"Nor have you. You've done well for yourself." Marlowe added to the others, "We were in the war together. I haven't seen Grey since '45."

'We were POWs, Marlowe and I," Grey said, then added, "We're on opposite sides of the political blanket." He stopped and stepped out of the way to allow Orlanda Ramos to pass. She greeted Shi-teh with a smile and continued on. Grey watched her briefly, then turned back. "Marlowe old chap, are you still in trade?" It was a private English insult. "Trade" to someone like Marlowe who came from a long line of English officers meant everything common and lower class.

"I'm a writer," Marlowe said. His eyes went to his wife and his eyes smiled at her.

"I thought you'd still be in the RAF, regular officer like your illustrious forebears."

"I was invalided out, malaria and all that. Rather boring," Marlowe said, deliberately lengthening his patrician accent knowing that it would infuriate Grey. "And you're in Parliament? How very clever of you. You represent Streatham East? Wasn't that where you were born?"

Grey flushed. "Yes, yes it wasa"

Shi-teh covered his embarrassment at the undercurrents between them. "I must, er, see about dinner." He hurried off. The other Chinese excused themselves and turned away.

Fleur Marlowe fanned herself. "Perhaps we should find our table, Peter," she said.

"A good idea, Mrs. Marlowe," Grey said. He was in as tight control as Peter Marlowe. "How's the King?"

"I don't know. I haven't seen him since Changi." Marlowe looked down on Grey.

"But you're in touch with him?"

"No. No, actually I'm not."

"You don't know where he is?"

"No."

"That's strange, seeing how close you two were." Grey ripped his eyes away and glanced at Fleur Marlowe and thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. So pretty and fine and English and fair, just like his ex-wife Trina who went off with an American barely a month after he was reported missing in action. Barely a month. "Did you know we were enemies in Changi, Mrs. Marlowe?" he said with a gentleness that she found frightening.

"Peter's never discussed Changi with me, Mr. Grey. Or anyone that I know of."

"Curious. It was an awesome experience, Mrs. Marlowe. I've forgotten none of it. Ia well, sorry to interrupta" He glanced up at Marlowe. He began to say something but changed his mind and turned away.

"Oh, Peter, what an awful man!" Fleur said. "He gave me the creeps."

"Nothing to bother about, my darling."

"Why were you enemies?"

"Not now, my pet, later." Marlowe smiled at her, loving her. "Grey's nothing to us."

36 - 9:45 P.M.:.

Linc Bartlett saw Orlanda before she saw him and she took his breath away. He couldn't help comparing her with Casey who was beside him talking to Andrew Gavallan. Orlanda was wearing white silk, floor-length, backless with a halter neck that, discreetly, somehow, seemed to offer her golden body. Casey wore her green that he had seen many times, her tawny hair cascading.

"Would you both like to come to Shi-teh's tonight?" Orlanda had asked him this morning. "It could be important for you and your Casey to be there."

"Why?"

"Because almost all business that counts in Hong Kong is done at this type of function, Mr. Bartlett. It could be very important for you to become involved with people like Shi-teh and in the Turf Club, Cricket Club, even the Club itself, though that'd be impossible."

"Because I'm American?"

"Because someone has to die to create an opening an English or Scotsman." She had laughed. "The waiting list's as long as Queen's Road! It's men only, very stuffy, old leather chairs, old men sleeping off their three-hour and ten-gin lunches, The Times and all that."

"Hell, that sounds exciting!"

She had laughed again. Her teeth were white and he could see no blemish in her. They had talked over breakfast and he had found her more than easy to talk to. And to be with. Her perfume was enticing. Casey rarely wore perfume she said that she'd found it just another distraction to the businessmen she had to deal with. With Orlanda, breakfast had been coffee and toast and eggs and crisp bacon, American style, at a brand-new hotel she suggested called the Mandarin. Casey didn't eat breakfast. Just coffee and toast sometimes, or croissants.

The interview had passed easily and the time too fast. He had never been in the company of a woman with such open and confi- dent femininity. Casey was always so strong, efficient and cool and not feminine. By choice, her choice and my agreement, he reminded himself.

