Then the full weight of the Yakuza crashed into him, into the Justice stone, smearing its face with blood, guts and shards of shattered bone. I he stink or steaming feces was overpowering and Jake, without conscious thought, began the difficult process of crawling away from it. He felt buried in filth. It was difficult to breathe and he began to pant.

He felt someone begin to pull him away and he rolled face upward. A cloth pa.s.sed across his face, wiping away the flecks of blood and flesh. Jake looked at the dead Yakuza, saw the rear end of a black anodized steel bolt stuck through what remained of the man.

He raised his gaze, saw the beautiful woman in the exquisite persimmon-colored kimono who had helped tend to him at Mikio's house, kneeling beside him, a b.l.o.o.d.y cloth in one hand.

It was only after a stunned and silent moment that he realized she carried in her other hand a Mitsui Jujika-1000 compressed-gas powered crossbow.

Bliss knew what it was like to be in the arms of Buddha. As she approached the Container Terminal at Kwun Tong she saw that Fung the Skeleton was not present. She saw this not with her eyes but with her mind.

Her qi, part of which was now always within da-hei, the great darkness, made her aware of this fact. Spread upon the sea of quickening night, her spirit tapped into the vibrations of the universe.

Who was that crying in the street? She was forever aware of the wailing of the dead, ma.s.sed, an army that took up a continent. Who were they? Her countrymen, the dead of China, calling to be free.

How did she know this? What was it like to be in contact with a spirit? Bliss, in the bow of the walla-walla she had hired, closed her eyes, listened to the voice of Shi Zilin. It was in the whisper of the wind fluttering the tendrils of her hair, in the lapping of the waves against the small craft's sides, the bubbling of its wake. It was in the cries of the sea gulls, greedily circling a fishing trawler.

The earth moved and Shi Zilin spoke. They were one and the same, interchangeable. The qi of the planet rose and fell as it inhaled and exhaled. She felt this as she heard him speak. There were no words but rather impulses akin to the way one's brain automatically sent messages to one's extremities to move. One was never aware of the process, only the end result. It was mysterious, magical, awesome, even. Therefore, it was not something one could share with another human being. Often, Bliss wondered what she would do when Jake returned to Hong Kong. What would she tell him? How would he perceive the changes in her. How would they affect him?

She gave a little shiver in the predawn darkness. Already, in the east, a line of palest pink had begun to color the oyster gray as night paled.

*Tell me where, miss," the boatman said. "Exactly."

Bliss pointed and when there was no reply, turned around. Caught him staring at her with a kind of fright. What is it that he sees? she wondered. Perhaps I am branded, a scar struck along my cheek. And, unconsciously, she put fingertips to flesh, ran them along the smooth surface. She laughed at herself but it was an uneasy sound, itself making her shiver all over again.

She wished Jake were here beside her. Not to tell her what to do or even to rea.s.sure her. For the first time since their reuniting, doubts about the two of them lay like clouds across the horizon.

His history haunted her. She knew of his first wife's suicide, the death of Lan at the Sumchun River; knew, too, of Jake's second wife, Mariana. Her murder in the j.a.panese Alps had brought Jake back to Bliss for good. But neither of his marriages had been particularly happy ones.

Jake was married to his work, whether that be with the Quarry, in the past, or the yuhn-hyun in the present. His was a wholly obsessive personality and this very obsession had caused, his closest friends felt, his estrangement with those he loved most in the world.

Bliss knew this to be only part of the story. She thought of Jake's specialness. She had trained with the same martial arts and philosophical master Fo Saan, who had trained Jake. She therefore knew with great intimacy the extraordinary talents Jake possessed. It was his heightened qi, his ability to enter into a semimystical state known as ba-mahk, she believed, that set him apart from most people. It was this, she believed, that was most responsible for estranging him from his family.

Now Bliss wondered how their relationship would be affected. Her own qi was expanded within da-hei. It was here that Zilin spoke to her. She wondered if she were the guardian of the Jian's spirit, or if his qi had become hers. She wondered if he were guiding her in some way and, if so, to what purpose.

