He groaned aloud, distraught, his back aching like his head. Below was all the city, ships tied up at Glessing's Point and others in the roads. Kowloon was equally brilliant and he could see a jetliner taking off from Kai Tak, another turning to make a landing, another whining high overhead, its lights blinking.

What to do? he asked himself exhaustedly. Does Bartlett have the coin? Or John? Or the Werewolves?

In the wrong hands it could destroy us all.

T U E S D A Y.

18 - 12:36 A.M.:.

Gornt said, "Of course Dunross could have buggered my brakes, Jason!"

"Oh come on, for God's sake! Climbing under your car during a party with two hundred guests around? Ian's not that stupid."

They were in Jason Plumm's penthouse above Happy Valley, the midnight air good though the humidity had increased again. Plumm got up and threw his cigar butt away, took a fresh one and lit it. The tai-pan of Asian Properties, the third largest hong, was taller than Gornt, in his late fifties, thin-faced and elegant, his. smoking jacket red velvet. "Even Ian bloody Dunross's not that much of a bloody berk."

"You're wrong. For all his Scots cunning, he's an animal of sudden action, unpremeditated action, that's his failing. I think he did it."

- Plumm steepled his fingers thoughtfully. "What did the police say?"

"All I told them was that my brakes had failed. There was no need to involve those nosy buggers, at least not yet. But Rolls brakes just don't go wrong by themselves for God's sake. Well, never mind. Tomorrow I'll make sure Tom Nikklin gets me an answer, an absolute answer, if there is one. Time enough for the police then."

"I agree." Plumm smiled thinly. "We don't need police to wash our various linens however droll do we?"

"No." Both men laughed.

"You were very lucky. The Peak's no road to lose your brakes on. Must have been very unpleasant."

"For a moment it was, Jason, but then it was no problem,-once I was over the initial shock." Gornt stretched the truth and sipped his whiskey and soda. They had eaten an elegant dinner on the errace overlooking Happy Valley, the racecourse and city and sea beyond, just the two of them Plumm's wife was in England on vacation and their children grown up and no longer in Hong Kong. Now they were sitting over cigars in great easy chairs in Plumm's oook-lined study, the room luxurious though subdued, in perfect taste like the rest of the ten-room penthouse. "Tom Nikklin'll find out if my car was tampered with if anyone can," he said with finality.

"yes." Plumm sipped a glass of iced Perrier water. "Are you going to wind up young Nikklin again about Macao?"

"Me? You must be joking!"

"No. I'm not, actually," Plumm said with his mocking well-bred chuckle. "Didn't Dunross's engine blow up during the race three years ago and he bloody nearly killed himself?"

"Racing cars are always going wrong."

"Yes, yes they do frequently, though they're not always helped b- the opposition." Plumm smiled.

Gornt kept his smile but inside he was not smiling. "Meaning?"

"Nothing, dear boy. Just rumors." The older man leaned over and poured more whiskey for Gornt, then used the soda syphon. "Rumor has it that a certain Chinese mechanic, for a small fee, puta put, as we say, a small spanner in the works."

"T doubt if that'd be true."

"I doubt if it could be proved. One way or another. It's disgusting, but some people will do anything for quite a small amount of money."

''Yes. Fortunately we're in the big-money market."

"My whole point, dear boy. Now." Plumm tapped the ash off his igar. "What's the scheme?"

"It's very simple: providing Bartlett does not actually sign a deal with Struan's in the next ten days we can pluck the Noble House like a dead duck."

"Lot's of people have thought that before and Struan's is still the Noble House."

"Yes. But at the moment, they're vulnerable."

"How?"

"The Toda Shipping notes, and the Orlin installment."

"Not true. Struan's credit is excellent oh, they're stretched, but no more than anyone else. They'll just increase their line of credit or Ian will go to Richard Kwang or Blacs."

"Say Blacs won't hel~they won't and say Richard Kwang's neutralized. That leaves only the Victoria."

"Then Dunrosstll ask the bank for more credit and we'll have to give it to him. Paul Havergill will put it to a vote of the board. We all know we can't outvote the Struan's block so we'll go along with it and save face, pretending we're very happy to oblige, as usual."

