He heard the hesitancy, then his son said in a run, trying to sound manly, "Is it all right for a fellow to have a girl friend a little older than himself?"

Dunross smiled gently and started to dismiss the thought as his son was only just fifteen, but then he remembered Elegant Jade when he himself was not quite fifteen, surely more of a man than Duncan. Not necessarily, he thought honestly. Duncan's tall and growing and just as much a man. And didn't I love her to madness that year and the next year and didn't I almost die the next year when she vanished? "Well," he said as an equal, "it really depends on who the girl is, how old the man is and how old the girl is."

"Oh." There was a long pause. "She's eighteen."

Dunross was greatly relieved. That means she's old enough to know better, he thought. "I'd say that would be perfect," he told Duncan in the same voice, "particularly if the fellow was about sixteen, tall, strong and knew the facts of life."

"Oh. Oh I didn'ta oh! I wouldn'ta"

"I wasn't being critical, laddie, just answering your question. A man has to be careful in this world, and girl friends should be chosen carefully. Where did you meet her?"

"She was on the station. Her name's Sheila."

Duncan suppressed a smile. Girls in Australia were referred to as sheilas just as in England they were called birds. "That's a nice name," he said. "Sheila what?"

"Sheila Scragger. She's a niece of old Mr. Tom and she's on a visit from England. She's training to be a nurse at Guy's Hospital. She was ever so super to me and Paldoon's super too. I really can't thank you enough for arranging such a super holiday." Paldoon, the Scragger ranch, or station as it was called in Australia, was the only property they had managed to save from the crash. Paldoon was five hundred miles southwest of Sydney near the Murray River in Australia's rice lands, sixty thousand acres thirty thousand head of sheep, two thousand acres of wheat and a thousand head of cattle and the greatest place for a youth to holiday, working all day from dawn to dusk, mustering the sheep or cattle on horseback, galloping twenty miles in any direction and still on your own property.

"Give Tom Scragger my regards and make sure you send him a bottle of whiskey before you leave."

"Oh I sent him a case, is that all right?"

Dunross laughed. "Well laddie, a bottle would have done just as well, but a case is perfect. Call me if there's any change in your flight. You did very well to get it organized yourself, very good. Oh by the way, Mama and Glenna went to London today, with Aunt Kathy, so you'll have to go back to school alone an"

"Oh jolly good, Father," his son said happily. "After all, I'm a man now and almost at university!"

"Yes, yes you are." A small sweet sadness touched Dunross as he sat in his high chair, AMG's letter in his hand but forgotten. "Are you all right for money?"

"Oh yes. I hardly spent anything on the station except for a beer or two. Father, don't tell Mother about my girl."

"All right. Or Adryon," he said and at once his chest tightened at the thought of Martin Haply together with Adryon and how they went off hand-in-hand. "You should tell Adryon yourself"

"Oh super, I'd forgotten her. How is she?"

"She's in good shape," Dunross said, ordering himself to be adult, wise, and not to worry and it was all quite normal for boys and girls to be boys and girls. Yes, but Christ it's difficult if you're the father. "Well, Duncan, see you Monday! Thanks for calling."

"Oh yes, and Father, Sheila drove me up to Sydney. Shea she's staying the weekend with friends and going to see me off! Tonight we're going to a movie, Lawrence of Arabia, have you seen it?"

"Yes, it's just come to Hong Kong, you'll enjoy that."

"Oh super! Well, good-bye, Father, have to runa love you!"

"Love you," he said but the connection was already dead.

How lucky I am with my family, my wife and kids, Dunross thought, and at once added, Please God let nothing happen to them!

With an effort he looked back at the letter. It's impossible for Jason Plumm or Jacques to be Communist spies, he told himself. Nothing they've ever said or done would indicate that. Lionel Tuke? No, not him either. I only know him casually. He's an ugly, unpopular fellow who keeps to himself but he's on the cricket team, a member of the Turf Club and he's been out here since the thirties.

