59:50 A.M. :The tai-pan came over the rise and barreled down the Peak Road in his E-Type Jaguar, going east toward Magazine Gap. On the winding road there was but a single lane each side with few places to pass and precipitous on most corners. Today the surface was dry and, knowing the way so well, Ian Dunross rode the bends fast and sweetly, hugging the mountainside, his scarlet convertible tight to the inside curve. He did a racing shift down and braked hard as he swooped a bend and came up to an ancient, slow-moving truck. He waited patiently, then, at the perfect moment, swung out onto the wrong side and was past safely before the oncoming car had rounded the blind corner ahead.Now Dunross was clear for a short stretch and could see that the snaking road ahead was empty. He jammed his foot down and slid some corners, usurping the whole of the road, taking the straightest line, using hand and eye and foot and brake and gearshift in unison, feeling the vast power of the engine and the wheels in all of him. Ahead, suddenly, was an oncoming truck from the far corner and his freedom vanished. He geared down and braked in split-second time, hugging his side, regretting the loss of freedom, then accelerated and was away again into more treacherous bends. Now another truck, this time ladened with passengers, and he waited a few yards behind, knowing there was no place to pass for a while. Then one of the passengers noticed his number plate, 1-1010, and she pointed and they all looked, chattering excitedly one to another, and one of them banged on the cabin of the truck. The driver obligingly squeezed off the road onto the tiny shoulder and flagged him on. Dunross made sure he was safe then passed, waving to them with a grin.More corners, the speed and the waiting-to-pass and the passing and the danger pleasing him. Then he cut left into Magazine Gap Road, down the hill, the bends trickier, the traffic building up now and slower. He overtook a taxi and jumped three cars very fast and was back in line though still over the speed limit when he saw the traffic motorcycle policemen waiting ahead. He changed down and passed them going the regulation 30 mph. He waved good-naturedly. They waved back."You really must slow down, Ian," his friend, Henry Foxwell, Senior Superintendent of Traffic, had said recently. "You really should.""I've never had an accident—yet. Or a ticket.""Good God, Ian, there's not a traffic copper on the island who'd dare give you one! You, the tai-pan? Perish the thought. I meant for your own good. Keep that sp"eed devil of yours bottled for Monaco, or your Macao Road Race.""Monaco's professional. I don't take chances, and I don't drive that fast anyway.""67 mph over Wongniechong isn't exactly slow, old chap. Admittedly it was 4:23 A.M. on an almost empty road. But it is a 30 mph zone.""There're lots of E-Types in Hong Kong.""Yes, I agree. Seven. Scarlet convertibles with a special number plate? With a black canvas roof, racing wheels and tires, that goes like the clappers of hell? It was last Thursday, old chap. Radar and all that. You'd been to … to visit friends. In Sinclair Road I believe."Dunross had contained his sudden rage. "Oh?" he said, the surface of his face smiling. "Thursday? I seem to remember I had dinner with John Chen then. At his apartment in Sinclair Towers. But I thought I was home long before 4:23.""Oh I'm sure you were. I'm sure the constable got the number plate and color and everything all wrong." Foxwell clapped him on the back in friendly style. "Even so, slow down a little will you? It'd be so boring if you killed yourself during my term. Wait till I'm transferred back to Special Branch—or the police college, eh? Yes, I'm sure he made a mistake."But there was no mistake, Dunross had said to himself. You know it, I know it, and John Chen would know it and so would Wei-wei.So you fellows know about Wei-wei! That's interesting."Are you fellows watching me?" he had asked bluntly."Good God no!" Foxwell had been shocked. "Special Intelligence was watching a villain who's got a flat at Sinclair Towers. You happened to be seen. You're very important here, you know that. I happened to pick it up through channels. You know how it is.""No, I don't.""They say one word to the wise is sufficient, old chap.""Yes they do. So perhaps you'd better tell your Intelligence fellows to be more intelligent in future.""Fortunately they're very discreet.""Even so I wouldn't like my movements a matter of record.""I'm sure they're not. Not a matter of record.""Good. What villain in Sinclair Towers?""One of our important capitalist dogs but suspected secret Commie fellows. Very boring but SI have to earn their daily bread, don't they?" . "Do I know him?""I imagine you know everyone.""Shanghainese or Cantonese?""What makes you think he's either?""Ah, then he's European?""He's just a villain, Ian. Sorry, it's all very hush-hush at the moment.""Come on, we own that block. Who? I won't tell anyone.""I know. Sorry old boy, but I can't. However, I've another hypothetical idea for you. Say a hypothetical married VIP had a lady friend whose uncle happened to be the undercover deputy chief of the illegal Kuomintang Secret Police for Hong Kong. Say, hypo-thetically, the Kuomintang wanted this VIP on their side. Certainly he could be pressured by such a lady. Couldn't he?""Yes," Dunross had said easily. "If he was stupid." He already knew about Wei-wei Jen's uncle and had met him at a number of private parties several times in Taipei. And liked him. No problem there, he had thought, because she's not my mistress or even a lady friend, however beautiful and desirable. And tempting.He smiled to himself as he drove in the stream of traffic down Magazine Gap Road then waited in line to circle the roundabout and head down Garden Road toward Central, half a mile below, and to the sea.Now he could see the soaring modern office block that was Struan's. It was twenty-two stories high and fronted Connaught Road and the sea, almost opposite the Terminal of the Golden Ferries that plied between Hong Kong and Kowloon. As always, the sight pleased him.He weaved in and out of heavy traffic where he could, crawled past the Hilton Hotel and the Cricket Ground on his left, then turned into Connaught Road, the sidewalks jammed with pedestrians. He stopped outside his front entrance.This's the big day, he thought. The Americans have arrived.And, with joss, Bartlett's the noose that'll strangle Quillan Gornt once and for all time. Christ, if we can pull this off!"Morning, sir." The uniformed doorman saluted crisply."Morning, Tom." Dunross eased himself out of the low-slung car and ran up the marble steps, two at a time, toward the huge glass entrance. Another doorman drove the car off to its underground parking and still another opened the glass door for him. He caught the reflection of the Rolls drawing up. Recognizing it, he glanced back. Casey got out and he whistled involuntarily. She carried a briefcase. Her sea-green silk suit was tailored and very conservative, but even so, it hid none of the trim of her figure or the dance to her stride and the sea green enhanced the tawny gold of her hair.She looked around, feeling his eyes. Her recognition was immediate and she measured him as he measured her and though the instant was short it seemed long to both of them. Long and leisurely.She moved first and walked toward him. He met her halfway."Hello, Mr. Dunross.""Hello. We've never met, have we?""No. But you're easy to recognize from your photos. I didn't expect to have the pleasure of meeting you till later. I'm Cas—"Yes," he said and grinned. "I had a deranged call from John Chen last night. Welcome to Hong Kong, Miss Tcholok. It is Miss, isn't it?"