Nighttime Song beamed, having made her lose face. "Yes, Mis- see." He closed the door with just enough of a slam to make his point.

"Asshole," she muttered. "He had to understand me, I know I said it right, Linc. Why is it they insist on not understanding? I tried it on my maid and all she said was ~at' too." She laughed in spite of herself as she aped the coarse guttural, "Wat you say, heya?"

Bartlett laughed. "They're just ornery. But where'd you learn Chinese?"

"It's Cantonese. I got a teacher fitted in an hour this morning thought I should at least be able to say, Hi, Good morning, Give me the bill pleasea ordinary things. Goddamn but it's complicated. All the tones. In Cantonese there are seven tones seven ways of saying the same word. You ask for the check, it's mat dan, but if you say it just a little wrong, it means fried eggs, they're mat dan too, and one'll get you fifty the waitertll bring you the fried eggs just to put you down." She sipped her martini and added an extra olive. "I needed that. You want another beer?"

Bartlett shook his head. "This's fine." He had read all the telexes.

Casey sat on the sofa and opened her notepad. "Vincenzo Banas- tasio's secretary phoned and asked me to confirm his suite for Saturday an"

"I didn't know he was due in Hong Kong. You?"

"I think I remember him saying something about going to Asia the last time we saw hima at the track last month at Del Mar the time John Chen was there. Terrible about John, isn't it7"

"I hope they get those Werewolves. Bastards to murder him and put that sign on him like that."

"I wrote a condolence note for us to his father and to his wife Dianne you remember we met her at Ian's and at Aberdeen Jesus, that seems like a million years ago."

"Yes." Bartlett frowned. "I still don't remember Vincenzo saying anything. He staying here?"

"No, he wants to be Hong Kong side. I confirmed the booking at the Hilton by phone and I'll do it in person tomorrow. He's on JAL's Saturday morning flight from Tokyo." Casey peered at him over her glasses. "You want me to schedule a meeting?"

"How long's he staying?"

"Over the weekend. A few days. You know how vague he is. How about Saturday after the races? We'll be Hong Kong side and it's an easy walk from Happy Valley if we can't get a ride."

Bartlett was going to say, Let's make it Sunday, but then he remembered Taipei on Sunday. "Sure, Saturday after the races." Then he saw her look. "What?"

"I was just wondering what Banastasio's about."

"When he bought 4 percent of our Par-Con stock," he said, "we ran it through Seymour, the SEC and a few others and they're all satisfied his money was clean. He's never been arrested or charged, though there're a lot of rumors. He's never given us any trouble, never wanted in on any board, never turns up for any shareholder meetings, always gives me his proxy, and he came through with the money when we needed it." He stared at her. "So?"

"So nothing, Linc. You know my opinion of him. I agree we can't take the stock back. He bought it free and clear and asked first, and we sure as hell needed his money and put it to great use." She adjusted her glasses and made a note. "I'll fix the meeting and be polite as always. Next: Our company account at the Victoria Bank's operating. I put in 25,000 and here's your checkbook. We've established a revolving fund and First Central's ready to transfer the initial 7 million to the account whenever we say so. There's a confirm telex there. I also opened a personal account for you at the same bank here's your checkbook with another 25 grand 20 in an HK treasury bill on a daily rollover." She grinned. "That should buy a couple of bowls of chop suey and a good piece of jade though I hear the phonies are hard to tell from the real ones."

"No jade." Bartlett wanted to look at his watch but he did not, just sipped his beer. "Next?"

"Next: Clive Bersky called and asked a favor."

"You told him to blow it out of his muffler?"

She laughed. Clive Bersky was chief executive of their branch of the First Central of New York. He was very meticulous, pedantic and drove Bartlett crazy with his need for perfect documentation. "He asks that if the Struan deal goes through, we put our funds through thea" She referred to her pad. "a the Royal Belgium and Far East Bank here."

"Why them?"

"I don't know. I'm checking them out. We've a date for a drink with the local chief exec at eight. The First Central's just bought his bank it's got branches here, Singapore, Tokyo."

"You deal with him, Casey."

"Sure. I can drink and run. You want to eat afterwards? We could go down to the Escoffler or up to the Seven Dragons or maybe walk up Nathan Road for some Chinese chow. Somewhere close the weatherman says more rain's expected."

"Thanks but not tonight. I'm going Hong Kong side."

"Oh? Wh " Casey stopped. "Fine. When are you leaving?"

"About now. No hurry." Bartlett saw the same easy smile on her face as her eyes went down the list but he was sure she had instantly realized where he was going and suddenly he was furious. He kept his voice calm. "What else do you have?"

"Nothing that won't wait," she said in the same nice voice. "I've an early meeting with Captain Jannelli about your Taipei trip Armstrong's office sent over the documentation temporarily lifting the impounding on the airplane. All you have to do is sign the form agreeing to come back to H.K. I put Tuesday on it. Is that right?"

"Sure. Tuesday's D Day."

