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furious.
    He stood at the bow of the sinking Fuzhou Dragon, his hand on the lanyard of the forward life raft, and looked back fifty meters to sea where he’d just spotted some of the fucking piglets who’d escaped.
    He fired his pistol once more. Another miss. The pitching seas made accurate shooting from this distance impossible. He scowled in fury as his targets maneuvered behind the Dragon, out of his sight. The Ghost surveyed the distanceto the bridge deck, on which his cabin was located, where he had his machine gun and his money: more than a hundred thousand in one-color cash. He wondered momentarily if he could make it back to the cabin in time.
    As if in answer, a huge spume of venting air broke through the hull of the Dragon and she began to sink even more quickly, rolling farther on her side.
    Well, the loss hurt but it wasn’t worth his life. The Ghost climbed into the raft and pushed away from the ship with an oar. He scanned the nearby water, struggling to see through the fog and rain. Two heads bobbed up and down, their arms waving frantically, fingers splayed in panic.
    “Here, here!” the Ghost shouted. “I’ll save you!” The men turned to him, kicking hard to rise from the water so he could see them better. They were two of the crew members, the ones who’d been on the bridge. He lifted his Chinese military Model 51 automatic pistol again. He killed the two crewmen with one shot each.
    Then the Ghost got the outboard motor going and, riding the waves, looked once more for his bangshou. But there was no sign of him. The assistant was a ruthless killer and fearless in shoot-outs but he was a fool when he was out of his element. He’d probably fallen into the water and drowned because he wouldn’t throw away his heavy gun and ammunition. Well, the Ghost had other matters to attend to. He turned the raft toward where he’d last seen the piglets and twisted the outboard’s throttle up high.
    •   •   •
    There’d been no time to find a life vest.
    No time for anything.
    Just after the explosion shattered the Dragon ’s rusty hull, knocking Sonny Li to his belly, the ship began to list, the water rushing over him and tugging him relentlesslytoward the ocean. Suddenly he found himself off the side of the ship, alone and helpless in the frantic hills of water.
    Ten fuck judges of hell, he thought bitterly in English.
    The water was cold, heavy, breathtakingly salty. The waves slammed him onto his back then lifted him high and dunked him. Li managed to kick to the surface and looked around for the Ghost but, in the cloudy air and stinging rain, couldn’t see anyone. Li swallowed a mouthful of the sickening water and began gasping and coughing. He smoked three packs of cigarettes a day and drank liters of Tsingtao beer and mao-tai; soon he was winded and the little-used muscles in his legs started to cramp painfully.
    Reluctantly he reached into his belt and withdrew his automatic pistol. He released it and the gun sank quickly from his fingers. He did the same with the three clips of ammunition in his back pocket. This helped his buoyancy some but it wasn’t enough. He needed a vest, anything that floated, anything to share the agonizing burden of staying on the surface.
    He thought he heard the sound of an outboard motor and he twisted around as best he could. Thirty meters away was an orange raft. He raised his hand but a wave caught him in the face as he was inhaling and his lungs filled with stinging water.
    Searing pain in his chest.
    Air . . . I need air.
    Another wave slammed into him. He sank below the surface, tugged down by the great muscles of gray water. He glanced at his hands. Why weren’t they moving?
    Paddle, kick! Don’t let the sea suck you down!
    He struggled once more to the surface.
    Don’t let . . .
    He inhaled more water.
    Don’t let it . . .
    His vision began to crinkle to black.
    Ten judges of hell . . .
    Well, Sonny Li thought, it seemed that he was