The Song family are refugees from China, The Deans are a powerful American family with a finger in plenty of lucrative pots. Find a scam, you'll find a Dean. 6-year-old Li-Li Song is caught up in a disaster that cripples her racing grandfather and injures Glyn Rogers, a family friend. Runaway brothers, Aljin and West know this was no accident. Eleven years later, Li-Li finds herself tackling the Deans in their world. The prize? A spine for her grandfather, a way home to China and a reprieve for two hunted brothers; even the chance to see a father whom Li-Li has never known. They face the FBI on one side, Deans on the other, and Chinese agents determined to see them fail on the track. Twelve billion people are caught between, desperate for a hero, and rooting for a Song. PREFACE Even from down the corridor, the headteacher heard the youthful growls and high-pitched screams, followed by the tinkle of broken glass. Spectacles slipped a little on her nose. She raised weary eyes looking over the silver rims, to the wall of her flat-roofed office, away from her work, and remembered the old 22nd-century proverb: just because the sun shines does not mean the sky grants a dry day. And so it is. As the picture that bears the words reminds her, leaning a little next to the cracked window to the right of it. Worse damage lies beyond that in the yard after Typhoon Sanvu, sweeping in from the Pacific Ocean, up the Philippine Sea, raged across the South China Sea, and slammed into Anhui Province, East Wuhu, District, with blowing vengeance. The damage didn’t stop there. Others had suffered worse to the north, she’d heard. A stretch on any budget, no doubt. Named after a coral, those outside would have sworn they got dragged over a reef judging by their injuries. And now another one - a little more internalised - is in her school jurisdiction. She knows the name. She knows what follows. She put it down to inbreeding. A Song marrying a Song is never a wise idea, regardless of how unrelated. Judging by the silence, the remaining girls in classroom 3B will already be sitting rigid as brittle sticks, foreheads bowed toward their desks in silent respect for authority. As it should be in Great China. It is enough the weather works overtime to break their spirits - and her budget. It has been four days since the monsoon blew through, and not nearly enough hands to effect a clear-up. She does not need another damaging typhoon, natural or human. And yet, here it comes in the shape of Ting Song and her tormented history tutor. The knock is firm but light as she had come to expect. ‘Enter.’ The face that peered around the door initially is apologetic. The body language shows reluctance to disturb the headteacher. ‘I am sorry you were disturbed, headmistress,’ the teacher said. Yang is a proficient historian, but even he would lack the muscle to yank apart two combatant youths in their teens. ‘How did it happen this time?’ she asked. ‘We were talking about late 22nd century American history….’ He answered. And, per usual, something was said. ‘My back was turned. I didn’t see which girl started it or why. I am sorry to disturb you.’ She had her suspicions - duly confirmed when she caught sight of the smaller of the two. ‘Return to your class, Yang. I’ll handle it from here.’ She meant to. This has gone on long enough. ‘Send them in.’ ‘Yes, headteacher.’ Two young women stepped from behind him and took their place in front of the door, heads bowed. Steps faded. Per usual, twelve-year-old Ting Song is the culprit. That tiny terror had been a regular in her office since entering her school two months earlier. Tardy and distant, at odds with her peers, yet keenly bright. Lacking the graceful decorum of a young lady on the brink of adulthood and yet one of the best-performing students on paper. “On paper” isn’t good enough. She is a tuneless Song in need of a conductor; a Song in need of a purpose...