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see us,” Fadeout said grimly. “We’ll be in the audience chamber.”
    The guard nodded, turned to a very modern intercom system, and spoke Chinese too quickly for Brennan to follow.
    The audience chamber was as luxurious as the outside of the building was dilapidated. The decorating motif was dynastic China. There were rich rugs, beautiful lacquered screens, delicate porcelain, a couple of massive green bronze temple demons, and undoubtedly valuable knickknacks of ivory, jade, and other precious and semiprecious stones set about on tables of teak and ebony and other rare woods. Wraith, Brennan thought, would love this place.
    Although it could have been overwhelming, the room’s overall effect was actually quite pleasing. It was like a living museum exhibit that had been assembled with a discerning eye and in the utmost good taste.
    Siu Ma was already waiting for them. She was seated on a gilt chair that dominated the chamber’s rear wall, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She was short with a round, plump face, dark, long-lashed eyes, and black glossy hair. She looked to be in her early thirties. She stifled a yawn with a pudgy hand and frowned at Fadeout.
    â€œThis had better be important,” she said, glancing distastefully at Deadhead and his attendants, curiously at Brennan. Her English was excellent, with just a lingering trace of a French accent.
    â€œIt is,” Fadeout assured her. He told her of the Mafia hit on his brownstone. As he spoke, a young girl bearing a tray came into the room and poured her a small cup of tea. Siu Ma sipped the tea as she listened to Fadeout’s story, and her frown deepened.
    â€œThis is intolerable,” she said when he’d finished. “We must teach those comic-book criminals a lesson they won’t forget.”
    â€œI agree,” Fadeout said. “However, our spies have told us that Covello has withdrawn to his estate in the Hamptons. It’s one of the Mafia’s most heavily fortified strongholds. It has two walls around it—an armored outer wall that encircles the entire estate and an inner electrified fence that protects the main building. Covello’s entrenched there with a company of heavily armed Mafia thugs.”
    Siu Ma looked at Fadeout coldly, and Brennan could see ruthless strength in her near-black eyes.
    â€œThe Shadow Fists have weapons too,” she said.
    Fadeout bobbed his head. “I agree, but we don’t want to expend our men in a futile attempt at revenge. And think of the unwanted attention such an assault would draw from the authorities.”
    There was an uncomfortable silence as Siu Ma sipped her tea and stared coldly at Fadeout. Brennan saw his chance.
    â€œExcuse my interruption,” he said in his soft drawl, “but one man can often go where many would be unwelcome.”
    Fadeout turned to him, frowned. “What do you mean?”
    Brennan shrugged depreciatingly. “A one-man sortie might accomplish what a full-scale raid could never hope to do.”
    Brennan felt Siu Ma’s eyes boring into him. “Who is this man?” she asked.
    â€œHis name’s Cowboy,” Fadeout said, distraction in his voice. “He’s new.”
    Siu Ma finished her tea and set the cup down on the tray. “He sounds as if he has a head on his shoulders. Tell me,” she said, speaking directly to Brennan for the first time, “are you volunteering to be this man?”
    He bobbed his head in a respectful bow. “Yes, Dama .”
    She smiled, pleased as he’d hoped she’d be by the respectful form of address.
    â€œIt will be dangerous, very, very dangerous,” Fadeout said cautiously.
    Siu Ma turned her gaze to him. “Never,” she said, “stop to count danger in a matter of revenge.”
    Brennan suppressed a smile. Siu Ma, it seemed, was a woman after his own heart.
    IV
    It was bone-chillingly cold at the West Thirtieth Street