"Vincenzo?" Bartlett said at once. "Interesting guy. Why?"

"Just wondering," Dunross said, outwardly calm but inwardly shocked that he had been right. "Have you known him long?"

"Three or four years. Casey an' I have gone to the track with him a few times to Del Mar. He's a big-time gambler there and in Vegas. He'll bet 50,000 on a race so he told us. He and John Chen are quite friendly. Is he a friend of yours?"

"No. I've never met him but I heard John mention him once or twice," he said, "and Tsu-yan."

"How is Tsu-yan? He's another gambler. When I saw him in L.A., he couldn't wait to get to Vegas. He was at the track the last time we were there with John Chen. Nothing yet on John or the kidnappers?"

"No."

"Rotten luck."

Dunross was hardly listening. The dossier he had had prepared on Bartlett had given no indication of any Mafia connections but Banastasio linked everything. The guns, John Chen, Tsu-yan and Bartlett.

Mafia meant dirty money and narcotics, with a constant search for legitimate fronts for the laundering of money. Tsu-yan used to deal heavily in medical supplies during Korea and now, so the story went, he was heavily into gold smuggling in Taipei, Indonesia and Malaya with Four Finger Wu. Could Banastasio be shipping guns toa to whom? Had poor John Chen stumbled onto something and was he kidnapped for that reason?

Does that mean part of Par-Con's money is Mafia money is Par-Con Mafia-dominated or controlled by Mafia?

"I seem to remember John saying Banastasio was one of your major stockholders," he said, stabbing into the dark again.

"Vincenzo's got a big chunk of stock. But he's not an officer or director. Why?"

Dunross saw that now Bartlett's blue eyes were concentrated and he could almost feel the mind waves reaching out, wondering about this line of questioning. So he ended it. "It's curious how small the world really is, isn't it?"

Casey picked up the phone, inwardly seething. "Operator, this is Miss Tcholok. You've a call for me?"

"Ah one moment plees."

So I'm not invited to Taipei, she divas thinking furiously. Why didn't the tai-pan just come out and say it and not twist things around and why didn't Linc tell me about it too? Jesus, is he under the tai-pan's spell like I was last night? Why the secret? What else are they cooking?

Taipei, eh? Well I've heard it's a man's place so if all they're after's a dirty weekend it's fine with me. But not if it's business. Why didn't Linc say? What's there to hide?

Casey's fury began to grow, then she remembered what the Frenchwoman had said about beautiful Chinoise so readily available and her fury turned to an untoward anxiety for Linc.

Goddamn men!

Goddamn men and the world they've made exclusively to fit themselves. And it's worse here than anywhere I've ever been.

Goddamn the English! They're all so smooth and smart and their manners great and they say please and thank you and get up when you come in and hold your chair for you but, just under the surface, they're just as rotten as any others. They're worse. They're hypocrites, that's what they are! Well I'll get even. One day we'll play golf, Mr. Tai-pan Dunross and you'd better be good because I can play down to ten on a good day I learned about golf in a man's world early so I'll rub your nose in it. Yes. Or maybe a game of pool or billiards. Sure, and I know what reverse English is too.

Casey thought of her father with a sudden shaft of joy, and how he had taught her the rudiments of both games. But it was Linc who taught her how to stab low on the left side with the cue to give the ball a twist to the right to swerve around the eight ball showed her when, foolishly, she had challenged him to a game. He had slaughtered her before he gave her any lessons. . ~ "Casey, you'd better make sure you know all a man's weak points before you battle with him. I wiped the board with you to prove a point. I don't play games for pleasure just to win. I'm not playing games with you. I want you, nothing else matters. Let's forget the deal we made and get married anda"

That was just a few months after she had started working for Linc Bartlett. She was just twenty and already in love with him. But she still wanted revenge on the other man more, and independent wealth more and to find herself more, so she had said, "No, Linc, we agreed seven years. We agreed up front, as equals. I'll help you get rich and I'll get mine on the way to your millions, and neither of us owes the other anything. You can fire me anytime for any reason, and I can leave for any reason. We're equals. I won't deny that I love you with all my heart but I still won't change our deal. But if you're still willing to ask me to marry you when I reach my twenty-seventh birthday, then I will. I'll marry you, live with you leave you whatever you want. But not now. Yes I love you but if we become lovers now I'lla I'll never be able toa I just can't Linc, not now. There's too much I have to find out about myself.'