"Here, miss," the boatman said as they touched the pier. But he would not take the money they had agreed on before setting out. He would not even meet her eyes nor answer her questions. Clearly, all he wanted was for her to get off his boat.

This Bliss did, gaining access to the dockside via a rusted metal staircase that ran up the concrete bulkhead from the lower quay. She could smell the diesel fumes from the airport. To her left was the Container Terminal itself and, beyond, a seemingly endless line of G.o.downswarehouses filled with all manner of licit and illicit goods awaiting transshipment to virtually every country on the globe.

Fung the Skeleton's boat lay at anchor perhaps three hundred meters down the quay. It was a slim, sleek-looking craft with enough horsepower to outrun the most modern of the police launches. It was painted the color of deep water at night and was almost invisible.

Its captain, she learned by questioning a crew member, was known only as the Malaysian. She had been there less than twenty minuteswhen he appeared. He was a dark-skinned man with an athletic build running to fat. He had a great, curling mustache shining with wax.

He was young, no more than his mid-thirties, Bliss judged. He wore a pair of knock-off Guess jeans, a muscle T-shirt that looked ludicrous on a man of his bulk.

The same man whom Bliss had questioned stopped the Malaysian, spoke to him for a minute. The Malaysian nodded, dismissing the man. He came across the pier to where Bliss was waiting.

He squinted into the sunrise, said, "You looking for the captain of this boat?"

"I'm looking for Fung the Skeleton."

The Malaysian took a hand-rolled cigarette out of a pocket of his jeans. It was half-crushed. He spent some time trying to straighten it out, somewhat more lighting it. He sucked in some smoke, then said, "We have nothing to talk about," as he exhaled.

"I've got something to sell," she said.

"You?" He gave a laugh and shook his head. "You've got nothing I'd be interested in buying. Unless a" His eyes swept over her body.

"Opals," Bliss said.

"You're wasting my time." He began to turn away.

"Fire opals from Australia," she said. "Are you familiar with them?"

He took another drag on the cigarette. "Sure. Everything's got a price and I know *em all."

She noted his att.i.tude. He liked to feel superior. "Familiar enough to know what this's worth?" She handed over the opal.

The Malaysian grunted, took a look at it. Turned it over. Held it up to the light. Then he turned his head and spat. Dropped it back into her palm. "That all?" he said. "Go on. Get outta here."

"Not just this one," she said, unfazed. "One hundred more just like it."

"Same quality?" She noticed that he wasn't so eager to leave now.

She nodded.

"You got a price in mind?"

Bliss looked at him, saw what she needed in his face. If he saw even a tiny c.h.i.n.k in her front now, he'd roll right over her. "I've got a price." Put an edge into her voice.

"Let's hear it. If it's"

But she was already shaking her head. "Not you," she said. "I'll tell it to Fung the Skeleton."

"Who?"

"Are you interested in the opals?"

"Only if the price is right."

"What are you going to tell Fung when I sell these to his compet.i.tion."

The Malaysian said nothing.

"Opals are Fung's specialty."

The Malaysian contemplated the dying end of his cigarette. "I don't know you." His icy eyes met hers.

Bliss held the opal out to him. "Take this to Fung, "she said. "Maybe that will ease your mind."

The Malaysian flicked his b.u.t.t into the water. He seemed to have made up his mind. "Get on board," he said, ignoring the jewel. "We sail in three minutes."

When they were on their way he took her arm. "You're either very smart or very stupid," he said. "I wonder which one it is."

Daniella had never been to Zvenigorod but it was no surprise to her that it lay nestled on the banks of Maluta's beloved Moskva. Great fir forests rose upward through steep ravines on either side of the rolling hills upon which the town was set.

But she had heard of the Sobor na Gorodke, the Cathedral of the a.s.sumption, built of gray stone almost five hundred years ago. What seemed odd to her as the heated Chaika took her past its gates was its slit windows, its single austere central dome, so much more like a medieval keep. Its appearance was less like an edifice of G.o.d than of war. Sometimes, she thought, they were one and the same, at least in the hands of imperfect and often venal mortals.

