Necropolis

"Welcome to Hong Kong. I hope you had a good flight."
    "Who are you?" Scarlett asked. She wasn't in any mood to be polite.
    The woman didn't take offense. "My name is Mrs. Cheng," she said. "But you can call me Audrey. This is Karl." The man in the suit lowered his head briefly. "Shall we go to the car?"
    "Where's my dad?"
    "I'm afraid he couldn't come."
    "Where is he?"
    "I will explain in the car."
    The escort—Justin — had listened to all this with growing concern. It was his job to hand Scarlett over to the right person and that clearly didn't seem to be the case here. "Excuse me a minute," he interrupted.
    He turned to Scarlett. "Do you know these people?"

    "No," Scarlett said.
    "Well, I'm not sure you should go with them." He turned back to the woman. "Forgive me, Mrs. Cheng.
    I was told I was delivering this girl to her father. And I'm not sure…"
    "You're being ridiculous," Mrs. Cheng interrupted. "You can see quite clearly that we were waiting for her. We are both employed by the Nightrise Corporation and were sent here by her father."
    "I'm sorry. She doesn't know you, and right now I'm responsible for her. I think you'd better come over to the desk and talk to my supervisor."
    Scarlett was beginning to feel embarrassed to have two adults quarreling over her, especially in the middle of such a public place. But Justin and Mrs. Cheng had reached an impasse. The Chinese woman was breathing heavily, and two dark spots had appeared in her cheeks. She was struggling to keep her temper. Suddenly she snapped out a command, her voice so low that it could barely be heard. The chauffeur, Karl, lumbered forward.
    "Now hold on a minute…"Justin began.
    It looked as if Karl was going to punch him. But instead he simply reached out and laid a hand on Justin's shoulder, his long, black fingers curving around the escort's neck. There was no violence at all.
    Then he leaned down so that his eyes were level with the other man's.
    And Justin caved in.
    "You're making a fuss about nothing," Mrs. Cheng said.
    ''Yes…" He could barely get the word out.
    "Why don't you phone the Nightrise offices when they open? They'll tell you everything you want to know."
    "There's no need. Of course, the girl can go with you."
    "Let him go, Karl."
    Karl released him. Justin swayed on his feet, then abruptly walked away. It was as if he had forgotten about Scarlett. He wanted to have nothing more to do with her.
    "Let's be on our way, Scarlett. We've wasted enough time here."

    Scarlett picked up her suitcase and followed Karl and Mrs. Cheng down an escalator. A sliding door led to a private road with a number of smart executive saloons and limousines waiting for their pickups.
    Karl took the case and hoisted it into the trunk. Meanwhile, Mrs. Cheng had opened the door, ushering Scarlett into the back.
    "Where are we going?" Scarlett asked.
    "We will take you to your father's apartment."
    "Is he there?"
    "No." Audrey Cheng spoke English like many Chinese people, cutting the words short as if she were attacking them with a pair of scissors. 'Your father had to go away on business."
    "But that's not possible. He just got me out of school. He made me come all this way."
    "He has written a note for you. It will explain."
    They had left the airport. Karl drove them across a bridge that looked brand-new with steel cables sweeping down like tendrils in a web. The airport had been built on an island, one of several that surrounded Hong Kong. Everything here was cut into by the sea.
    They reached the outskirts of the city, and Scarlett saw the first tower blocks, five of them in a row.
    They warned her just how different this world was going to be, how alien to everything she knew. All five tower blocks were exactly the same. They had almost no character. And they were huge. Each one of them must have had a thousand windows, stacked up forty or fifty floors in straight lines, one on top of another. From the road, the windows looked the size of postage stamps, and anyone looking out of them would have been no bigger than the Queen's head in the corner. It was impossible to say how many people lived there or what it would be like, coming home at night to your identical flat in your identical tower, identified only by a number on the door. This was a city that was far bigger than the people who lived in it. Hong Kong would treat its inhabitants in the same way that an anthill looks after its ants.
    The motorway had turned into an ugly, concrete