"Sinclair Towers, flat 32. You and your gorillas knocked down the door in the dead of the night. For what, may I ask?"

"How should I know?" Rosemont knew he had to bluff this one through, but he was still furious that whoever was in the apartment had escaped without identification. His rage over the carrier leak, Metkin's not being available for questioning, the whole Sevrin mess and Crosse's perfidy, had prompted him to order the raid. One of his Chinese informants had picked up a rumor that though the apartment was empty most of the time, sometimes it was used by Communist enemy agents of gender unknown and there was a meeting tonight. Connochie, one of his best agents, had led the raid and thought he caught a glimpse of two men going out the back but he wasn't sure, and though he searched diligently, they had van- ished and he found nothing in the apartment to prove or disprove the rumor, just two half-empty glasses. The glasses were brought back and tested for fingerprints. One was clean, the other well marked. "I've never been to 32 Sinclair Towers, for chrissake!"

"Maybe, but your Keystone Kops were there. Several tenants reported four tall, meaty Caucasians charging up and down the stairs." Armstrong added even more sourly, "All fat-arced and fat-headed. Have to be yours."

"Not mine. No sir."

"Oh yes they were and that mistake's going to backfire. Crosse's already sent two pretty foul cables to London. The pity of it is you failed to catch anything and we catch hell because of your continual screw-ups!"

Rosemont sighed. "Get off my back. I've got something for you." He told Armstrong of his conversation with Casey about Banastasio. "Of course we knew his connection with Par-Con but I didn't know he was arriving tomorrow. What do you think?"

Armstrong had seen the arrival recorded on Photographer Ng's calendar. "Interesting," he said noncommittally. "I'll tell the Old Man. But you'd better have a good explanation for him about Sinclair Towers and don't mention that I told you." His fatigue was almost overwhelming him. This morning at 6:30 A.M. he had begun the first real probe of Brian Kwok.

It was an orchestrated set piece: while still drugged, Brian Kwok had been taken out of his clean white cell and put naked into a filthy dungeon with dank walls and a stinking thin mattress on the mildewed floor. Then, ten minutes after the wake-up drug had jerked him into parched, aching consciousness, the light had blazed on and Armstrong had ripped the door open and cursed the SI jailer. "For chrissake, whattre you doing to Superintendent Kwok? Have you gone mad? How dare you treat him like this!"

"Superintendent Crosse's orders, sir. This client's b"

"There must be a mistake! I don't give a damn about Crosse!" He had thrown the man out and put his full, kind attention onto his friend. "Here, old chum, do you want a cigarette?"

"Oh Christ. Thanka thanks." Brian Kwok's fingers had trem- bled as he held the cigarette and drew the smoke deep. "Robert, whata what the hell's going on?"

"I don't know. I've just heard, that's why I'm here. I was told you'd been on leave for a few days. Crosse's gone mad. He claims you're a Communist spy."

"Me? For God's sakea what's the date today?"

"The thirtieth, Friday," he had said at once, expecting the question, adding seven days.

"Who won the fifth race?"

"Butterscotch Lass," he had said, caught off guard, astonished that Brian Kwok was still functioning so well and not at all certain if his own slight hesitation had been read for the lie it was. "Why?"

"Just wondereda justa Listen, Robert, this's a mistake. You've got to help me. Don't you's"

On cue Roger Crosse had come in like the wrath of God. "Listen, spy, I want names and addresses of all your contacts right now. Who's your controller?"

Weakly Brian Kwok had stumbled to his feet. "Sir, it's all a mistake. There's no controller and I'm no spy an"

Crosse had suddenly shoved blowups of the photos in his face. "Then explain how you were photographed in Ning-tok in front of your family pharmacy with your mother Fang-ling Wu. Explain how your real name's Chu-toy Wu, second son of these parents, Ting-top Wu and Fang-ling Wua"

They had both seen the instant of shock on Brian Kwok's face.

"Lies," he had mumbled, "lies, ltm Brian Kar-shun Kwok and I'm"

"You're a liar!" Crosse had shouted. "We have witnesses! We have evidence! You are identified by your gan sun, Ah Tam!"

Another gasp, covered almost brilliantly, then "Ia I have no gan sun called Ah Tam. I h"

"You'll spend the rest of your life in this cell unless you tell us everything I'll see you in a week. You'd better answer everything truthfully or I'll put you in chains! Robert!" Crosse had whirled on him. "You're forbidden to come here without permission!" Then he had stalked out of the cell.

In the silence Armstrong remembered how nauseated he had been, having seen the truth written on his friend's face. He was too well trained an observer to be mistaken. "Christ, Brian," he had said, continuing the game, hating his hypocrisy even so. "What possessed you to do it?"

"Do what?" Brian Kwok had said defiantly. "You can't cheat me or trick me, Roberta It can't be seven days. I'm innocent."

"And the photos?"

"Fakea they're fake, dreamed up by Crosse." Brian Kwok had held onto his arm, a desperate light behind his eyes, and whispered hoarsely, "I told you Crosse's the real mole. He's the mole, Roberta he's a homo he's trying to frame me an"

On cue, the brittle, officious SI jailer jerked the cell door open. "Sorry, sir, but you've got to leave."