Casey sighed. What a twisted crazy deal it is. Has all the power and dealing and wheeling and all the years and tears and loneliness been worth it?

I just don't know. I just don't know. And Par-Con? Can I ever reach my goal: Par-Con and Linc, or will I have to choose between them?

"Ciranoush?" came through the earpiece.

"Oh! Hello, Mr. GorntI" She felt a surge of warmth. "This is a pleasant surprise," she added, collecting her wits.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you?"

"Not at all. What can I do for you?"

"I wondered if you are able to confirm this Sunday yet, if you and Mr. Bartlett are available? I want to plan my boat party and I'd like the two of you as my honored guests."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Gornt, but Linc can't make it. He's all tied up."

She heard the hesitation and then the covered pleasure in his voice. "Would you care to come without him? I was thinking of having a few business friends. I'm sure you'd find it interesting."

It might be very good for Par-Con if I went, she thought. Besides, if Linc and the tai-pan are going to Taipei without me, why can't I go boating without them? "I'd love to," she said, warmth in her voice, "if you're sure I won't be in the way."

"Of course not. We'll pick you up at the wharf, just opposite the hotel, near the Golden Ferry. Ten o'clock casual. Do you swim?"

"Sure."

"Good the water's refreshing. Water-ski?"

"Love it!"

"Very good!"

"Can I bring anything? Food or wine or anything?"

"No. I think we'll have everything aboard. We'll go to one of the outer islands and picnic, water-ski be back just after sunset."

"Mr. Gornt, I'd like to keep this excursion to ourselves. I'm told Confucius said, 'A closed mouth catches no flies.'"

"Confucius said many things. He once likened a lady to a moonbeam."

She hesitated, the danger signals up. But then she heard herself say lightly, "Should I bring a chaperone?"

"Perhaps you should," he said and she heard his smile.

"How about Dunross'"

"He'd hardly be a chaperone merely the destruction of what could perhaps be a perfect day."

"I look forward to Sunday, Mr. Gornt."

"Thank you." The phone clicked off instantly.

You arrogant bastard! she almost said aloud. How much are you taking for granted? Just thank you and click and no good-bye.

I'm Linc's and not up for grabs.

Then why did you play the coquette on the phone and at the party? she asked herself. And why did you want that bastard to keep your Sunday date quiet?

Women like secrets too, she told herself grimly. Women like a lot of things men like.

26 - 8:35 P.M.:.

The coolie was in the dingy gold vaults of the Ho-Pak Bank. He was a small, old man who wore a tattered grimy undershirt and ragged shorts. As the two porters lifted the canvas sack onto his bent back, he adjusted the forehead halter and leaned against it, taking the strain with his neck muscles, his hands grasping the two worn straps. Now that he had the full weight, he felt his overtaxed heart pumping against the load, his joints shrieking for relief The sack weighed just over ninety pounds almost more than his own weight. The tally clerks had just sealed it. It contained exactly 250 of the little gold smuggler bars, each of five taels a little over six ounces just one of which would have kept him and his family secure for months. But the old man had no thought of trying to steal even one of them. All of his being was concentrated on how to dominate the agony, how to keep his feet moving, how to do his share of the work, to get his pay at the end of his shift, and then to rest.

"Hurry up," the foreman said sourly, "we've still more than twenty fornicating tons to load. Next!"

The old man did not reply. To do so would take more of his precious energy. He had to guard his strength zealously tonight if he was to finish. With an effort he set his feet into motion, his calves knotted and varicosed and scarred from so many years of labor.

Another coolie took his place as he shuffled slowly out of the dank concrete room, the shelves ladened with a seemingly never-ending supply of meticulous stacks of little gold bars that waited under the watchful eyes of the two neat bank clerks waited to be loaded into the next canvas sack, to be counted and recounted, then sealed with a flourish.

