Havergill nodded and left and Richard Kwang walked back to his wife.

"What's going on?"

"Quiet!" he hissed. "I've agreed to a merger with the Victoria."

"At what price for our holdings?"

He lowered his voice even more. "20 cents on the, er, official book value."

Glee lit her eyes. "Ayeeyah!" she said and quickly dropped her gaze for safety. "You did very well."

"Of course. And a directorship for five years an"

"Eeee, our face will be huge!"

"Yes. Now listen, we've got until five today to make some private deals on Ho-Pak stock. We must buy in today at fire-sale prices before every dogmeat gambler steals our rightful profits from us. We can't do it ourselves or otherstll instantly suspect. Who can we use?"

She thought for a moment. Again her eyes gleamed. "Profitable Choy. Give him 7 percent of anything he makes for us."

"I'll offer 5 to begin with, perhaps I can settle for 6!/: percent! Excellent! And I'll also use Smiler Ching, he's a pauper now. He lost everything. Between the two of thema I'll meet you back at the box." Importantly he turned away and went to his trainer and carefully kicked him in the shin. "Oh so sorry," he said for the benefit of those nearby who might have seen him, then hissed, "Don't interrupt me when I'm busy, you cheating lump of dogmeat turd! And if you cheat me like you cheated Big Belly Tok I'll"

"But I told you about that, Lord," the man said sourly. "He knew about it too! Wasn't it his idea? Didn't you both make a fortune?"

"Oh ho, if my horse doesn't win this race I'll ask my Uncle Four Fingers to send his street fighters and mash your Heavenly Orbs!"

A sprinkle of rain swept the paddock and they all looked anxiously at the sky. In the stands and on the balconies above, everyone was equally anxious. The shower turned into a slight drizzle and on the members' balcony Orlanda quivered, tense with excitement.

"Oh Linc, I'm going to bet now."

"You're sure?" he asked with a laugh for she had been agonizing over her decision all afternoon, first Pilot Fish then Noble Star, then a hot tip, the outsider Winning Billy, and back to Butterscotch Lass again. The odds were even on Butterscotch Lass, 3 to I on both Pilot Fish and Noble Star the moment Travkin was announced the money started pouring one to I on Golden Lady, the rest hardly in the running. The total amount so far at risk was a staggering 4,700,000 HK. "How much are you going to bet?"

She shut her eyes and said in a rush, "All my winnings and an extraa an extra 100! Won't be a moment, Linc!"

"Good luck. I'll see you after the race."

"Oh yes, sorry, in the excitement I forgot. Have fun!" She gave him a glorious smile and rushed off before he could ask her what she was betting. He had already bet. This race was a quinella, as well as the second leg of the double quinella. 10,000 HK on any combination of Pilot Fish and Butterscotch Lass. That should do it, he thought, his own excitement growing.

He left the balcony and weaved through the tables heading for the elevators that would take him back upstairs. Many people watched him, some greeted him, most envious of the little badges fluttering in his lapel.

"Hi, Linc!"

"Oh hello," he said to Biltzmann who had intercepted him. "How's it going?"

"You heard about the foulup? Of course, you were there!" Hiltzmann said. "Say, Linc, you got a moment?"

"Sure." Bartlett followed him down the corridor, conscious of the curious gazes of passersby.

"Listen," Biltzmann said when they reached a quiet corner, "you'd better watch yourself with these limey bastards. We sure as hell had a deal with General Stores."

"You going to rebid7" Bartlett asked.

"That's up to head office, but me, hell, me I'd let this whole goddamn Island drown."

Bartlett did not reply, aware of glances in their direction.

"Say, Linc!" Biltzmann dropped his voice and bent closer with a twisted grin. "You got something special going with that girl?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The broad. The Eurasian. Orlanda, the one you were talking to."

Bartlett felt the blood rush into his face but Biltzmann continued, "Mind if I put my two cents in?" He winked. "Make a date. Ask her for a date?"

"It'sa it's a free country," Bartlett said, suddenly hating him.

"Thanks. She's got a great ass." Biltzmann beamed and came even closer. "How much does she charge?"

. Bartlett gasped, totally unprepared. "She's not a hooker, for chrissake!"

"Didn't you know? Hey it's all over town. But Dickie said she was lousy in bed. That a fact?" Biltzmann misread the look on Bartlett's face. "Oh, you haven't got there yet? Hell, Line, all you gotta do's flash a little of the green st"

"Listen you son of a bitch," Bartlett hissed, almost blind with rage, "she's no hooker and if you talk to her or go near her I'll stick my fist down your throat. Got it?"

