Tom grinned. "They've got nothing on government IDs. If I stay with the DEA until retirement, they'll probably still have the same file photo. I imagine you know the feeling.'

'I don't know what you mean.' She played the game quite well, as he expected. No wonder he liked her.

'I mean, civilian liaison to UNIT-UK, and personal attache to their special scientific adviser. Never actually a member of UNIT, but on their reserve list as civilian staff.' By now he sounded as if he was reciting from an official file, as indeed he was. 'Joined the headquarters staff in 1978, for four years assisting the special scientific adviser known only as "the Doctor".

Subsequently returned to investigative journalism, had a couple of sci-fi novels published and occasionally returned to assist UNIT. Stop me if you've heard any of this before.'

'You seem to have done your homework.' She was keeping calm and collected; he was glad they weren't playing poker.

'Unlike certain of my colleagues, I prefer to do my own research rather than rely on what other analysts tell me.'

"Then this isn't simply a date. I didn't think so, somehow.' She attacked the fish on her plate, cutting it up perhaps slightly more enthusiastically than was needed.

'Disappointed?' He could but hope.

'Maybe.'

Tom was glad to hear that. He had no problem keeping business and pleasure separate, but it was nice when one followed the other. "Well, it seems I ought to mend my ways. Actually, I'd hoped to engage your assistance.'

'In what?'

'Your friend the Doctor seems to have got himself into trouble. That was him at Kwai Chung, wasn't it?' If it wasn't, then the guy had a twin brother.

'Yes.' Sarah was no longer looking at Tom, but at something in the past.

'But I can't believe he's turned as bad as UNIT think he has. He just isn't that kind of person.'

'All right, all right.' Tom raised his hands slightly in surrender. 'Let's say he's a good man, running some kind of master plan to save the world again. I don't know him, so I guess anything's possible. But either way, he's managed to get himself involved with this Triad. Maybe he's trapped in it, a prisoner. Either way we still need to bring down this smuggling network.'

'And what does that have to do with me?'

'We'd like you to give us information - the Doctor's habits, and especially anything you learned about the set-up at the Pimms Building.'

'So you can arrest him?'

'So we can get him out of trouble.' By whatever means necessary.

"That doesn't sound like why the DEA would send you here.'

'It isn't. I was sent to arrest him.'

'Why the change?'

Tom stared into his glass for a moment, and grinned faintly. He could tell she knew the reason why. But he had to say something in keeping with the game. 'That's classified. I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you.'

When he and Clark walked back into the village's main building without Tranh, Barry could feel a lot of questioning eyes on him. When you get that sort of reception, you feel guilty, even if you've nothing to be guilty about.

Barry put down his gun and sat on the floor. 'OK,' he began, 'we've lost Tranh.'

'Lost?' Gibson asked.

'He ah ah ran. He got into the trees and disappeared,' Barry heard himself say. ran. He got into the trees and disappeared,' Barry heard himself say.

Then he saw that everyone was still looking, awaiting an answer, and realised he hadn't spoken aloud. He had never lied to anyone under his command, because inaccurate information - no matter what the reason - got people killed. He wasn't about to start now.

'Tranh's dead,' he said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Clark look surprised, then relax a little. 'He was trying to run, but we caught him and asked him why. In the process he he Well, he just collapsed and burnt up into nothing. I've never seen anything like it -it was as if a Thermite pack went off inside him. Some kind of implanted bomb thing, I guess.' He tried to gauge the group's opinions; judge whether any of them thought he had offed Tranh personally. It didn't look like they thought that, but you could never be sure.'You can check our guns if you want, they haven't been fired.' Well, he just collapsed and burnt up into nothing. I've never seen anything like it -it was as if a Thermite pack went off inside him. Some kind of implanted bomb thing, I guess.' He tried to gauge the group's opinions; judge whether any of them thought he had offed Tranh personally. It didn't look like they thought that, but you could never be sure.'You can check our guns if you want, they haven't been fired.'

'It's all right, sir,' Harris said. 'Why did he run?'

'We don't know. Maybe he was just spooked by this place. Whatever the reason, we suspect that whoever implanted the& whatever it was, has been monitoring him, or maybe even getting messages from him. We have to assume that our cover is blown, and that whoever's in the blind zone knows to expect visitors.'

Police forces the world over played up the usefulness of fingerprints in the hope of dissuading the more nervous, would-be criminals from indulging their illegal desires.

In feet, only about 10 per cent of latent prints recovered from a crime ever have any bearing on tracking down the person who left them. You'll rarely if ever - hear a cop admit to that.

The prints left on the side door to Wing's apartment were unusual in that they had provided a good match. They were almost a work of artistry, as crisp and clear as if someone had deliberately placed them to be found and appreciated as a facet of his personality.

Which is why the lab technician who processed them remembered that set so clearly, out of the hundreds of prints he checked every day. They were beautiful, and of course he remembered calling Mark Sing to tell him the good news.

He didn't remember calling Katie Siao, which was surprising, because she was so well-known and liked at the station. At least, it was surprising to the lab technician, who assumed he must have simply forgotten to notify her.