On the narrow stairway the old man faltered. He regained his balance with difficulty, then lifted a foot to climb another step only twenty-eight more now and then another and he had just made the landing when his calves gave out. He tottered against the wall, leaning against it to ease the weight, his heart grinding, both hands grasping the straps, knowing he could never resettle the load if he stepped out of the harness, terrified lest the foreman or a subforeman would pass by. Through the spectrum of pain he heard footsteps coming toward him and he fought the sack higher onto his back and into motion once more. He almost toppled over.

"Hey, Nine Carat Chu,are you all right?" the other coolie asked in Shantung dialect, steadying the sack for him.

"Yesa yesa" He gasped with relief, thankful it was his friend from his village far to the north and the leader of his gang of ten. "Fornicate all gods, Ia I just slippeda"

The other man peered at him in the coarse light from the single bare light overhead. He saw the tortured, rheumy old eyes and the stretched muscles. "I'll take this one, you rest a moment," he said. Skillfully he eased off the weight and swung the sack to the floorboards. "I'll tell that motherless foreigner who thinks he's got brains enough to be a foreman that you've gone to relieve yourself" He reached into his ragged, torn pants pocket and handed the old man one of his small, screwed-up pieces of cigarette foil. "Take it. I'll deduct it from your pay tonight."

The old man mumbled his thanks. He was all pain now, barely thinking. The other man swung the sack onto his back, grunting with the effort, leaned against the head band, then, his calves knotted, slowly went back up the stairs, pleased with the deal he had made.

The old man slunk off the landing into a dusty alcove and squatted down. His fingers trembled as he smoothed out the cigarette foil with its pinch of white powder. He lit a match and held it carefully under the foil to heat it. The powder began to-blacken and smoke. Carefully he held the smoking powder under his nostrils and inhaled deeply, again and again, until- every grain had vanished into the smoke that he pulled oh so gratefully into his lungs.

He leaned back against the wall. Soon the pain vanished and left euphoria. It was all-pervading. He felt young again and strong again and now he knew that he would finish his shift perfectly and this Saturday, when he went to the races, he would win the double quinella. Yes, this would be his lucky week and he would put most of his winnings down on a piece of property, yes, a small piece of property at first but with the boom my property will go up and up and up and then I'll sell that piece and make a fortune and buy more and more and then I'll be an ancestor, my grandchildren flocking around my kneesa He got up and stood tall then went back down the stairs again and stood in line, waiting his turn impatiently. "Dew neh lob mob hurry up," he said in his lilting Shantung dialect, "I haven't all night! I've another job at midnight."

The other job was on a construction site in Central, not far from the Ho-Pak and he knew he was blessed to have two bonus jobs in one night on top of his regular day job as a construction laborer. He knew, too, that it was the expensive white powder that had transformed him and taken his fatigue and pain away. Of course, he knew the white powder was dangerous. But he was sensible and cautious and only took it when he was at the limit of strength. That he took it most days now, twice a day most days now, did not worry him. Joss, he told himself with a shrug, taking the new canvas sack on his back.

Once he had been a farmer and the eldest son of landowning farmers in the northern province of Shantung, in the fertile, shifting delta of the Yellow River where, for centuries, they had grown fruit and grain and soybeans, peanuts, tobacco and all the vegetables they could eat.

Ah, our lovely fields, he thought happily, climbing the stairs now, oblivious of his pounding heart, our lovely fields rich with growing crops. So beautiful! Yes. But then the Bad Times began thirty years ago. The Devils from the Eastern Sea came with their guns and their tanks and raped our earth, and then, after warlord Mao Tse-tung and warlord Chiang Kai-shek beat them off, they fought among themselves and again the land was laid waste. So we fled the famine, me and my young wife and my two sons and came to this place, Fragrant Harbor, to live among strangers, southern barbarians and foreign devils. We walked all the way. We survived. I carried my sons most of the way and now my sons are sixteen and fourteen and we have two daughters and they all eat rice once a day and this year will be my lucky year. Yes. I'll win the quinella or the daily double and one day we'll go home to my village and I'll take our lands back and plant them again and Chairman Mao will welcome us home and let us take our lands back and we'll live so happily, so rich and so happya He was out of the building now, in the night, standing beside the truck. Other hands lifted the sack and stacked it with all the other sacks of gold, more clerks checking and rechecking the numbers. There were two trucks in the side street. One was already filled and waiting under its guards. A single unarmed policeman was watching idly as the traffic passed. The night was warm.

