“I don’t like this,” Marissa said. “I don’t like this at all.”

The captain turned to them and yelled. Bentley translated by telling them that the captain had ordered everyone below except his deckhands.

Everyone rushed to obey. Bentley closed the wooden door that led to the foredeck, then joined Marissa and Tristan, who were standing next to the junk’s entrance port. The shore was clearly visible in the early morning light.

“Is it a PRC patrol boat?” Tristan asked Bentley. From where they were standing, they could plainly hear the captain and his men conversing as the boat approached the starboard side of the junk.

“They still don’t know,” Bentley said nervously.

They heard the cigarette boat pull up beside the junk. Its powerful engine rumbled menacingly. Then they heard the captain shout loudly.

“He’s telling them to stand clear,” Bentley translated.

A shouting match developed between the captain and the people on the cigarette boat. Each sounded angry. The apparent dispute went on for some time, and as it did so, Marissa noticed that Bentley became progressively more agitated.

“What are they talking about?” Marissa asked nervously.

“This is very strange,” Bentley said. “The people in the powerboat say they have come for the white devils.”

“What are white devils?” Marissa asked.

“I’m afraid they are talking about you and Tristan,” Bentley said. “But the captain is furious that they have come out here and jeopardized him.”

Marissa grabbed Tristan’s arm. The argument on deck heated up. They watched Bentley’s face, but couldn’t read his expression.

“What’s happening?” Marissa finally asked.

“It doesn’t sound good,” Bentley admitted. “The captain has ordered the powerboat to leave, but the boat refuses to go unless you are given to them or—”

“Or what?” Marissa demanded.

“Or you are shot!” Bentley said. “It is the Wing Sin.”

“Anything you can do?” Tristan gulped.

Bentley shook his head. “Not much at this point,” he said. “I can’t fight the Wing Sin. Besides, the captain took my gun last night. He said he didn’t allow people on his boat to be armed without his say-so.”

“Oh, God!” Marissa repeated.

Tristan glanced at the shore about a hundred yards away. He wondered if they could swim for it. But just as the thought flashed through his mind, the wooden door to the foredeck was kicked open with a resounding thud. In the doorway stood one of the captain’s men. He spoke rapidly, motioning with his gun.

“I’m afraid he insists you two go on deck,” Bentley said. “My apologies.”

Tristan turned to Bentley. “Since your bodyguard skills are a bit limited at the moment,” he said, “perhaps you can still provide us with your interpreting skills. Would you mind accompanying us?”

“If the captain permits,” Bentley said.