“But currently that is being contained in the Lantau Island compounds.”
“What about TB salpingitis?” Marissa asked.
“I haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Pao said.
“None?” Marissa asked. She wanted to be sure.
“Not that I know of,” Dr. Pao said.
“What about in the People’s Republic of China?” Marissa asked.
“Do you know what their experience is with TB?”
“They have a bit more than here,” Dr. Pao said.
“Respiratory problems in general have a high incidence in the PRC. But they also use BCG extensively with equal success.”
“So there’s no big problem?” Marissa asked.
“No recent upswing, anything like that?”
“Not that I know of,” Dr. Pao said.
“And I’d have heard. We have a significant amount of communication with the PRC on medical matters, particularly with Guangzhou.”
Marissa was at a loss.
“Do you know anything about the Wing Sin Triad?” Tristan asked.
“That’s a dangerous question in Hong Kong,” Dr. Pao said.
“I know they exist, but that’s about all.”
“Would you know how to contact them?” Tristan asked.
“Definitely not,” Dr. Pao said.
“One other question,” Marissa said. She was beginning to feel they were taking too much of the doctor’s time.
“Can you think of any reason for mainland Chinese to go to Australia to learn in-vitro fertilization techniques or, on the other hand, if they could at all contribute to in-vitro?”
Dr. Pao thought for a moment, then shook his head.
“I certainly can’t,” he said.
“The problem the Chinese medical authorities face is how to prevent conception, not promote it.”
“That was my feeling as well,” Marissa said.
“Thanks for your time.”
Together, Marissa and Tristan walked out of the bustling hospital.
Marissa shook her head dejectedly.
“That was a waste of everybody’s time, especially Dr. Pao’s. Did you see the fist of patients he’s scheduled to see today?”
Tristan held one of the main entrance doors open for her to pass.
“Sometimes negative results are as important as positive ones,” he said, taking her arm.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.
Coming here was a good idea.”
“What are we going to do now?” Marissa asked as they walked toward their limo. From the hospital grounds they could hear the dull roar of the city as it throbbed in the background.
“We’ll ask Freddie,” Tristan said. He looked at her dark brown eyes and smiled.
“Then we’ll know if that thriller you read in the past had the real lowdown.”
When they arrived at the car, their driver jumped out of the driver’s seat and opened the rear door. Marissa had one foot inside the car when Tristan pulled her back. He had realized the driver wasn’t Freddie anymore. At almost the same time Marissa spotted a second Chinese stranger sitting in the backseat.
“Where is our other driver?” Tristan asked. The man holding the door was younger, lighter, and wearing a dark blue business suit, not a chauffeur’s uniform.
“Please, but the other driver had another engagement,” he said.
“Isn’t that a bit irregular?” Tristan asked.
“Not at all,” the man said.
“It happens frequently when customers request particular drivers.”
“There’s a man in the car,” Marissa said.
Tristan bent over to look.
“Please get in the car,” the man holding the door said.
“Tristan!” Marissa exclaimed with a gasp.
“He has a gun.”
Tristan straightened up. Glancing down, he saw a snub-nosed revolver in the man’s hand. The man held it close to his side, pointing it at Tristan’s belly.
“What is this, mate, some sort of joke?” Tristan asked, slightly shifting his feet.
“Please get in…” the man repeated. But he was cut short by Tristan’s blow first to the side of his neck, then to his wrist. With the second blow, the man’s gun clanked against the pavement. A spinning kick to the man’s chest hurled him against the car, slamming the door in the process.
Tristan grabbed Marissa’s hand and yanked her through low bushes that bordered a small patch of grass. On the other side of the grass was the street with its usual complement of traffic and pedestrians. Hazarding a look back, Tristan saw that another man had joined the two that had been in their limo, and now all three were coming after them.