| history. I must have it. ‘ ‘A man will call Washington, and people there will make other calls. They know where she lives, her circumstances, and within minutes they’ll know her neighbours. Someone will tell us. We’ll find her doctor. ‘ ‘I want everything on a satellite computer print-out. We have the equipment. ‘ ‘Any transmission of information must be received at our offices. ‘ Then I’ll go with you. Give me a few minutes. ‘ ‘You’re frightened, aren’t you, Doctor?’ ‘If it’s a neurological disorder, that’s always frightening, Major. If your people can work quickly, perhaps I can talk to her doctor myself. That would be optimum. ‘ ‘You found nothing in your examination?’ ‘Only possibilities, nothing concrete. There is pain here, and there isn’t pain there. I’ve ordered a CAT scan in the morning. ‘ ‘You are frightened. ‘ ‘Shitless, Major. ‘ Oh, you’re all doing exactly what I wanted you to do. Good God, I’m hungry! I’ll eat for five straight hours when I get out of here - and I will get out! David, did you understand? Did you understand what I was telling you? The dark trees are maple trees; they’re so common, darling, so identifiable. The single leaf is Canada. The embassy! Here in Hong Kong it’s the consulate! That’s what we did in Paris, my darling! It was terrible then, but it won’t be terrible here. I’ll know someone. Back in Ottawa I instructed so many who were being posted all over the world. Your memory is clouded, my love, but mine isn’t |
The crowds move under the weak light of dull streetlamps from one vendor to the next, haggling in high-pitched voices, shrieking back and forth, buying and selling. Then there are the kerb people, bedraggled men and women without stalls or tables whose merchandise is spread out on the pavement. They squatted behind displays of trinkets and cheap jewellery, much of it stolen from the docks, and woven cages filled with crawling beetles and fluttering tiny birds. Near the mouth of the strange, foetid bazaar a lone, muscular female sat on a low wooden stool, her thick legs parted, skinning snakes and removing their entrails, her dark eyes seemingly obsessed with each thrashing serpent in her hands. On either side were writhing burlap bags, every now and then convulsing as the doomed reptiles struck out in hissing fury at one another, enraged by their captivity. Clamped under the heavy-set woman’s bare right foot was a king cobra, its jet black body immobile and erect, its head flat, its small eyes steady, hypnotized by the constantly moving crowds. The squalor of the open market was a fitting barricade for the wall-less Walled City beyond. Rounding the corner at the opposite end of the long bazaar, a dishevelled figure turned into the overflowing avenue. The man was dressed in a cheap, loose-fitting brown suit, the trousers too bulky, the coat too large, yet tight around the hunched shoulders. A soft wide-brimmed hat, black and unmistakably Oriental, threw a constant shadow across his face |
