Hong Kong Read Free

"I was saving that morsel for later," Carmellini said as he tipped the man and accepted the keys. "After all, the night is young."
    chapter™
    The morning sun shone full on the balcony of the fifth-floor hotel room when Jake Grafton opened the sliding glass door. The bustle and roar from the streets below assailed him, but he grinned and seated himself at the small, round glass table. As he sipped at a cup of coffee he sampled the smells, sights, and sounds of Hong Kong.
    His wife, Callie, stepped out on the balcony. She was dressed to the nines, wearing only a subtle hint of makeup, with her purse over her shoulder and her attach€ case in her left hand.
    As she bent to kiss Jake he got a faint whiff of scent. "You smell delicious this morning, Mrs. Grafton."
    She paused at the door. A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. "What are you going to do today?" she asked.
    "Loaf, read the morning paper, cash some traveler's checks, and meet you for lunch."
    "When are you going to start on your assignment?"
    "I'm working on it this very minute. I know it doesn't look like it, but the wheels are turning."
    Today was the third day of the conference, an intense seven-day immersion in Western culture for Chinese college students. Callie was one of the faculty.
    "I'm soaking up atmosphere," Jake added. 'This trip was billed as my vacation, as you will recall."
    Perhaps it was the rare sight of her husband in pajamas at eight on a weekday morning that bothered her. She smiled, nodded, and said good-bye.
    As Jake worked on the coffee he surveyed the old police barracks immediately across the road from the hotel. The barracks was surrounded by a ten-foot-high brick wall, which hid it from people on the street. Three stories high, it was constructed of whitewashed brick or masonry in the shape of a T. The windows in the base of the T, which was parallel to Jake, revealed rooms with bunks, lockers, showers, laun-
    dry rooms, and a kitchen and dining hall, all set in from outside balconies that ran the length of each floor, much like an American motel. The top of the T was an administration building, apparently full of offices. Police cars filled the parking spaces around the building.
    The lawn, however, was a military encampment, covered with troops, tents, fires, and cooking pots. Here at least five hundred People's Liberation Army, or PLA, troops were bivouacked, covering almost every square yard of greenery. Pencil-thin columns of smoke from the fires rose into the still morning air.
    In colonial days the Royal Hong Kong police force must have been a nice life for single British men who wanted to do something exotic with their lives, or at least live their mundane lives in an exotic locale and make a very nice living in the process. Like most colonial police forces, the Royal Hong Kong force was famously corrupt, had been since the first Brit donned a uniform and strolled the streets.
    Today Chinese policemen and soldiers scurried to and fro like so many ants. Jake wondered if there were any British policemen still wearing the Hong Kong uniform.
    Jake Grafton drained his coffee cup and turned his attention to the English-language newspaper, the China Post, which had been slid under the door of the room early this morning.
    The financial crisis in Japan was the lead article on the front page, which contained lengthy pronouncements from the Chinese government in Beijing. The article also contained a quote from the American consul general, Virgil Cole.
    Jake read the name with interest and shook his head. He had flown with Cole on his last cruise during the Vietnam War, and the two of them had survived a shootdown. And he hadn't seen the man since. Oh, they corresponded routinely for years after Cole left the navy, but finally in one move or other the Graftons lost Cole's address, and the Christmas cards stopped. That was ten or so years ago.
    Tiger Cole. After his broken back healed, he had gotten
    VI
    siepneii unns
    out of the navy and