"Yes. But this time I'm happy to say Richard Kwang will vote against Struan's. That will tie up the board, the credit request will be delayed he won't be able to make his payments, so Dunross goes under."

"For God's sake, Richard Kwang's not even on the board! Have you gone honkers?"

Gornt puffed his cigar. "No, you've forgotten my game plan. The one called Competition. It was started a couple of days ago."

"Against Richard?"

"Yes."

"Poor old Richard!"

"Yes. He'll be our deciding vote. And Dunrosstll never expect an attack from there."

Plumm stared at him. "Richard and Dunross are great friends."

"But Richard's in trouble. The run's started on the Ho-Pak. He'll do anything to save himself."

"I see. How much Ho-Pak stock did you sell short?"

"Lots."

"Are you sure Richard hasn't got the resources to stave off the run that he can't pull in extra funds?"

"If he does, we can always abort, you and I."

"Yes, yes we can." Jason Plumm watched kits cigar smoke spiral. "But just because Dunross won't meet those payments doesn't mean he's finished."

"I agree. But after the Ho-Pak'disaster,' the news that Struan's have defaulted will send his stock plummeting. The market'll be very nervous, there'll be all the signs of a crash looming which we fuel by selling short. There's no board meeting scheduled for a couple of weeks unless Paul Havergill calls a special meeting. And he won't. Why should he? He wants their chunk of stock back more than anything else in the world. So everything will be fixed before hand. He'll set the ground rules for rescuing Richard Kwang, and voting as Paul decides will be one of them. So the board lets Ian stew for a few days, then offers to extend credit and restore confidence in return for Struan's piece of the bank stock it's pledged against the credit anyway."

"Dunross'll never agree neither he nor Phillip Chen, nor Tsu- yan."

"It's that or Struan's goes under providing you hold tight and you've voting control. Once the bank gets his block of stock away from hima if you control the board, and therefore the Victoria Bank, then he's finished."

"Yes. But say he gets a new line of credit?"

"Then he's only badly mauled, maybe permanently weakened, Jason, but we make a killing either way. It's all a matter of timing, you know that."

"And Bartlett?"

"Bartlett and Par-Con are mine. He'll never go with Struan's sinking ship. I'll see to that."

After a pause Plumm said, "It's possible. Yes, it's possible."

"Are you in then?"

"After Struan's, how are you going to gobble up Par-Con?"

"I'm not. But we could possibly." Gornt stubbed out his cigar. "Par-Con's a long-term effort and a whole different set of problems. First Struan's. Well?"

"If I get Struan's Hong Kong property division 35 percent of their landholdings in Thailand and Singapore and we're fifty-fifty on their Kai Tak operation?"

"Yes, everything except Kai Tak I need that to round off All Asia Airways. I'm sure you'll understand, old boy. But you've a seat on the board of the hew company, ten percent of the stock at par, seats on Struan's of course, and all their subsidiaries."

"15 percent. And chairmanship of Struan's, alternate years with you?"

"Agreed, but I'm first." Gornt lit a cigarette. Why not? he thought expansively. By this time next year Struan's will be dismembered so your chairmanship is really academic, Jason old boy. "So everything's agreed? We'll put it in a joint memo if you like, one copy for each of us."

Plumm shook his head and smiled. "Don't need a memo, perish the thought! Here." He held out his hand. "I agree!"

The two men shook hands firmly. "Down with the Noble House!" They both laughed, very content with the deal they had made. Acquisition of Struan'slandholdings would make Asian Properties the largest land company in Hong Kong. Gornt would acquire almost a total monopoly of all Hong Kong's air cargo, sea freighting and factoring and preeminence in Asia.

Good, Gornt thought. Now for Four Finger Wu. "If you'll call me a taxi I'll be off."

"Take my car, my chauffeur will"

"Thanks but no, I'd rather take a taxi. Really, Jason, thanks anyway."

So Plumm phoned down to the concierge of the twenty-story apartment building which was owned and operated by his Asian Properties. While they waited, they toasted each other and the destruction of Struan's and the profits they were going to make. A phone rang in the adjoining room.

