Novel excerpts: Terrorism

Charlie Davies was enjoying his morning.

He had risen early, not wanting to miss a moment of his first day in Hong Kong. Even before the sun had risen he was following the winding road through Happy Valley from his hotel on the edge of Victoria Park. He like to run everywhere when the traveled, because it gave him as sense of location he found out how the city was put together and where everything was before the day began.

Eventually, this morning, he had reached the top of the hill and had taken a rest to look at the view. It had been entrancing, with the early morning sun painting the hills far beyond Kowloon into China. You can see forever, he thought.

By the time he had chased back down to the hotel, showered and had breakfast, he was ready to tackle a day of photography.

He’d been advised to use local transport: the tram car down Hennessey Road to the Marine Terminal, then the Star Ferry to Kowloon, and then on foot around the stores for a start.

Charlie was a photographer so the idea of riding the tram with locals was a natural. He had been pleased that he was the only tourist waiting for the tram; the other passengers were all Chinese. Locals, he surmised.

The tram, a bright yellow advertisement for cosmetics, had been fairly full even at this hour. He stood for a while, head bent beneath the low roof, swaying with the motion, but as people got off he eventually got a seat on the upper deck. Right now he was sitting watching the throngs below with his arm on the ledge of the open window and his camera at the ready.

The street was full of small shops, many of them just opening. It was still early, but the food shops were in full swing and doing good business by the look of things. One proprietor, a small broad-faced man, was taking a break, leaning on the upright of his doorway, glancing along the tram as it passed. He wore blue cotton shorts, a white T-shirt, and a white apron that might have been clean that morning but was now smudged with food stains. He was selling dried fish and racks of smoked chickens impaled in curious un-hen-like flat pancake shapes. His products framed him. Charlie raised his camera quickly, and as he did so, the proprietor turned and went back into the shop. Charlie had been too late. Probably got a good picture of the man’s back, he thought ruefully.

As the tram rattled on, Charlie saw an oncoming tram on the other side of the street. It was painted quite differently: this time in garish red-and