'Emily. 'Yi Chung nodded happily. 'Her name's Emily'

'Whatever. You missed the bottle I brought for you, but your uncle's keeping it safe.'

'Hey, thanks.'

'Come on, the kitchen staff's payments are due.' Yi Chung nodded, happy.

This should go smoothly and without any risk of violence. Where restaurants and kitchen staff were concerned, making sure they paid their protection money was simple: the Triad owned the farms that produced the more specialised ingredients and could use them as leverage .Yi Chung hoped the bosses never realised that if they simply added the price of protection to the wholesale price of the ingredients, they'd get paid with no complaints, with no need for the likes of himself to get a cut for doing the job of collecting the payment.

The kitchen was insanely busy, and it was a wonder the scurrying cooks and waiters didn't either wreck the place or get scalded. A podgy chef was on his way over as soon as they entered. 'No. No. No. You can't come in here.'

Yi Chung gestured at the room. 'Hey, we are already are in. You might as well agree to see us. It's pay-day'

'The Tao Te Lung expect payment on time,' Fei added.

Yi Chung was distracted by a nearby plate of hors d'oeuvres, and picked up a couple to tide him over until dinner time. 'You got the money, or do our little farms forget about you?' he asked. 'It'd be embarrassing if you had no fresh water chestnuts or bean sprouts for tomorrow's lunch.'

'It's in my office.' The chef led the pair to a small cubby-hole at the back of the kitchen, and slapped an envelope into Fei's hand. He did it almost hard enough for it to be an assault. Fei pushed him aside with a warning glare and he and Yi Chung left.

Before they reached the public areas of the hotel, Fei extracted his and Yi Chung's cut of the payment. 'Here. Take her somewhere nice so she sees you again.'

"That's very kind.'

'No, I'm just sick of hearing you complain about not having a steady girlfriend.' They both laughed, and Fei left through a side door. Yi Chung suspected he was probably going to gamble his cut in the hotel's own casino as usual.

Yi Chung had a spring in his step as he waltzed but of the kitchen and across the polished lobby. People were trying not to stare, and that made him laugh. Some Japanese were smirking as they noticed him, while a white woman simply shook her head as if tired. He didn't know why she should have that reaction and slowed for a minute. He had seen her somewhere before, but couldn't place her.

She had auburn hair and was wearing a pastel suit It would come to him It would come to him eventually eventually. Until then, what difference did one more gwailo tourist among millions make?

The DNA results from the forensics lab confirmed that the ashes in Wing's apartment belonged to him.

Neither Inspector Siao nor Sergeant Sing were surprised at that. Both were dismayed because it meant they now had to figure out how he had got into that state, and whether it was by accident or design.

It didn't help that the arson division had already been able to confirm that there had been no fire in the room, and that the case therefore had nothing to do with them. Sing slammed the door as they left the arson office. 'Half-witted sons of bitches: Siao could read on his face that most of his anger was down to arson having firmly dumped the case on them, when Sing wanted to dump it on arson.

'Wash your mouth out,' she snapped. After all, she didn't take that kind of language from her own kids. He looked sour. 'If there was no fire, somebody dumped the remains in the apartment,' Siao said. 'At best, that means somebody tampered with a death scene elsewhere. More likely they were involved in it.*

'I guess so.' Sing cheered up at the thought. Siao thought he enjoyed a juicy homicide too much for comfort, but he probably had his reasons. 'And at least there's good physical evidence, and no eyewitnesses,' he added.

Heading for the station car park, Siao had to agree. Ten eyewitnesses seeing the same thing would tell you ten different things, especially after they'd had time to listen to gossip and let their minds fill in the blanks.

Physical evidence was a lot less confusing.

'Where are we going?' Sing asked.

'Back to Wing's apartment. Last time, we were looking for what might have happened there. This time, I want to see what evidence there might be of visitors.'

'After fifty cops and reporters have been through? You'll be matching flat-footed bootprints for a month.' Sing was trying so hard to be scornful, but he wasn't very good at it. Siao couldn't help smiling.

'At least I want to have a feel for the place. Work out some things, maybe re-enact visits.'

Yi Chung was still on a coke buzz, helped by a shower and a change into his favourite shirt and aftershave. He could almost feel Emily's hands all over him, but was let down to see he still had some time before he had to leave.

As if it had called out to him, his eyes fell on the box he had taken from Wing's apartment. It was sitting invitingly on a small telephone table next to his leather sofa. He still didn't know what was in it, but it was something worth hiding. Jewellery perhaps, or maybe Wing's private stash.

He had a few minutes, so he dropped into the sofa and started to examine the box. It didn't have any seams that he could see, or catches. It was like an old puzzle box, except made of some kind of shiny metal. He couldn't feel any indentations or marks that might help him open it. Just as his patience and enthusiasm were running out he felt something give way under his thumb.

Nothing had opened, and the box looked no different, but he was sure he had felt it, like pressing a button. His enthusiasm returned, but the clock had beaten him; it was time to go and pick Emily up. , He made to toss the box on to the sofa, but changed his mind and slipped it carefully into an inside pocket, beside a thick roll of twenties and fifties.

