Tears were very near. So much time before we leave, she thought.Everything packed and sent to the airplane. I'm checked out, all bills paid, but so much time still left.For a moment she considered just stopping the car and walking off but that would have been worse, no privacy, no protection and she felt so terrible. Yet I've got to get out, be by myself. I've got to. Oh Jesus, Line poor Line. "Lim," she said on an impulse, "go to the Peak.""Missee?""Just drive to the top of the Peak, to the lookout. Please?" she said, desperately trying to keep her voice ordinary. "I've, I haven't been there. I want to see it before I go. Please.""Yes, Missee."Casey leaned back and closed her eyes against the tears that poured out silently.906:45 P.M. :It was almost sunset.Up at Lo Wu, the central border village between the Colony and China, the usual crowds of Chinese were crossing the bridge in both directions. The bridge was barely fifty yards long and spanned a trickling muddy stream and yet those fifty yards, for some, were a million miles. At both ends were guard posts and immigration checkpoints and customs, and in the middle, a small removable barrier. Two Hong Kong police stood there and two PRC soldiers. Two train tracks went across the bridge.In the old days trains came from Canton to Hong Kong and back again, nonstop, but now passenger trains stopped on either side and passengers crossed on foot. And the trains themselves went back the way they came. Freight trains from China went through without problem. Most days.Each day hundreds of locals crossed the border as they would cross any road. Their fields or work was on both sides of the border and had been so for generations. These border people were a hardy, suspicious lot, hating change, hating interference, hating uniforms, hating police particularly and foreigners of every kind. A foreigner to them, as to most Chinese, was anyone not of their village. To them there was no border, could never be a border.The Lo Wu bridge was one of the most sensitive single spots in all China—it and the other two crossing points. Of these, one was at Mau Kam Toh where cattle and vegetables came daily over a rickety bridge across this same stream that marked most of the border. The last, at the very eastern tip of the border, was at the fishing village of Tau Kok. Here the border was not marked but, by common consent, was said 10 run down the middle of the single village street.These were China's only contact points witn the West. Everything was meticulously controlled and monitored—by both sides. The tension and manner of the guards was a barometer.Today the guards on the PRC side of Lo Wu had been jittery. Because of that, the Hong Kong side was nervous too, not knowing what to expect—perhaps a sudden closure, perhaps a sudden invasion like last year, the Colony existing at the whim of China. "And that's a fact of life," Chief Inspector Smyth muttered. Today he had been assigned here for special duty and he was standing uneasily near the police station that was discreetly set back a hundred yards from the real border so as not to offend or create waves. Christ, he thought, waves? One fart in London could start millions of refugees marching here—if the powers across the border decided that that tiny piece of wind was an affront to the dignity of China."Come on, for chrissake," he said impatiently, his khaki shirt sticking to his back, his eyes on the road back to Hong Kong. The road was puddled. It curled away. Then, in the distance, he saw the police car approaching. Greatly relieved, he went to meet it. Armstrong got out. Then Brian Kwok. Smyth saluted Robert Armstrong with his swagger stick to cover his shock. Brian Kwok was in civilian clothes. There was a curious, vacant, petrified look in his eyes. "Hello, Robert," Smyth said. "Hello. Sorry to be late," Armstrong said. "It's only a couple of minutes. Actually I was told sunset." Smyth squinted westward. The sun was not yet down. He turned his attention back to Brian Kwok. It was hard to keep the contempt out of his face.The tall, handsome Chinese took out a pack of cigarettes. His fingers trembled as he offered it to Smyth."No thanks," Smyth said coldly. Armstrong took one. "I thought you'd given up smoking?""I did. I started again."Brian Kwok laughed nervously. "Afraid it's me. Robert's been trying to keep … to keep Crosse and his angels off my back."Neither man laughed."Is anyone coming? Anyone else?" Smyth asked."I don't think so. Not officially." Armstrong looked around. There were the usual gaping bystanders but they appeared haphazard. "They're here though. Somewhere." Both men felt the hackles on their necks rising. "You can get on with it."Smyth took out a formal document. "Wu Chu-toy, alias Brian Kar-shun Kwok, you are formally charged with espionage against Her Majesty's Government on behalf of a foreign power. Under the authority of the Deportation Order of Hong Kong you are formally ordered out of the Crown Colony. If you return you are formally warned you do so at your peril and are liable for arraignment and imprisonment at Her Majesty's pleasure." Grimly Smyth handed him the paper.Brian Kwok took it. It seemed to take him time to see and to hear, his senses dulled. "Now . . . now what happens?"Smyth said, "You walk over that bloody bridge and go back to your pals.""Eh? You think I'm a fool? You think I believe you're, you're letting me go?" Brian Kwok spun on Armstrong. "Robert, I keep telling you they're playing with me, with you, they'll never let me go free! You know that!""You're free, Brian.""No … no, I know what's happening. The moment I, the moment I'm almost there they'll pull me back, the torture of hope, that's it, isn't it?" There was a shrillness creeping into his voice, a fleck of foam at the corner of his lips. "Of course! The torture of hope.""For chrissake, I've told you you're free! You're free to go," Armstrong said, his voice hard, wanting to end it. "Go for chrissake! Don't ask me why they're letting you go but they are. Go!"Filled with disbelief, Brian Kwok wiped his mouth, started to speak, stopped. "You're . . . it's a … it's a lie, has to be!""Go!""All right, I'll …" Brian Kwok went off a pace then stopped. They had not moved. "You're, you really mean it?""Yes."Shakily Brian Kwok put out his hand to Smyth. Smyth looked at it, then into his face. "If it was up to me I'd have you shot."A flash of hatred went over Kwok's face. "What about you and graft? What about you selling police pro—""Don't let's get into that! fTeung you's part of China!" Smyth snarled and Armstrong nodded uneasily, remembering the first 40,-000 gambled on Saturday."A little feathering's an old Chinese custom," Smyth continued, shaking with rage. "Treason isn't. Fong-fong was one of my lads before he went to SI. Go get stuffed and get the hell across the bridge or I'll whip you across it!"Brian Kwok began to speak, stopped. Bleakly he offered his hand to Armstrong. Armstrong shook it without friendship. "That's just for old times' sake, for the Brian I used to know. I don't approve of traitors either.""I, I know I was drugged but thanks." Brian Kwok backed away, still suspecting a trick, then turned. Every few seconds he looked back, petrified that they were coming after him. When his halting feet reached the bridge he broke into a frantic run. Tension skyrocketed. Police at the barrier did not stop him. Neither did the soldiers. Both sides, forewarned, pretended not to notice him. The crowds streaming across either side of the tracks, bicycles, pedestrians, carts, mostly laden, paid him no attention at all. At the other side of the barrier, Brian Kwok skidded to a stop and turned back.