"Sir," the sergeant called out from the middle of the slip, "there's one over here!"At once the officer and Gornt began hurrying toward him. "Is it a man or woman?""Man, sah! I think he said his name was Barter or something like that. …"Up at the Kotewall Road barrier Venus Poon was enjoying herself, the center of all attention in the lights of mobile radio and television teams. She continued to read the script that had been thrust into her hand, changing it here and there, dropping her voice a little, raising it, letting the tears flow—though not enough to spoil her makeup—describing the holocaust so that all her listeners felt they were there with her on the slope, felt chills of horror, and thanked their joss that death had passed them by this time, and that they and theirs were safe."The rain is still falling," she whispered into the microphone. "Where Rose Court tore away part of the upper stories of Sinclair Towers, seven dead already counted, four children, three Chinese, one English, more still buried. . . ." The tears were seeping out of her eyes now. She stopped and those watching caught their breath too.In the beginning she had almost torn her hair out at the thought of her apartment gone and all her clothes and all her jewelry and her new mink. But then she had remembered that all her real jewelry was safely in the jewelers being reset—a present of her old suitor, Banker Kwang—and her mink was being altered at the tailor's. And as to her clothes, pshaw, Four Fingers will be happy to replace them!Four Fingers! Oh oh I hope that old goat got out and will be saved like Smiler Ching, she had prayed fervently. Eeeee, what a miracle! If one, why not another? And surely no building falling can kill old Ah Poo. She'll survive! Of course she will! And Banker Kwang saved! Didn't I weep with happiness that he was saved? Oh lucky lucky day! And now Profitable Choy, such a smart, good-looking interesting fellow. Now if he had money, real money, he would be the one for me. No more of these old bags of fart with their putty yangs for delectable yin, the most delectable . . .The producer could not wait anymore. He leaped for the mike and said urgently, "We will continue the report as soon as Miss Yen—"Instantly she came out of her reverie. "No, no," she said bravely, "the show must go on!" Dramatically she wiped her tears away and continued reading and improvising, "Down the slope members of our glorious Gurkha and Irish Guards, heroically risking their lives, are digging out our Brothers and Sisters. …""My God," an Englishman muttered. "What courage! She deserves a medal, don't you think so, old boy?" He turned to his neighbor and was embarrassed to see the man was Chinese. "Oh, oh sorry."Paul Choy hardly heard him, his attention on the stretchers that were coming back from the wreckage, the bearers slipping and sliding under the arc lamps that had been erected a few minutes ago. He had just come back from the aid station that was set up at the fork of Kotewall Road under a makeshift overhang where frantic relations like himself were trying to identify the dead or injured or report the names of those who were missing and believed still buried. All evening he had been going back and forth in case Four Fingers had been found somewhere else and was coming in from another direction. Half an hour ago one of the firemen had broken through a mass of wreckage to reach into the area of the collapsed fifth floor. That was when Richard and Mai-ling Kwang had been pulled out, then Jason Plumm with half his head missing, then others, more dead than living.Paul Choy counted the stretchers. Four of them. Three had blankets covering the bodies, two very small. He shuddered, thinking how fleeting life was, wondering again what would now happen at the stock exchange tomorrow. Would they keep it closed as a mark of respect? Jesus, if they keep it closed all Monday, Struan's is sure to be at 30 by Tuesday opening—gotta be! His stomach churned and he felt faint. Friday, just before closing, he had gambled five times every penny that Four Fingers had reluctantly loaned him, buying on margin. Five times 2 million HK. He had bought Struan's, Blacs, Victoria Bank and the Ho-Pak, gambling that somehow this weekend the tai-pan would turn disaster into victory, that the rumors of China being approached for cash were true, and Blacs or the Victoria had a scam going. Ever since the meeting with Gornt at Aberdeen when he had put his theory of a bail-out by Blacs or the Victoria of the Ho-Pak to Gornt and had seen a flicker behind those cunning eyes, he had wondered if he had sniffed out a scam of the Big Boys. Oh sure, they're Big Boys all right. They've got Hong Kong by the shorts, Jesus, have they got an inside track! And Jesus, oh Jesus when at the races Richard Kwang asked him to buy Ho-Pak and, almost at once, Havergill had announced his takeover, he had gone to the men's room and vomited. 10 million in Ho-Pak, Blacs, Victoria and Struan's, bought at the bottom of the market. And then, tonight, when the nine o'clock news announced that China was advancing half a billion cash so all bank runs were finished, he knew he was a multimillionaire, a multi-multimillionaire.The young man could not hold his stomach together and rushed off to the bushes by the side of the road and retched till he thought he would die.The English bystander turned his back on him and said quietly to a friend, "These Chinese fellows really don't have much of a stiff upper lip, do they, old boy?"Paul Choy wiped his mouth, feeling terrible, the thought of all his maybe money, so near now, too much for him.The stretchers were passing. Numbly he followed them to the aid station. In the background under the makeshift overhang, Dr. Meng was doing emergency surgery. Paul Choy watched Dr. Tooley turn back the blankets. A European woman. Her eyes were open and staring. Dr. Tooley sighed and closed them. The next was an English boy often. Dead too. Then a Chinese child. The last stretcher was a Chinese man, bleeding and in pain. Quickly the doctor gave him a morphia injection.Paul Choy turned aside and was sick again. When he came back Dr. Tooley said kindly, "Nothing you can do here, Mr. Choy. Here, this'll settle your stomach." He gave him two aspirins and some water. "Why don't you wait in one of the cars? We'll tell you the instant we hear anything about your uncle." "Yes, thanks."More stretchers were arriving. An ambulance pulled up. Stretcher bearers got the tagged injured aboard and the ambulance took off into the drizzle. Outside, away from the stench of blood and death, the young man felt better."Hello, Paul, how're things going?""Oh. Oh hello, tai-pan. Fine, thanks." He had encountered the tai-pan earlier and told him about Four Fingers. Dunross had been shocked and very concerned."Nothing yet, Paul?""No sir."Dunross hesitated. "No news is good news perhaps. If Smiler Ching could survive, let's hope for the best, eh?""Yes sir." Paul Choy had watched Dunross hurry off up the road toward the barrier, his mind rehashing all the permutations he had worked out. With the tai-pan's fantastic takeover of General Stores —that was so smart, oh so smart—and now sliding out of Gornt's trap, his stock's gotta go to 30. And with Ho-Pak pegged at 12.50, the moment that's back on the board it's gotta go back to 20. Now, figure it, 17.5 percent of 10 million times 50 is—"Mr. Choy! Mr. Choy!"It was Dr. Tooley beckoning him from the aid station. His heart stopped. He ran back as fast as he could.