She got up. "That's it for tonight, Linc. I'll deal with the banker and the rest of this stuff." She finished her martini and put the glass back on the mirrored cabinet. "Hey that tie, Linc! Your blue one'd go better. See you at breakfast." She blew him her usual kiss and walked off as she usually did and closed the door with her usual, "Sweet dreams, Linc!"

"Why the hell am I so goddamn mad?" he muttered angrily, out loud. "Casey's done nothing. Son of a bitch!" Unaware, he had crushed his empty beer can. Son of a bitch! Now what? Do I forget it and go or what?

Casey was walking up the corridor toward her own room, seeth- ing. I'll bet my life he's going out with that goddamn tramp. I shouldtve drowned her while I had the chance.

Then she noticed that Nighttime Song had opened her door for her and was holding it wide with a smile she read as a smirk.

"Andyoucanblowitoutofyourasstoo!" she snarled at him before she could stop herself, then slammed the door and threw her papers and pad on the bed and was about to cry. "You're not to cry," she ordered herself out loud, tears on the words. "No goddamn man is going to get you down no way. No way!" She stared down at her fingers, which were trembling with the rage that possessed her.

"Oh shit on all men!"

49 - 7:40 P.M.:.

"Excuse me, your Excellency, you're wanted on the phone."

"Thank you, John." Sir Geoffrey Allison turned back to Dunross and the others. "If you'll excuse me a moment, gentlemen?"

They were in Government House, the governor's official residence above Central, the French doors open to the cool of the evening, the air fresh and washed, trees and shrubs dripping nicely, and the governor walked across the crowded anteroom where predinner cocktails and snacks were being served, very pleased with the way the evening had gone so far. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. There was banter and good conversation, some laughter and no friction yet between the Hong Kong tai-pans and the MPs. At his request, Dunross had gone out of his way to soothe Grey and Broadhurst, and even Grey seemed to have mellowed.

The aide closed the door of his study, leaving him alone with the telephone. The study was dark green and pleasing, with blue flock wallpaper, fine Persian carpets from his two-year sojourn in the Teheran embassy, cherished crystal and silver and more showcases with fine Chinese porcelains. "Hello?"

"Sorry to bother you, sir," Crosse said.

"Oh hello, Roger." The governor felt his chest tighten. "No bother," he said.

"Two rather good pieces of information, sir. Somewhat important. I wonder if I might drop by?"

Sir Geoffrey glanced at the porcelain clock on the mantel over the fireplace. "Dinner's served in fifteen minutes, Roger. Where are you now?"

"Just three minutes away from you, sir. I won't delay your din- ner. But, if you prefer, I could make it afterwards."

"Come now, I could use some good news. With this whole banking affair and the stock marketa Use the garden door if you wish. John will meet you."

"Thank you, sir." The phone clicked off. By custom, the head of SI had a key to the iron garden gate which was set into the high surrounding walls.

In exactly three minutes Crosse was crossing the terrace, walking lightly. The ground was very wet. He dried his feet carefully before he came through the French windows. "We've caught a rather big fish, sir, an enemy agent, caught him with his hands in the honey pot," he said softly. "He's a major, KGB, off the Ivanov, and her political commissar. We caught him in the middle of an espionage act with an American computer expert off the nuclear earner."

The governor's face had gone red. "That blasted Ivanov! Good God, Roger, a major? Have you any idea of the diplomatic and political storm this will precipitate with the USSR, the U.S. and London?"

"Yes sir. That's why I thought I'd better consult at once."

"What the devil was the fellow doing?"

Crosse gave him the broad facts. He ended, "Both of them are sedated now and very safe."

"What was on the film?"

"It was blank, sir, fogged. Wh"

"What?"

"Yes. Of course both men denied any espionage was involved. The sailor denied there was a drop, denied everything, said he'd won the $2,000 U.S. we found on him playing poker. Childish to lie once you're caught, childish to make things difficult, we always get the truth eventually. I thought we'd either missed the real film or it was a microdot transfer. We re-searched their clothing and I ordered immediate emetics and stool examinations. Majora the KGB agent passed the real negative film an hour ago." Crosse offered the big manila envelope. "These're eight-by-ten prints, sir, frame by frame."

The governor did not open the envelope. "What are they of? In general?"

"One set shows part of the ship's radar guidance system manual." Crosse hesitated. "The other set's a photocopy of a complete manifest of the carrier's arsenal, ammunition, missiles and warheads. Quantities, qualities, their numbers and where stored in the ship."

"Jesus Christ! Including nuclear warheads? No, please don't answer that." Sir Geoffrey stared at Crosse. After a pause he said, "Well, Roger, it's marvelous that the information didn't get into enemy hands. You're to be congratulated. Our American friends will be equally relieved, and they'll owe you a number of very great favors. Good God, in expert hands that knowledge would lay bare the ship's entire strike capability!"

"Yes sir." Crosse smiled thinly.

Sir Geoffrey studied him.

"But what to do about this major of yours?"

