When he felt the old man had raved enough, he said, "I can have the first magic eye installed and two men trained at no cost to you, if you want."

Wu and Poon stared at him. Wu was instantly on guard. "How at no cost?"

"I will pay for it for you."

Poon started to guffaw but Wu hissed, "Shut up, fool, and listen. Profitable Choy knows things you don't know!" His eyes were glittering even more. If a magic eye, why not a diamond too? And if a diamond, why not a mink coat and all the necessary plunder that that mealy-mouthed whore will require to sustain her enthusiastic cleft, hands and mouth.

"How will you pay for it, my son?"

"Out of profit."

"Profit on what?"

"I want control, for one month, of your money in the Victoria."

"Impossible!"

"We opened accounts for 22,423,000. Control for one month."

"To do what with?"

"The stock market."

"Ah, gamble? Gamble with my money? My hard-earned cash? Never."

"One month. We split the profit, Father."

"Oh, we split? It is my fornicating money but you want half. Half of what?"

"Perhaps another 20 million." Paul Choy let the sum hang. He saw the avarice on his father's face and knew that though the negotiation would be heated, they would make a deal. It was only a matter of time.

"Ayeeyah, that's impossible, out of the question!"

The old man felt an itch below and he scratched the itch. His manhood stirred. Instantly he thought of Venus Poon who had made him stand as he had not stood for years and of their coming bout tonight. "Perhaps I shall just pay for this magic eye," he said, testing the young man's resolve.

Paul Choy took his spirit completely into his own hands. "Yes, yes you can, but then I'm leaving Hong Kong."

Wu's tongue darted spitefully. "You will leave when I tell you to leave."

"But if I can't be profitable and put my expensive training to work, why should I stay? Did you pay all that money for me to be a pimp on one of your Pleasure Boats? A deckhand on a junk that can be raped at will by the nearest foreign devil cutter? No, better I leave! Better I become profitable to someone else so that I can begin to repay your investment in me. I will give Black Beard a month's notice and leave then."

"You will leave when I tell you to leave!" Wu added malevo- lently. "You have fished in dangerous waters."

"Yes." And so have you, Paul Choy wanted to add, unafraid. If you think you can blackmail me, that I'm on your hook, you're on mine and you've more to lose. Haven't you heard of Queen's evidence, turning Queen's evidence or plea bargaining? But he kept this future ploy secret, to be used when necessary, and kept his face polite and bland. "All waters are dangerous if the gods decide they're dangerous," he said cryptically.

Wu took a long deep drag of his cigarette, feeling the smoke deep within him. He had noticed the change in this young man before him. He had seen many such changes in many men. In many sons and many daughters. The experience of his long years screamed caution. This whelp's dangerous, very dangerous, he thought. I think Goodweather Poon was right: it was a mistake to bring Profitable Choy aboard tonight. Now he knows too much about us.

Yes. But that's easy to rectify, when I need to, he reminded himself. Any day or any night.

53 - 10:03 P.M.:.

"Well, what the devil are you going to do, Paul?" the governor asked Havergill. Johnjohn was with them and they were on the terrace of Government House after dinner, leaning against the low balustrade. "Good God! If the Victoria runs out of money too, this whole Island's ruined, eh?"

Havergill looked around to make sure they were not being over- heard, and dropped his voice. "We've been in touch with the Bank of England, sir. By midnight tomorrow night, London time, there'll be an RAF transport at Heathrow stuffed full of five- and ten-pound notes." His usual confidence returned. "As I said, the Victoria is perfectly sound, completely liquid and our assets here and in England substantial enough to cover any eventuality, well almost any eventuality."

"Meanwhile you may not have enough Hong Kong dollars to weather the run?"

"Not if the, er, the problem continues but I'm sure all will be well, sir."

Sir Geoffrey stared at him. "How the devil did we get into this mess?"

"Joss," Johnjohn said wearily. "Unfortunately the mint can't print enough Hong Kong dollar notes for us in time. It'd take weeks to print and to ship the amount we'd need, and it wouldn't be healthy to have all those extra notes in our economy. The British currency's stopgap, sir. We can just announce that the, er, that the mint is working overtime to supply our needs."

