“Just stay calm, luv,” Tristan said. “Maybe you should give me your shoes.”

Marissa gladly handed them over. Tristan had tied his laces together and had strung his shoes around his neck. Taking Marissa’s, he jammed them into his pockets. Without the shoes, Marissa’s swimming improved.

The shock of the shooting and the panicked jump into the water had totally occupied Marissa’s consciousness, but as she swam and thought about the fact that she was in the ocean, she began to think about Wendy’s death. In her mind’s eye she started to see the hungry gray monsters cruising silently beneath the surface. Knowing that there was a bleeding body in the water made the fear that much more poignant.

“Do you think there are sharks around here?” Marissa managed to ask between strokes. She was hoping for reassurance.

“Let’s worry about one problem at a time,” Tristan said.

“Of course there are sharks,” Bentley called back to them.

“Thanks, mate,” Tristan yelled ahead. “That’s just what we wanted to hear!”

Marissa tried not to dwell on it. Yet with each stroke, she half expected to be yanked from below. If Tristan had not been next to her, she knew she would have panicked.

“Just keep your eyes on the land,” Tristan advised. “We’ll be there soon enough.”

It took a long time, but gradually the trees seemed closer. Up ahead, Marissa saw that Bentley had stopped swimming. He was standing waist-deep in water. From there he walked to shore.

By the time Marissa and Tristan arrived at the same depth, Bentley and Tse were already wringing out their clothes.

“Welcome to the PRC,” Tristan said as he took Marissa’s hand for the last twenty feet.

The beach was sickle shaped, extending about three hundred yards between rocky promontories. Behind the beach were lush, semitropical trees bordering a swampy marsh. Seabirds and marsh birds were everywhere. Their din was constant.

Facing back to sea, Marissa gazed out over the emerald expanse dotted with tiny offshore islands. It was a peaceful, picture-postcard view. Sea gulls lazily circled above. There wasn’t a trace of the junk, the cigarette boat, or the patrol boat.

The group relaxed on the beach, soaking up the warm sun after having been so chilled by the cold water. Tristan took their passports out of his money belt and opened them to the sun to dry. He did the same with his Hong Kong currency, weighing down the bills with seashells.

“I don’t believe the captain could kill the monk like that,” Marissa said with a shudder. “He didn’t hesitate for a second.”

“Life is cheap in this part of the world,” Tristan said.

“I wonder if I’ll ever recover from all this,” she said. “First Wendy’s death, then Robert’s, now this shooting. And all for nothing!”