Typhoon Season

Hong Kong society, the McIntyre Systems annual harbor cruise was a must-do outdoor event prior to the beginning of typhoon season.

Not that Lady of Leisure, with her sumptuous private cabins, multiple wet bars, lounges and saloons, exactly represented “roughing it.”

Two hundred feet long, Lady of Leisure was a floating mansion under ordinary circumstances; tonight, she was a palace: draped bow to stern with twinkling golden bulbs and silk banners, dotted with buffet tables holding prawns, raw vegetables, hundred-year eggs. And everywhere you turned, you saw another movie star, industrialist, banker, pop musician.

The view from the decks was just as spectacular: glittering Hong Kong to port; dazzling Kowloon to starboard, the cities like fountains of light sliding slowly past Lady of Leisure. It would be four A.M. before the yacht returned to her enormous slip.

“Martin,” McIntyre said. “Would you come with me for a moment?” Lee followed his boss to an empty spot at the stern raid. “Martin,” McIntyre said, “do you feel comfortable keeping an eye on things back here for a while? I want to make the rounds, make sure everyone’s happy.”

“Of course, Mr. McIntyre,” Lee said. He would have said “Of course, Mr. McIntyre” if the man had asked him to jump in the water and push Lady of Leisure for the rest of her sedate journey. But in truth, he thought he’d rather push the boat than try to keep Carstairs in line.

Sure enough, not five minutes after McIntyre vanished, Carstairs was at it again. This time, for some reason, he’d cornered Lisa Austin, a world-famous clothing designer.

“So the PRC is getting rich,” Carstairs bellowed, “and meanwhile Hong Kong is getting buggered. But we’re supposed to think it’s a coincidence, eh? Right! The People’s Republic takes control of Hong Kong, and within the year the bloody stock market crashes and the rest of the Asian economy goes down the loo? No connection? Bollocks.”

“Now, Myron,” Lisa Austin purred. She was slim and diaphanous in one of her own creations. “You have to admit, the People’s Republic has been very hands-off with Hong Kong so far.”

Carstairs snorted. “ ‘One country, two systems,’ right? Well, dear, the only problem with that philosophy is that nobody bloody buys it. Investors are taking their money elsewhere because they know that sooner or later the Reds will nationalize the whole mess, and nobody wants his willie caught in the door when it slams shut.”

His wife giggled in the Asian way, with her mouth hidden behind her fingers.

Ms. Austin rolled her eyes. Other guests were discreetly moving away. Time, Lee thought, for polite intervention. “Mr. Carstairs, the New Rule absolutely forbids the PRC from interfering in Hong Kong’s internal affairs. And really, why should they? What’s good for Hong Kong is good for Beijing, isn’t that so?”

“Good God, am I the only one around here with my eyes open? Tell me, Mr. Lee — what was the first thing the PRC did after the Handoff? Eh? They marched that bloody PLA garrison into the city, that’s what. Tanks, planes, ships — and five generals! To defend us from whom? Indonesia?”

At that moment, as if on cue, a fierce white glare swept over Lady of Leisure. Lee looked around, startled. The yacht was crossing the broad reach of West Lamma Channel at the place where it opened into the South China Sea. Captain Chin had, as always, timed the turn to avoid any passing ship that might produce an uncomfortable wake — no easy task in one of the busiest harbors in the world. Lee would have sworn there were no other vessels within a mile of Lady of Leisure.

But the searchlight was real enough, its beam growing fiercer by the second, and now Lee could hear the thunder of diesel engines accompanying it.

“What the hell?” Carstairs raised a hand to shield his eyes. “Oh, Christ, speak of the devil.”

Lee squinted, and then saw it: the legend COASTAL DEFENSE FORCE HONG KONG in both Chinese and English on the bow of a fifty-foot vessel painted maritime gray. From a radar mast flew the Hong Kong flag — the new one, of course; a red bahinia flower on a white background — as well as the flag of the People’s Republic of China.