"I would send the major to London with a special escort by RAF transport at once. I think they should do the debriefing there even though we're better equipped, more practiced, and more efficient here. My worry is that his superiors will surely know within an hour or so and might attempt to rescue him or to render him useless. They might even use extreme diplomatic pressure to force us to release him to the fyanov. Besides, when the PRC and Nationalists hear we've caught such an official, they might try to acquire him themselves."

"What about the American sailor?"

"It might be politic to turn him over to the CIA at once, with the negative of the film and these they're the only prints I made. I developed and made them myself for obvious security reasons. I suspect Rosemont would be the best person."

"Ah yes, Rosemont. He's here now."

"Yes sir."

Sir Geoffrey's eyes hardened. "You have copies of all my guest lists, Roger?"

"No sir. Half an hour ago I called the consulate to find out where he was. They told me."

Sir Geoffrey looked back at him under his shaggy eyebrows, disbelieving him, sure that the chief of SI did know whom he invited and when. Never mind, he thought testily, that's his job. And I'll bet a golden guinea to a doughnut that these prints aren't the only copies Roger made, for he knows our Admiralty would love to see them too and it's his duty to provide them. "Could this have any connection with the AMG business?"

"No. No not at all," Crosse said and the governor thought he heard the momentary flutter in Crosse's voice. "I don't think there's any connection."

Sir Geoffrey got out of the tall chair and paced for a moment, his mind sifting possibilities. Roger's right. Chinese Intelligence on both sides of the bamboo fence are bound to find out quickly, as every one of our Chinese police has PRC or Nationalist sympathies. So it's far better to have the spy out of reach. Then no one will be tempted at least, not here. "I think I should chat with the minister at once."

"Perhaps, under the circumstances, sir, you could inform the minister what I've done about the major sending him to London under es"

"He's already gone?"

"No sir. Ilut it's well within my authority to expedite that if you agree."

Thoughtfully Sir Geoffrey glanced again at the clock. At length he said with a small smile, "Very well. It's lunchtime now in London, I'll inform him in an hour or so. Is that sufficient time?"

"Oh yes, thank you, sir. Everything's arranged."

"I presumed it was."

"I'll breathe a lot easier when the fellow's en route home, sir. Thank you."

"Yes. And the sailor?"

"Perhaps you could ask the minister to approve our handing him over to Rosemont, sir."

There were a dozen questions Sir Geoffrey would like to have asked but he asked none of them. From long experience he knew he was not a good liar, so the less he knew the better. "Very well. Now, what's the second piece of 'good' news. I trust this will be better."

"We've caught the mole, sir."

"Ah! Good. Excellent! Very good. Who?"

"Senior Superintendent Kwok."

"Impossible!"

Crosse kept the pleasure off his face. "I agree, sir. Even so, Superintendent Kwok's a Communist mole and spy for the PRC." Crosse related how Brian Kwok's cover had been penetrated. "I suggest Superintendent Armstrong should get a commendation also Spectacles Wu. I'm taking him into SI, sir."

Sir Geoffrey was staring out of the window, stunned. "Bless my soul! Young Brian! Why? He would have been an assistant commissioner in a year or twoa I suppose there's no mistake?"

"No sir. As I said, the proof is irrefutable. Of course, we don't know the how or the why yet but we soon will."

Sir Geoffrey heard the finality and he saw the thin, hard face and cold eyes and he felt very sorry for Brian Kwok, whom he had liked for many years. "Keep me advised about him. Perhaps we can discover what makes a man like that do such a thing. Good God, such a charming chap and a first-class cricketer too. Yes, keep me advised."

"Certainly, sir." Crosse got up. "Interesting. I could never understand why he was always so anti-American it was his only flaw. Now it's obvious. I should have spotted that. Sorry sir, and sorry to interrupt your evening."

"You're to be congratulated, Roger. If the Soviet agent's being sent to London perhaps Brian Kwok should go too? The same reasons would apply to him?"

"No sir. No I don't think so. We can deal with Kwok here much quicker and better. We're the ones who need to know what he knows London wouldn't understand. Kwok's a threat to Hong Kong, not to Britain. He's a PRC asset the other man's Soviet. The two don't parallel."

Sir Geoffrey sighed heavily, knowing Crosse was right. "I agree. This has really been a quite dreadful day, Roger. First the bank runs, then the stock marketa the deaths last night, poor Sir Charles Pennyworth and Toxe's wifea and this morning the Aberdeen mud-slide deathsa the Noble House's totteringa it looks as though this storm front's developing into a blasted typhoon which will probably wreck Saturday's racinga and now all your news, an Amencan sailor betrays his country and ship and honor for a paltry $2,000?"

Crosse smiled his thin smile again. "Perhaps $2,000 wasn't paltry to him."

We live in terrible times, Sir Geoffrey was going to say, but he knew it was not the times. It was merely that people were people, that greed pride lust avarice jealousy gluttony anger and the bigger lust for power or money ruled people and would rule them forever. Most of them.