This would be a showy night; he wanted everyone to see he was well-heeled and generous. That would earn him respect.

Whispers, shadows, cool breezes. The room was a theatre for those things that just appeared on the periphery of the senses. There was nothing that could be directly looked at, or heard or felt.

Not until a new whisper joined the others, and was noticed by the room's sole occupant. 'Activation of unit rho-seventeen, on stand-by mode.'

'Triangulate,' came the reply.

'Triangulating. Unit is moving.'

'Despatch a recovery team. Vector them in when rho-seventeen is still.'

Police-warning ribbons crossed Wing's door; a gift, wrapped for the authorised recipient only. Sing didn't even consciously notice them as he ripped them aside and put a key in the door. He did notice that the door was already unlocked, and it shouldn't have been.

Sing pushed it open with a sigh. Typical bloody uniform, not even bothering to lock the door when they taped it up.

Siao stopped him from entering, a hand on his shoulder and a finger on her lips. He recognised why immediately. It was one of those things you can't put a finger on, but it happens anyway. It was not the kind of silence that is the absence of noise, but that somehow-different silence which signifies the cessation of noise you just missed hearing.

Someone was inside the apartment. Sing would stake his pension on it. He read Siao's expression, agreeing, and drew his revolver. She mouthed a one-two-three, and they burst into the flat.

The little entrance hall was empty, so they moved into the living room expecting either a fight or a surrender at any moment. The room was undisturbed. Sing glanced into the bathroom, while Siao popped her head into the kitchen. The sound of the door slamming startled both of them.

The sofa had been moved slightly. Even as Sing bolted for the door, he realised someone had hidden behind it until their backs were turned. Heart pounding with nerves and excitement, he yanked the door open and swung into the corridor.

The stairwell door was flapping, and footsteps clattered down the stairs beyond it. Sing loped to the stairwell in the hope of catching up before their source got out of the line of sight. He just caught a glimpse of a cream blur: a linen or cotton suit, lightweight and pale against the sun.

He vaulted the banisters onto the next flight of stairs, but too late; there was no sign of the person. He kept going down.

Cannonball Siao thought for a horrible moment that she was going to have a heart attack. She knew she wasn't fast enough to race down the stairs, and dashed for the lift instead. The gods were on her side, the door opening as she reached it.

She didn't register breaking a nail when stabbing the button for the basement. The lift juddered downwards, taking what seemed like forever.

She fidgeted, trying to will the thing to go faster.

The doors opened on to a grimy basement, a lair for off-duty cleaning equipment and janitorial paraphernalia.

Ignoring the stench of unemptied Hoover bags, Siao ran for the stairwell and headed up towards the ground floor.

Sure enough, she reached the ground floor just as the intruder was descending from above. It was a small white man in a pale suit, carrying an umbrella with a red handle in the shape of a question mark. He froze, unable to get past Siao. In a moment, Sing dropped down after him, red-faced and panting.

"That's far enough,' Siao told the intruder. The man seemed to have relaxed, or at least resigned himself to the situation. 'What were you doing in a crime scene?'

'Investigating, Inspector Siao.' She wondered how the hell he knew her name. Perhaps it was a sign of guilt - a criminal might well want to memorise the names and faces of cops he might encounter, and she'd been in the papers once or twice over the years. 'Now, I really must hurry.

There are so many things to do, and so few hours per day on this planet.'

Siao blinked, and exchanged a look with Sing. She saw in his eyes that he had the same impression as her: they had a lunatic here. The questions everyone was asking about what would change when Beijing took over seemed to be bringing them out of the woodwork. Or maybe it was causing them. 'We're all busy. You're going to have to come to the station with us, and-'

'No,' the man said firmly. He had some kind of accent she couldn't quite place. 'I will explain myself to you and your authorities at the right time, but that isn't now.' He took in a deep breath and seemed to grow larger, though he was still at her height. 'You will let me pass,' he said, and she could feel the truth in his words. 'You will not follow me.' Somehow he was past her, and making for the exit. He paused and Siao waited for his next pronouncement, somehow unable to move. 'You might want to have this door fingerprinted,' he suggested in a more normal voice. Then he pushed the door open with his umbrella handle, and was gone.

Siao looked back up at Sing, and only then realised she could actually move. She leapt to the door and through it. There was no sign of anyone.

'What the hell happened there?' Sing asked.

Siao opened her mouth to respond, but couldn't think of anything he'd believe. What was she supposed to say? That the guy had hypnotised her or something? 'I don't know. But when we see him again, I'm going to find out.'

'You think we will see him again?'

'We will if I have anything to do with it.' Chasing cranks and lunatics wasn't why she had joined the police but if that was her duty, then so be it.

Besides, curiosity had always been a failing of hers.

'What now?'

'Now we do what he suggested. Get a fingerprint tech down to examine this door. Perhaps he used his hands on it to get in.'

Sing nodded and stepped aside to get a better signal on his mobile phone.

Siao looked around the apartment block's back yard, wishing there was something there that would help. 'Who are you?' she whispered to herself.

Chapter Six.

