I would have liked to have slept.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the library that I visited. Did I make the right decision? I didn’t read the book and I’m beginning to wish I had. Right now I’m just a forty-five minute journey away from Hong Kong and I have no idea what I will find there. The book would have told me. It might have warned me not to go.
But it might also have told me when and how my life will end – and who would want to read that?
It makes me think of a computer game that I used to play when I was living in Ipswich. It was an adventure, a series of puzzles that took you through a whole set of different worlds. Shortly after I met Kelvin, he showed me how to download a cheat. It gave me all the answers. It took away the mystery. Suddenly I knew everything I wanted – but here’s the strange thing. I never played the game again. I just wasn’t interested.
Why did the Librarian show it to me? What was the point he was trying to make? And for that matter, who was he? He never even told me his name. When I think about it, the dreamworld really annoys me. It’s supposed to help us but all it ever gives us is puzzles and clues. I know that it’s important to what’s going to happen, that it’s there for a reason. One day, perhaps, I’ll find out what that reason is.
I’ve written enough. It’s twenty to eight. Time to wake Jamie and to meet our host. Han Shan-tung.
Hong Kong is waiting for us. It’s out there in the darkness, but I can feel it calling.
Very soon now, I will arrive.
MASTER OF THE MOUNTAIN
Han Shan-tung was one of the most impressive men Matt had ever seen. He was like a bronze Buddha in a Chinese temple. He had the same presence, the same sense of power. He wasn’t exactly fat but he was very solid, built like a Sumo wrestler. You could imagine him breaking every one of your fingers when you shook hands.
His hair was black. His face was round, with thick lips and hard, watchful eyes. He was elegantly dressed in a suit that was obviously expensive, possibly silk. His fingers, resting on the table in front of him, were manicured and he wore a slim, silver wedding ring. There was a packet of cigarettes and a gold lighter on the table next to him
… his one vice perhaps. But none of his guests was ever going to give him a lecture on smoking. Everything about the man, even the way he sat there – still and silent – suggested that he wasn’t someone to be argued with. He was someone who was used to being obeyed.
And yet his manner was pleasant enough. “Good evening,” he said. “Please come and sit down.” His English was perfect. Every word was well-modulated and precise.
He was sitting in the dining room, at the head of a long table that could have seated ten people but which had been laid for only four. The room was as elegant as the rest of the house, with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto a wooden terrace and views of the garden beyond. Richard, Matt and Jamie took their places. At once, a door at the side slid open and two women appeared, pouring water and shaking out the napkins.
The man waited until they had gone. “My name is Han Shantung,” he announced.
“I’m Richard Cole.” Richard introduced himself, then the boys. He had already decided he was going to use the names that were on their passports. “This is Martin Hopkins. And Nicholas Helsey.”
“I would have said that this was Matthew Freeman and Jamie Tyler,” Shan-tung muttered. “And I would add that it is discourteous to lie to a man in his own home – but I will overlook it as I can understand that you are nervous. Let me assure you, Mr Cole. I know everything about all three of you. More, in fact, than you perhaps know about yourselves. Otherwise you would not be here.”
“And we know nothing about you,” Richard replied. “That’s why we have to be careful.”
“Very wise. Well, it will be my pleasure to enlighten you. But first we should eat.”
As if on cue, the two women returned, carrying plates of food. Silently, they laid out a Chinese dinner. It was a world apart from the sweet and sour, deep-fried grease balls that Matt had once purchased at his local takeaway in Ipswich. The dinner came in about a dozen china bowls – fish, meat, rice, noodles – and it had obviously been cooked by a world-class chef. Matt was glad to see that he had been provided with a spoon and fork. Han Shan-tung ate with chopsticks.
“I must apologize to you,” he began. There was no small talk. He didn’t ask them about their journey or what they thought of their rooms. “Urgent business took me to America. It was badly timed because it delayed your arrival here. And I’m afraid I have bad news. I had hoped that the object of your journey would have been sitting here with us tonight. I am referring to the girl, Lin Mo.” He continued quickly, before Richard could interrupt. “You call her Scarlett Adams. But I refer to her by the name she was given before she was adopted and taken to the West.”
“How do you know about Scarlett?” Richard asked.
Shan-tung leaned forward and plucked a prawn off one of the dishes. Despite his large hands, he used the chopsticks very delicately, like a scientist handling a specimen. “I know a great deal about the girl,” he replied. “The fact of the matter is that she was with my agents in Hong Kong only yesterday. I have spent a great deal of time and money – not to mention human life – trying to remove her from the city.”
Matt played back what Shan-tung had just said and realized that it confirmed exactly what he had thought. “The Old Ones are in Hong Kong,” he said.
“The Old Ones have taken over Hong Kong,” Shan-tung replied. “They control almost every aspect of the city. From the government and the police to the street cleaners. I do not know how many people they have killed, but the number must run into thousands. My people have been fighting them on your behalf. We are the only remaining resistance.”
“Who are your people?” Richard asked.
Shan-tung sighed. “It is unnecessary to keep asking me these things. I am about to tell you anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” Richard realized his error. “I suppose it’s a habit. I used to be a journalist.”
“I do not like journalists. It is nothing personal – but they have caused me trouble in the past. I suggest you continue eating. I will tell you everything you need to know.”
Han Shan-tung had barely eaten anything. But he laid down his chopsticks and began to speak.
“I have the very considerable honour to be a member of an organization called the Pah Lien. This translates as the White Lotus Society. You might have remarked upon a clue that I sent you at the airport. The man who met you was carrying a bunch of lilies. The lily is part of the lotus family. My society is a very old one. It was founded in the fourth century to resist the foreign invaders known as the Mongols who then ruled over China. The aim of White Lotus remained the same over the next four centuries. It was to help the Chinese people fight against tyranny and oppression.
“But over the years, something very interesting happened. The White Lotus Society changed. It will be difficult for you to understand the nature of this change, so let me explain it to you by referring to a character from your own history. You will, I am sure, know Robin Hood. He stole from the rich and gave to the poor. He was a hero to the peasants in Sherwood Forest. But to the authorities, he was an outlaw, a criminal. They would have hanged him if they could.
“In the early days, the White Lotus Society operated in much the same way. Indeed, it might interest you to know that the society had a motto: Ta fu – chih p’in. This translates as ‘strike the rich and help the poor’. But here was the crucial difference. As the years passed, White Lotus found that it was enjoying and benefiting from the criminal nature of its activities. It was also remarkably successful in the world of organized crime. It continued to steal from the rich but, as its members became richer themselves, it found itself giving rather less to the poor. It also changed its name. It became known as the Three United Society. There was a reason for this. White Lotus believed that the world was made up of three different parts: heaven, earth and mankind. Its members therefore had a triangle tattooed onto their body. The triangle also appeared on their flags. And in the end, they became known simply as the Triads.”
There was a long silence. Matt had heard of the Triads, the criminal gangs that were active all over Asia. They were drug dealers. They were involved in people smuggling, prostitution, extortion and murder. They would torture or kill anyone who got in their way. They were as brutal as they were powerful. And this man was calmly admitting that he was one of them! He glanced at Jamie. The American boy was listening politely. He didn’t seem shocked by what he had just heard. Richard, on the other hand, was staring open-mouthed.
