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With her belly nudging the table, Mac laid the charm in the palm of one hand and poked at it with the other.
“If you press on this little squiggle…”
“That squiggle is the character’s radical, or root symbol.”
After four years of Mandarin in college, two more in grad school and a three-year tour of duty in Beijing, Jilly spoke several Chinese dialects with a fluency rarely acquired by “foreign devils.”
Reading and writing were entirely different matters. By various counts, there were somewhere between forty and fifty thousand Chinese characters. Thankfully, each character contained one of only two hundred and fourteen roots. If you could figure out the root, you could count the character’s remaining strokes and—most of the time!—look up the word in a dictionary.
“The roots came down from ancient times,” she told Mac. “Originally they were pictographs representing basic elements like man, woman, fire, water, and so on.”
“If you say so. Press the root…radical…whatever…once to transmit, twice to receive. Go ahead, try a voice transmission.”
Jilly pressed once. “Mary had a little…Whoa!”
She jumped as the nursery rhyme boomed through the Control Center’s speakers.
“You’ll be in silent mode most of the time,” Mac advised, “but you’ll know when someone’s trying to contact you. Put it on, and I’ll give you a demo.”
The chain was long enough to loop easily over her head. The jade felt cool and smooth against her throat—until Mac signaled to one of her assistants. The next moment, the semiprecious stone warmed like toast.
“Nice,” Jilly murmured, palming the charm. “Very nice.”
“It’s also equipped with GPS, an electronic jammer and a direct link to Hawk’s comm unit.”
“Don’t tell me you decked him out in a gold chain and charm, too?”
“I wish! No, his comm is in his watch.” A wicked gleam lit Mac’s brown eyes. “But I did spiffy that up to go with your cover. You should have seen his face when I presented him with a solid gold Rolex.”
Also appropriate, Jilly thought. She and Hawk would hit Hong Kong in the guise of a wealthy couple on a Far East buying junket.
A married couple.
Sharing a hotel suite.
So Hawk could keep an eye on her.
She’d bristled at that last bit. Not for long, however, since adjoining bedrooms in a luxurious hotel suite dovetailed nicely with her non-mission-related objectives.
Assuming she didn’t pull out her Beretta and pump a round into Hawk before they left for Hong Kong, which she seriously contemplated doing an hour later.
Not content with her firm grasp of OMEGA’s internal communications codes, Hawk insisted she memorize the NATO phonetic alphabet used by police officers and medical response agencies worldwide. That Jilly could rattle the letters off with some assurance wasn’t enough. He wanted every one burned into her subconscious.
“Give them to me again.”
She gritted her teeth. “How many times do I have to…?”
“Again, damn it.” The gold flecks in his eyes burned with intensity. “I’m not going into the field with someone who can’t call for backup if we run into an ambush.”
Was that what happened all those years ago in the jungle? Had Hawk and his partner and this woman he once loved been ambushed? The thought of what he’d lost in that murky green darkness put a lid on Jilly’s irritation.
“Alpha-Bravo-Charlie-Delta-Echo-Foxtrot-Golf-Hotel-India-Juliet-Kilo-Lima-Mike.”
She pulled in a breath.
“November-Oscar-Papa-Quebec-Romeo-Sierra-Tango-Uniform-Victor-Whiskey-Xray-Yankee-Zulu.”
She finished on a whoosh of air and gave him a nasty glare.
“Satisfied?”
“Yeah.”
He didn’t look satisfied. With his two-day’s worth of stubble and red-rimmed eyes, he looked almost as ragged as she now felt.
“We’ve got less than an hour before we have to head for the airport,” he informed her after checking his gleaming Rolex. “We’d better get up to Field Dress.”
Finally! A shower, a shampoo and a quick blow-dry. She couldn’t wait to shed her rank sweats and change into whatever the wizards in OMEGA’s Field Dress Unit had waiting for her.
Gillian emerged from FDU’s dressing room a different woman. Nothing like a French silk demibra and panties, an Emanuel Ungaro pantsuit in cobalt-blue and Bruno Magli ankle boots to make a gal feel like she could take on the world again. She’d have to wait until Hong Kong to see the other delights packed in the Gucci suitcases waiting beside the dressing room door.