"All right, but first give him some water."

"No water's allowed!"

"Goddamn you, get him some water!"

Reluctantly the jailer obeyed. While they were momentarily alone, Armstrong had slipped the cigarettes under the mattress. "Brian, I'll do what I cana" Then the jailer was back in the room with a battered cup.

"That's all you can have!" he said angrily. "I want the cup back!"

Thankfully Brian Kwok had gulped it and with it the drug. Armstrong left. The door slammed and the bolts shoved home. Abruptly the lights went out, leaving Brian Kwok in darkness. Ten minutes later Armstrong had gone back in with Dr. Dorn. And Crosse. Brian Kwok was unconscious, deeply drugged again and dreaming fitfully. "Robert, you did very well," Crosse had said softly. "Did you see the client's shock?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. So did I. No mistake about that, or his guilt. Doctor, step up the sleep-wake-up every hour on the hour for the next twentyfoura"

"Christ," Armstrong burst out, "don't you th"

"Every hour on the hour, Doctor, provided he checks out medic catty I don't want him harmed, just pliable for the next twentyfour. Robert, then you interrogate him again. If that doesn't work, we put him into the Red Room."

Dr. Dorn had flinched and Armstrong recalled how his heart had missed a beat. "No," he said.

"For chrissake, the client's guilty, Robert," Crosse snarled, no longer playacting. "Guilty! The client shopped Fong-fong and our lads and has done us God knows what damage. We're under the gun. The orders come from London! Remember Metkin, our great commissar catch from the Ivanov' I've just heard the RAF transport's vanished. It refueled in Bombay then vanished somewhere over the Indian Ocean."

60 - 6:58 P.M.:.

The governor was in an Olympian rage. He got out of the car and stomped to the side door of the bank where Johnjohn was waiting for him.

"Have you read this?" The governor waved the evening edition of the Guardian in the night air. The huge headline read: MPs ACCUSE PRC. "Bloody incompetent fools, what?"

"Yes sir." Johnjohn was equally choleric. He led the way past the uniformed doorman into a large anteroom. "Can't you hang both of them?"

At their afternoon press conference, Grey and Broadhurst had proclaimed publicly everything that he, Johnjohn, Dunross and the other tai-pans had, at length, patiently condemned as totally against Britain's, Hong Kong's and China's interest. Grey had gone on at length discussing his private and personal opinion that Red China was bent on world conquest and should be treated as the great enemy of world peace. "I've already had one unofficial official scream."

Johnjohn winced. "Oh God, not from Tiptop?"

"Of course from Tiptop. He said, in that calm silky voice of his, 'Your Excellency, when our peers in Peking read how important members of your great English Parliament view the Middle Kingdom, I think they will be really quite angry.' I'd say our chances of getting the temporary use of their money now is nil."

Another wave of anger went over Johnjohn.

"That damned man implied his views were the committee's views which is totally untrue' Ridiculous to inflame China under any circumstances. Without China's benevolence our position here is totally untenable. Totally! Bloody fool! And we all went out of our way to explain!" The governor took out a handkerchief and blew his nose. "Where are the others?"

"Superintendent Crosse and Mr. Sinders are using my office for a moment. Ian's on his way. What about Ian and Grey, sir, Grey being Ian's brother-in-law? Eh?"

"Extraordinary." Since Grey had mentioned it in response to a question this afternoon he had had a dozen calls about it. "Astonishing that Ian never mentioned it."

"Or Penelope! Very odd. Do you th " Johnjohn glanced up and stopped. Dunross was walking toward them.

"Evening, sir."

"Hello, fan. I put the time back to 7:00 P.M. to give me a chance to see Sinders and Stanley Rosemont." The governor held up the paper. "You've seen this?"

"Yes sir. The Chinese evening papers are so incensed, I'm sur- prised every edition's not on fire and all of Central with them."

"I'd try them for treason," Johnjohn said, his face sour. "What the devil can we do, tan?"

"Pray! I've already spoken to Guthrie, the Liberal MP, and some of the Tories. One of the Guardian's top reporters is interviewing them right now and their opposite opinions will be the morning headlines refuting all this poppycock." Dunross wiped his hands. He could feel the sweat on his back as well. The combination of Grey, Tiptop, Jacques, Phillip Chen, the coin and the AMG files was unnerving him. Christ Jesus, he thought, what next? His meeting with Murtagh of the Royal Belgium had been what Casey had forecast a long shot but a good one. Coming out of that meeting someone had given him the afternoon papers and the bombshell that such ill-advised remarks was going to create had almost knocked him over. "We'll have to just dismiss the whole thing publicly, and privately work like hell to make sure Grey's bill to bring Hong Kong down to Britain's level never gets to a vote, or is voted down, and Labour never gets elected." He felt his bile rising. "Broadhurst was just as bad if not worse."

"tan, have you talked to Tiptop?"

"No, Bruce. His line's still busy though I did send a message around." He told them what he had arranged with Phillip Chen. Then the governor related Tiptop's complaint. Dunross was aghast. "When did he call, sir?"

"Just before six."

