"Yes, Comrade Captain, but why?""Later. Meanwhile make sure everyone else aboard thinks I'm missing. Understand?""Yes.""No one is to come into this cabin until we're safe in international waters. The girl's aboard?""Yes, in the other cabin as you ordered.""Good." Suslev considered her. He could put her back ashore, as he was "missing" and would stay missing. Or keep with his plan. "We stay with that plan. Safer. When the police report I'm missing —I had my usual SI followers so they'll know I'm with Clinker— just tell her our departure's delayed, to stay in the cabin 'until I arrive.' Off you go."Suslev locked the door, his relief almost overpowering, and switched on the radio. Now he could vanish. Sinders could never betray a dead man. Now he could easily persuade Center to allow him to pass over his duties in Asia to another and assume a different identity and get a different assignment. He could say that the various European security leaks documented in the AMG papers made it necessary for someone new to begin with Crosse and Plumm— if either of them is still alive, he thought. Better they're both dead. No, not Roger. Roger's too valuable.Happier and more confident than he had been in years he went into the bathroom, found a razor and shaving brushY humming a Beatles tune along with the radio. Perhaps I should request a posting to Canada. Isn't Canada one of our most vital and important posts—on a par with Mexico in importance?He beamed at himself in the mirror. New places to go to, new assignments to achieve, with a new name and promotion, where a few hours ago there was only disaster ahead. Perhaps I'll take Vertinskaya with me to Ottawa.He began shaving. When Boradinov returned with police permission to delay their departure, he hardly recognized Gregor Suslev without his mustache and beard.8511:40 P.M. :Bartlett was twenty feet down under a cat's cradle of girders that kept the wreckage from crushing him. When the avalanche had hit almost three hours ago he had been standing in the kitchen doorway sipping an ice-cold beer, staring out at the city. He was bathed, dressed and feeling wonderful, waiting for Orlanda to return. Then he was falling, the whole world wrong, unearthly, the floor coming up, the stars below, the city above. There had been a blinding, monstrous, soundless explosion and all air had rushed out of him and he had fallen into the upward pit forever.Coming back to consciousness was a long process for him. It was dark within his tomb and he hurt everywhere. He could not grasp what had happened or where he was. When he truly awoke, he stared around trying to see where he was, his hands touching things he could not understand. The closed darkness nauseated him and he reeled in panic to his feet, smashing his head against a jutting chunk of concrete that was once part of the outside wall and fell back stunned, his fall protected by the debris of an easy chair. In a little while his mind cleared, but his head ached, arms ached, body ached. The phosphorescent figures on his watch attracted his attention. He peered at them. The time was 11:41.I remember . . . what do I remember?"Come on for chrissake," he muttered, "get with it! Get yourself together. Where the hell was I?" His eyes traced the darkness with growing horror. Vague shapes of girders, broken concrete and the remains of a room. He could see little and recognized nothing. Light from somewhere glistened off a shiny surface. It was a wrecked oven. All at once his memory flooded back."I was standing in the kitchen," he gasped out loud. "That's it, and Orlanda had just left, about an hour, no less'n that, half an hour. That'd make it around nine when . . . when whatever happened happened. Was it an earthquake? What?"Carefully he felt his limbs and face, a stab of pain from his right shoulder every time he moved. "Shit," he muttered, knowing it was dislocated. His face and nose were burning and bruised. It was hard to breathe. Everything else seemed to be working, though every joint felt as though he had been racked and his head ached terribly. "You're okay, you can breathe, you can see, you can . . ."He stopped, then groped around and found a small piece of rubble, carefully raised his hand, then dropped it. He heard the sound the rubble made and his heart picked up. "And you can hear. Now, what the hell happened? Jesus, it's like that time on Iwo Jima."He lay back to conserve his strength. "That's the thing to do," the old top sergeant had told them, "you lay back and use your goddamn loaf if you're caught in an excavation or buried by a bomb. First make sure you can breathe safe. Then burrow a hole, do anything, but breathe any way you can, that's first, then test your limbs and hearing, you'll sure as hell know you can see but then lay back and get your goddamn head together and don't panic. Panic'll kill you. I've dug out guys after four days'n they've been like a pig in shit. So long's you can breathe and see and hear, you can live a week easy. Shit, four days's a piece of cake. But other guys we got to within'n hour'd drowned themselves in mud or crap or their own fear vomit or beaten their goddamn heads unconscious against a goddamn piece of iron when we was within a few feet of the knuckle-heads an' if they'd just been lying there like I told you, nice'n easy, quiet like, they'd've heard us and they could've shouted. Shit! Any you bastards panic when you're buried you'd better believe you're dead men. Sure. Me I been buried fifty times. No panic!""No panic. No sir," Bartlett said aloud and felt better, blessing that man. Once during the bad time on Iwo Jima, the hangar he had been building was bombed and blown up and he had been buried. When he had dug the earth out of his eyes and mouth and ears, panic had taken him and he had hurled himself at the tomb and then he had remembered, Don'tpanic, and forced himself to stop. He had discovered himself shivering like a cowed dog under the threat of a lash but he had dominated the terror. Once over the terror and whole, he had looked around carefully. The bombing had been during the day so he could see well enough and noticed the beginning of a way out. But he had waited, cautiously, remembering instructions. Very soon he heard voices. He called out, conserving his voice."That's another goddamn obvious thing, conserve your voice, huh? You don't shout yourself hoarse the first time you hear help near. Be patient. Shit, some guys I know shouted themselves so goddamn hoarse they was goddamn dumb when we was within easy distance and we lost 'em. Get it through your goddamn heads, we gotta have help to find you. Don't panic! If you can't shout, tap, use anything, make a noise somehow, but give us a sign and we'll get you out, so long's you can breathe—a week's easy, no sweat. You bastards should go on a diet anyways …"Now Bartlett was using all his faculties. He could hear the wreckage shifting. Water was dripping nearby but no sounds of humans. Then, faintly, a police siren which died away. Reassured that help was on the way, he waited. His heart was controlled. He lay back and blessed that old top sergeant. His name was Spurgeon, Spur-geon Roach, and he was black.It must've been an earthquake, he thought. Has the whole building collapsed or was it just our floor and the next above? Maybe an airplane crashed into … Hell, no, I'd've heard the incoming noise. Impossible for a building to collapse, not with building regs, but hey, this's Hong Kong and we heard some contractors don't always obey regulations, cheat a little, don't use first-grade steel or concrete. Jesus if I get, no, when I get out . . .That was another inviolate rule of the old man. "Never forget, so long's you can breathe, you will get out, you will. …"Sure. When I get out I'm going to find old Spurgeon and thank him properly and I'm going to sue the ass out of someone. Casey's sure to … ah Casey, I'm sure as hell glad she's not in this shit, nor Orlanda. They're both . . . Jesus, could Orlanda have been caught wh—