"Hope everything's okay, Petera" She stopped. He was out the swinging doors, trying to hail a cab.

The apartment was small, on the sixth floor, the front door ajar. The floor boy, Nighttime Po, shrugged and went off muttering, cursing barbariansa as if he couldn't look after two sleeping children who played hide and seek with him every evening.

Casey closed the door and peeked into the tiny second bedroom.

Both children were fast asleep in the bunk, Jane, the little one, in the upper berth and Alexandra sprawled in the lower one. Her heart went out to them. Blond, touseled, angelic, with teddy bears clutched in their arms. Oh how I'd love to have children, she thought. Linc's children.

Would you? All the diapers, always locked in, sleepless nights and no freedom.

I don't know. I think so. Oh yes, for two like these, oh yes.

Casey didn't know whether to tuck them up or not. The air was warm so she decided to do nothing lest she wake them. IR the refrigerator she found bottled water and this refreshed her and settled her racing heart. Then she sat in the easy chair. After a moment she took Peter's book out of her handbag and, once more, began to read.

Two hours later he returned. She had not noticed the time pass.

"Oh," she said, seeing his face. "She lost the baby?"

He nodded, dulled. "Sorry to be so long. Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Sure, hey, Peter, let me d"

"No. No thank you. I know where everything is. I'm sorry to put you to all this trouble."

"It's no trouble. She's all right though? Fleur?"

"They, they think so. It was the stomach cramps that did it, and the touch of enteriG Too soon to tell but there's no real danger there, that's what they said. The, the miscarriage, they said it's always a bit rough, physically and emotionally."

"I am so sorry."

He glanced back at her and she saw the strong, bent, lived-in face. "Not to worry, Casey. Fleur's all right," he said, holding his voice firm. "The, the Japanese believe that nothing's set until after birth, until after thirty days, thirty days for a boy and thirty-one for a girl, nothing's set, there's no soul, no personality, no persona up to that time there's no person." He turned back in the tiny kitchen and set the kettle to boil, trying to sound convincing. "It's, it's best to believe that, eh? How could it be anything buta but an it. There's no person till then, thirty-odd days after birth, so that doesn't make it so bad. It's still ghastly for the mother but not so bad. Sorry, I'm not making much sense."

"Oh you are. I hope she'll be all right now," Casey said, wanting to touch him, not knowing whether to or not. He looked so dignified in his misery, trying to sound so calm, yet just a little boy to her. "Chinese and Japanese are really very sensible, Casey. Theira their superstitions make life easier. I suppose their infant mortality rate was so awful in olden days that that made some wise father invent that wisdom to save a mother's grief" He sighed. "Or more likely, some wiser mother invented it to succor a broken father. Eh?"

"Probably," she said, out of her depth, watching his hands make the tea. First boiling water into the teapot, the pot rinsed carefully, then the water thrown away. Three spoons of tea and one for the pot, the boiling water brought to the pot. "Sorry we've no tea bags, I can't get used to them though Fleur says they're just as good and cleaner. Sorry, tea's all we've got." He brought the tea tray into the living room and set it on the dining table. "Milk and sugar?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, never having had it that way.

It tasted strange. But strong and life-giving. They drank in silence. He smiled faintly. "Christ, without a cuppa, eh?"

"It's great."

His eyes saw his half-opened book. "Oh!"

"I like what I've read so far, Peter. How true is it?"

Absently he poured himself another cup. "As true as any telling about any happening fifteen years after the event. As best as I can remember the incidents are accurate. The people in the book didn't live, though people like them did and said those sort of things and did those deeds."

"It's unbelievable. Unbelievable that people, youths could survive that. How old were you then?"

"Changi began when I was just eighteen and ended when I was twenty-one twenty-one and a bit."

"Who're you in the book?"

"Perhaps I'm not there at all."

Casey decided to let that pass. For the time being. Until she had finished. "I'd better go. You must be exhausted."

"No, I'm not. Actually, I'm not tired. I've got some notes to write up I'll sleep after the kidstre off to school. But you, you must be. I can't thank you enough, Casey. I owe you a favor."

She smiled and shook her head. After a pause she said, "Peter, you know so much about this place, who would you go with, Dunross or Gornt?"

"In business, Gornt. For the future, Dunross, if he can weather this storm From what I hear, though, that's not likely."

"Why Dunross for the future?"

"Face. Gornt hasn't the style to be the tai-pan or the necessary background."

"Is that so important?"

"Totally, here. by Par-Con wants a hundred years of growth, Dunross. If you're in just for a killing, a quick in-and-out raid, go with Gornt."

