"Oh yes but… but Line. I don—" She stopped. Just ahead, down the slope near the remains of the elevator, a vast pile of twisted beams and shattered fragments of concrete subsided deafeningly, starting a chain reaction all down the slope and as he focused his flashlight on it they saw a loosened mass of debris smash against the elevator, claw it loose and send it reeling, leaving bodies in its wake."Oh Jesus," she whimpered. The child clutched her in panic."Go back to the car, you'll be saf—" At that moment a man crazed with anxiety rushed up to them, peered at the child in her arms, then grabbed her, clutching her to him, mumbling his thanks to God and to her. "Where, where did you find her?"Casey pointed numbly.The man peered at the spot blankly then went off into the night, weeping openly with relief."Stay here, Casey," Dunross said urgently, sirens approaching from every direction. "I'll take a quick look.""Do be careful. Jesus, do you smell gas?""Yes, lots of it." Using the flashlight he began to thread his way over and under and through the wreckage, slipping and sliding. It was treacherous, the whole mass uneasy and creaking. The first crumpled body was a Chinese woman he did not know. Ten yards below was a European man, his head mashed and almost obliterated. Quickly he scoured the way ahead with his light but could not see Bartlett among the other dead. Farther below were two broken bodies, both Chinese. Swallowing his nausea, he worked his way under a dangerous overhang toward the European, then, holding the flashlight carefully, reached into the dead man's pockets. The driver's license said: Richard Pugmire."Christ!" Dunross muttered. The smell of gas was heavy. His stomach turned over as, far below, more power lines gushed sparks. We'll all go to kingdom come if those bloody sparks reach up here, he thought. Carefully he eased out of the debris and stood at his full height, breathing easier now. A last look at Pugmire's body and he started down the slope again. A few steps later he heard a faint moan. It took a little time to find the source but he centered on it and climbed down, his heart beating heavily. With great care he squirmed into the depths under a monstrous overhang of beams and rubble. His fingers took hold. Using all his strength he tilted the broken concrete and shoved it aside. A man's head was below. "Help," Clinker said weakly. "God love you, mate. . . .""Hang on a second." Dunross could see the man was wedged down by a huge rafter but the rafter was also keeping the debris above from crushing him. With the flashlight he searched until he found a broken piece of pipe. With this as a lever he tried to raise the rafter. A pyramid of rubble shifted ominously. "Can you move?" he gasped."It's . . . it's me legs, I hurt proper bad, but I can try." Clinker reached out and gripped an imbedded piece of iron. "Ready when you are.""What's your name?""Clinker, Ernie Clinker. Wot's yorn?""Dunross. Ian Dunross.""Oh!" Clinker moved his head painfully and peered upward, his face and head bleeding, hair matted and lips raw. "Thanks, tai-pan," he said. "Ready, ready when you are."Dunross put his weight and strength onto his makeshift lever. The beam raised an inch. Clinker squirmed but could not dislodge himself. "Bit more, mate," he gasped, in great pain. Again Dunross bore down. He felt the sinews of his arms and legs cry out under the strain. The beam came up a fraction. A trickle of rubble cascaded into the cavity. Higher still. "Now!" he said urgently. "I can't hold it. . . ."The old man's grip on the iron tightened and he dragged himself out inch by inch. More rubble moved as he shifted his grip. Now he was halfway out. Once his trunk was free, Dunross let the rafter settle back, oh so gently, and when it was completely at rest he grabbed the old man and wrenched him free. It was then that he saw the trail of blood, the left foot missing. "Don't move, old fellow," he said compassionately as Clinker lay panting, half unconscious, trying to stop the whimpers of pain. Dunross tore open a bandage, tying a rough tourniquet just under the knee.Then he stood up in the small space and looked at the vicious overhang above him, trying to decide what to do next. Next I get the poor bugger out, he thought, loathing the closeness. Then he heard the rumble and shriek of shifting debris. The earth lurched and he ducked, his arms protecting his head. A new avalanche began. . . .839:13 P.M. :It was just sixteen minutes since Rose Court was struck, but all over the vast area of destruction people were moving. Some had fought themselves out of the rubble. Others were rescuers and down below, near the command post set up at the junction, police cars, four fire trucks and rescue units were there, their mobile lights washing the slope, firemen and police frantically working their way through the wreckage. A small fire flickered and it was quickly doused, everyone aware of the gas danger. An ambulance with wounded or dying had already been dispatched, more were converging.It was chaotic in the darkness, all streetlighting failed, the rain beginning again. The senior divisional fire officer had arrived a moment ago and had sent for gas company engineers and organized other experts to inspect the foundations of the other high rises and buildings nearby in case they should be evacuated—the whole three tiers of Kotewall, Conduit and Po Shan Roads suspect. "Christ," he muttered, appalled, "this's going to take weeks to dig out and clean up." But he stood in the open, an outward picture of calm. Another patrol car whined to a halt. "Oh hello, Robert," he said as Armstrong joined him. "Yes," he said, seeing his shock, "Christ knows how many're buried th—""Look out!" someone shouted and everyone ran for cpver as a huge lump of reinforced concrete came crashing down from the mutilated top stories of Sinclair Towers. One of the police cars turned its light upward. Now they could see the shreds of rooms open to the skies. A tiny figure was teetering on the brink. "Get someone up there and see what the hell's going on!" A fireman took to his heels. . . .In the darkness at the roadblock up on Kotewall Road, onlookers from nearby buildings had been collecting, everyone petrified that there would be another slide, tenants frantic, not knowing whether to evacuate or not. Orlanda was still leaning numbly against the car, the rain on her face mixing with her tears. Another group of police reinforcements poured over the barrier onto the morass and fanned out with heavy-duty flashlights searching the terrain. One heard a call for help from below and directed his light into the brush, then changed direction quickly as he saw Riko waving and shouting, two figures inert beside her.Down Kotewall Road at the fork, Gornt's car skidded to a halt. Brushing aside orders from the harassed policeman there, he pressed the keys into his hand and rushed off up the hill. When he got near to the barrier and saw the extent of the disaster he was stunned. Only moments ago he had been there, drinking and flirting with Casey, everything settled, Orlanda settled, then his whole victory upside down and raging at Dunross, but some miracle had sent him away in time and now perhaps all the others were dead and buried and gone forever. Christ! Dunross Orlanda Casey Jason Bar—"Keep out of the way!" the policeman shouted. More ambulance bearers hurried past, firemen with axes following, up and over the mess of mud and boulders and trees toward the ruins. "Sorry, but you can't stay there, sir."Gornt moved aside, breathing heavily from his run. "Did anyone get out?""Oh yes, of course, I'm sure th—""Have you seen Dunross, Ian Dunross?""Who?""The tai-pan, Dunross?""No, no sorry I haven't." The policeman turned away to intercept and calm some disheveled parents.Gornt's eyes went back to the disaster, still appalled by its immensity.