The two riders approached the secluded clearing in the heavily wooded foothills of Mount Tamalpais, slowing their horses to a walk while they studied their surroundings in the weak light of dusk. They saw the four horses tied up at a rail that ran right angles from a rough log cabin squatting comfortably among the Douglas Firs and dismounted next to them, adding their mounts to the group. On the ground was a carpet of brown needles that felt soft underfoot as they went cautiously to the door and knocked.

A large, bearded man in a woodsman's shirt welcomed them inside, closing the door and showing them to the centre of the room. A warm glow from a small log fire cast over the dark wood interior adding to the lantern light on the large table in the centre where four other visitors sat, nodding silently as the new arrivals joined them.

There were no opening introductions. Their host, the large man with the equally large beard, sat at the head of the table and spoke seriously.

"Before we begin it is imperative to understand that this meeting be kept completely secret by all of us from absolutely anyone." He waited for any comments, watching the faces about him and receiving none, continued.

"Very well. To begin, no names will be used at this meeting. Instead, we will have designations that I have already chosen for us. This may seem very extreme but believe me, it is necessary." He leaned on the table and looking at each man in turn, he named them. "Axe. Saw. Hammer. Spade. I will be Lantern."

"And us?" The older of the new arrivals asked.

"You will be, Link . . . and our young friend here will use his own name since a code name won't be necessary in his case."

The flickering firelight choreographed a dance of shadows over the stoic features of the group and the silence was broken only by the creak and scrape of leather boots as the men shifted for comfort. Continuing with his instructions, the man self designated Lantern, turned his attention to the young man who didn't need a code name.

"You will have no direct contact with the men at this table other than through Link." He bobbed his head in indication. "And the same goes for us. Link will be exactly that - a link between you and the rest of us."

Harlan Trench stretched his shoulders in an anticipatory shrug. "All this very uh- interesting but exactly what is all this secrecy about, what am I supposed to be linked to?"

"Of course, your confusion is to be expected but it was necessary to establish these conditions before proceeding. Is your interest sincere or are you just curious, Mr. Trench, because there is no going back once we start?"

Harlan glanced at his friend. How interesting, he thought now everyone at the table knew his name. Reading nothing in his friend's expression, Harlan thought what the hell, if he didn't like whatever it was let them try to stop him from leaving.

"Yeah, okay - let's hear it."

There was more scraping of chairs, coughing and general noises associated with men refilling glasses, lighting cigars and getting comfortable for the lesson about to be delivered.

"Since the gold rush, San Francisco has become the centre for all branches of commerce in the west and consequently a massive population boom. A large part of that boom were Chinese coming here to work in the mines and later on the Transcontinental Railway. They were leaving a country in rebellion. Civil war. Famine. America looked like a new beginning."

Lantern took a minute to taste his drink and roll the ash from his cigar.

"They weren't popular - still aren't. Considered a lesser class and treated that way. Not just by folks here but their own people as well. Tongs, that's what they call their gangs, they took advantage of the huge discrepancy between the number of men and women coming in - something like 70 to 1. They set up a sophisticated human trafficking business to supply brothels for all these men, who by the way, couldn't bring their families or if they did the families were rejected and sent back."

"Am I missing something here," Harlan asked. "What does- ?"

"Patience, my friend. Patience." The cigar was left to burn out on its own. "These women - mostly young girls - were tricked or outright kidnapped and shipped here to work in the brothels. They were imported by the Tongs, delivered by unscrupulous sea captains and all with little interference from our government services."

"Why haven't we just stopped it? I don't get it."

"That's what this meeting is about. We know the man brokering the deals between the Tongs, the ships and the Customs Agents but we don't know his chain of supply - which ships or which agents. That's why you are here."

"I'm going to San Francisco?"

Lantern stood up and stretched his shoulders, picking up the dead cigar and putting it back down.

"Not at first - at least at last word we had. The man, Reagan Hubble, is a professional gambler and travels around plying his trade, fleecing miners and ranchers alike. He goes to Frisco at intervals to check on things and pick up his money; usually when a number of ships arrive. Right now we have him in a place called River Flats. We want you to find him and follow him back to his suppliers and our crooked agents."

"Why me . . . now? Why didn't you do this already?"

The man designated Axe pushed away from the table and stood impatiently. "Just tell him what we want and let's get this done. History lessons aren't necessary. Just follow orders."

"He needs the background, you don't get a job done properly by the seat of your pants!" Lantern turned snappish then turned back to Harlan. "Truth is we don't know who to trust. That's why we're meeting here in secret with no names. Your friend Link here recommended you. Says you have the type of experience that might come in handy in a case like this, and you are a customs agent too."

Harlan gave Link a bland look, receiving a facial shrug in return.

"So I find this Hubble and stick with him until he leads me to his cronies in Frisco."

"Exactly. Then you pass on the information through Link and we take it from there."

The gathering went long into the evening and Harlan listened at first with surprise then disbelief and finally a rapt attention. These young Chinese women after arriving were first held in a pen called a barracoon. Those already purchased were given to the owners, the rest were stripped, inspected and sold off to the highest bidder. The whole deplorable area where all this took place was a section of the city in Chinatown known as the Barbary Coast.

He was a Customs Agent and learning about the dark underbelly of his government organization stirred an anger that encompassed a number of negative emotions. Harlan didn't see himself as a saint but there were some lines he didn't think should even exist let alone cross.