"That's Orlanda?" Casey was looking at him, one eyebrow arched.

"Yes," he replied, trying unsuccessfully to read her. "What do you think?"

"I think she's dynamite."

"Which way?"

Casey laughed. She turned to Gavallan who was trying to concentrate and be polite but whose mind was taken up with Kathy. After Kathy had told him this evening, he had not wanted to leave her but she had insisted, saying that it was important for him to be there. "Do you know her, Andrew?"

"Who?"

"The girl in white."

"Where? Oh! Oh yes, but only by reputation."

"Is it good or bad?"

"That, er, depends on your point of view, Casey. She's, she's Portuguese, Eurasian, of course. Orlanda was Gornt's friend for quite a few years."

"You mean his mistress?"

"Yes, I suppose that's the word," he told her politely, disliking Casey's directness intensely. "But it was all very discreet."

"Gornt's got taste. Did you know she was his steady, Linc?"

"She told me this morning. I met her at Gornt's a couple of days ago. He said they were still friends."

"Gornt's not to be trusted," Gavallan said.

Casey said, "He's got heavy backers, in and outside Hong Kong, I was told. Far as I know he's not stretched at the moment, as you are. You must have heard he wants us to deal with him, not you."

~ "We're not stretched," Gavallan said. He looked at Bartlett. "We do have a deal?"

"We sign Tuesday. If you're ready," Bartlett said.

"We're ready now."

"Ian wants us to keep it quiet till Saturday and that's fine with us," Casey said. "Isn't it, Linc?"

"Sure." Bartlett glanced back at Orlanda. Casey followed his eyes.

She had noticed her the first moment the girl had hesitated in the doorway. "Who's she talking to, Andrew?" The man was interesting-looking, lithe, elegant and in his fifties.

"That's LandoMata. He's also Portuguese, from Macao." Gavallan wondered achingly if Dunross would manage to persuade Mata to come to their rescue with all his millions. What would I do if I was tai-pan? he asked himself wearily. Would I buy tomorrow, or make a deal with Mata and Tightfist tonight? With their money, the Noble House would be safe for generations, though out of our control. No point in worrying now. Wait till you're tai-pan. Then he saw Mata smiling at Orlanda and then both of them looked over and began to thread their way toward them. His eyes watched her firm breasts, free under the silk. Taut nipples. Good God, he thought, awed, even Venus Poon wouldn't dare do that. When they came up he introduced them and stood back, odd man out, wanting to watch them.

"Hello," Orlanda said warmly to Casey. "Line told me so much about you and how important you are to him."

"And I've heard about you too," Casey said as warmly. But not enough. You're much more lovely than Linc indicated, she thought. Very much more. So you're Orlanda Ramos. Beautiful and softspoken and feminine and a bitch piranha who has set her sights on my Linc. Jesus, what do I do now?

She heard herself making small talk but her mind was still thinking Orlanda Ramos through. On the one hand it would be good for Linc to have an affair, she thought. It would take the heat out of him. Last night was as lousy for him as it was for me. He was right about me moving out. But once this one's magic surrounds him could I extract him? Would she be just another girl like the others that were nothing to me and after a week or so, nothing to him either?

Not this one, Casey decided with finality. I've got two choices. I either stick to thirteen weeks and four days and do battle, or don't and do battle.

She smiled. "Orlanda, your dress is fantastic."

"Thanks. May I call you Casey?"

Both women knew the war had begun.

Bartlett was delighted that Casey obviously liked Orlanda. Gavallan watched, fascinated by the four of them. There was a strange warmth among them all. Particularly between Bartlett and Orlanda.

He turned his attention to Mata and Casey. Mata was suave, filled with old world charm, concentrating on Casey; playing her like a fish. I wonder how far he'll get with this one. Curious that Casey doesn't seem to mind Orlanda at all. Surely she's noticed that her boyfriend's smitten? Perhaps she hasn't. Or perhaps she couldn't care less and she and Bartlett are just business partners and nothing else. Perhaps she's a dyke after all. Or maybe she's just frigid like a lot of them. How sad!

"How do you like Hong Kong, Miss Casey?" Mata asked, wondering what she would be like in bed.

