"I feel rotten." Armstrong hesitated. "I sent for a couple of beers, then we'll have lunch. How about a curry? All right?"

"Fine, but if you're feeling rotten let's skip lunch."

"No, it's not that sort of rotten. Ia I just hate doing white interrogationsa gives me the creeps."

Brian Kwok stared at him. "You did the old amah there? What the hell for?"

"It was Crosse's order. He's a bastard!"

Brian Kwok put his paper down. "Yes he is, and I'm sure I'm right about him," he said softly.

"Not now, Brian, over lunch maybe but not now. Christ, I need a drink! Bloody Crosse, and bloody SI! I'm not SI and yet he acts like I'm one of his."

"Oh? But you're coming on the 16/2 this evening. I thought you'd been seconded."

"He didn't mention it. What's on?"

"If he didn't mention it, I'd better not."

"Of course." It was normal SI procedure, for security, to minimize the spread of information so that even highly trustworthy agents working on the same case might not be given all the facts. "I'm bloody not going to be seconded," Armstrong said grimly, knowing that if Crosse ordered it there was nothing he could do to prevent it. "Is the intercept to do with Sevrin?"

"I don't know. I hope so." Brian Kwok studied him then smiled. "Cheer up, Robert, I've some good news for you," he said and Armstrong noticed again how handsome his friend was, strong white teeth, golden skin, firm jaw, dancing eyes with that devil-maycare confidence about him.

"You're a good-looking sod," he said. "What good news? You leaned on friend One Foot at the Para Restaurant and he's given you the first four winners for Saturday?"

"Dreamer! No, it's about those files you snatched yesterday at Bucktooth Lo's and passed over to Anti-Corruption. Remember? From Photographer Ng?"

"Oh? Oh yes."

"It seems our fair-weather American-Chinese guest, Thomas K. K. Lim, who's'somewhere in Brazil,' is quite a character. His files were golden. Very golden indeed! And in English, so our AntiCorruption fellows went through them like a dose of salts. You came up with treasure!"

"He's connected with Tsu-yan?" Armstrong asked, his mind diverted immediately.

"Yes. And a lot of other people. Very important people, ve"

"Banastasio?"

Brian Kwok smiled with his mouth. "Vincenzo Banastasio himself That ties John Chen, the guns, Tsu-yan, Banastasio and Peter Marlowe's theory nicely."

"Bartlett?"

"Not yet. But Marlowe knows someone who knows too much that we don't know. I think we should investigate him. Will you?"

"Oh yes. What else about the papers?"

"Thomas K. K. Lim's a Catholic, a third-generation American- Chinese who's a magpie. He collects all sorts of inflammatory correspondence, letters, notes, memos, etcetera." Brian Kwok smiled his humorless smile again. "Our Yankee friends are worse than we thought."

"For instance?"

"For instance, a certain well-known, well-connected New England family's involved with certain generals, U.S. and Vietnamese, in building several very large, very unnecessary U.S.A.F. bases in Vietnam very profitably for them."

"Hallelujah! Names?"

"Names, ranks and serial numbers. If the principals knew friend Thomas had it documented, it would send a shudder of horror down the Hallowed Halls of Fame, the Pentagon and various expensive smoke-filled rooms."

Armstrong grunted. "He's the middle man?"

"Entrepreneur he calls himself. Oh he's on very good terms with lots of notables. American, Italian, Vietnamese, Chinese, both sides of the fence. The papers document the whole fraud. Another scheme's to channel millions of U.S. funds into another phony Vietnam aid program. 8 million to be exact one is already paid over to them. Friend Lim even discussed how the one million h 'Bung yau's to be diverted to Switzerland."

"Could we make it stick?"

"Oh yes, if we catch Thomas K. K. Lim and if we wanted to make it stick. I asked Crosse but he just shrugged and said it wasn't our affair, that if Yanks wanted to cheat their government, that's up to them." Brian Kwok smiled but his eyes didn't. "It's powerful info, Robert. If even part became common knowledge it'd create one helluva stinky stink right up to the top."

"Is he going to pass it on to Rosemont? Leak it?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. In one way he's right. It's nothing to do with us. Bloody stupid to put it all down! Stupid! They deserve to get chopped! When you've a minute read the papers, they're juicy."

"Any connection between Lim and those other villains? Bucktooth Lo and the other man? Are they stealing CARE funds?"

"Oh yes, must be, but all their files're in Chinese so it'll take longer to pin them." Brian Kwok added strangely, "Curious that Crosse sniffed that one out, almost as though he knew there'd be a connection." He dropped his voice. "I know I'm right about him."

The silence gathered. Armstrong's mouth felt parched and tasted bad. He pried his eyes off the rain and looked at Brian Kwok.

"What've you got?"

"You know that vice-consul in the U.S. Consulate the home, the one who's selling visas?"

"What about him?"

"Last month Crosse had dinner with him. In his flat."