Hawk was waiting, as well. His gaze raked her from head to toe. A small grunt was her only indication that her duty uniform passed inspection. She, on the other hand, could barely keep her jaw from dropping.
She’d known him for so long, had seen him rigged out in everything from camouflage gear to a hand-tailored tux. But this was the first time she’d ever seen him with his brown hair slicked back and his nails manicured. Or in an Armani sport coat that molded his wide shoulders. Or Italian leather loafers. Or…
“If you’re through conducting your inventory,” he said impatiently, “we need to hit the road.”
She popped a salute. “Yes, sir! It’s just that…You look so different.”
The Field Dress tech who’d outfitted them both frowned. “Not too different, I hope.”
After discussing the matter with Lightning, Hawk had decided he should stick to his civilian persona. He was too well-known in the international marksmanship circuit to do otherwise. But his recent marriage to a wealthy heiress had plucked him from the shooting range and plunged him into the world of manicures and priceless artifacts. Or so he and Jilly would pretend.
With a spurt of real glee, she contemplated the crash course in Oriental antiques she would subject him to during the long flight to Hong Kong.
“I’m ready if you are,” she told him.
“Not quite. We have one more piece of business to take care of.”
She couldn’t hold back a groan. “Not more codes!”
“Just one. You haven’t picked your code name.”
“We’ve been going nonstop since dawn. Who had time to think names?”
“So think now. What, or who, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need a name, Jilly.”
Fiddling with the pendant that nestled just above the swell of her breasts, she searched her mind.
“I can’t come up with…Wait!” She stroked her thumb over the smooth round bezel. “Jade. I’ll go by Jade.”
Hawk’s expression softened. For a moment, just a moment, she was sure she caught the ghost of a grin on his rugged face.
“Is that with a G or a J?”
“J.” She smiled back.
“I’ll let Griff know.”
Dan Griffin, code name Ace, would act as their controller during this op. Only a few years older than Jilly, the former Navy pilot with the killer grin had already made a name for himself at OMEGA…and with the women who couldn’t seem to get enough of him.
Hawk made a half turn and swung back to Jilly. “One more thing. You’d better put this on.”
He dug in the pocket of his Armani jacket and withdrew a jeweler’s box. When he popped the lid, Jilly gasped. Nested in velvet was a circlet of marquise-cut diamonds banded by sapphire-studded ring guards.
“It’s gorgeous.”
“Yeah. Field Dress doesn’t miss a trick.”
Her heart stuttered and almost stopped when he slid the wide band onto her ring finger. Cover, she reminded herself with a gulp. This was strictly for cover.
Which didn’t explain why Hawk kept her hand in his for several seconds longer.
“I told them I wanted the ring guards in sapphire. To match your eyes.”
She pondered that gruff comment all the way across the Pacific.
Hong Kong was everything she remembered from shopping excursions during her assignment to Beijing. And more. So much more.
As their plane swooped in for a landing, Jilly saw dozens of new skyscrapers crowding the harbor on both Hong Kong Island and the Kowloon Peninsula on the mainland. Contrary to the dire predictions when the British relinquished their hold on the territories known collectively as Hong Kong, their teeming economy hadn’t collapsed. Instead, it was exploding.
Gillian soon discovered that the traffic she recalled from previous visits had exploded, as well. Their limo driver added frequent blasts of his horn to the cacophony rising from taxis, trucks and Japanese-made vehicles of every sort. Masses of humanity, most with cell phones jammed against their ears, thronged streets with signs in both English and Chinese. Narrow alleys radiated from avenues with names left over from the British occupation. Sheng Tung Street bisected Waterloo Road. Kam Lam ran into Argyle. Tak Shing, Kan Su and Nanking all converged on the shopaholic’s mecca, Nathan Road.
Jilly almost salivated as the Rolls-Royce limo glided past shop after shop. She would have loved to put herself into the eager hands of tailors who could take her measurements and deliver an entire collection of suits and shoes and ball gowns to her hotel the next day. Or the jewelers who could craft an exquisite pair of diamond earrings or a ruby slide to her specifications within hours.
Then there were the designers. Prada, Chanel, Versace and Kate Spade all had boutiques on Nathan Road, as well as in the high-end malls scattered throughout the city. Too bad the Gucci suitcases stowed in the trunk of the Rolls-Royce made those boutiques and jewelry stores superfluous. Not to mention the ring on her left hand.