She finished her tea thoughtfully. "What do you know about Orlanda?"

"Lots," he said at once. "But knowing scandal or gossip about a living person isn't the same as knowing legends or gossip about ancient times. Is it?"

She watched him back. "Even for a favor?"

"That's different." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you asking for a favor?"

She set her teacup down and shook her head. "No, Peter, not now. I might later but not now." She saw his frown deepen. "What?" she asked.

"I was wondering why Orlanda was a threat to you. Why tonight? Obviously, that leads to Linc. That leads inevitably to: she's out with him now, which explains why you sounded so ghastly when I called."

"Did I?"

"Yes. Oh, of course, I'd noticed Linc looking at her at Aberdeen and you looking at him and her looking at you." He sipped some tea, his face hardening. "That was quite a party. Lots of beginnings at that party, great tensions, big drama. Fascinating, if you can disassociate yourself from it. But you can't, can you?"

"Do you always watch and listen?"

"I try to train myself as an observer. I try to use my ears and eyes and other senses, properly, as they should be used. You're the same.

Not much escapes you."

"Maybe, maybe not."

"Orlanda's Hong Kong-trained and Gornt-trained and if you plan a clash with her over Linc you'd better be prepared for a battle royal if she's decided to try to grab him, which I don't know yet."

"Would Gornt be using her?"

After a pause, he said, "I'd imagine Orlanda's Orlanda's keeper. Aren't most ladies?"

"Most ladies gear their lives to a man, whether they want to or not."

"From what I know about you, you can take care of any opposi- tion."

"What do you know about me?"

"Lots." Again the faint, easy, gentle smile. "Amongst them, that you're smart, brave and have great face."

"I'm so tired of face, Peter. In the futurea" Her smile was equally warm. "From here on in, in my book, a person's going to gain ass or arse as you call it or lose it."

He laughed with her. "The way you say it sounds more ladylike."

"I'm no lady."

"Oh but you are." He added more gently, "I saw the way Line looked at you at Dunross's party too. He loves you. And he'd be a fool to swap you for her."

"Thank you, Peter." She got up and kissed him and left, at peace. When she got out of the elevator on her floor, Nighttime Song was there. He padded ahead of her and opened her door with a flourish. He saw her eyes go to the door at the end of the corridor.

"Master not home," he volunteered grandly. "Not yet come back."

Casey sighed. "You've just lost more ass, old friend."

"Eh?"

She shut the door, feeling pleased with herself In bed, she began to read again. With the dawn she finished the book. Then she slept.

58 - 9.25 A.M.:.

Dunross came around the corner in his Jaguar fast, climbing the winding road easily, then turned into a driveway and stopped an inch from the tall gates. The gates were set into high walls. In a moment a Chinese porter peered through the side door. When he recognized the tai-pan he opened the gates wide and waved him through.

The driveway curled and stopped outside an ornate Chinese man- sion. Dunross got out. Another servant greeted him silently. The grounds were well kept and down a slope was a tennis court where four Chinese, two men and two women, were playing mixed doubles. They paid no attention to him and Dunross did not recognize any of them.

"Please follow me, tai-pan," the servant said.

Dunross hid his curiosity as he was shown into an anteroom. This was the first time he or anyone that he knew had ever been invited into Tiptop's home. The interior was clean and busy with the strange, careless but usual Chinese mixture of good lacquer antiques and ugly modern bric-a-brac. Walls were paneled and ornate with a few bad prints hanging on them. He sat down. Another servant brought tea and poured.

Dunross could feel that he was being observed but this too was usual. Most of these old houses had spyholes in the walls and doors there were many even in the Great House.

When he had got back to the Great House this morning near 4:00 A.M. he had gone straight to his study and opened the safe. There was no doubt, with even a cursory glance, that one of the two remaining coins fitted the imprints that were in Four Finger Wu's beeswax matrix. No doubt at all. His fingers were trembling when he broke the half-coin from its restraining sealing wax in Dirk Struan's Bible and cleaned it. It fitted the indentations perfectly.

"Christ," he had muttered. "Now what?" Then he had put the matrix and the coin back into the safe. His eyes saw the loaded automatic and the empty space where AMG's files had been. Un- easily he had relocked the safe and went to bed. There was a message on his pillow: "Father dear: Will you wake me when you leave? We want to watch the tryouts. Love, Adryon. P.S. Can I invite Martin to the races Saturday please please please? P.P.S. I think he's super. P.P.P.S. You're super too. P.P.P.P.S. You're out late, aren't you? Now it's 3:16!!!!"