It wasn't as surprising to Mark Sing, who took the technician's puzzlement as confirmation of his suspicion that he hadn't called her.

Sing thanked the lab tech, and walked back out to his car. Cannonball Siao had lied to him. She had lied about why she had come to Yi Chung's apartment, and he wished he didn't know that.

The next morning, Tom Ryder told George that he was feeling on top of the world when he escorted Sarah back to the Mandarin Oriental. Neither Tom nor Sarah realised how many hours had passed as they chatted in the restaurant. He regaled her with tales of his time in the DEA, busting crack houses and tracking international smugglers. In turn, she told him about some of her time with the Doctor. The travels she described were unbelievable but, given her tone and the files he'd read, he believed every word.

He had discreetly led the conversation to find out whether she was spoken for. He didn't want to take their relationship beyond the purely businesslike if she was. Thankfully she wasn't. It sounded to him almost as if no mere Earthman could live up to the Doctor in her eyes, but she seemed to like him enough, so maybe he was mistaken. Or maybe the Doctor's change of habits had really got to her.

It didn't matter; all he knew was their evening had gone well, both professionally and personally.

Sarah's luggage had been transferred by the time they returned to the floor the DEA team occupied. 'I guess this is it for tonight,' Tom told her when they reached her door. 'I'm glad to have finally got to know you a little better than just pulling you out of the frying pan.'

'Me too,' she agreed. She opened her door, and hesitated. 'I have some photos of the Pimms Building. If they'd be of any use use'

'Every little helps.' She led him into the room. 'Help yourself to a drink from the minibar. Your company's paying for it, after all.'

Tom agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment. Work wouldn't be so much fun without an expense account to abuse. While he poured himself some scotch, Sarah dug the photos out of a bag. They were black-and-white 8 x 10 glossies, showing the entrances and exits to the Pimms Building. All the security cameras and alarms were shown in crisp detail.

'Useful?'

'Extremely.' Tom agreed. He spotted some colour shots poking out of the corner of the bag, and reached past her to get at them. They weren't quite in reach, and he was about to say, Eexcuse me', when he became acutely aware that she wasn't moving, and that her breasts were pressing against him.

Maybe, he told the eagerly listening George, it was the atmosphere of the exotic East, or maybe the release of tension. Either way, almost before they knew it, he and Sarah were naked, warm mouths and gentle fingertips exploring in the darkness.

Tom didn't mind admitting that it was wonderful.

The new dawn found Fiona Clark packing her gear, just like everybody else in the logging camp. They had walked back through the night from the deserted village. They had got back in time to have about two hours' sleep.

The game stopped now, and the real work began. Barry had already contacted Tsang for a pick-up, and Julie Palmer was busy fiddling with the silver box that had been delivered to them.

When Clark was done she took a roll-call of the troop. Everyone was ready and packed, as efficiently as she'd expected. Only Palmer was missing, and Clark could see her working in the cockpit of a Blackhawk that had arrived a few minutes earlier.

Barry was hanging around her like a sick puppy, and Clark despaired for him. The guy was old enough to damn well know better. She just hoped his crush didn't get the rest of them killed.

Nobody was going to waste any more time thinking about that, however.

Everybody had their job to do; there were no lone heroes here like you saw in the movies. Without the rest of the team, even the best of the soldiers wasn't much use.

They boarded the Blackhawk in silence, each concentrating on what he or she would do when they got to where they were going. As everyone strapped themselves in, Barry jerked a thumb at the silver box which was now wired up to the instrument panel. 'We don't know exactly what's inside the blind area we skirted earlier. If our computers are correct, this transponder should allow this helo to pass through the perimeter. We'll make a fast flyover to get the lay of the land, then be inserted at an LZ I'll designate. Any questions?' There were none. 'Good.' He patted the pilot's shoulder. 'Let's go.'

It had been a silent and tense breakfast for Cannonball Siao. Eddie had the day off and was looking forward to taking their kids to the park. He wasn't happy that Katie couldn't get up much enthusiasm for talking about that plan rather than what Mark Sing was up to.

After less than ten minutes at the breakfast table Cannonball walked out.

She loved her husband and her kids, but wished they could understand how much of a problem this was for all of them. Sing could screw up her children's schooling, and Eddie didn't seem to follow that at all.

She ran into Sing on her own doorstep. He was about to ring the bell and looked hungover. When she noticed the two uniformed officers with him, she knew she was in trouble.

'Cannonball'

'Don't apologise,' she told him. 'Just get on with it. You have to. Just as I have to afford my kids' school fees.'

'I know. But when we added those fees to the house, we found you were living outside your means. That's an indictable offence for a cop. I'm a member of the Independent Committee Against Corruption, and I've no choice but to put you under arrest and serve you this warrant to search your house.'

Sarah had spent a peaceful night at the Mandarin Oriental. She wasn't sure whether she trusted Tom's intentions where the Doctor, the Triad, or herself were concerned. Trust or not, there had seemed to be no harm in handing him a set of photos of the Pimms Building when he gave her a goodnight peck on the cheek at her door last night.

