She stood stock-still, frightened."Get on, there's nothing to steal here!" a furious householder called out at her. "Go home! You shouldn't be here. Go home!""Yes . . . yes," she said and began to hurry, the climb more difficult now. At that moment the earth just below her gave way and the slide began. Hundreds of tons of sludge and rock and earth surged downward burying everything in its path. It went on for fifty yards or more in seconds, tearing the flimsy structures apart, scattering men, women and children, burying some, maiming others, cutting an oozing swath where once was village.Then it stopped. As suddenly as it began.On all the mountainside there was a great silence broken only by the sound of rain. Abruptly the silence ceased. Shouts and cries for help began. Men and women and children rushed out of untouched hovels, blessing the gods for their own safety, adding to the pandemonium and wails for help. Friends helped friends, neighbors helped neighbors, mothers searched for children, children for parents, but the great majority nearby just stood there in the rain and blessed their joss that this slide had passed them by.The little girl was still teetering on the brink of the chasm where the earth had fallen away. She stared down into it with disbelief. Eleven feet below her now were fangs of rocks and sludge and death where seconds ago was solid ground. The lip was crumbling and small avalanches of mud and stones cascaded into the abyss, aided by the flooding from the storm drain. She felt her feet slipping so she took a tentative step backward but more of the earth gave way so she stopped, petrified, the remains of the rice cake still firmly in her hands. Her toes dug into the soft earth to try to keep her balance."Don't move," an old man called out."Get away from the edge," another shouted and the rest watched and waited and held their breath to see what the gods would decide.Then a ten-foot slice of the lip collapsed and toppled into the maw carrying the little girl with it. She was buried just a little. Up to her knees. She made sure her rice cake was safe then burst into tears.4411:30 A.M. :Superintendent Armstrong's police car eased its way through the milling angry crowds that had spilled over into the road outside the Ho-Pak Bank, heading for the East Aberdeen police station. Mobs were also clogging the streets outside all the other banks in the area, big and small—even the Victoria which was across the street from the Ho-Pak—everyone impatiently waiting to get in to get their money out.Everywhere the mood was volatile and dangerous, the downpour adding to the tension. Barricades erected to channel people into and out of the banks were manned in strength by equally anxious and irritable police—twenty per thousand, unarmed but for truncheons."Thank God for the rain," Armstrong muttered."Sir?" the driver asked, the irritating screech of ill-adjusted windshield wipers drowning his voice.Armstrong repeated it louder and added, "If it was hot and humid, this whole bloody place'd be up in arms. The rain's a godsend.""Yes sir. Yes it is."In time the police car stopped outside the station. He hurried in. Chief Inspector Donald C.C. Smyth was waiting for him. His left arm was in a sling."Sorry to be so long," Armstrong said. "Bloody traffic's jammed for bloody miles.""Never mind. Sorry but I'm a bit shorthanded, old chap. West Aberdeen's cooperating and so is Central, but they've problems too. Bloody banks! We'll have to do with one copper in the back—he's already in position in case we flush one of the villains—and us up front with Spectacles Wu." Smyth told Armstrong his plan."Good.""Shall we go now? I don't want to be away too long." "Of course. It looks pretty dicey outside." "I hope the bloody rain lasts until the bloody banks close their doors or pay out the last penny. Did you go liquid yourself?""You must be joking! My pittance makes no difference!" Armstrong stretched, his back aching. "Ah Tarn in the flat?""As far as we know. The family she works for is called Ch'ung. He's a dustman. One of the villains might be there too so we'll have to get in quickly. I've the commissioner's authority to carry a revolver. Do you want one too?" "No. No thanks. Let's go, shall we?"Smyth was shorter than Armstrong but well built and his uniform suited him. Awkwardly, because of his arm, he picked up his raincoat and began to lead the way, then stopped. "Bugger, I forgot! Sorry, SI, Brian Kwok called, would you call him? Want to use my office?""Thanks. Is there any coffee? I could use a cuppa." "Coming up."The office was neat, efficient and drab, though Armstrong noticed the expensive chairs and desk and radio and accoutrements. "Gifts from grateful customers," Smyth said airily. "I'll leave you for a couple of minutes."Armstrong nodded and dialed. "Yes, Brian?" "Oh hello, Robert! How's it going? The Old Man says you should bring her to HQ and not investigate her at East Aberdeen." "All right. We're just about to leave. HQ eh? What's the reason?" "He didn't tell me, but he's in a good mood today. It seems we've a 16/2 tonight."Armstrong's interest peaked. A 16/2 in SI terms meant they had broken an enemy cover and were going to take the spy or spies into custody. "Anything to do with our problem?" he asked cautiously, meaning Sevrin."Perhaps." There was a pause. "Remember what I was saying about our mole? I'm more convinced than ever I'm right." Brian Kwok switched to Cantonese, using oblique phrases and innuendoes in case he was overheard. Armstrong listened with growing concern as his best friend told him what had happened at the track, the long private meeting between Crosse and Suslev."But that means nothing. Crosse knows the bugger. Even I've drunk with him once or twice, feeling him out.""Perhaps. But if Crosse's our mole it'd be just like him to do an exchange in public. Heya?"Armstrong felt sick with apprehension. "Now's not the time, old chum," he said. "Soon as I get to HQ we should have a chat. Maybe lunch and talk."Another pause. "The Old Man wants you to report to him as soon as you bring the amah in.""All right. See you soon."Armstrong put down the phone. Smyth came back in. Thoughtfully he handed him a coffee. "Bad news?""Nothing but bloody trouble," Armstrong said sourly. "Always bloody trouble." He sipped his coffee. The cup was excellent porcelain and the coffee fresh, expensive and delicious. "This's good coffee! Very good. Crosse wants me to bring her to HQ directly, not here."Smyth's eyebrows soared. "Christ, what's so important about an old hag amah?" he asked sharply. "She's in my jurisdic—""Christ I don't know! I don't give the f—" The bigger man stopped his explosion. "Sorry, I haven't been getting much sleep the last few days. I don't give the orders. Crosse said to bring her to HQ. No explanation. He can override anyone. SI overrides everyone, you know how it is!""Arrogant bastard!" Smyth finished his coffee. "Thank God I'm not in SI. I'd hate to deal with that bugger every day.""I'm not in SI and he still gives me trouble.""Was it about our mole?"Armstrong glanced up at him. "What mole?"Smyth laughed. "Come on for chrissake! There's a rumor among the Dragons that our fearless leaders have been advised to find the bugger very quickly. It seems that the minister's even roasting the governor! London's so pissed off they're sending out the head of MI-6—presume you know Sinders arrives tomorrow on the BO AC flight."Armstrong sighed. "Where the hell do they get all their information?""Telephone operators, amahs, street cleaners—who cares. But you can bet, old lad, at least one of them knows everything. You know Sinders?""No, never met him." Armstrong sipped his coffee, enjoying the excellence, the rich, nutty flavor that was giving him new strength. "If they know everything, who's the mole?"