The old man turned to go. Then he noticed the three Europeans, two men and a woman, approaching. They stopped near the far truck, watching him. His mouth dropped open.

"Dew neh lob mohl Look at that whore the monster with the straw hair," he said to no one in particular.

"Unbelievable!" another replied.

"Yes," he said.

"It's revolting the way their whores dress in public, isn't it?" a wizened old loader said disgustedly. "Flaunting their loins with those tight trousers. You can see every fornicating wrinkle in her lower lips."

"I'll bet you could put your whole fist and whole arm in it and never reach bottom!" another said with a laugh.

"Who'd want to?" Nine Carat Chu asked and hawked loudly and spat and let his mind drift pleasantly to Saturday as he went below again.

"I wish they wouldn't spit like that. It's disgusting!" Casey said queasily.

"It's an old Chinese custom," Dunross said. "They believe there's an evil god-spirit in your throat which you've got to get rid of constantly or it will choke you. Of course spitting's against the law but that's meaningless to them."

"What'd that old man say?" Casey asked, watching him plod back into the side door of the bank, now over her anger and very glad to be going to dinner with them both.

"I don't know I didn't understand his dialect."

"I'll bet it wasn't a compliment."

Dunross laughed. "You'd win that one, Casey. They don't think much of us at all."

"That old man must be eighty if he's a day and he's carried his load as though it was a feather. How'd they stay so fit?"

Dunross shrugged and said nothing. He knew.

Another coolie heaved his burden into the truck, stared at her, hawked, spat and plodded away again. "Up yours too," Casey muttered and then parodied an awful hawk and a twenty-foot spit and they laughed with her. The Chinese just stared.

"Ian, what's this all about? Whattre we here for?" Bartlett asked.

"I thought you might like to see fifty tons of gold."

Casey gasped. "Those sacks're filled with golds"

"Yes. Come along." Dunross led the way down the dingy stairs into the gold vault. The bank officials greeted him politely and the unarmed guards and loaders stared. Both Americans felt disquieted under the stares. But their disquiet was swamped by the gold. Neat stacks of gold bars on the steel shelves that surrounded them ten to a layer, each stack ten layers high.

"Can I pick one up?" Casey asked.

"Help yourself," Dunross told them, watching them, trying to test the extent of their greed. I'm gambling for high stakes, he thought again. I have to know the measure of these two.

Casey~had never touched so much gold in her life. Nor had Bartlett. Their fingers trembled. She caressed one of the little bars, her eyes wide, before she lifted it. "It's so heavy for its size," she muttered.

"These're called smuggler bars because they're easy to hide and to transport," Dunross said, choosing his words deliberately. "Smugglers wear a sort of canvas waistcoat with little pockets in it that hold the bars snugly. They say a good courier can carry as much as eighty pounds a trip that's almost 1,300 ounces. Of course they have to be fit and well trained."

Bartlett was hefting two in each hand, fascinated by them. "How many make up eighty pounds?"

"About two hundred, give or take a little."

Casey looked at him, her hazel eyes bigger than usual. "Are these yours, tai-pan?"

"Good God, not They belong to a Macao company. They're shifting it from here to the Victoria Bank. Americans or English aren't allowed by law to own even one of these. But I thought you might be interested because it's not often you see fifty tons all in one place."

"I never realized what Neal money was like before," Casey said. "Now I can understand why my dad's and uncle's eyes used to light up when they talked about gold."

Dunross was watching her. He could see no greed in her. Just wonder.

"Do banks make many shipments like this?" Bartlett asked, his voice throaty.