Just outside the hotel’s entrance, Ned found Willy sitting in the Nissan with the motor running. Ned opened the door and got in.

Willy could tell that something was wrong.

“Williams and the woman weren’t there,” Ned said with irritation. “Are you sure you didn’t see them leave the hotel?”

“No way!” Willy said. “And I’ve been here almost all night. They didn’t leave.”

Ned stared ahead through the windshield. He shook his head. “Well, they weren’t in their rooms. And now I’ve succeeded in messing things up even worse than you did. I killed the wrong people!”

“Hell!” Willy said. “What are we going to do now?”

Ned shook his head. “One thing that we aren’t going to do is collect that bonus. That’s the sad part. I suppose we’ll have to turn it over to the Wing Sin. Let’s go.”

“I hate to say this,” Marissa said, “but I think I like this watch better than the last one. It’s more feminine.” Marissa was admiring her Seiko tank-style watch.

“Quite attractive,” Tristan agreed. He looked at his own. “Maybe I should have tried a different style. Well, maybe I’ll get my chance. We’re still in Hong Kong. So far it’s been a watch a day.”

They inched ahead a few more feet.

“How long is this tunnel?” Marissa asked. She was starting to feel the way she did when they’d been locked in the trunk.

“Beats me,” Tristan said. He scooted forward and lowered the glass separating the back compartment from the driver. “Hey, Bentley, how long is this tunnel?”

“A little less than a mile, Mr. Williams,” Bentley said.

Tristan settled back. “Did you hear?” he said.

“Unfortunately,” Marissa said. “At this rate, it will take an hour just to get over to Hong Kong Island. I’ve never seen traffic like this.”

Marissa and Tristan were in the depths of the Cross Harbor Tunnel. They’d met up with their new driver that morning after leaving the hotel through the employee entrance. Tristan had thought it wise to leave as surreptitiously as possible.

Bentley had turned out to be just what they’d hoped. Bentley Chang, their new driver, was all muscle and the size of a Sumo wrestler. In the language department, he could have qualified for work at the UN. He spoke the Queen’s English in addition to Japanese, Cantonese, Mandarin, and some Hakka and Tanka. He also convinced Tristan that he was knowledgeable in kung fu. He inspired Marissa’s confidence with the pistol he carried in a shoulder holster.

His car was equally impressive. It turned out to be an armored Mercedes normally reserved for visiting dignitaries. When Marissa asked Tristan what it cost, he told her not to ask. He’d made the arrangements the night before, calling the limousine company himself instead of using the concierge.