Cohen finally nodded. He took another sip of tea before whispering his retort to Chin.
‘Then I accept your apology,’ Chin repeated.
‘Mm goi,’ Tung said with a nod of his head. ‘And what compensation does the Tsu Fi feel is proper?’
Cohen took a sip of tea, his eyes still locked with Fong’s. Then he whispered slowly to Chin. Chin looked surprised, but only for a moment. He stood tip and said, ‘As tribute, you must set aside this feud with the mei gwok Hatcher.’
The men on both sides of the room were startled by the demand. The judges, Chin and Tung, stared at each other. The demand, they knew, would cause trouble. Anger boiled up in Fong. Hate dilated the pupils in his eyes. By the san wong’s orders, he must grant the demand, but he had to protest to save face.
He shook his head but still remained yen dui yen with Cohen. ‘I cannot do that,’ he whispered to Tung in a voice thick with hatred and loud enough for Cohen to hear. ‘The mei gwok yahn murdered my father.’
‘It is my understanding that the mei gwok killed in self-defense,’ Cohen whispered in a voice just as loud, not waiting for Tung’s translation.
‘He dishonored the House of Fong, just as Lung dishonored your house,’ Fong answered crisply, still yen dui yen, but now speaking directly to Cohen.
‘Then it is an even trade,’ Cohen quickly answered.
The response disarmed Fong for a moment. Fong was a killer, not a negotiator. ‘No! Not until Hatcher joins Lung in hell is it an even trade. What you ask is unreasonable.’
Cohen held his hands out in a gesture of futility. ‘Nevertheless it is the price you must pay for Lung’s dishonor.’
Fong slowly shook his head, his eyes still locked with Cohen’s, growing more angry with each word.
‘I made a blood promise, the oath of ch’u-tiao,’ Fong said slowly.
‘Honor is honor,’ said Cohen. ‘I say the feud is over.’
‘And I say this thing between Hatcher and me is not your business,’ Fong said, leaning toward Cohen.
‘Then I cannot accept your apology,’ Cohen said with brittle authority.
Sam Chin stepped forward and cleared his throat. ‘Deui mju,’ he said, bowing, ‘it occurs to me that perhaps the Tsu Fi might offer a tribute more acceptable to the Tsu Fong so that this dispute may be resolved peacefully.’
Cohen was adamant. By tradition, Fong was virtually obligated to accept any demand within, reason.
‘No,’ he said. ‘My home has been compromised. I have a right to this request. It is particularly fitting because Lung made this attack for the purpose of killing the mei gwok, who was my guest.’
‘And I, too, say no,’ Fong quickly answered.
‘Then I’ll let it be known everywhere that Tollie Fong has violated his oath to the Sun Lee On.’
‘I am not of the Sun Lee On, I am Chiu Chao,’ he said.
‘We are all cousins in the oath,’ said Cohen. ‘If you betray the house of Tsu Fi, you betray the Chiu Chaos and all triads.’
‘So it shall be,’ Fong said, with a sneer in his voice, forcing the issue. He picked up his teacup and smashed it on the table. Cohen leaned back, startled by his outburst. Fong slashed the knife edge of his hand into the broken bits of china.
‘You are declaring zhanzheng on the Tsu Fi,’ Tung said, obviously surprised that Fong was taking this confrontation to the limit. ‘The Tsu Fi is right. You will face the wrath of both the Chiu Chaos and the Sun Lee On.’
‘Then I, too, must declare war — on the Tsu Fong,’ said Cohen. He stood up and, with disdain, swept the broken cup on the floor. ‘You have one hour to get out of Hong Kong,’ China said.
Fong stared up at him and his lips curled slightly.
‘You may still reconsider,’ Chin said slowly.
‘You have guts, Cohen, to threaten the new san wong of the White Palms.’
‘This island belongs to me,’ Cohen said with finality. ‘If you have any doubts about that, you’re dumber than I think you are.’
Fong stood up slowly. ‘You are a fool, Yankee,’ he said, ‘to make blood over this mei gwok spy. He is a liar. He cheats his friends. He kills those who trust him.’
‘My kind of guy,’ Cohen answered. ‘Your hour is running out.’
Fong stared at him for a few moments more.
‘All right,’ he said finally. ‘I will not dishonor the san wong of the White Palms. But you humiliate me, mei gwok,’ he said to Cohen.
‘It’ll pass,’ Cohen said, and Fong bristled again. He turned to each of the judges, bowing to them in turn, and stormed up the stairway followed by his men. Lon Tung followed quickly behind him. Cohen’s shoulders slumped. He had won. His heart was rapping against his ribs, but he had succeeded and avoided a blood feud between himself and the White Palms.
Sam Chin touched Cohen’s shoulder. ‘I have never known you to be so difficult in such a negotiation,’ he said.
Cohen looked over at the elderly man.
‘I agree,’ he said wearily. ‘Unfortunately, San Wong, nothing else was appropriate.’
Tollie Fong stood outside the restaurant waiting for the car to be brought to him. There would be no war between the Tsu Fi and the Tsu Fong. The compromise with Cohen still stung, but it had been necessary. For now he would have to put aside his ch’u-tiao to kill Hatcher, but that was acceptable, in fact, it fit perfectly with his plans.
He had waited eight years to get Hatcher, he could wait a few more weeks. But in Tollie Fong’s mind, Hatcher was a dead man. It was just a matter of time.
The shadows outside were growing longer. Daphne lay beside Hatcher, turned and pressed against him, moving slowly until almost every inch of her touched his side.
‘I hope you do not cause all kinds of hell up there,’ she said. ‘Bad for my business,’
‘Good for your business. Maybe ‘we’ll get rid of Sam- Sam for you,’ Hatcher growled, turning toward her, pressing her tighter.
‘I may hold you to that promise of Indian cotton you made — how many years ago?’
‘A long time,’ he said. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘When are you leaving?’
‘As soon as we finish upriver.’
‘And you won’t be back.’
He started to say something, but she put her hand over his mouth. ‘China told me everything. I know it is dangerous for you in Hong Kong. I just want to know this time. I would like to say joi gin properly.’
‘You have already,’ his voice growled.
She put a long leg over his hip and pulled him even closer with it.
‘I’m not through yet,’ she said huskily.
SMOKE
A pale, dyspeptic, extremely nervous young under-under- under-secretary named Lamar Pellingham, Jr., greeted Sloan at the entrance to the embassy and immediately confided that this was his first experience with death on a foreign shore.
‘It’s impossible, absolutely impossible. Forms, forms, forms,’ the pasty-faced man groaned. ‘I’ve never seen such red tape.’
‘Yes, I know what a problem these things are,’ Sloan agreed solicitously. ‘You’d think they’d be glad to get rid of the remains instead of making it so difficult.’
‘Yes. Right. Of course,’ the diplomat answered, somewhat startled by Sloan’s nonchalance. ‘Uh, the maids packed up everything — that is, everything but what was in his desk. We sealed that room, left — the desk, I mean — alone. You know, in the event there was, uh. . . classified material there.’