Armstrong rubbed his face nervously. "That proves nothing. Listen, tomorrow, tomorrow we get the files. Tomorrow Sind"

"Perhaps we won't get to read them."

"Personally I don't give a shit. That's SI business and I'm CID and that's wh"

A knock stopped him. The door opened. A Chinese waiter came in with a tray and two tankards of cold beer and beamed toothily. ''Afternoon, sah," he said, offering one to Brian Kwok. He gave the other to Armstrong and went out.

"Good luck," Armstrong said, hating himself He drank deeply then went to his safe to lock the tape away.

Brian Kwok studied him. "You sure you're all right, old chum?"

"Yes, yes of course."

"What did the old woman say?"

"In the beginning she told lots of lies, lots of them. And then the truth. All of it. I'll tell you over lunch, Brian. You know how it is you catch the lies eventually, if you're patient. I'm fed up with lies." Armstrong finished his beer. "Christ, I needed that."

"Do you want mine too? Here."

"No, no thanks, but it's me for a whiskey and soda before curry and maybe another one. Drink up and let's get the show on the road."

Brian Kwok put his half-empty tankard down. "That's enough for me." He lit a cigarette. "How's the nonsmoking going?"

"Rough." Armstrong watched him inhale deeply. "Anything on Voranski? Or his assassins?"

"They vanished into thin air. We've got their photos so we'll catch them, unless they're over the border."

"Or in Taiwan."

After a pause, Brian Kwok nodded. "Or Macao or North Korea, Vietnam or wherever. The minister's hopping mad with Crosse over Voranski, so's MI-6, so's the ClA. The CIA top echelon in London have been chewing the minister's tail so he's passing it on. We'd better get those buggers before Rosemont or we'll lose all face. Rosemont's under fire too to come up with their heads. I hear he's got every man out looking, thinking it's to do with Sevrin, and the carrier. He's petrified there's going to be an incident involving the nuclear carrier." Brian Kwok added, his voice hardening, "Bloody stupid to offend the PRC by bringing her here. That monster's an open invitation to every agent in Asia."

"If I was Soviet I'd try to infiltrate her. SI's probably trying right now. Crosse'd love to have a plant aboard. Why not?" The big man watched the smoke curling. "If I was Nationalist perhaps I'd plant a few mines and blame the PRC or vice versa and blame Chiang Kai-shek."

"That's what the CIA'd do to get everyone hopping mad at China."

"Come off it, Briant"

Brian Kwok took a last sip then got up. "That's enough for me. Come on."

"Just a moment." Armstrong dialed. "This's Armstrong, set up another session at 1700 hours for V- 1 1-3. I'll wanta" He stopped, seeing his friend's eyes flutter, then glaze and he caught him easily as he fell and let him slump back in the chair. Out of himself, almost watching himself, he put the phone back on its cradle. Now there was nothing for him to do but wait.

I've done my job, he thought.

The door opened. Crosse came in. Behind him were three plain- clothed SI agents, all British, all senior agents, all taut-faced and tense. Quickly one of the men put a thick black hood over Brian Kwok's head, picked him up easily and went out, the others following.

Now that it was done Robert Armstrong felt nothing, no remorse or shock or anger. Nothing. His head told him that there was no mistake though his head still told him equally that his friend of almost twenty years could not possibly be a Communist mole. But he was. The proof was irrefutable. The evidence he had found proved conclusively that Brian Kwok was the son of Fang-ling Wu, Ah Tam's old employer, when according to his birth certificate and personal records his mother and father were supposed to have been surnamed Kwok and murdered by Communists in Canton in '43. One of the photographs had showed Brian Kwok standing beside a tiny Chinese lady in front of a pharmacy at a crossroads in a village. The quality was poor but more than good enough to read the characters of the shop sign and to recognize a face, his face. In the background was an ancient car. Behind it stood a European, his face half turned away. Spectacles Wu had identified the store as the pharmacy at the crossroads in Ning-tok, the property of the Toklini Wu family. Ah Tam had identified the woman as her mistress.

"And the man? Who's the man standing beside her?"

"Oh that's her son, Lord. I've told you. He's Second Son Chu-toy. Now he lives with the foreign devils across the sea in the north, the north of the Land of the Golden Mountains," the old woman had whimpered from the white room.

"You're lying again."

"Oh no, Lord, he's her son, Chu-toy. He's her Second Son and he was born in Ning-tok and I helped deliver him with my own hands. He was Mother's second born who went away as a childa"

"He went away? He went where?"

"Toa to the Rain Country, then to the Golden Mountains. Now he has a restaurant and two sonsa He's a businessman there and he came to see Fathera Father was dying then and he came as a dutiful son should come but then he went away and Mother wept and wepta"

"How often did he visit his parents?"

"Oh, it was only once, Lord, only that once. Now he lives so far away, in such a far place, such a far place but he came as a dutiful son should and then he left. It was just by chance I saw him, Lord. Mother had sent me to visit some relations in the next village but I was lonely and I came back early and saw hima It was just before he left. The young Master left in a foreign devil cara"

"Where did he get the motorcar? It was his?"

