proceeded north on Nathan Road.

“How should we do this?” one of the men asked.

“We won’t know until we see where they are going,” another said. “It shouldn’t be difficult.”

The man who was riding in the front seat with the driver took a snub-nosed .38 caliber pistol from his shoulder holster. Holding the gun on his lap, he snapped out the cylinder to check all the chambers. Satisfied, he returned it to the holster.