"He would have had our message by then." Dunross felt his heart thumping. "After thisa this debacle, I'd lay heavy odds there's no chance for Chinese money."

"I agree."

Dunross was acutely aware they had not mentioned Grey's rela- tionship to him. "Robin Grey's worse than a fool," he said, thinking he might just as well bring it out into the open. "My god-cursed brother-in-law could not have done better for the Soviets if he was a member of the Politburo. Broadburst as well. Stupid!"

After a pause the governor said, "As the Chinese say, 'The devil gives you your relations, thank all gods you can choose your friends.'"

"You're so right. Fortunately, the committee's due to leave Sunday. With the races tomorrow and all thea all the other problems perhaps it'll all get lost in the shuffle." Dunross mopped his brow. "It's close in here, isn't it7"

The governor nodded, then added testily, "Is everything ready, Johnjohn?"

"Yes sir. The va " In the hall the elevator opened and Roger Crosse and Edward Sinders, chief of MI-6, came out.

"Ah, Sinders," the governor said as they both came into the anteroom, "I'd like you to meet Mr. Dunross." ~ "Pleased to meet you, sir." Sinders shook hands with Dunross. He was a middle-aged, middle height, nondescript man with crum- pled clothes. His face was thin and colorless, the stubble of his beard gray. "Please excuse my rumpledness, sir, but I haven't been to the hotel yet."

"Sorry about that," Dunross replied. "This could certainly have waited until tomorrow. Evening, Roger."

"Evening, sir. Evening, fan," Crosse said crisply. "As we're all here, perhaps we could proceed?"

Obediently Johnjohn began to lead the way but Dunross said, "Just a moment. Sorry, Bruce, could you excuse us a moment?"

"Oh certainly." Johnjohn covered his surprise, wondering what this was all about and who Sinders was, but much too wise to ask. He knew they would tell him if they wanted him to know. The door closed behind him.

Dunross glanced at the governor. "Do you attest, sir, formally this is Edward Sinders, head of Ml-6?"

"I do." The governor handed him an envelope. "I believe you wanted it in writing."

"Thank you, sir." To Sinders, Dunross said, "Sorry, but you understand my reluctance."

"Of course. Good, then that's settled. Shall we go, Mr. Dunross?"

"Who's Mary McFee?"

Sinders was shocked. Crosse and the governor stared at him, perplexed, then at Dunross. "You have friends in high places, Mr. Dunross. May I ask who told you that?"

"Sorry." Dunross kept his gaze on him. Alastair Struan had got the information from some VIP in the Bank of England who had approached someone high up in the government. "All we want to do is to be sure Sinders is who he pretends to be."

"Mary McFee's a friend," Sinders said uneasily.

"Sorry, that's not good enough."

"A girl friend."

"Sorry; neither's that. What's her real name?"

Sinders hesitated, then, his face chalky, he took Dunross by the arm and guided him to the far end of the room. He put his lips very close to Dunross's ear. "Anastasia Kekilova, First Secretary of the Czechoslovak Embassy in London," he whispered, his back to Crosse and the governor.

Dunross nodded, satisfied, but Sinders held on to his arm with surprising strength and whispered even more softly, "You'd better forget that name. If the KGB ever suspect you know they'll get it out of you. Then she's dead, I'm dead and sotre you."

Dunross nodded. "Fair enough."

Sinders took a deep breath, then turned and nodded at Crosse. "Now let's have this done with, Roger. Your Excellency?"

Tensely they all followed him. Johnjohn was waiting at the eleven tor. Three floors below were the vaults. Two plainclothes guards waited in the small hallway in front of the heavy iron gates, one man CID, the other Sl. Both saluted. Johnjohn unlocked the gates and let everyone through except the guards, then relocked them. "Just a bank custom."

"Have you ever had a break-in?" Sinders asked.

"No, though the Japanese did force the gates when the keys were, er, lost."

"Were you here then, sir?"

"No. I was lucky." After Hong Kong capitulated, at Christmas , the two British banks, Blacsand the Victoria, became prime Japanese targets and were ordered to be liquidated. All the executives were separated and kept under guard and forced to assist the process. Over the months and years they were all subjected to extreme pressures. They were forced to issue bank notes illegally. And then the Kampeitai, the hated and feared Japanese secret police, had become involved. "The Kampeitai executed several of our fellows and made the lives of the rest miserable," Johnjohn said "The usual: no food, beatings, privation, shut up in cages. Some died of malnutrition starvation's the real word and both Blacs and we lost our chief execs." Johnjohn unlocked another grille. Beyond were rows and rows of safe deposit boxes in several interconnecting concrete, reinforced cellars. "Ian?"

Dunross took out his passkey. "It's 16.85.94."

Johnjohn led the way. Very uncomfortable, he inserted his bank key in one lock. Dunross did the same with his. They turned both keys. The lock clicked open. Now all eyes were on the box. Johnjohn took out his key. "I'lla I'll be waiting at the gate," he said, glad it was over, and left.

Dunross hesitated. "There are other things in here, private papers. Do you mind?"

Crosse did not move. "Sorry but either Mr. Sinders or myself should ensure we get possession of all the files."