Daniella had thought that she would be safe from Maluta over the weekend. After all, he was away at his dacha in Zvenigorod and she was in Moscow. It had been early morning and she had thrown the windows open in her office so that she could hear the first birds of spring as they flitted from branch to branch in the firs outside. Traffic on the Ring Road was minimal and the forest dominated.

She had been poring over the latest intelligence from Mitre, her heart surging with the news that they were now so close to taking the whole thing: InterAsia, the yuhn-hyun. Kam Sang! More than anything, Daniella wished to penetrate to the hidden core of that Communist Chinese project. She did not believe that its real secret had been revealed to her via Zhang Hua, Shi Zilin's a.s.sistant in Beijing. Perhaps part of Kam Sang revolved around the new-design nuclear desalinization plant to alleviate Hong Kong's perpetual water shortage problems. But only part.

The Chinese army was heavily involved, their top minds invested in Kam Sang. Why? She suspected now as Mitre ama.s.sed for her more and more data that Zhang Hua had either been incompletely informed about the project orand this possibility chilled herhe had been a double agent, ostensibly her mole inside Shi Zilin's office but in reality relaying to her just what Shi Zilin wanted her to know.

Well, she'd never know now since both Zhang Hua and Shi Zilin were dead. But Jake Maroc Shi, Shi Zilin's son, survived and it disturbed her that Mitre had no idea where he was. Maroc should have been in the center of yuhn-hyun operations in Hong Kong. Yet he was nowhere to be found in the Crown Colony.

Daniella sent a cipher to Mitre instructing him to begin a full-scale trace of Jake Maroc's whereabouts. She was sending it when the phone rang. a.s.suming that it was Carelin calling to confirm their date for lunch she answered immediately.

"I tried you first at home, Comrade General." Maluta.

"A woman's work is never done," she had said, and he laughed.

"Which is why I called." He paused. "I want an update on your progress."

"Monday morning first"

"Not Monday," he interrupted. "Now."

"But I have lunch with Carelin."

"Break it. I need you here. And while you're at it you can give your report on your liaison with him."

"You make it sound like filth," she said, abruptly angryat being intruded upon, ordered around like a wind-up doll; at being pulled away from Carelin.

"And perhaps it is," he said shortly. "But it's not for me to judge."

"You're a p.r.i.c.k, do you know that?"

"You bandy Western curses about as if they were your first language. I find that somewhat suspect, Daniella Alexandrova."

He had that capacity to turn just about any insult around like a boomerang; she began again to burn.

"Why are we suddenly speaking of loyalty?"

"Is that what you think, Comrade General? Loyalty?" His voice was mocking. "How interesting! I wonder what a sluzhba psychologist would make of that comment. Uhm. Perhaps we should schedule you for a session at the Serbsky Inst.i.tute."

"What an idiotic notion!" But she knew he had the power to implement even such an absurd suggestion.

"Are you beginning your menses?" he asked. "Your att.i.tude is so antagonistic."

Daniella shut up. She knew why she was doing this and it only raised her anxiety level. In Zvenigorod, at the dacha, there could be no escaping him. The black hole of Oleg Maluta would be staring her in the face and she was terrified. Therefore, part of her was attempting to run away.

She heard Carelin telling her, You'll find a way. I know it. A way to bring Oleg Maluta down. Wasn't it Maluta himself who had said, Termination is not the only way to remove obstacles from ones path. Yes. Yes. She thought of her wei qi board, a string of strategies, springboard to a to what?

She so wanted to dispel this debilitating terror that Maluta's power produced in her.

Opened her mouth and said, "What time do you want me at the dacha?"

"My Chaika will be downstairs to take you home within a half-hour." Did she detect some disappointment in his voice that she had not risen to his baiting? "Don't take too long packing, I want you here for lunch."

Now, several hours later, she was here. Oleg Maluta's dacha was at the foot of one of the farther hills. It was elevated above most of the town so that from almost every spot in it one had some kind of view of the Moskva.