"Excuse me a moment, old chap." Plumm went through the door and half-closed it behind him. This was his private bedroom which he used sometimes when he was working late. It was a small, very neat room, soundproofed, fitted up like a ship's cabin with a built-in bunk, hi-fi speakers that piped in the music, a small self-contained hot plate and refrigerator. And, on one side, was a huge bank of elaborate, shortwave, ham radio transceiver equipment which had been Jason Plumm's abiding hobby since his childhood.

He picked up the phone. "Yes?"

"Mr. Lop-sing please?" the woman's voice said.

"There's no Mr. Lop-ting here," he said easily. "Sorry, you have a wrong number."

"I want to leave a message."

"You have a wrong number. Look in your phone book."

"An urgent message for Arthur: Center radioed that the meeting's postponed until the day after tomorrow. Standby for urgent instructions at 0600." The line went dead. Again a dial tone.

Plumm frowned as he put the phone back on its cradle.

Four Finger Wu stood at the gunnel of his junk with Goodweather Poon watching Gornt get into the sampan that he had sent for him.

"He hasn't changed much in all this time, has he?" Wu said absently, his narrowed eyes glittering.

"Foreign devils all look alike to me, never mind. How many years is it? Ten?" Poon asked, scratching his piles.

"No, it's nearer twelve now. Good times then, heya, " Wu said. "Lots of profit. Very good, slipping upstream toward Canton, evading the foreign devils and their lackeys, Chairman Mao's people welcoming us. Yes. Our own people in charge and not a foreign devil anywhere nor a fat official wanting his hand touched with fragrant grease. You could visit all your family and friends then and no trouble, heyat Not like now, heya?"

"The Redstre getting tough, very clever and very tough worse than the Mandarins."

Wu turned as his seventh son came on deck. Now the young man wore a neat white shirt and gray trousers and good shoes. "Be careful," he called out brusquely. "You're sure you know what to do?"

"Yes, Father."

"Good," Four Fingers said, hiding his pride. "I don't want any mistakes."

He watched him head awkwardly for the haphazard gangway of planks that joined this junk to the next and thence across other junks to a makeshift landing eight boats away.

"Does Seventh Son know anything yet?" Poon asked softly.

"No, no not yet," Wu said sourly. "Those dogmeat fools to be caught with my guns! Without the guns, all our work will be for nothing."

"Evening, Mr. Gornt. I'm Paul Choy my uncle Wu sent me to show you the way," the young man said in perfect English, repeating the lie that was now almost the real truth to him.

Gornt stopped, startled, then continued up the rickety stairs, his sea legs better than the young man's. "Evening," he said. "You're American? Or did you just go to school there, Mr. Choy7"

"Both." Paul Choy smiled. "You know how it is. Watch your head on the ropes and it's slippery as hell." He turned and began to lead the way back. His real name was Wu Fang Choi and he was his father's seventh son by his third wife, but, when he was born, his father Four Finger Wu had sought a Hong Kong birth certificate for him, an unusual act for a boat dweller, put his mother's maiden name on the birth certificate, added Paul and got one of his cousins to pose as the real father.

"Listen, my son," Four Finger Wu had said, as soon as Paul could understand, "when speaking Haklo aboard my ship, you can call me Father but never in front of a foreign devil, even in Haklo. All other times I'm 'Uncle,' just one of many uncles. Understand?"

"Yes. But why, Father? Have I done something wrong? I'm sorry if I've offended you."

"You haven't. You're a good boy and you work hard. It's just better for the family for you to have another name."

"But why, Father?"

"When it's time you will be told." Then, when he was twelve and trained and had proved his value, his father had sent him to the States. "Now you're to learn the ways of the foreign devil. You must begin to speak like one, sleep like one, become one outwardly but never forget who you are, who your people are, or that all foreign devils are inferior, hardly human beings, and certainly not fornicating civilized."

Paul Choy laughed to himself. If Americans only knew from tai-pan to meathead and British, Iranians, Germans, Russians, every race and color, if they all really knew what even the lousiest coolie thought of them, they'd hemorrhage, he told himself for the millionth time. It's not that all the races of China despise foreigners, it's just that foreigners're just beneath any consideration. Of course we're wrong, he told himself. Foreigners are human and some are civilized in their way and far ahead of us technically. But we are bettera "Why the smile?" Gornt asked, ducking under ropes, avoiding rubbish that scattered all the decks.