After a moment Sinders said, "Pity these methods have to be used. Very dicey. Disgusting really. I preferred it when . . . well, even then, I suppose our profession was never really clean.""You mean during the war?""Yes. I must say I preferred it then. Then there was no hypocrisy on the part of some of our leaders—or the media. Everyone understood we were at war. But today when our very survival's threatened we—" Sinders stopped, then pointed. "Look, Roger, isn't that Rosemont?" The American was standing with another man by the exit door."Yes, yes it is. That's Langan with him. The FBI man," Crosse said. "Last night I agreed to a joint effort with him on Banastasio though I do wish those bloody CIA'd leave us alone to do our job.""Yes. They really are becoming quite difficult."Crosse picked up the CB and led the way outside. "Stanley, we've got him well covered. We agreed last night that on this operation we handle this part, you handle the hotel. Right?""Sure, sure, Rog. 'Morning, Mr. Sinders." Grim-faced, Rosemont introduced Langan who was equally taut. "We're not interfering, Rog, though that bum is one of our nationals. That's not the reason we're here. I'm just seeing Ed off.""Oh?""Yes," Langan said. He was as tired and gaunt as Rosemont. "It's those photocopies, Rog. Thomas K. K. Lim's papers. I've got to deliver them personally. To the Bureau. I read part to my chief and his pots blew and he began to come apart at the seams.""I can imagine.""There's a request on your desk to let us have the originals and th—""No chance," Sinders said for Crosse.Langan shrugged. "There's a request on your desk, Rog. Guess your brass'll send orders from heaven if ours really need them. I'd better get on board. Listen, Rog, we can't thank you enough. We —I owe you one. Those bastards . . . yeah we owe you one." They shook hands and he hurried off onto the tarmac."Which piece of information blew the seams, Mr. Rosemont?""They're all lethal, Mr. Sinders. It's a coup for us, for us and the Bureau, mostly the Bureau. Ed said his folk went into hysterics. The political implications for Democrats and Republicans are immense. You were right. If Senator Tillman—the presidential hopeful who's in town right now—if he got hold of those papers, there's no telling what he'd do." Rosemont was no longer his usual good-humored self. "My brass telexed our South American contacts to put an all-points on Thomas K. K. Lim so we'll be interviewing him pretty damn soon—you'll get a copy don't worry. Rog, was there anything else?""I beg your pardon?""With these choice pieces, were there others we could use?"Crosse smiled without humor. "Of course. How about a blueprint for financing a private revolution in Indonesia?""Oh Jesus . . .""Yes. How about photostats of arrangements for payments into a French bank account of a very important Vietnamese lady and gentleman—for specific favors granted?"Rosemont had gone chalky. "What else?""Isn't that enough?""Is there more?""For chrissake, Stanley, of course there's more, you know it, we know it. There'll always be more.""Can we have them now?"Sinders said, "What can you do for us?"Rosemont stared at them. "Over lunch we'll ta—"The CB crackled into life. "The target's got his bags now and he's walking out of Customs, heading for the taxi rank . . . Now he's . . . Now he's … ah, someone's meeting him, a Chinese, good-looking man, expensive clothes, don't recognize him. . . . They're going over to a Rolls, registration HK. … ah, that's the hotel limousine. Both men're getting in."Into the sender Crosse said, "Stay– on this frequency." He switched frequencies. Static and muffled traffic and noise.Rosemont brightened. "You bugged the limo?" Crosse nodded. "Great, Rog. I'd've missed that!"They listened, then clearly, ". . . good of you to meet me, Vee Cee," Banastasio was saying. "Hell you shouldn't've come all this wa—""Oh it's my pleasure," the cultured voice replied. "We can chat in the car, perhaps that'll save you coming to the office and then in Ma—""Sure . . . sure," the American voice overrode the other man. "Listen, I got something for you, Vee Cee …" Muffled sounds then a sudden high-pitched whine that totally dominated the airwave, completely obliterating the clarity and voices. At once Crosse switched frequencies but the others were operating perfectly."Shit, he's using a portable shaver to block us," Rosemont said disgustedly. "That bastard's a pro! Fifty to a blown cent they block all the bugs we got, hundred says when they come back on this channel it'll all be goddamn chitchat. I told you Banastasio was cream."6310:52 A.M.:"Tai-pan, Dr. Samson calling from London. He's on line three.""Oh thank you, Claudia." Dunross punched the button. "Hello, Doctor. You're up late.""I've just come back from the hospital—sorry not to call before. You were calling about your sister, Mrs. Gavallan?""Yes. How is she?""Well, sir, we've begun another stringent series of tests. Mentally, I must say she's in very good shape. I'm afraid physically not so good</emphasis>"Dunross listened with a sinking heart as the doctor went into detail about multiple sclerosis, how no one really knew much about it, that there was no known cure and that the disease went in descending plateaus—once some deterioration of the nerve structure had taken place it was not possible with present medications to climb back to the previous level. "I've taken the liberty of calling in Professor Klienberg from the clinic at UCLA in Los Angeles for a consultation—he's the world expert on the disease. Please rest assured we will do everything we can for Mrs. Gavallan." "It doesn't sound as if you can do anything at all." "Well, it's not quite as bad as that, sir. If Mrs. Gavallan takes care, rests, and is sensible, she can have a normal life for many years.""How long is many years?" Dunross heard the long hesitation. Oh Kathy, poor Kathy!"I don't know. Many times this sort of problem's in the hands of God, Mr. Dunross. Patients do not follow the same time patterns. In Mrs. Gavallan's case I could answer you better in six months, perhaps by Christmas. Meanwhile, I have taken her on as a National Health patient so then—""No. She should be a private patient, Dr. Samson. Please send all bills to my office.""Mr. Dunross, there's no difference in the quality of service I give to her. She just has to wait a little while in my waiting room and be in a ward, not a private room at the hospital.""Please make her a private patient. I would prefer it, so would her husband."Dunross heard the sigh and hated it. "Very well," the doctor was saying. "I have all your numbers and I'll call you the instant Professor Klienberg has made his examination and the tests are concluded."Dunross thanked him and replaced the phone. Oh Kathy, poor dear Kathy.Earlier when he had got up at dawn he had talked to her and to Penelope. Kathy had said how much better she felt and how Samson was most encouraging. Penn had told him later that Kathy was looking very tired. "It doesn't seem very good, Ian. Is there any chance you could come here for a week or two before October 10?""Not at the moment, Penn, but you never know.""I'm going to take Kathy to Avisyard as soon as she gets out of the hospital. Next week at the latest. She'll be better there. The land will make her better, don't worry, Ian.""Penn, when you get to Avisyard, would you go out to the Shrieking Tree for me?""What's the matter?"He heard the concern in her voice, "Nothing, darling," he told her, thinking about Jacques and Phillip Chen—how can I explain about them? "Nothing particular, just more of the same. I just wanted you to say hello to our real Shrieking Tree."