We’d known each other long enough for him to understand my meaning. “How do I contact you?” he asked.

“I’ll check the bulletin board.”

“It would be more efficient if you would just leave the cell phone on.”

“I’ll check the bulletin board.”

He sighed. “Okay. And you can always call me at this number. Give me twelve hours. Anything else?”

“The blonde?” I asked.

“Nothing. Still working on it.”

I hung up.

I found an Internet café, where I uploaded the information to the bulletin board. Then I sat for a minute, thinking.

The three guys who had come after me here in Hong Kong were obviously in touch with someone in Macau. In fact, I was pretty damn sure that the one with the cell phone, Sunglasses, had called his Macau contact to confirm that I had arrived. The guy in Macau would now be waiting for news of the operation. The bodies of his buddies had only been cooling for about an hour now. Chances were good that he wouldn’t have heard yet of their tragic demise. He certainly wouldn’t be expecting, and he wouldn’t be prepared, to see me in Macau without first getting a heads-up from Hong Kong. And, even if he had somehow heard about the way things had turned out here, the last thing he would expect me to do would be to head straight back to the place where the ambush had obviously initiated: the Macau Mandarin Oriental.

In either case, I realized I had an opportunity to surprise someone. Which is always a nice thing to be able to do.

I headed back to Shun Tak to catch the next ferry to Macau. I tried not to think too much about what I was about to do. Charging an ambush is counterinstinctive: when your lizard brain identifies the direction the threat is coming from, it wants you to run away.

But your lizard brain doesn’t always know best. It tends to focus on short-term considerations, and doesn’t always adequately account for the value of unpredictability, of deception, of surprise. Of taking a short-term risk for a longer-term gain.

The hour-long ferry ride felt long. Maintaining a razor-edge readiness is exhausting, and, once the mad minute is over, the body badly wants to rest and recuperate. I tried to clear my mind, to take myself down a few levels-enough to recover, but not so much that I would be less than ready for whatever I might encounter on Macau.

With about twenty minutes to go, the cell phone rang. I looked down at it and saw that the incoming number was the same as the one last dialed. Almost certainly the Macau contact, then, checking in, wanting to know what had happened. I ignored the call.

We arrived at the Macau Ferry Terminal and I walked out into the arrivals lobby. The lobby was too crowded for me to know whether I had a welcoming committee. That was okay, though. One of the advantages of Macau is that you can access the city from the first floor of the ferry terminal-either by foot on the sidewalks, or by taxi-or you can go to the second floor and use the extensive series of causeways. If you’re waiting for someone at the ferry terminal, therefore, you have to be just outside the arrivals area, ready to move out or up, depending on the route taken by your quarry. So even though I couldn’t spot a pursuer yet, it would be easy for me to flush him if he was there.

I took the escalator to the second floor, where I paused in front of one of the ATMs as though withdrawing some cash-a common enough maneuver for visitors heading for the casinos. I glanced back at the escalator I had just used, and saw an Arab coming up it. The big bastard, the bearded giant I’d noticed that morning. The shades and expensive jacket looked familiar at this point. Christ, they might as well have worn uniforms. Hi, my name’s Abdul, I’ll be your assassin today.

They must have gotten nervous when the Hong Kong team had failed to check in, and put this guy back in position to be on the safe side. That, or he’d been waiting here all day. It didn’t matter. He’d seen me. His next move would be to telephone his Macau partners, if he hadn’t already. Which would be the end of the surprise I wanted to share with them all. I would have to improvise.

If he was surprised to see me, and I imagined he was, he didn’t show it. He looked around, his demeanor casual, a simple tourist just arrived in Macau and taking in the wonders of the ferry terminal.

Why didn’t they call me first? I knew he’d be wondering. They were supposed to call me when he was on his way back, just as I called them to alert them that he was coming.

Because dead people don’t use phones, pal. You’ll see in a minute.

I walked out onto the open-air plaza in front of the entrance to the second floor and walked a few meters toward the causeway. Then I stopped and looked behind me.

He had just come through the doors on the right side of the plaza and was starting to raise his cell phone to his face when I turned back. When he saw me, he lowered the cell phone and stopped as though suddenly interested in the nonexistent view.

I nodded my head at him and gave a small wave of acknowledgment, the gesture communicating, Oh there you are, good. I started walking over.

His head turtled in a fraction and his body tensed in the internationally approved reaction to being spotted on surveillance. It’s hard to describe, but it looks a little like what a gowned patient does when the doctor picks up a long instrument and advises, This might be a little uncomfortable. He looked around, then back to me, doing a decent imitation of someone wondering, Huh? Was that me you were waving to? Do we know each other?

I walked straight up to him and said in a low voice, “Good, you’re here. They told me you’d be waiting on the first floor, by arrivals, but I didn’t see you.”

He shook his head. His lips twitched, but no sound came out.

“There’s been a mistake,” I said. “I’m not the guy you want.”

His lips twitched some more.

Shit, I thought, he doesn’t understand you. Hadn’t counted on that.

“You speak English, right?” I said. “They told me we could use English.”

“Yes, yes,” he stammered. “I speak English.”

I glanced quickly left and right as though suddenly nervous, then back at him, my eyes narrowed in sudden concern. “You’re the right guy, right? They told me someone would be waiting for me.”

“Yes, yes,” he said again. “I am the right guy.”

So many “yeses” in a row. We’d established the proper momentum.

A group of three Hong Kong Chinese emerged from the terminal. I watched them walk past us as though I was concerned that they might hear us, then said, “Let’s talk over there.” I gestured to the external wall of the terminal, where we could stand without being seen from inside the building. I walked the few steps over and waited. A moment later, he followed.

Damn, if I could maneuver him just a little more, get him to a slightly quieter place, I might even manage to interrogate him. That would be ideal, but also far riskier than the relatively straightforward approach I had in mind. I considered for a moment, then decided it wouldn’t be worth it.

“From the look on your face,” I said, “I’m getting the feeling that you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what? I’m sorry, I’m not understanding you.”

The Hong Kong group was now out of earshot and still walking away. The plaza was momentarily empty.

“Yes, I can see that,” I said. “All right, let’s just go back to the hotel. We’ll straighten everything out there.”

That sounded harmless enough. His compatriots would be positioned at the hotel. They could explain to him what the hell was going on. Besides, he was half a head taller than me, and probably outweighed me by forty or fifty pounds. What did he have to worry about?

He nodded.

“Okay, let’s go,” I said. I moved as though to walk off toward the causeway, then turned back to him. “Good God, is that bird shit on your shoulder?” I asked, staring as though in disbelief.