An amplified voice crackled across the water: “Attention. Attention. This is the Coastal Defense Force of the People’s Liberation Army.” The words were crisply English, the accent Cantonese. All members of the Hong Kong PLA garrison were required to have at least a high school education, and to be familiar with both Cantonese and English, the two official languages of Hong Kong. “Do not be alarmed. We are boarding your vessel. Everyone remain where you are. Repeat. Remain where you are….”

The throb of Lady of Leisure’s engines abruptly dropped off to a burble. There was a slight braking sensation, and Carstairs staggered into his wife, cursing.

“Martin, may I have a word with you?” Lee jumped slightly; he hadn’t noticed Mr. McIntyre approach. They moved to the rail, McIntrye smiling blandly. With his silver hair, his sun-bronzed face, his casual silk suit, he looked perfectly relaxed. But his words were as clipped as if he were in the boardroom: “Martin, I don’t like the looks of this. I’m going up to the pilothouse to make a couple of calls. Please stay here and keep everyone calm.”

“Of course,” Martin said. He glanced at the patrol boat, which was slowing as it pulled up to the starboard side. “But… what do you think this is about?”

“I have no idea.” McIntyre’s smile remained in place. “That’s what bother — ”

The yacht jolted as the patrol boat cut in hard, crunching her metal plating against the fiberglass gunwale just forward of the stern plate. McIntyre gasped. “Bloody hell!” Carstairs shouted, doing a clumsy dance to keep from spilling the rest of his drink.

“Everyone remain where they are,” the amplified voice repeated from the patrol boat. At the same moment, grappling hooks and ropes wound around Lady of Leisure’s railing, followed by a swarm of uniformed men. There were at least a dozen of them, all armed with pistols in side-holsters and some kind of large, ugly rifles. Staring at them, Martin wondered if they were AK-47s, like Pablo Cheung had been talking about. There was no mistaking the uniforms the men wore: The special cut and color, and the bahinia blossom shoulder blaze were reserved for members of the Hong Kong garrison of the PLA.

The guests backed away from them like a herd of cattle. Three of the soldiers took up positions on the fantail; the rest ran forward.

McIntyre’s voice rose above the confusion: “Calm, everyone, please. We’ll get this sorted out.”

Another man vaulted from the patrol boat onto Lady of Leisure and stood quietly, looking around. He was small and agile, with fiercely slitted eyes, and although he wore the same CDF uniform as the other men, he carried no rifle.

After a moment his gaze lit on McIntyre and he strode across the width of the fantail. As he drew close, Lee read the nameplate on his uniform: Cpt. Wang I. He halted in front of McIntyre. “You are Phillip McIntyre?” he demanded in the same voice that had come over the patrol boat’s loudhailer. Lee was amazed the man could speak in anything but an adenoidal whine; his nose had been flattened completely, as if by a cricket bat. “You own this vessel?”

“I own Lady of Leisure,” McIntyre said calmly. “What can I do for you… gentlemen?”

Something dangerous shone in Wang’s eyes. “We have learned that this boat is being used to transport opium. The People’s Republic of China does not tolerate drug activity of any kind.”

“Commendable,” McIntyre said. “But I thought drug smuggling control fell under local police jurisdiction.”

Wang stiffened. There was a pistol in a holster at his side; he rested one hand on the butt. “Not in a vessel known to travel internationally. Opium is the curse of Hong Kong. It gave the British an excuse to enslave our ancestors and rob them of their heritage, and it continues to do the same today.”

“Possibly so, Captain Wang. However, Lady of Leisure does not carry opium, internationally or locally. And I’m an American, by the way — not British.”

“I know that,” Wang said sharply. “I am not stupid. But the Americans are the worst of all; you think you are exempt from any law, including Chinese.”

McIntyre smiled. “You’re referring to Hong Kong common law, I’m sure.”

“China is China. Now, you will move all these people into the main cabin. When we have completed our search of the vessel, you — ”

“Oh, bugger this!” The shout came, unmistakably, from Myron Carstairs. The burly Englishman shoved forward, planting himself in front of Wang. The back of his neck was the color of a pomegranate. “Look here, you