"Listen, take it easy," the other man gasped. "I didn'"

"You Bet the message?"

"Sure sure, no need toa" Biltzmann backed off. "Take it easy. I asked, didn't I? Dickiea" He stopped, frightened, as Bartlett came closer. "For chrissake it's not my fault take it easy, huh?"

"Shut up!" Bartlett contained his rage with an effort, knowing this was not the time or the place to smash Biltzmann. He glanced around but Orlanda had already disappeared. "Get lost, you son of a bitch," he grated, "and don't go near her or else!"

"Sure, sure take it easy, okay?" Biltzmann backed off another pace, then turned and fled thankfully. Bartlett hesitated, then went into the men's room and splashed a little water on his face to calm himself. The tap water, specially connected for the races, was brackish and seemed unclean. In a moment he found his elevator and walked to Dunross's box. It was tea time. The guests were being served little sandwiches, cakes, cheese and great pots of Indian tea with milk and sugar but he did not notice any of it, numb.

Donald McBride, bustling past, stopped briefly on his way back to his own box. "Ah, Mr. Bartlett, I must tell you how happy we all are that you and Casey are going to be in business here. Pity about Biltzmann but all's fair in business. Your Casey's such a charming person. Sorry, got to dash."

He hurried off. Bartlett hesitated in the doorway.

"Hey, Linc," Casey called out joyously from the balcony. "You want tea?" As they met halfway her smile faded. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing, Casey." Bartlett forced a smile. "They at the starting gate?"

"Not yet but any moment now. You sure you're okay?"

"Of course. What did you bet on?"

"Noble Star, what else? Peter's tipping Doc Tooley's outsider, Winning Billy, for a place so I put 50 on him. You don't look well, Linc. Not your stomach, is it?"

He shook his head, warmed by her concern. "No. I'm fine. You okay?"

"Sure. I've been having a wonderful time. Peter's in great form and Old Tooley's a gas." Casey hesitated. "I'm glad it's not your stomach. Doc Tooley says we should be safe from those lousy Aberdeen bugs, since we haven't gotten the trots yet. Of course we won't know for sure for twenty days."

"Jesus," Bartlett muttered, trying to force his mind off what Biltzmann had said. "I'd almost forgotten about Aberdeen and the fire and that whole mess. The fire seems a million years ago."

"To me too. Where did the time go?"

Gavallan was nearby. "It's Hong Kong," he said absently.

"How do you mean?"

"It's a Hong Kong characteristic. If you live here there's never enough time, whatever your work. Always too much to do. People are always arriving, leaving, friends, business people. There's always a crisis flood, fire, mud slide, boom, scandal, business opportunity, funeral, banquet or cocktail party for visiting VIPs or some disaster." Gavallan shook off his anxieties. "This's a small place and you soon get to know most people in your own circle. Then we're the crossroads of Asia and even if you're not in Struan's you're always on the move, planning, making money, risking money to make more, or you're off to Taiwan, Bangkok, Singapore, Sydney, Tokyo, London or wherever. It's the magic of Asia. Look what happened to you both since you got here: poor John Chen was kidnapped and murdered, guns were found on your aircraft, then there was the fire, the stock market mess, the run on our stock, Gornt after us and we after him. And now the banks may close on Monday or if Ian's right, Monday will be boom time. And we're in business togethera" He smiled wearily. "What do you think of our tender?"

Casey held back her immediate comment and watched Bartlett.

"Great," Bartlett said, thinking about Orlanda. "You think Ian will be able to turn things around?"

"If anyone can, he can." Gavallan sighed heavily. "Well, let's hope, that's all we can do. Have you put your money on the winner yet?"

Bartlett smiled and Casey felt easier. "Who you backing, Andrew?"

"Noble Star and Winning Billy for the quinella. See you later." He left them.

"Curious what he was saying about Hong Kong. He's right. It makes the U.S. seem a million miles away."

"Yes, but it isn't, not truly."

"You want to stay here, Casey?"

She looked at him, wondering what was under the question, what he was really asking her. "That's up to you, Linc."

He nodded slowly. "Think I'll get me some tea."

"Hey, I'll do that for you," she said, then she saw Murtagh standing nervously at the doorway and her heart missed a beat. "You haven't met our banker, Linc. Let me bring him over."

She went through the throng. "Hi, Dave."

"Hi, Casey, have you seen the tai-pan?"

"He's busy till after the race. Is it yes or no?" she whispered urgently, keeping her back to Bartlett.