"I don't know, Lord. There was no car in Ning-tok. Even the village committee did not possess one, even Father who was the pharmacist in our village. Poor Father who died in such pain. He was a member of the committeea They left us alone, Chairman Mao's people, the Outsidersa Yes they did because though Father was an intellectual and pharmacist he was always a secret Mao supporter though I never knew, Lord, I swear I never knew. Chairman Mao's people left us alone, Lord."

"What was his name, the son of your Mistress? The man in the photo?" he had repeated, trying to shake her.

"Chu-toy Wu, Lord, he was her second borna I remember when he was sent from Ning-tok toa to this foul place, this Fragrant Harbor. He was five or six and he was sent to an uncle here and"

"What was the uncle's name?"

"I don't know, Lord, I was never told, I only remember Mother weeping and weeping when Father sent him away to schoola Can I go home please now, I'm tired, pleasea"

"When you tell us what we want to know. If you tell us the truth."

"Oh I tell you the truth, anything anythinga"

"He was sent to school in Hong Kong? Where?"

"I don't know, Lord, my Mistress never said, only to school and then she put him out of her mind and so did I, oh yes, it was better, because he was gone forever, you know always second sons must leavea"

"When did Chu-toy Wu return to Ning-tok?"

"It was some years ago when Father was dying. He only returned that once, it was only once, Lord, don't you remember me saying, I remember saying that. Yes it was the once of the photo. Mother insisted on the photo and wept and begged him to have one taken with hera Surely she felt the hand of death on her now that Father had gone and she was truly alonea Oh she wept and wept so Chu-toy let her have her way as a dutiful son should and my Mistress was so pleaseda"

"And the barbarian in the photo, who is he?" The man was half turned around, in the background, not easy to recognize if you did not know him, standing beside the car that was parked beside the pharmacy. He was a tall man, European, crumpled clothes and nondescript.

"I don't know, Lord. He was the driver and he drove Chu-toy away but the committee of the village and Chu-toy himself bowed many times to him and it was said he was very important. He was the first foreign devil I had ever seen, Lorda"

"And the people in the other photograph? Whotre they?" This photograph was ancient, almost sepia and showed a self-conscious couple in ill-fitting wedding clothes staring bleakly at the camera.

"Oh of course they're Father and Mother, Lord. Don't you re- member me saying that? I told you many times. That's Mother and Father. His name was Ting-top Wu and his tai-tai my Mistress was Fang-linga"

"And the cutting?"

"I don't know, Lord, it was just stuck to the photo so I left it there. Mother had stuck it there so I left it. What should I want with foreign devil nonsense or writinga"

Robert Armstrong sighed. The yellowed clipping was from a Chinese newspaper of Hong Kong, dated July 16, 1937, that told of three Chinese youths who had done so well in their term examinations that they had been granted scholarships by the Hong Kong Government to an English public school. Kar-shun Kwok was the first named. Kar-shun was Brian Kwok's formal Chinese name.

"You did very well, Robert," Crosse said, watching him.

"Did I?" he replied through the fog of his misery.

"Yes, very well. You came to me at once with the evidence you've followed instructions perfectly and now our mole is safely asleep." Crosse lit a cigarette and sat at the desk. "I'm glad you drank the right beer. Did he suspect anything?"

"No. No I don't think so." Armstrong tried to get a hold on himself. "Would you excuse me, sir, please. I feel filthy. I'vea I've got to get a shower. Sorry."

"Sit down a minute, please. Yes, you must be tired. Very tiring, these sort of things."

Christ, Armstrong wanted to shout in anguish, it's all impossible! Impossible for Brian to be a deep-cover agent but it all fits. Why else would he have a completely different name, different birth certificate? Why else such a carefully constructed cover story that his parents were killed in Canton during the war, murdered by Communists? Why else would he risk sneaking secretly back to Ning-tok, risking everything so carefully constructed over thirty years unless his own father was really dying? And if those facts are true then others automatically follow: That he must have been in continual contact with the Mainland to know about his father's approaching death, that as a superintendent of H.K. Police he must be totally persona grata with the PRC to be allowed in secretly and allowed out secretly again. And if he was persona grata then he must be one of them, groomed over the years, nurtured over the years. "Christ," he muttered, "he'd've become assistant commissioner easily, perhaps even commissionera!"

"What do you suggest now, Robert?" Crosse asked, his voice soft.

Armstrong tore his mind into the present, his training overcoming his anguish. "Check backwards. We'll find the link. Yes. His father was a tiny Commie cog but a Ning-tok cog nonetheless, so the Hong Kong relation he was sent to would be also. They'dtve kept a tight rein on Brian in England, in Canada, here, wherever so easy to do that, so easy to feed a hatred for quad lobs, so easy for a Chinese to hide such a hatred. Aren't they the most patient and secretive people on earth? Yes, you check back and eventually you find the link and find the truth."