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thousand now,” Gray said. “The rest only if I’m satisfied with your information.”
    The price was in Hong Kong dollars, which exchanged to about eighty thousand in U.S. currency. Seichan would have gladly paid ten times that amount if the man truly had any knowledge of her mother. And from the tinge of desperation in Pak’s eyes, the scientist would likely have settled for far less than they’d offered. He had large debts to settle with unsavory sorts, debts that even this transaction would not settle completely.
    “You will not be disappointed,” Pak said.
    1:14 A . M .
    From his offices halfway across Macau, Ju-long Delgado smiled as he watched Hwan Pak wave his new guests to the nest of red-silk lounges. The brutish one hung back, moving instead to the baccarat table, leaning his rear against it, absently picking at the felt surface.
    The two high-value targets—the assassin and the former soldier—followed Pak and sat down.
    Ju-long wished he could have eavesdropped on their conversation, but the security feed from the Lisboa was video only.
    A shame.
    But it was a minor quibble compared to the rewards to come.
    And as he well knew: All good things come to those who wait.
    1:17 A . M .
    Seichan let Gray take the lead on the interrogation of Hwan Pak, sensing the North Korean scientist would respond more fully to another man.
    Chauvinist bastard . . .
    “So you know the woman we seek?” Gray started.
    “ Ye, ” Pak answered with a swift nod. He had lit a fresh cigarette and puffed out a stream of smoke, plainly nervous. “Her name is Guan-yin. Though I doubt that is her real name.”
    It isn’t, Seichan thought. Or at least it wasn’t.
    Her mother’s real name had been Mai Phuong Ly.
    A flash of memory suddenly struck her, unbidden, unwelcome at the moment. As a girl, Seichan had been on her belly beside a small garden pond, tracing a finger in the water, trying to lure up a golden carp—then her mother’s face reflected next to her, wavering in the rippled surface, surrounded by a floating scatter of fallen cherry blossoms.
    They were her mother’s namesake.
    Cherry blossoms.
    Seichan blinked, drawing herself fully back to the moment at hand. She was not surprised that her mother had adopted a new name. She had been on the run, needing to keep hidden. And a new name allowed a new life.
    Utilizing all of Sigma’s resources, Seichan had discovered the identity of the armed men who had taken her mother. They had been members of the Vietnamese secret police, euphemistically called the Ministry of Public Security. They had learned of her mother’s dalliance with an American diplomat, her father, and of the love that grew from there. They had sought to pry U.S. secrets out of her.
    Her mother had been held at a prison outside Ho Chi Minh City—until she escaped during a prison riot a year later. For a short period of time, due to a clerical error, she had been declared dead, killed during that uprising. It was that lucky mistake that gave her enough of a head start to flee Vietnam and vanish into the world.
    Had she looked for me? Seichan wondered. Or did she think I was already dead?
    Seichan had a thousand unanswered questions.
    “Guan-yin,” Pak continued. A faint smile traced his lips, mocking and bitter. “Such a beautiful name certainly did not fit her . . . certainly not when I met her eight years ago.”
    “What do you mean?” Gray asked.
    “ Guan-yin means goddess of mercy .” Pak lifted his left hand, revealing only four fingers. “This is the quality of her mercy.”
    Seichan shifted closer, speaking for the first time. “How did you know her?” she asked coldly.
    Pak initially looked ready to ignore her, but then his eyes slightly crinkled. He stared harder at Seichan, possibly truly seeing her for the first time. Suspicion trickled into his gaze.
    “You sound . . .” he stammered. “Just then . . . but that’s not possible.”
    Gray leaned forward, catching the