Hong Kong--and the Yellowthread Street Police Station in particular--is being terrorized by out-of-nowhere bursts of gunfire, grenade explosions, remote-controlled artillery assaults. Some of the shots fired seem to be blanks; others are lethally live ammunition. But one thing is soon quite clear: all the weaponry involved must be coming from ""a fully operational Japanese Second World War arsenal."" Could there possibly be, living hidden underground, a group of crazed survivors from the Japanese Army's Hong Kong occupation forces? So it seems--when the cops catch glimpses of snipers in aged uniforms, or apparent kamikaze-warriors who leave behind their identifying obis. But how to locate this subterranean arsenal? Only two elderly men can help--a fireworks tycoon (once accused of WW II collaboration) and Hong Kong's chief archivist--and both have reasons for being reluctant. So there'll be considerable mayhem (including a bombed police-boat) before Inspector Harry Feiffer and his usual team enter the secret, forgotten tunnels--in a chase/confrontation finale featuring gruesome discoveries, gothic revelations, and far-fetched explanations. The bitter memories of WW II atrocities and betrayals give this latest Yellowthread St. concoction a certain somber, resonant edge. Otherwise, however, this is one of Marshall's thinnest, least effective exercises in oblique montage, in lunacy and grotesquerie--without the comic lift or the bizarre subplots that usually balance his central nightmare scenarios.