Wasn't he even interned at Stanley between '42 and '45? Maybe him, but the other two? Impossible!

I'm sorry AMG's dead. I'd call him right now about Jacques anda First finish the letter, then consider the parts, he ordered himself. Be correct, be efficient. Good God! Duncan and an eighteen-yearold Sheila! Thank God it wasn't Tom Scragger's youngest. How old is Priscilla now? Fourteen, pretty, built much older. Girls seem to mature early Down Under.

He exhaled. I wonder if I should do for Duncan what Chen-chen did for me.

The letter continued, "a As I've said, I'm not completely sure but my source is usually impeccable.

"I'm sorry to say the espionage war has hatted up since we uncovered and caught the spies Blake, Vassal the Admiralty ci- pher clerk and Philby, Burgess and Maclean all defected. They've all been seen in Moscow by the way. Expect spying to increase radically in Asia. (We were able to peg First Secretary Skripov of the Soviet Embassy in Canberra, Australia, and order him out of the country in February. This broke his Australian ring which was, I believe, tied to your Sevrin and further involved in Borneo and Indonesia.) "The free world is abundantly infiltrated now. MI-5 and MI-6 are tainted. Even the CIA. While we've been naive and trusting, our opponents realized early that the future balance would depend on economic power as well as military power, and so they set out to acquire steal our industrial secrets.

"Curiously our free-world media fail dismally to point out that all Soviet advances are based originally on one of our stolen inventions or techniques, that without our grain they starve, and without our vast and ever-growing financial assistance and credits to buy our grains and technology they cannot fuel and refuel their whole military-industrial infrastructure which keeps their empire and people enthralled.

"I recommend you use your contacts in China to cement them to you further. The Soviets increasingly view China as their number one enemy. Equally strangely, they no longer seem to have that paranoiac fear of the U.S. which is, without doubt, now the strongest military and economic power in the world. China, which is economically and militarily weak, except in numbers of available soldiers, really presents no military threat to them. Even so China petrifies them.

"One reason is the five thousand miles of border they share. Another is national guilt over the vast areas of historic Chinese territory Soviet Russia has swallowed over the centuries; another is the knowledge that the Chinese are a patient people with long memories. One day the Chinese will take back their lands. They have always taken back their lands when it was militarily feasible to do so. I've pointed out many times that the cornerstone of Soviet (Imperialist) politics is to isolate and fragment China to keep her weak. Their great bugaboo is a tripartite alliance between China, Japan and the U.S. Your Noble House should work to promote that. (Also a Common Market among the U.S., Mexico and Canada, totally essential, in my opinion, to a stable American continent.) Where else but through Hong Kong and therefore your hands will all the inward wealth to China go?

"Last, back to Sevrin: I have taken a major risk and approached our most priceless asset in the inner core of the KGB's ultra-secret Department 5. I have just heard back today that the identity of Arthur, Sevrin's leader, is Classification One, beyond even his grasp. The only clue he could give was that the man was English and one of his initials is R. Not much to go on I'm afraid.

"I look forward to seeing you. Remember, my papers must never pass into the hands of anyone else. Regards, AMG."

Dunross committed the Geneva phone number to memory, encoded it in his address book and lit a match. He watched the airmail paper curl and begin to burn.

R. Robert Ralph Richard Robin Rod Roy Rex Rupert Red Rodney and always back to Roger. And Robert. Robert Armstrong or Roger Crosse or or who?

Holy Christ, Dunross thought, feeling weak.

"Geneva 871-65-65, station to station," he said into his private phone. Tiredness engulfed him. His sleep last night had been disturbed, his dreams dragging him back to war, back to his flaming cockpit, the smell of burning in his nostrils, then waking, chilled, listening to the rain, soon to get up silently, Penn sleeping soundly, the Great House quiet except for old Ah Tat who,- as always, had his tea made. Then to the track and chased all day, his enemies closing in and nothing but bad news. Poor old John Chen, he thought, then made the effort to push his weariness away. Perhaps I can kipfor an hour between five and six. I'll need all my wits tonight.