"How much do we actually need?" The governor saw Paul Havergill and Johnjohn look at each other and his disquiet increased.

"We don't know, sir," Johnjohn said. "Colony-wide, apart from ourselves, every other bank will also need to pledge its securities just as we've pledged ours temporarily to the Bank of England to obtain the cash they need. If every depositor on the Colony wants every dollar back . . " The sweat was beading the banker's face now. "We've no way of knowing how extended the other banks are, or the amount of their deposits. No one knows."

"Is one RAF transport enough?" Sir Geoffrey tried not to sound sarcastic. "I mean, well, a billion pounds in fives and tens? How in the hell are they going to collect that number of notes?"

Havergill mopped his brow. "We don't know, sir, but they've promised a first shipment will arrive Monday night at the latest."

"Not till then?"

"No sir. It's impossible before then."

"There's nothing else we can do?"

Johnjohn swallowed. "We considered asking you to declare a bank holiday to stem the tide but, er, we concluded and the Bank of England agreed if you did that it might blow the top off the Island."

"No need to worry, sir." Havergill tried to sound convincing. "By the end of next week it will all be forgotten."

"I won't forget it, Paul. And I doubt if China will or our friends the Labour MPs will. They may have a point about some form of bank controls."

Both bankers bridled and Paul Havergill said deprecatingly, "Those two berks don't know their rears from a hole in the wall! Everything's in control."

Sir Geoffrey would have argued that point but he had just seen Rosemont, the CIA deputy director, and Ed Langan, the FBI man, wander out onto the terrace. "Keep me advised. I want a full report at noon. Would you excuse me a moment? Please help yourself to another drink."

He went off to intercept Rosemont and Langan. "How're you two?"

"Great, thank you, sir. Great evening." Both Americans watched Havergill and Johnjohn going back inside. "How're our banker friends?" Rosemont asked.

"Fine, perfectly fine."

"That MP, the Socialist guy, Grey, was sure as hell getting under Havergill's skin!"

"And the tai-pan's," Ed Langan added with a laugh.

"Oh I don't know," the governor said lightly. "A little opposition's a good thing, what? Isn't that democracy at its best?"

"How's the Vic, sir? How's the run?"

"No problems that can't be solved," Sir Geoffrey replied with his easy charm. "No need to worry. Would you give me a moment, Mr. Langan?"

"Certainly, sir." The American smiled. "I was just leaving."

"Not my party, I trust! Just to replenish your drink?"

"Yes sir."

Sir Geoffrey led the way into the garden, Rosemont beside him. The trees were still dripping and the night dark. He kept to a path that was puddled and muddy. "We've a slight problem, Stanley. Sl's just caught one of your sailors from the carrier passing secrets to a KGB fellow. Bo"

Rosemont stopped, aghast. "Off the IvanovI"

"Yes."

"Was it Suslev? Captain Suslev?"

"No. No, it wasn't that name. May I suggest you get on to Roger at once. Both men are in custody, both have been charged under the Official Secrets Act but I've cleared it with the minister in London and he agrees you should take charge of your fellow at oncea a little less embarrassing, what? He's, er, he's a computer chap I believe."

"Son of a bitch!" Rosemont muttered, then wiped the sudden sweat off his face with his hand. "What did he pass over?"

"I don't know exactly. Roger will be able to fill you in on the details."

"Do we get to interrogatea to interview the KGB guy too?"

"Why not discuss that with Roger? The minister's in direct touch with him, too." Sir Geoffrey hesitated. "I, er, I'm sure you'll appreciatea"

"Yes, of course, sorry, sir. I'da I'd better get going at once." Rosemont's face was chalky and he went off quickly, collecting Ed Langan with him.

Sir Geoffrey sighed. Bloody spies, bloody banks, bloody moles and bloody Socialist idiots who know nothing about Hong Kong. He glanced at his watch. Time to close the party down.

Johnjohn was walking into the anteroom. Dunross was near the bar. "Ian?"

"Oh hello? One for the road?" Dunross said.

"No, thanks. Can I have a word in private?"

"Of course. It'll have to be quick, I was just leaving. I said I'd drop our friendly MPs at the ferry."

