Free Hong Kong by Stephen Coonts Page B

America or Australia or Singapore or Indonesia or anyplace I know with one of those. Even Britain is worried about tens of thousands of Chinese refugees flooding in. No one is granting entry visas."
    Rip sipped some more on his beer and waited.
    "Guy like China Bob had a lot of deals going," Sonny said, thinking aloud. "The guy who sold China Bob blank American passports will deal with me, if you want. Faking an Australian visa on an American passport shouldn't be a problem."
    'You and China Bob were sorta competitors, weren't you?"
    Sonny bristled slightly at that remark. "Our businesses paralleled each other at times," he admitted. "There was room for both of us." You're talking a forged passport?"
    Genuine. The real thing, right out of the lock box at the consulate. The source is very reliable."
    "Uh-huh."
    "He's not honest, you understand, but he is reliable. That's a critical difference in business, one so few people appreciate."
    "I think I see it," Rip told Sonny, who nodded as if he were pleased.
    "I put the passport with Australian entry visa in your hands," Sonny explained. "You take your Chinese relative to the airport, put her on Qantas to Sydney. She breezes through immigration at both ends. Guaranteed."
    "How much?"
    "Twenty grand American. Cash. Half in advance, half on delivery of the documents."
    Rip whistled. "Is that what China Bob was into?"
    "He did a little of that. And he brought stuff in. He could get import permits for darn near anything; anything he couldn't get a permit for he could smuggle in. Money, import, smuggling—those were his main businesses, but he did some people, too. For fifty grand he could put your cousin on a freighter going to the United States. The Philippines were a real bargain, though, only about four thousand. Your cousin would be in a locked container with some other passengers. He'd have to take his own food and water with him, but he wouldn't get a sunburn. About eight days at sea, five hundred a day. Hell, Rip, it would cost more money than that to send him on a cruise ship."
    "The passengers didn't always get there, though," Rip pointed out.
    "Rip, I just couldn't say. Dumping the cargo at sea—something like that the people involved don't talk about. Oh, you hear whispers, but people like to whisper. Gives them something to do."
    Rip waved away that possibility. He knew those kinds of things were happening, but he really didn't believe China Bob had gotten his hands that filthy for the paltry dollars involved.
    Rip glanced at the Russian. On the other hand, Yuri looked like he would cheerfully cut your throat for cigarette money.
    "Was Bob into Chinese politics, do you think?"
    "Hey, Rip, I don't think the guy intentionally set out to die young."
    "Well, he figured wrong somewhere, that's for sure."
    "Everyone makes mistakes occasionally. Even China Bob."
    "Think someone double-crossed him, one of his associates maybe?"
    "I doubt if somebody shot him to get his wife. Wives being what they are, not too many people kill to get one. To get rid of one, yes." Wong snorted at his own wit. When the noises stopped, he said, "A
    double cross is likely. Though if I were a betting man, I would put my money on the PLA. Rumor had it Bob might go to America, embarrass a lot of important people." He shrugged.
    "Thanks for coming by tonight, Sonny."
    "Okay. Now tell me the real reason you called."
    "I enjoy seeing your smiling face."
    "I didn't shoot him, Rip. Bob and I did a lot of business together. His death leaves me scrambling, trying to salvage some things we had going. I'm not saying his death will be a net loss to me—I figure over time everything will balance out. You gotta be philosophical. These things happen."
    "Uh-huh."
    Sonny Wong gave up. "Great view you got here, Rip."
    "Yeah."
    "You ever want a passport for your mother-in-law, call me."
    "I'll keep that in mind."
    "Come on, Yuri. Let's go find some beds."
    With her husband's help, Callie Grafton got the small tape