"Afraid I haven't seen much of it yet though I did go out to the New Territories on the hotel tour and peek into China."

"Would you like to go? I mean really go into China? Say to Canton? I could arrange for you to be invited."

She was shocked. "But we're forbidden to go into Chinaa our passports aren't valid."

"Oh, you wouldn't have to use your passport. The PRC doesn't bother with passports. So few quad lob go into China there's no problem. They give you a written visa and they stamp that."

"But our State Departmenta I don't think I'd risk it right now."

Bartlett nodded. "We're not even supposed to go into the Com- munist store here. The department store."

"Yes, your government really is very strange," Mata said. "As if going into a store is subversive! Did you hear the rumor about the Hilton?"

"What about it?"

"The story is that they bought a marvelous collection of Chinese antiques for the new hotel, of course all locally." Mata smiled. "It seems that now the U.S. has decided they can't use any of it, even here in Hong Kong. It's all in storage. At least that's the story."

"It figures. If you can't make it in the States, you join the government," Bartlett said sourly.

"Casey, you should decide for yourself," Mata said. "Visit the store. It's called China Arts and Crafts on Queen's Road. The prices are very reasonable and the Communists really don't have horns and barbed tails."

"It's nothing like what I expected," Bartlett said. "Caseyj you'd freak out at some of the things."

"You've been?" she asked, surprised.

"Sure."

"I took Mr. Bartlett this morning," Orlanda explained. "We happened to be passing. I'd be glad to go shopping with you if you wish."

"Thanks, I'd like that," Casey said as nicely, all her danger signals up. "But we were told in L.A. the CIA monitors Americans who go in and out because they're sure it's a Communist meeting place."

"It looked like an ordinary store to me, Casey," Bartlett said. "I didn't see anything except a few posters of Mao. You can't bargain though. All pricestre written out. Some of the biggest bargains you ever did see. Pity we can't take them back home." There was a total embargo on all goods of Chinese origin into the States, even antiques that had been in Hong Kong a hundred years.

"That's no problem," Mata said at once, wondering how much he would make as a middleman. "If there's anything you want I'd be happy to purchase it."

"But we still can't get it into the States, Mr. Mata," Casey said.

"Oh that's easy too. I do it for American friends all the time. I just send their purchases to a company I have in Singapore or Manila. For a tiny fee they send it to you in the States with a certificate of origin, Malaya or the Philippines, whichever you'd prefer."

"But that'd be cheating. Smuggling."

Mata, Gavallan and Orlanda laughed outright and Gavallan said, "Trade's the grease of the world. Embargoed goods from the U.S. or Taiwan find their way to the PRC, PRC goods go to Taiwan and the U.S. if they're sought after. Of course they do!"

"I know," Casey said, "but I don't think that's right."

"Soviet Russia's committed to your destruction but you still trade with her," Gavallan said to Bartlett.

"We don't ourselves," Casey said. "Not Par-Con, though we've been approached to sell computers. Much as we like profits they're a no-no. The government does, but only on very carefully controlled goods. Wheat, things like that."

"Wherever there's a willing buyer of anything, there'll always be a seller," Gavallan said, irritated by her. He glanced out of the windows and wished he was back in Shanghai. "Take Vietnam, your Algiers."

"Sir?" Casey said.

Gavallan glanced back at her. "I mean that Vietnam will bleed your economy to death as it did to France and as Algiers also did to France."

"We'll never go into Vietnam," Bartlett said confidently. "Why should we? Vietnam's nothing to do with us."

"I agree," Mata said, "but nevertheless the States is having a growing involvement there. In fact, Mr. Bartlett, I think you're being sucked into the abyss."

"In what way?" Casey asked.

"I think the Soviets have deliberately enticed you into Vietnam. You'll send in troops but they won't. You'll be fighting Viets and the jungle, and the Soviets will be the winners. Your CIA's already there in strength. They're running an airline. Even now airfields are being constructed with U.S. money, U.S. arms are pouring in. You've soldiers fighting there already."

"I don't believe it," Casey said.

"You can. They're called Special Forces, sometimes Delta Force. So sorry but Vietnam's going to be a big problem for your government unless it's very smart."