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take it personal, but you don't know the others so it's better to conceal their identities for now” said Guerra solemnly referring to Kamilia, Ming Mei and Shinsaku who were still wearing a hood.
    From what Andy remembered, James Guerra hadn’t really changed. He was half a head taller than Danny, bound in muscle. He combed his hair slicked back. His few-days’ beard didn’t conceal his hard face. He was a hardened soldier from his hair to his toenails. With his lilting British accent, solid step and husky voice, he looked like a modern gladiator. He couldn’t hide what he was. It was written in his face, every physical trait: former SAS, British Special Forces.
    Shinsaku’s peanut comment went straight over Andy’s head. What CSIS’ research had failed to turn up was that Victor Leung had exactly one weakness: he was severely allergic to peanuts. He was dead of anaphylactic shock. Victor Leung had killed Yanling, Ming Mei’s sister, several years ago. They had both been strippers in one of his businesses. Ming Mei was the younger of the two and Yanling was her protector. They were each other’s only family. Ming Mei was petit and Chinese. Her black hair cascaded halfway down her back and a straight bang made her green eyes pop. She had sworn to be the one to kill him when the time came. In the meantime, the only peace she found was in the study of Tai chi. When she practiced, she prevented herself from sinking into madness. She repeated the fluid movements for hours. She would lose all notion of time; she was alone in a universe for one. Her agility and suppleness was almost ethereal.
    She was a cloud, high and elusive. A Tai chi master. When attacked, she mirrored the movements of her adversary until she had him ensnared in an inescapable net. She floated. Everything that was soft and mild would give way in an instant to her true lethal power: for, though to the untrained eye it seemed like a dance-based relaxation technique, there was a merciless weapon under the calm sanity.
    Yanling had been dead for years, and today was the day for which Ming Mei had been waiting. She had taken her time in studying her target and visualized his death routinely. She was there at the clinic’s entrance when Victor arrived – she requested a session and took a place in the waiting room when asked. Later, she slipped into a bathroom in a tight connecting corridor. She waited several minutes for an assistant to pass by and, in a fraction of a second, she silently pulled her into the bathroom and rendered her unconscious. She donned the assistant’s uniform and easily found Victor’s treatment room – two hulking guards were posted outside the door. Calmly, she walked between the two into the room. Inside, another assistant was already present, preparing the needles with her back to the door. Victor was lying prone on the table, naked to the waist. Like a drift of air, Ming Mei slid a hand over the assistant’s mouth and hit her with enough pressure in the neck to knock her out almost instantly. She caught her under the arms when she crumpled and lowered her still body to the ground, concentrating on her target, who was still utterly unsuspicious. Ming Mei pulled out a little flask of concentrated peanut oil and set it down on the table. She stick four needles along the spine. The man tensed completely, back arched like a fish, ironically unable to writhe or scream. He was paralyzed from the head to the toes, but alive and breathing. He was now a prisoner of his own body. A master in acupuncture, she had managed to understand the human energy channels. Years ago, she had perfected the five-needle-death strike by studying how sushi fishes were killed by acupuncture needles. By sticking five needles into human specific spots, death was immediate. By sticking four into the body, it was complete paralysis except for the brain and breathing.
    Let the session begin . All this was done in a few seconds of complete silence. She sat at