Necropolis

Every time the car slowed down or stopped, she wondered if they had been discovered. Worse than that, she imagined a nightmare scenario where something had gone horribly wrong and she really was taken to a cemetery and buried alive. Every nerve in her body was screaming. She could hardly breathe.
    After what seemed like an hour, she felt the car stop. She heard the doors open and slam shut. A long pause. And then suddenly a crack of daylight appeared, widening as the coffin lid was lifted off. A hand reached out to help her, and gratefully she grabbed hold of it. Gently, she was pulled out like a corpse returning to life. She found herself trembling. After all she had been through, she wasn't surprised.
    Where was she? The hearse was parked next to a fork-lift truck in a warehouse filled with pallets and crates. There were skylights in the ceiling, but it was also lit by neon strips, hanging down in glass cages. One of the men had hit a switch that brought a sliding door rumbling down on castors, but before it reached the floor, Scarlett glimpsed water and knew that they were near the harbor. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air. Normally, she might not have recognized it — but there had been plenty of it around in the building she had just left.
    The driver was already stripping off his jacket and black tie. The last time Scarlett had seen him, he had been wiping a bloody machete on a cloth up on The Peak. He had been the one with the backpack —
    long hair and glasses — and he was younger than she had first thought, in his mid-twenties. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt under the jacket, and she noticed a tattoo on his upper arm, a red triangle with a Chinese character inside.
    "My name is Jet," he said. Like all the others, he wasn't bothering with surnames. He spoke hesitant English but with a polished accent. "I will be looking after you now. This is Sing."
    The other man came over from the door and nodded.
    "Where are we?" Scarlett asked.
    "Still in Kowloon. This is our warehouse." Jet walked over to one of the crates and pulled off the tarpaulin that half covered it so that she could read the words stenciled underneath. They were written in Chinese and English.

    KUNG HING TAO FIREWORK MANUFACTURERS
    "Fireworks?"
    "It's good business," Jet explained. "In China, we let off fireworks if someone marries and again when they die. The Bun Festival, the Dragon Boat Festival, the Hungry Ghost Festival, and New Year.
    Everyone wants fireworks! There are one hundred thousand dollars' worth in this warehouse. I suggest you don't smoke."
    "You want Coke?" the man named Sing asked. He still had his walking stick with the sword concealed inside. It had been inside the hearse, but he had yanked it out and carried it with him.
    "We have a small kitchen and a toilet," Jet said. "We have to stay here for a while."
    "How long?"
    "Twenty-four hours. But nobody will find you here…"
    "What about Lohan?" Scarlett had been worrying about him. She knew it was her fault that he was in danger.
    "He will come. You do not need to be afraid. Very soon you will be on your way out of Hong Kong."
    Lohan had spoken of four ways to get out of the city, and he had dismissed three of them: the airport, the Jetfoil to Macao, the Chinese border. What did that leave? Scarlett had seen the harbor. Perhaps they were going to smuggle her out on a container ship. First a car trunk, then a coffin. These people wouldn't think twice about packing her into a crate of fireworks and sending her somewhere in time for Bonfire Night.
    Sing had gone into the kitchen, and now he came back with three bottles of water and sandwiches on plastic plates. He was still wearing his undertaker's suit, but he had taken off the tie. The three of them ate, sitting cross-legged in a circle on the floor. It was only when she took her first bite that Scarlett realized how hungry she was. She'd had little breakfast, no lunch, and it was now six o'clock.
    "It is not possible to take you out on a container ship." Jet had seen her sizing up the crates and must have guessed what was on her mind. "There's too much security. The ports are all watched day and night
    — and anyway, it will be the first thing that they expect. We will take you out in public, in front of their eyes."
    "How?"

    He glanced at the other man, who nodded, giving him permission to go on.
    "Tomorrow morning, a cruise ship arrives in Kowloon. It will dock at the Ocean Terminal on the other side of