The place had an aspect about it of a hunting lodge. Daniella could not think that this was the same design as the one that had burnt down; no female she knew would be comfortable for long in this wholly masculine environment. Inside, it was seemingly all woodfloors, walls, ceiling; the heaviness was oppressive. The furniture, at least, could do with some floral chintz, she decided.

Maluta, in smoke-gray mohair slacks, hand-st.i.tched loafers and a cashmere pullover, greeted her at the door. The driver went past them with her bags. Maluta looked at the attache case Daniella carried and nodded approvingly. Only then did he move aside for her to enter.

A rather old-fashioned squarish vestibule gave out on one side to a library, on the other to the living room. The bedrooms and his study, he told her, were up the wide, mahogany-banistered staircase to a second floor which dominated the rear half of the villa. The kitchen and dining areas were in the rear on the first floor.

All the rooms seemed vast to her, even cluttered with the thicka"

legged furniture, most of which was layered with the acc.u.mulated mementos of half a lifetime. Too much from one man or even a couple. As Daniella went around the living room she saw pictures, frames, medals, commendations, even grisly souvenirs of the war, that had to have belonged to Maluta's father. Maluta had moved all of this from his Moscow apartment after the first dacha had burned.

He poured them both drinks and, without asking her what she wanted, handed her a gla.s.s of white Rhine wine. It was a bit too sweet to suit her taste but she smiled and, after the first sip, made a complimentary remark.

"What do you have for me?"

It was typical of him, this total lack of courtesy. But Daniella was beginning to see his strategy. It was as if he felt that he must shape entirely his immediate personal environment. He liked disconcerting those in his presence, believing, perhaps rightly, that this gave him a certain tactical advantage.

With an inner start, Daniella perceived just how well it worked in her case. That was why she thought of him as a dark star. Maluta worked at having his own laws in his personal universe; and this he carried around with him wherever he went. She was, consequently, never herself when she was with him. For Daniella especially this was a great hardship. It was why she was never able to face him equally: she was never sure of her footing.

With a deliberate gesture significant only to herself, she snapped open the attache case. It was of hand-tanned wild ostrich hide, one of many extravagant presents Yuri Lantin had bought her from the Beryozka. She produced several pages of pink flimsies, proof that they were Kremlin departmental originals. ~ "Here is what my a.s.set in Hong Kong has accomplished"

Red-faced, Maluta came across the Oriental carpet toward her. Daniella, though she felt the rage inside him as a physical force, held her ground. "What s.h.i.t is this?" He batted the flimsies away so that they fluttered to the carpet. "Jake Maroc is still alive and Kam Sang is still as much a mystery to me as it first was."

"My a.s.set is very close to gaining complete control over Kam Sang, Comrade," Daniella said calmly. "This is the way."

A long blue vein pulsed at the side of Maluta's forehead. His great knuckled fingers curled and clutched at air, making hairy fists. "Is that so?" he gasped in such a strangled voice that Daniella knew he was having difficulty controlling his emotions. "Perhaps we should justoverfly the Kam Sang project and *accidentally' drop a bomb on it!"

Daniella watched him as if he were some poisonous creature. "That is foolish talk and you know it," she said.

Maluta glared at her in silence for a long time. Then he turned on his heel and stalked to the bar. With a clatter, he threw ice into a wide-mouthed cut-crystal gla.s.s, slopped vodka almost to the brim. He downed half of it in one gulp. "You know what this means," he said with his back still to her.

When Daniella said nothing, he barked at her, "Tell me!"

"I'm not sure what you're getting at, Comrade."

He swung around and his gaze was baleful. "Stupid b.i.t.c.h!" he shouted. "You cretinous c.u.n.t, I'll have to spell it out for you then. f.u.c.king idiot! I have nothing but f.u.c.king idiots around me." He gulped the last of his vodka, threw the gla.s.s onto the bartop, took some gratification at its shattering.

He came close to her and said, "It means one of two things, Comrade General. Either you are incompetent or you have been lying to me." He glared at her. "Now which one is it?"

"You do not know Maroc," she said, restraining herself from hitting him. "He is my nemesis. He is not so easily destroyed. One does not snap one's fingers and make him disappear."