"It's a maybe." Nervously Murtagh wiped his brow and took off his wet raincoat, his eyes red rimmed. "Couldn't get a goddamn cab for an hour! Jesus!"

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe maybe. I gave them the plan and they told me to haul ass back home because I'd clearly gone mad. Then, after they calmed down, they said they'd get back to me. Those knuckleheads called me at 4:00 A.~., asked me to repeat the whole scheme then S.J. himself came on." His eyes rolled. "S.J. said I was full of sh I was loco and hung up on me."

"But you said 'maybe.' What happened next?"

"I called them back and I've been on the phone five hours in the last ten trying to explain my brilliance to them since your harebrained scheme blew my mind." Murtagh suddenly grinned. "Hey, I'll tell you one thing) Casey. Now S.J. sure as hell knows who Dave Murtagh III is!"

She laughed. "Listen, don't mention it to anyone here. Anyone. Except the tai-pan, okay?"

He looked at her, pained. "You think I'm about to tell everybody my ass's chewed to hamburger?"

There was a burst of cheering and someone in the balcony called out, "They're approaching the gate!"

"Quick," Casey said, "go put your bundle on the quinella. One and seven. Quick while you've time."

"Which are they?"

"Never mind. You've no time." She gave him a little shove and he rushed off. She collected herself, picked up a cup of tea and joined Bartlett and all the others crowding the balcony.

"Here's your tea, Linc."

"Thanks. What did you tell him to bet?"

"One and seven."

"I did one and eight."

Another huge roar distracted them. The horses were cantering past and beginning to mill around the gate. They saw Pilot Fish skeetering and weaving, his jockey well up, knees tight, holding on firmly, guiding him to his post position. But the stallion wasn't ready yet and tossed his mane and neighed. At once the mare and the two fillies, Golden Lady and Noble Star, shivered, nostrils flaring and whinnied back. Pilot Fish brayed stridently, reared and pawed the air and everyone gasped. His jockey, Gluey White, cursed softly, dug his steel-strong hands into his mane, hanging on. "C'mon, sport," he called out with a curse, gentling him. "Let the sheilas have a look at your dingledangle!"

Travkin on Noble Star was nearby. The filly had got the stallion's scent and it had unsettled her. Before Travkin could prevent it she twisted and backed and shoved her rump carelessly into Pilot Fish who swerved, startled, to bump the outsider Winning Billy, a bay gelding moving up to his gate. The gelding skeetered, shook his head angrily and whirled away for a few paces, almost trampling Lochinvar, another brown gelding.

"Get that bugger under control, Alexi, for chrissake!"

"Just stay out of my way, ublyndok," Travkin muttered, his knees conscious of the untoward tremors racing through Noble Star. He sat very high, part of his mount, stirrups short, and he wondered, cursing, if Pilot Fish's trainer had smeared some of the stallion's musk onto his chest and flanks to agitate the mare and fillies. It's an old trick, he thought, very old.

"Come on!" the starter called out, his voice stentorian. "Gentlemen, get your mounts into their stalls!"

Several were already there, Butterscotch Lass, the brown mare still heavily the favorite, was pawing the ground, nostrils flared, excitement of the coming race and the nearness of the stallion sending shiver after shiver through her. She had stall eight from the rails, Pilot Fish now entering the stall in post position one. Winning Billy had stall three between Street Vendor and Golden Lady, and the smell of them and the stallion's brazen challenge tore the gelding's mind. Before the gate could close behind him he backed out and, once free, fought the bit and reins, shaking his head violently from side to side, twirling like a dancer on the slippery turf, almost colliding with Noble Star who swerved deftly out of the way.

"Alex), come along!" the starter called out. "Hurry it up!"

"Yes, certainly," Travkin called back but he was not hurried. He knew Noble Star and he walked the trembling, big brown filly well away from the stallion, letting her prance, the wind under her tail. "Gently, my darling," he crooned in Russian, wanting to delay, wanting to keep the others off balance, now the only one not in the gate. A flash of lightning lit the eastern sky but he paid it no attention, or the ominous roll of thunder. The drizzle became stronger.

His whole being was concentrated. Just after the weigh-in, one of the other jockeys had sidled up to him. "Mr. Travkin," he had said softly, "you're not to win."

"Oh? Who says?"

The jockey shrugged.

"Who's the winner?"

Again the jockey shrugged.

"If the trainers and jockeys have a fix then let them know I'm not part of it. I never have been, not in Hong Kong."

"You'll the tai-pan won with Buccaneer, that should satisfy you."