He had tiptoed to her room and opened her door but she was fast asleep. When he had left this morning he had had to knock twice to awaken her. "Adryon! It's 6:30."

"Oh! Is it raining?" she said sleepily.

"No. Soon will be. Shall I open the blinds?"

"No, Father dear, thank youa doesn't matter, Martin won'ta won't mind." She had stifled a yawn. Her eyes had closed and almost instantly, she was deep asleep again.

Amused, he had shaken her lightly but she had not come out of sleep. "Doesn't matter, Father. Martin won'ta" And now, remembering how lovely she was and what his wife had said about the pill, he decided to make a very serious check on Martin Haply. Just in case.

"Ah, tai-pan, sorry to keep you waiting."

Dunross got up and shook the outstretched hand. "It's good of you to see me, Mr. Tip. Sorry to hear about your cold."

Tip Tok-toh was in his sixties, graying, with a round nice face. He wore a dressing gown and his eyes were red and his nose stuffed, his voice a little hoarse. "It's this rotten climate. Last weekend I went sailing with Shitee T'chung and I must've caught a chill." His English accent was slightly American, perhaps Canadian. Neither Dunross nor Alastair Struan had ever been able to draw him out about his past, nor had Johnjohn or the other bankers any knowledge of him in banking circles in Nationalist China days, pre-1949. Even Shitee T'chung and Phillip Chen who entertained him lavishly could not pry anything out of him. The Chinese had nicknamed him the Oyster.

"The weather has been bad," Dunross agreed pleasantly. "Thank God for the rain."

Tiptop motioned to the man beside him. "This is an associate Mr. L'eung."

The man was nondescript. He wore a drab Maoist jacket and drab trousers. His face was set and cold and guarded. He nodded. Dun- ross nodded back. "Associate" could cover a multitude of positions from boss to interpreter, from commissar to guard.

"Would you like coffee?"

"Thank you. Have you tried vitamin C to cure your cold?" Pa- tiently Dunross began the formal chitchat that would precede the real reason for the meeting. Last night while he was waiting for Brian Kwok in the Quance Bar he had thought Johajohn's proposal was worth a try so he had phoned Phillip Chen then and asked him to request an appointment early today. It would have been just as easy to have called Tiptop direct but that was not correct Chinese protocol. The civilized way was to go through a mutually friendly intermediary. Then, if the request was refused, you would not lose face, nor would the other person, nor would the intermediary.

He was listening to Tiptop with only half his head, making polite conversation, surprised they were still speaking English, because of L'eung. This could only mean the man's English was also perfect, and, possibly, that he did not understand either Cantonese or Shanghainese which Tiptop spoke and Dunross was fluent in. He fenced with Tiptop, waiting for the opening that at length the banker would give him. Then it came.

"This stock market crash on your stock must be very worrying for you, tai-pan."

"Yes, yes it is, but it's not a crash, Mr. Tip, just a readjustment. The market ebbs and flows."

"And Mr. Gornt?"

"Quillan Gornt is Quillan Gornt and always snapping at our heels. All crows under heaven are black." Dunross kept his voice matter-of-fact, wondering how much the man knew.

"And the Ho-Pak mess? That's a readjustment too?"

"No, no that's bad. I'm afraid the Ho-Pak's out of luck."

"Yes, Mr. Dunross, but luck hasn't much to do with it. It's the capitalistic system, that and ineptness by Banker Kwang."

Dunross said nothing. His eyes flicked momentarily to L'eung who sat stiffly, immobile and very attentive. His ears were concentrated and so was his mind, seeking the oblique currents under what was said. "I'm not party to Mr. Kwang's business, Mr. Tip. Unfor tunately the run on the Ho-Pak's spilling over to other banks and that's very bad for Hong Kong and also, I think, bad for the People's Republic of China."

"Not bad for the People's Republic of China. How can it be bad for us?"

"China is China, the Middle Kingdom. We of the Noble House have always considered China to be the mother and father of our house. Now our base in Hong Kong's under siege, a siege that's actually meaningless just a temporary lack of confidence and a week or so of cash. Our banks have all the reserves and all of the wealth and strength they need to performa for old friends, old customers and ourselves."

"Then why don't they print more money if the currency's so strong?"

"It's a matter of time, Mr. Tip. It's not possible for the mint to print enough Hong Kong money." Even more patiently, Dunross answered the questions, knowing now that most were for the benefit of L'eung, which suggested L'eung was senior to Tiptop, a more senior Party member, a nonbanker. "Our interim solution would be to bring in, at once, a few aircraft loads of pounds sterling to cover withdrawals." He saw both men's eyes narrow slightly.