She snuck a glance at the sparkling stones. She hadn’t gotten used to their weight yet. Or the odd sensation that came with even a pretend marriage to a man like Hawk.
Women always sat up and took notice when he entered a room. Their admiring glances had never bothered Jilly before. So she couldn’t explain her annoyance with the redhead who’d almost tripped over her own feet while ogling Hawk at the airport. Or her irritation when a certain flight attendant became a little too attentive.
“That’s the Peninsula ahead, sir.”
The uniformed chauffeur pulled up at a red light and tipped his head toward the venerable hotel dominating the next block.
“Unfortunately, construction of the new subway line has temporarily blocked vehicle access to our main entrance. I’ll have to let you out at the side entrance.”
Well, darn! The Peninsula was one of Hong Kong’s most revered institutions. Jilly had wanted Hawk to see the front portico with its massive white pillars, liveried doormen and fleet of Rolls-Royces at the ready. On impulse, she grabbed the door handle.
“Let’s walk from here. The driver can drop off our bags at the side entrance. I want you to get the Peninsula’s full effect.”
The noise of a large and vibrant city hit them the moment they emerged from the Rolls. Car horns honked. Street vendors hawked their wares. Jackhammers and cranes added their signature sounds to the solid mass of humanity that thronged the streets. And above the din, Jilly caught the whistle of an arriving Star Ferry.
“You have to see this.”
With a quick change in direction, she joined the crowd crossing the street. A short flight of steps led to the wide promenade that circled the Kowloon side of the Victoria Harbor.
Across the gray-green waters were the towering skyscrapers of Hong Kong Island. Victoria Peak rose above the columns of glass and steel, her summit wreathed in hazy mist. And there, just pulling into the terminal, was one of the distinctive green-and-white ferries that still served as a primary means of transportation.
Smiling at the sight, Jilly leaned her arms on the promenade’s rail and breathed in the mingled scent of salt water and diesel fumes.
“They built a high-speed tunnel to connect Kowloon and Hong Kong some years ago,” she told Hawk, “but I always take the ferries when I’m here. They’re crowded, noisy and swarming with pickpockets, but they’re quintessential China.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Hawk obviously had more important matters on his mind as he shot back his cuff and checked his Rolex. “We’d better get settled in at the hotel, then call on Mr. Wang.”
Jilly gave the magnificent skyline across the bay a last look and pushed away from the rail. Hawk put a hand to the small of her back to turn her toward the stairs. She shouldn’t have felt his touch through layers of Hermès and Emanuel Ungaro. Shouldn’t have but did. The skin under those layers tingled even as she issued another stern reminder.
Cover, girl! It’s just cover!
Preoccupied with both the thought and the touch, she didn’t see the pint-size street vendor in pink sneakers and T-shirt who’d approached them. Neither did Hawk until his abrupt turn brought them into direct contact.
“Ai-ah!”
The girl—she couldn’t have been more than four or five—landed on her bottom. The wooden cage she was carrying also hit the concrete. The cage door flew open, and the canary inside made its escape.
With another cry, the girl scrambled to her feet and tried to catch the bird, but it was already soaring on the stiff breeze off the bay. Jilly would have bet the thing would soon be gull bait if she hadn’t witnessed a similar performance during a previous visit to Hong Kong. That one had involved caged crickets, but the theatrics were the same.
Sure enough, the little girl’s shoulders slumped pathetically. When she turned back to face them, tears rolled down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, kid.” Hawk reached into his pocket and pulled out the wad of Hong Kong dollars he’d purchased at the airport. “I’m really sorry.”
“You might want to wait on that,” Jilly advised.
“I bowled her over. How much should I give her for the bird? Five? Ten?”
“What you do to Mei Lin?”
The indignant query came from the boy who charged up the promenade stairs two at a time. He was older than the girl. Nine, maybe ten. Like her, he wore jeans and a faded T-shirt of indeterminate origin. But his AirMax Nikes, Jilly noted, looked brand-new.
“What you do?” he demanded again, but didn’t wait for an answer. Waving his skinny arms, he launched into a tirade of broken English. “You hurt little sister. You break cage. She lose bird, lose money. Lose face with Grandfather.”
The girl’s tears continued to flow, and the boy’s accusations were starting to attract attention.