Speaking Louder Than Words

The part of her job that Sarah least liked was the photography side. She was quite happy to take pictures, but there was a big difference between holiday snaps and publishable work good enough to accompany a decent story. Given the choice, she'd have preferred to work with a dedicated photographer, but costs usually ruled that out. Even when one could be afforded, she was reluctant to put anyone else in the kind of danger she sometimes faced. The sorts of stories she chased weren't the safest in the world, and often involved going undercover or visiting war zones.

She was also still angry that her picture had been published with her last story. Not only had it led to that unpleasantness in Thailand, but it would prevent her from posing as anyone else for an investigation, at least in the near future. There were so many stories she wanted to do, and now some of them were beyond her reach, because the people she would want to investigate subtly would know who she was and not let her near.

That shouldn't be a problem this afternoon. Her appointment had been made before she left England - to visit a thriving business and find out how they thought, or hoped, the impending handover of the colony to China would affect them.

For some reason, the news agency had set up an appointment with a company called Pimms Shipping. It was an import-export business, the kind that ought to be most concerned with how trade and customs laws might change. Sarah had never heard of it before, and couldn't find its stock listed in the financial papers.

Judging by the building she was trying to photograph from the edge of the car park, the company must have been doing pretty well. The Pimms Building was an even more impressive creation than the nearby Bond Centre. Its base was a sprawling, open-plan, five-storey business centre plated in mirrored glass. From the roof, a hollow twelve-storey tower rose. It wasn't the biggest building in the city, but it was striking.

It also wouldn't sit still in the viewfinder, and Sarah wished she'd brought some kind of tripod. After a moment, she put the camera on top of a nearby Mercedes.

The car started screeching, but she managed to ignore it long enough to get a steady shot. Then she stuffed the camera into her bag and hurried away from the disturbed vehicle before anyone came to investigate.

The building looked even more impressive when she entered the reception area. The tower was circular and each floor had a ring corridor with one layer of rooms on each side. A conical glass roof covered the central shaft.

Unusually, most of the mirrored glass was on the inside of the tower, positioned in such a way as to reflect sunlight into the inner rooms on each floor.

Trying not to stare, Sarah smiled politely at the suited man behind the reception desk. He looked more like a presidential bodyguard than a receptionist. 'Ah 'Ah good afternoon. My name's Sarah Jane Smith. I have an appointment for a press interview with Mr Pendragon.' good afternoon. My name's Sarah Jane Smith. I have an appointment for a press interview with Mr Pendragon.'

The man consulted a monitor on the desk. 'Of course. CGN news agency?'

Sarah nodded. 'I'll notify Mr Pendragon that you're here. Our press relations manager will be down in a moment. Please have a seat.' He indicated the comfortable seats, accompanied by a scattering of magazines, which were dotted around the reception area.

'Thank you.' Sarah took a seat. The magazines were the usual out-of-date selection, though she recognised a recent one that featured her Thai sex tourism article. She settled for trying to find one that had a Garfield strip.

Before she found one, a slim man of medium height approached, wearing a cream Hugo Boss suit. He was, perhaps, in his early thirties. He had a slightly baby-faced look, yet was handsome, with a slight wave to his hair.

'Good morning, Miss Smith. I'm Yue Hwa.' His cheeks bulged when he smiled, suggesting that the smile was a little too wide. 'Mr Pendragon will be busy for a few more minutes, but I can show you around on our way to his office.'

'That's very kind,' Sarah said politely. It never hurt to be pleasant. She followed Yue Hwa into the central area of the building.

At the heart of the business centre, a stone garden brought calm to the ground floor. Above zigzagged the walkways of four storeys of mezzanines holding staff cafeterias, a fitness centre and some open lecture areas.

Above, the tower, crowned with glass, was like a fifty-foot-calibre gun barrel pointing to the heavens.

'Impressive, isn't it?'Yue Hwa asked, almost reading Sarah's mind.

'Very,' she agreed. 'Another of Paul Rudolf's?'

Yue Hwa nodded. 'You've clearly done your homework, Miss Smith. I'd venture to say it's a superior building to the Bond Centre, but I'm biased, of course.'

'Don't worry, you'd be right.'

'Thank you. Mr Pendragon commissioned it, and specifically requested the tower to be light-efficient.'

'He cares for the environment? Recycling and so on?'

Yue Hwa smiled inscrutably. 'Being Scots, he doesn't like spending more money on light bulbs than is absolutely necessary.' He led her through the public reception areas of the business centre to the stone garden.

Sarah halted in disbelief, trying to decide whether what she felt was wonder, happiness or horror before she let it show on her face. Sitting to one side of the stone garden, amidst some swirls of pebbles which had been carefully arranged around it, was was 'The TARDIS.' 'The TARDIS.'

'I'm sorry?'

'Oh, er er' Until Yue Hwa had reacted, Sarah hadn't even been aware that she'd spoken. 'The police box,' she admitted, embarrassed. 'It just reminded me of something, that's all.'

Yue Hwa nodded sagely. She could tell this was just to put her at her ease, to save face. 'It's part of Mr Pendragon's art collection. He admired the simple strength of its design on a visit to London, and bought this one for his collection when the boxes were decommissioned.'