The operator made the connections and he heard the number nngmg.

"Jal" the gentle voice said.

"Hier ist Herr Dunross im Hong Kong. Frau Gresserhoff bitte, " he said in good German.

"Oh!" There was a long pause. "Ich bin Frau Gresserhoff. Tai- pan?"

"Ah so desu! Ohayo gozaimasu. Anata wa Anjin Riko-san?" he asked, his Japanese accent excellent. Good morning. Your name is also Riko Anjin?

"Hai. Hai, dozo. Ah, nihongo wa jetzu desu. " Yes. Oh you speak Japanese very well.

"Iye, sukoshi, "omen nasal. " No, sorry, only a little. As part of his training, he had spent two years in their Tokyo office. "Ah, so sorry," he continued in Japanese, "but I'm calling about Mr. Gresserhoff. Have you heard?"

"Yes." He could hear the sadness. "Yes. I heard on Monday."

"I've just received a letter from him. He said you have some, some things for me?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, tai-pan. Yes I have."

"Would it be possible for you to bring them here? So sorry, but I cannot come to you."

"Yes. Yes of course," she said hesitantly, her Japanese soft and pleasing. "When should I come?"

"As soon as possible. If you go to our office on Avenue Bern in a couple of hours, say at noon, there will be tickets and money for you. I believe there's a Swissair connection that leaves this afternoon if that were possible."

Again the hesitation. He waited patiently. AMG's letter writhed in the ashtray as it burned. "Yes," she said. "That would be possible."

"I'll make all the arrangements for you. Would you like someone to travel with you?"

"No, no thank you," she said, her voice so quiet that he had to cup one hand over his ear to hear better. "Please excuse me for causing all this trouble. I can make the arrangements."

"Truly, it's no trouble," he said, pleased that his Japanese was flowing and colloquial. "Please go to my office at noona By the way, the weather here is warm and wet. Ah, so sorry, please excuse me for asking but is your passport Swiss or Japanese, and under what name would you travel?"

An even longer pause. "I woulda I think I shoulda It would be Swiss, my travel name should be RikoGresserhoff."

"Thank you Mrs. Gresserhoff. I look forward to seeing you. fLiyoskette, " he ended. Have a safe journey.

Thoughtfully he put the phone back onto its cradle. The last of AMG's letter twisted and died with a thread of smoke. Carefully he crumbled the ashes into powder.

Now what about Jacques?

46 - 5:45 P.M.:.

Jacques deVille plodded up the marble stairs of the Mandarin Hotel to the mezzanine floor, packed with people having late tea.

He took off his raincoat and went through the crowds, feeling very old. He had just talked to his wife, Susanne, in Nice. The specialist from Paris had made another examination of Avril and thought that her internal injuries might not be as bad as first thought.

"He says we have to be patient," Susanne had told him in her gushing Parisienne French. "But Mother of God, how can we be? The poor child's distraught and losing her mind. She keeps saying, 'But I was the driver, it was me, Mumma, me, but for me my Borge would be alive, but for mea' I fear for her, cheri!"

"Does she know yet that hera about her inside?"

"No, not yet. The doctor says not to tell her until he's sure." Susanne had begun to cry.

In agony he had calmed her as best he could and said he would call her back in an hour. For a while he had considered what he should do, then he had made arrangements and had left his office and come here.

The public phone booth near the newsstand was occupied so he bought an afternoon paper and glanced at the headlines. Twenty killed in resettlement mud slides above Aberdeena Rain to continuea Will Saturday's Great Race Day be canceled?a JFK warns Soviets not to interfere in Vietnama Atom Test Ban Treaty signed in Moscow by Dean Rusk, Andrei Gromyko and Sir Alec Douglas-Home, rejected by France and Chinaa Malayan Communists step up offensivea Kennedy's second son, born prematurely, diesa Manhunt for the British Great Train Robbers continuesa Profumo scandal damages Conservative Partya "Excuse me,.sir, are you waiting for the phone?" an American woman asked from behind him.

