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  I pay the cab driver and get out. I’m pretty good at tailing someone on foot. Practicing stealth when you’re alone in the dark is one thing; stealth when you’re on a crowded city street is completely different. You have to blend in, not look conspicuous, and be flexible with your pace of movement. It’s important to keep a steady distance between the prey and yourself but not appear to be rushing. Sometimes, if the prey stops, you have to pause and pretend to be interested in something while you wait for the quarry to move again. It’s pretty standard stuff. There are also antisurveillance moves you can make to ascertain that no one is following you. But when you’re doing the tailing, that can be difficult. I’m fairly confident that no one is behind me. As for the Russians, they’re pretty naïve. Any jerk could follow these guys. They seem to be paying no attention to what’s behind them. They don’t have a care in the world.

  As I expected, they make their way to the Star Ferry, on their way to Hong Kong Island. Once they’re aboard, I linger just long enough to meld into a crowd of Chinese and Caucasian businessmen swarming through the gate and onto the boat. Antipov and Herzog step into the lower-deck quarters and take seats on a bench next to the wall. They are deeply embroiled in conversation, oblivious to what’s around them. I position myself across the room, picking up a discarded newspaper to hide behind. I know it sounds cliché, but that’s what you do.

  The ferry ride between Kowloon and Hong Kong is always pleasant. Despite the rather foul stench of the harbor, it’s a short, relaxing trip that could be quite enjoyable if I weren’t on the job. At one point, Antipov stands and points to something outside the window. Herzog looks and nods. Antipov resumes his seat and the two men are silent. Herzog shuts his eyes and slumps for the remaining few minutes of the journey.

  Ashore, I follow the men off the ferry to the taxi stand. Damn. This is where it gets tricky. I hurry to get in line behind them, with a buffer of two parties between us, and keep my nose in the newspaper just in case one of them turns around. I note the number of the taxi they climb into and then wait as patiently as I can for my turn. When I finally get into a cab, I point to the Russians’ taxi up ahead, which is luckily stuck in traffic at the end of the block. The driver understands and nods his head. He throws the car into drive and screeches away from the curb. He makes an illegal move around the stalled cars in front of him, passing them in the oncoming traffic lane. So much for not attracting attention.

  But the driver is good. As soon as traffic begins to move he slips into it, two car lengths behind the Russians. He takes it easy from then on, following the other cab with discretion.

- Operation Barracuda, Chapter 20