"You're on a pink ticket too?"

Dunross smiled faintly. "Actually, old boy, I have one whenever I want it, whether Penn's here or not."

"Yes. You're lucky, you always did have your life well organized," Johnjohn said gloomily.

"Joss."

"I know." Johnjohn led the way out of the room onto the balcony. "Rotten about John Chen, what?"

"Yes. Phillip's taking it very badly. Where's Havergill?"

-"He left a few minutes ago."

"Ah, that's why you mentioned mink ticket'! He's on the town?"

"I don't know."

"How about Lily Su of Kowloon?"

Johnjohn stared at him.

"I hear Paul's quite enamored."

"How do you do it, know so much?"

Dunross shrugged. He was feeling tired and uneasy and had been hard put not to lose his temper several times tonight when Grey was in the center of another heated argument with some of the tai-pans.

"By the way, Ian, I tried to get Paul to call a board meeting but it's not in my bailiwick."

"Of course." They were in a smaller anteroom. Good Chinese silk paintings and more fine Persian carpets and silver. Dunross noticed the paint was peeling in the corners of the room and off the fine moldings of the ceiling, and this offended him. This is the British raj and the paint shouldn't be peeling.

The silence hung. Dunross pretended to examine some of the exquisite snuff bottles that were on a shelf "Iana" Johnjohn stopped and changed his mind. He began again. "This is off the record. You know Tiptop Toe quite well, don't you?"

Dunross stared at him. Tiptop Toe was their nickname for Tip Tok-toh, a middle-aged man from Hunan, Mao Tse-tung's home province, who had arrived during the exodus in 1950. No one seemed to know anything about him, he bothered no one, had a small of lice in Princes Building, and lived well. Over the years it was evident that he had very particular contacts within the Bank of China and it came to be presumed that he was an official unofficial contact of the bank. No one knew his position in the hierarchy but rumor had it that he was very high. The Bank of China was the only commercial arm of the PRC outside of China, so all of its appointments and contacts were tightly controlled by the ruling hierarchy in Peking.

"What about Tiptop?" Dunross asked, on guard, liking Tiptop a channing, quiet-spoken man who enjoyed Cognac and spoke ex- cellent English, though, following a usual pattern, nearly always he used an interpreter. His clothes were well cut, though most times he wore a Maoist jacket, looked a little like Chou En-lai and was just as clever. The last time Dunross had dealt with him was about some civilian aircraft the PRC had wanted. Tip Tok-toh had arranged the letters of credit and financing through various Swiss and foreign banks within twenty-four hours. "Tiptop's canny, Ian," Alastair Struan had said many times. "You have to watch yourself but he's the man to deal with. I'd say he was very high up in the Party in Peking. Very."

Dunross watched Johnjohn, curbing his impatience. The smaller man had picked up one of the snuff bottles. The bottles were tiny, ornate ceramic or jade or glass bottles many of them beautifully painted inside, within the glass: landscapes, dancing girls, flowers, birds, seascapes, even poems in incredibly delicate calligraphy. "How do they do that, Ian? Paint on the inside like that?"

"Oh they use a very fine brush. The stem of the brush's bent ninety degrees. In Mandarin they call it li myan huai, 'inside face painting.' " Dunross lifted up an elliptical one that had a landscape on one side, a spray of camellias on the other and tiny calligraphy on the paintings.

"Astonishing! What patience! What's the writing say?"

Dunross peered at the tiny column of characters. "Ah, it's one of Mao's sayings: 'Know yourself, know your enemy; a hundred battles, a hundred victories.' Actually the Chairman took it out of Sun Tzu."

Thoughtfully Johnjohn examined it. The windows beyond him were open. A small breeze twisted the neat curtains. "Would you talk to Tiptop for us?"

"About what?"

"We want to borrow the Bank of China's cash."

Dunross gaped at him. "Eh?"

"Yes, for a week or so. They're full to the gills with Hong Kong dollars and there's no run on them. No Chinese'd dare line up outside the Bank of China. They carry Hong Kong dollars as part of their foreign exchange. We'd pay good interest for the loan and put up whatever collateral they'd need."