"Oh, oh yes, thank you, sorry! I didn't see that it was empty." He went into the booth, closed the door, put in the coin and dialed. The ringing tone began. He felt his anxiety rising.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Lop-sing please," he said, not sure of the voice yet.

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

"I want to leave a message," he said, relieved to recognize Suslev's voice.

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

When the code was completed correctly, he began, "Sorry to cat "What is your number?" interrupted him harshly.

Jacques gave it at once.

"Is it a phone booth?"

"Yes." Immediately the phone clicked off. As he hung up he felt a sudden sweat on his hands. Suslev's number was only to be used in an emergency but this was an emergency. He stared at the phone.

"Excuse me, sir," the American woman called out through the glass doors. "Can I use the phone? I won't be a moment."

"Oh! Oh I'm I won't be a second," Jacques said, momentarily flustered. He saw that three Chinese were waiting impatiently be- hind her now. They stared at him balefully. "I'ma I'll just be a second." He reclosed the door, sweat on his back. He waited and waited and waited and then the phone rang. "Hello?"

"What's the emergency?"

"Ia I just heard from Nice." Carefully Jacques told Suslev about his conversation with his wife without mentioning any names. "I'm going there at once on the evening flight and I thought I'd better tell you personally so the"

"No, this evening's too soon. Book tomorrow, on the evening flight."

Jacques felt his world collapse. "But I talked to the tai-pan a few minutes ago and he said it was all right for me to go tonight. I'm booked. I can be back in three days, she really sounded awful on the phone. Don't you th"

"No!" Suslev told him more sharply. "I will call you tonight as arranged. This could all have waited till then. Don't use this number again unless there's a real emergency!"

Jacques opened his mouth to answer hotly but the phone was already dead. He had heard the anger. But this is an emergency, he cold himself, enraged, beginning to redial. Susanne needs me there and so does Avril. And the tai-pan was all for it.

"Good idea, Jacques," Dunross had said at once. "Take all the time you need. Andrew can cover for you."

And nowa Merde, what do I do? Suslev's not my keeper!

Isn't he?

DeVille stopped dialing, his sweat chilling, and hung up.

"Are you finished, sir?" the American woman called out with her insistent smile. She was in her fifties, her hair fashionably blue. "There's a line waiting."

"Oha oh yes, sorry." He fought the door open.

"You forgot your paper, sir," she said politely.

"Oh, oh thank you." Jacques deVille reached back for it and came out in misery. At once all the Chinese, three men and a woman, surged forward, elbowing him and the American lady out of the way. A heavyset matron got to the door first and slammed it shut behind her, the others crowding to be next.

"Heya it was my turn," the American woman began angrily but they paid no attention to her except to curse her and her antecedents openly and with great vulgarity.

Suslev was standing in the sleazy Kowloon apartment that was one of Arthur's safe houses, his heart still thumping from the suddenness of the call. There was a damp, musky, soiled smell of ancient cooking in the room and he stared down at the phone, furious with Jacques deVille. Stupid motherless turd. Jacques is becoming a liability. Tonight I'll tell Arthur what should be done with him. The sooner the better! Yes, and the sooner you calm down yourself the better, he cautioned himself. Angry people make mistakes. Put away your anger!

With an effort, he did just that and went out onto the dim, paint-peeled landing, locking the door behind him. Another key unlocked Ginny Fu's door next to his.

"You want vodka?" she asked with her saucy smile.

"Yes." He grinned back, pleased to look at her. She was sitting cross-legged on the old sofa and wore only a smile. They had been kissing when his phone had rung the first time. There were two phones in her apartment. Hers and the other one, the secret one in the cupboard that only he used and answered. Arthur had told him it was safe, bootlegged, unlisted and impossible to bug. Even so, Suslev only used the other apartment and its phone for emergencies.