He tensed over the thought, then relaxed, turned his head toward his nightstand upon which his sword cane leaned, its tiger patterns coming alive in the darkness.
Years spent apologizing to his forefathers had amounted to nothing. Now he railed against even them, deemed them as victims of the American poison, and only he, Fang Zhi, could set the family on a new and more honorable course.
The next afternoon, Fang stood once more on the same street corner, smoking his cigarette and reading his newspaper. A front had moved in, and in a few moments the black clouds would finally empty themselves. The weather provided a perfect excuse for Fang to wear his rain jacket and hood, which would, of course, help conceal his identity.
Across the street was the gray sedan.
Any moment now, Kao would reach the corner and enter the crosswalk as he had every weekday for the past month.
Without exception.
Fang shifted his weight from one leg to the other, backhanded the sweat from his brow, and breathed in the warm, humid air. He shivered in anticipation.
Then he took a last drag of cigarette, ditched it in the road, and glanced across the intersection as it began to rain.
Kao was right there, only today he was not wearing the Olympic jacket, just a blue sweatshirt.
Fang had told Yeh Chun-chang back in the sedan to take care of the job as soon as he saw Kao, but Yeh was looking for that Olympic jacket!
Where was Fang's cell phone? He fumbled in his pocket, dialed the number.
Across the way, Yeh lifted his phone to his ear.
'Yeh, it is me,' Fang cried. 'He's in a blue sweatshirt! 'Go now.'
At the intersection, Kao was holding a backpack over his head and waiting for the light to change. The rain grew heavier.
Yeh revved the sedan's engine.
Fang remembered the many hours he had spent with Kao. They had actually become friends. He had even consoled Fang when the final scores had been revealed.
Fang's heart began to race.
And for a few seconds, Fang thought of running to the corner and calling it all off. But he couldn't. He might have doubts, but he'd already made the decision and was beyond the point of return.
The light turned green.
Kao, along with a half dozen other pedestrians, rushed into the crosswalk, a few wrestling with their umbrellas.
A terrific thunderclap echoed off the buildings.
Yeh, still parked at the corner, held back until the last possible second, then he roared into the street, coming directly at the pedestrians, who swung their heads.
Fang flinched as screams rose from the street.
And then, strangely enough, the whole event unfolded before his eyes as though in slow motion.
Two women dove out of the sedan's path.
One man was struck in the leg and went spinning to the asphalt, his umbrella carried off by the wind.
Yeh rolled the wheel and screeched toward Kao, who looked up and had no time to move.
Another young man, about Kao's age, who was now within a meter of the car, reached out to grab and save Kao, but the sedan came between them.
It was almost too much to watch, but Fang couldn't help himself. His gaze was riveted, and, with a horrid fascination, he stood there as Yeh struck Kao head-on before the other man could reach him.
The sedan's front bumper slammed into Kao's legs and hips, sending him knifing over the hood and up, onto the windshield, which shattered as he rolled over it, across the roof, then went tumbling down onto the street, limbs flopping, head lolling and scraping across the pavement.
The other man had been sideswiped by the sedan, and he now lay in the street, as Yeh screeched off into the rain.
Other pedestrians who'd been gathering at the corner began running into the street, crying for help.
Fang stared in shock a moment longer, seeing that Kao was not moving, his arms and legs twisted at improbable angles.
Suddenly, a powerful chill ripped through him, and he shivered and realized he needed to get out of there, couldn't be identified at the scene.
He ran off, but then remembered that running would draw too much attention, so he slowed to a brisk walk as his cell phone began to ring.
Yeh was calling about his payment.
Two weeks later, Fang Zhi received the phone call he was waiting for. He took a cab down to the National Sports Training Center in Tsoying, where Tsao Chin-hui, Fang's coach, had his office.
Tsao, who had won several Olympic medals himself, greeted Fang with a broad grin. 'I'm sure you know why you're here.'
'I feel terrible and excited at the same time.'
'I understand. Kao was a fine young man and an excellent marksman.'
'I have been busy with other things,' said Fang. 'And I haven't followed what's been happening. Have they caught the driver of that car?'
'No, they found the vehicle. I heard that the driver might have fled to China.'
'A tragedy. He was probably a drunk driver like they said.'
'Probably.' Tsao's gaze narrowed. 'Kao had many friends, no enemies.'
'That is true. The police asked me many questions.'
'Kao beat you by only a few points to make the team. Of course they would suspect you, but I told them you were a great sportsman and the last person who might do something like this.'
'Thank you.'
'Well, then, you will take Kao's place. I am sorry it had to be this way for you, but welcome to the team.'
'I am honored.'
Fang left the office and hailed another cab. On the way back to his apartment, as the driver navigated through the congested streets, it finally struck Fang.
He was going to Beijing. He would compete in the Olympic Games as a marksman.
Yes, the competition would be thrilling. But more so was the notion that after the games, he would not return home.
He would finally turn his back on the country that had abandoned him.
Fang Zhi would defect to China, and the chance to do that was worth even more than being an Olympic athlete.
It was worth Kao's life.
SEVEN
Scott Mitchell took a deep breath and grinned in satisfaction over the scent of fresh-cut pine. He was out at the storage garage he rented, just fifteen minutes off the base, where he'd set up his woodworking shop.
Although it was only ten A.M., he was already soaked in sweat. He tugged off his T-shirt and used it to wipe
