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Four Finger Wu was filled with ecstasy. The tai-pan will have to agree to everything. Everything. And everything is within his fief. "Here's the brandy." Four Finger Wu took it from the amah and sipped it dreamily, with vast enjoyment. All gods bear witness: For seventy-six years, I, Four Finger Wu, Head of the Seaborne Wu, have lived life to the full and if you gods will take my spirit during the Clouds and the Rain, I will sing your praises in heaven—if there is a heaven— forever more. And if you don't . . . The old man shrugged to himself and beamed and curled his toes. He yawned and closed his eyes, warm and toasty and very happy. Gods are gods and gods sleep and make mistakes but as sure as the great storms will come this year and next, Little Strumpet will earn her diamond tonight. Now which way should it be, he asked himself, going to sleep. The taxi stopped at the foyer below. Suslev got out drunkenly and paid the man, then, reeling slightly, stepped over the rainwater swirling in the gutters and went in. There was a crowd of people chattering and waiting at the elevator and he recognized Casey and Jacques deVille among them. Unsteadily he belched his way down the stairs to the lower level, crossed the garage and banged on Clinker's door. "Hello, matey," Clinker said. "Tovarich!" Suslev gave him a bear hug. "Vodka's up! Beer's up. Mabel, say hello to the captain!" The sleepy old bulldog just opened one eye, chomped her gums and farted loudly. Clinker sighed and shut the door. "Poor old Mabel! Wish to Christ she wouldn't do that, the place gets proper niffy! Here." He handed Suslev a full glass of water with a wink. "It's your favorite, old mate. 120 proof." Suslev winked back and slurped the water loudly. "Thanks, old shipmate. Another of these'n I'll sail away from this capitalist paradise happily!" "Another of those," Clinker guffawed, keeping up the pretense, "an' you'll slip out'uv Hong Kong harbor on your knees!" He refilled the glass. "How long you staying tonight?" "Just had to have some last drinks with you, eh? So long as I leave here by ten I'm fine. Drink up!" he roared with forced bonhomie. "Let's have some music, eh?" Happily Clinker turned on the tape recorder, loud. The sad Russian ballad filled the room. Suslev put his lips close to Clinker's ear. "Thanks, Ernie. I'll be back in good time." "All right." Clinker winked, still believing Suslev's cover that he had an assignation with a married woman in Sinclair Towers. "Who is she, eh?" He had never asked before.
"No names, no pack drill," Suslev whispered with a broad grin. "But her husband's a nob, a capitalist swine and on the legislature!" Clinker beamed. "Smashing! Give her one for me, eh?" Suslev went down the trapdoor and found the flashlight. Water dripped from the cracked concrete roof of the tunnel, the cracks bigger than before. Small avalanches of rubble made the floor precarious and slippery. His nervousness increased, not liking the closeness, nor the necessity to go to meet Crosse, wanting to be far away, safe on his ship with a complete alibi when Dunross was drugged and snatched. But Crosse had been adamant. "Goddamn it, Gregor, you have to be there! I've got to see you in person and I'm certainly not going aboard the Ivanov. It's perfectly safe, I guarantee it!" Guarantee? Suslev thought angrily again. How can one guarantee anything? He took out the snub-nosed automatic with the silencer, checked it and clicked off the safety catch. Then he continued again, picking his way carefully, and climbed the ladder to the false cupboard. Once on the stairs, he stopped and listened, holding his breath, all his concentration seeking danger. Finding none, he began to breathe easier, went up the stairs silently and into the apartment. Light from the high rise just below and from the city came through the windows and illuminated everything well enough for him to see. He checked the apartment thoroughly. When he had finished he went to the refrigerator and opened a bottle of beer. Absently he stared out of the windows. From where he was he could not see his ship but he knew where she would be and that thought gave him another good feeling. I'll be glad to leave, he thought. And sorry. I want to come back—Hong Kong's too good—but can I? What about Sinders? Dare I trust him? Suslev's heart hurt in his chest. Without a doubt, his future was in the balance. It would be easy for his own KGB people to prove he had fingered Metkin. Center could get that out of Roger Crosse by a simple phone call—-if they hadn't already come to the same conclusion themselves. May Sinders rot in hell! I know he'll shop me—I would if I was him. Will Roger know the secret deal Sinders put to me? No. Sinders would keep that secret, secret even from Roger. It doesn't matter. Once I've passed anything over to the other side I'm in his power forever. The minutes ticked by. There was the sound of an elevator. At once he went into a defensive position. His finger slid the safety catch off: a key turned in the lock. The door opened and closed quickly. "Hello, Gregor," Crosse said softly. "I wish you wouldn't point that bloody thing at me." Suslev put the safety catch on. "What's so important? What about that turd Sinders? What'd he—" "Calm down and listen." Crosse took out a roll of microfilm, his pale blue eyes unusually excited. "Here's a gift. It's expensive but all the real AMG files're on that film." "Eh?" Suslev stared at him. "But how?" He listened as Crosse told him about the vault, ending, "and after Dunross left I photographed the files and put them back." "Is the film developed?" "Oh yes. I made one print which I read and at once destroyed. That's safer than giving it to you and risk your being stopped and searched—Sinders is on the warpath. What the devil happened between you and him?" "First tell me about the files, Roger." "Sorry, but they're the same as the other ones, word for word. No difference." "What?" "Yes. Dunross was telling us the truth. The copies he gave us are exact patterns." Suslev was shocked. "But we were sure, you were sure!" Crosse shrugged and passed over the film. "Here's your proof." Suslev swore obscenely. Crosse watched him and kept his face grave, hiding his amusement. The real files are far too valuable to pass over—yet—he told himself again. Oh yes. Now's not the time. In due course, Gregor old chap, parts will bring a very great price. And all that knowledge will have to be sifted and offered very carefully indeed. And as to the eleven pieces of code—whatever the devil they mean—they should be worth a fortune, in due course. "I'm afraid this time we've drawn a blank, Gregor." "But what about Dunross?" Suslev was ashen. He looked at his watch. "Perhaps he's already in the crate?" He saw Crosse shrug, the lean face etched in the half-light. "There's no need to interrupt that plan," Crosse said. "I've considered that whole operation very carefully. I agree with Jason it'll be good to shake up Hong Kong. Dunross's kidnapping will create all sorts of waves. With the bank runs and the stock market crash —yes it would help us very much. I'm rather worried. Sinders is sniffing around too closely and asking me all sorts of wrong questions. Then there's the Metkin affair, Voranski, the AMG papers, you—too many mistakes. Pressure needs to be taken off Sevrin. Dunross'll do that admirably."