She called down to reception for breakfast and a paper - it was on the DEA's bill, after all - and showered away the previous day's aches and pains. When the knock came at the door, she pulled on one of the hotel's complimentary robes to answer it. The bell-boy gave her a strange look and, stranger still, didn't wait to hint for a tip. : Perhaps the world was coming to some sort of sense, she wondered, as she took the breakfast tray inside. The folded paper had a photo of her - a more recent one this time - on the front cover. She was moderately puzzled; the next article wasn't due to be printed until the weekend.

Somebody local had probably decided to jump the gun in order to capitalise on the fact that she was staying in town. It was annoying, and confusing to the readers, but it happened. She had been paid, so she didn't much care whether they printed the thing early, late or not at all.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, and started to nibble at her cornflakes. As she ate, she spread the paper out on the bed beside her.

Her appetite died as surely as if she herself had passed away.

INVESTIGATIVE JOURNALIST SEES SPACEMEN.

Investigative journalist Sarah Jane Smith, whose articles have been syndicated in this and other newspapers across the globe, has been exposed as a pawn of governments in the tug-of-war over UFO information.

Leaks in the British Ministry of Defence have suggested that Ms Smith, 48, has made many reports of UFOs to the organisation over the past two decades. Not only that, but she has claimed to have travelled to other planets and once said that her science-fiction novels are actually true.

It is said that Ms Smith was actually a member of UNIT, a body dedicated to investigating new and unusual threats to mankind. Although the organisation itself refuses to comment on past or present members, a Dr John Smith, who says he once worked with her, has provided us with photocopies of several documents which prove her involvement.

The Internet is currently rife with arguments between those conspiracy theorists who believe she is a government stooge whose articles cannot be trusted, and those sceptics who feel she is inventing cases simply as publicity stunts, to carve a share in the lucrative gold-embossed Fortean market.

Newspapers across the globe have been dropping her syndicated articles in response, though Graham Hancock and a few others have been quoted as saying that it would be criminal if this great crusader were sidelined because she dares to defy convention.

Stunned, moving on autopilot, Sarah walked out onto her balcony and looked across the city.

Some would have called the morning's weather calm or peaceful, but Sarah could only call it Dead. If the world was truly alive, a breeze ought to blow the lies off the paper. Even whipping the sheets away, out of her view, would be enough to hint that there was breath and movement.

Here she was, in the heart of one of the most densely populated cities on Earth, and she felt more alone and left out than she ever had before.

Someone once said that being alone in a crowd was the worst kind of loneliness, and now Sarah knew what they meant.

Dr John Smith. The Doctor. Her Doctor. Who else knew her history so well?

No one at UNIT had accompanied her on those trips. They didn't know what she'd seen and what she'd done while she was away on her travels with the Doctor. They might have been told, or deduced these things, but none of them knew. Only the Doctor and herself really knew all the little details.

Which meant only the Doctor could be behind this story.

Chapter Fifteen.

I Line Hustle tan

As the unmarked Blackhawk neared the perimeter of the blanked-out zone, everyone aboard held his or her breath. Though they had been assured of the transponder's importance and efficiency, Barry didn't trust it or the self-proclaimed experts back in Hong Kong any further than than he could fly by flapping his arms.

He half-expected a jarring halt and painful fiery death at any second as the helo drew closer and closer to the point where even the birds couldn't fly in or out. At the last moment, he closed his eyes.

He opened them again, as the trees thinned below and the land became rolling curves in a large natural bowl. Up ahead he could make out a large white building. As they overflew it, he could see it was some kind of old plantation house, probably dating from the French colonial period.

Barry didn't want the unmarked Blackhawk to land, and make itself vulnerable, so it descended until its landing wheels were about a metre from the ground, and his team hopped off. Under his orders, it was banking to head back the way it had come almost before the last man had hit the ground.

When he was younger, and under arrest for taking part in a street brawl that left a gambling welcher dead, a cop had asked Tse Hung why he lived the life he did. Tse Hung had told him, in all seriousness, that he didn't see why he should take a regular job when it was so much easier to make money by crime. If there were such a thing as time travel, he now thought, he would go back a decade and laugh in his younger self's face.

Crime did pay all right, but it wasn't the lazy option he had imagined. As he rose up through the ranks and gained power and respect, so he also gained responsibility. It was subtle and insidious, and by the time he realised what was happening it was too late to back out. Between getting others to do his dirty work so that it couldn't be traced back to him, keeping them from becoming too ambitious, dealing with rivals and making sure all the accounts balanced out as far as the tax office was concerned, being a high-level gangster proved to require more hard work than most civilian jobs. Maybe it was the added requirement of staying a living gangster that made it so hard.

There were times when Tse Hung almost wished he had a normal job, but those were rare, scattered moments, and he soon reminded himself that the money and the freedom of his lifestyle were worth the effort.

He stopped in at Yue Hwa's office on the way to his own. Yue Hwa was busy printing off some sheets for the day's board meeting. 'Did you think about what we discussed?' Tse Hung asked him.

'You mean at the Shanghai Club?'

'Yes. The The restructuring that might be needed.' restructuring that might be needed.'

Yue Hwa nodded slowly. 'I've thought about it. It might just come to that.'

"Then you agree?'