Another thing is that if they find a capsule on you they assume you must have some pretty interesting stories to tell, so they go to work intensively.

All I needed from Travel was the air ticket 'Are you the one for Hong Kong?'

'Yes.' I put it into my wallet. 'What about China?'

Taiwan?'

'The mainland.'

He went over to the files and checked and came back, 'Are you detailed for Mandarin?'

'Yes.'

'They'll fix you up in HK. There's no regular visa - you'll be processed by the Secretary for Chinese Affairs,'

Even if Field Briefing could have taken me earlier I would have had to hang around for Credentials because they'd produced the complete works, covering me for Mandarin as well as the Hong Kong thing.

'Never thought we'd get through in time.'

Marge was the only one at the Bureau who could make you look round, not that it was saying a lot, china blue eyes and a big blonde wig and so much eye shadow it looked like sunglasses, but the thing about Marge was that if you came back after a year's absence she'd say hello you've changed your parting. She's gone now, seduced by the totally counterfeit charisma of MI5.

She had everything laid in a row along the counter, and I began on the left while she perched on her high stool like a life-size doll and watched me. Passport: Clive Wing, border frankings mostly European but two for Bangkok and one for Japan. General cover: coin dealer, member of the British Numismatic Association agents in Holland and Switzerland, specializing in Mexican and Austrian gold pieces, centennial medallions and high-value government proof sets, sole representative for Mendoza S.A. of Buenos Aires, investment brokers. A name like 'Wing' was to be expected: perfectly acceptable English surname but could also be Chinese on a written document in the absence of other identification.

Driving-licence, membership card of the BNA, letter of introduction to three leading coin and bullion brokers in Victoria and Kowloon from Mendoza S.A., latest issue of Coin Quarterly.

'When did you lose the other one?' asked Marge.

'Other what?' I signed for receipt of documents and started shuffling the stuff into my brief-case.

'You had a beautiful blue Parker.'

'Behave yourself, Marge, you don't have to advertise.'

She swung her legs and giggled and I went out and that was the last I ever saw of her; there's a typical number in there now, lisle stockings and a slight moustache.

It was still pouring with rain and the wipers had a hard job coping with it on the way back to the flat. I changed my wet sock and put some clothes in a bag and looked at my watch and thought no and then yes, picking up the phone and taking the risk that she'd mind being woken up at this hour, burr-burr, there wouldn't be time to go round there even if she were alone, burr-burr, she wouldn't be at the Connaught or anywhere because she had to be on the set at seven tomorrow, burr-burr, unless she'd been hello! Sleep still in her voice, a soft laugh, of course she didn't mind, long eyes and copper hair and the way she turned her head, my God are you off again? The whole of London suddenly full of Moira and not far away, no, I said, there's only just time to get the plane, New York, she hated quickies, she wanted everything and champagne afterwards, when will you be back, not long, I told her, not long. Goodbye.

Or maybe never, which of course was why I'd had to ring her, taking out insurance on the risk that one day soon I might get in so deep that I couldn't get out, or cross their sights and not have time to hear the hum, and go down wishing, in the confusion of rage and fright and refusal to believe, wishing I'd at least picked up a phone and said goodbye. They say you always think of your mother but I don't remember mine, but my God, I know when it comes I'm going to remember Moira.

At two-thirty the phone rang.

'Yes?'

'D'you want some transport, old horse?'

Tilson was back: he was admin, and worked shifts.

'I'll take the Jag.'

'Want it picked up?'

'If you will'

'OK. Take care.'

The line clicked, severing the last connection, and I went downstairs and threw the bag in the car.

The place was like a morgue, only seven flights on the board and one man with a mop trying to get some of the floor dry before the next coach came in: there was a blocked drain outside and the pavement was flooded.

'Rome.'

'Yes, sir.'

There was no delay on the screen printout.

'What time was this booked, can you tell me?'

He tore the perforation and used a stapler. 'You mean when . was the reservation actually made?'

'Right.'

He checked his books. 'Five p.m. yesterday, sir.'

'Thank you.'

Oh, that bastard Egerton.

On the way to the waiting area I saw a man who reminded me of someone, pale face and a kind of lost expression, couldn't think who, then I remembered: North, getting up so quietly like that, excuse me. They do it so often in bathrooms, I suppose because it's messy. I put a cheque into the Interflora box and a message, twelve red roses, Cheer up, Connie, life goes on.

A high faint whistling from beyond the roof and a sudden rush of lights. An entire Italian family in the waiting area, electing their next president, their hands presenting inarguable arguments in the air.

Taxiing to the end of the runway I got out my homework, committing the thing to memory: the extended-phase digits were in groups of vowels, labial consonants, labial and dental, so forth, and I ran off cheer ... up ... connie . . . and egerton . . . you . . . bas-tard . . . and reversed the transfers, forgetting the alert mechanism and having to look. This one wasn't going to be too easy, old Hanbury had done his nut.

Getting the green from the tower: the brakes came off and my spine began pressing into the seat. Reverse transfer and regroup, try again. But I couldn't concentrate because a top man like Macklin doesn't normally handle a low-key operation and they'd used 'highest priority' in terms of cover security in a routine enquiry into an accidental death and now I'd got him: Egerton had booked me out to Hong Kong a full hour before I'd bust a gut persuading him to send me there.

Jets roaring, the shoulders pressed hard to the seat.

So I wasn't just helping them out and I wasn't going to hang around looking at the postcards till they switched the signals from Pekin and triggered the real one for me, the big one. It was already running: Mandarin.

Chapter Three.

CONTACT.

'Fettuccini.'

'Si, signore.'

While I was eating it I reversed ten transfers, switched all groups at random and dropped the alert in every time without making a mistake, running off rome air-port 07.45 who the hell is few-son and why wont they tell me. Then I reached for the vinegar and leaked some into the little flat box and watched the plastic card slowly dissolve. She was dead right: it took a good thirty seconds, not exactly the kind of trick you'd want to leave till the last minute if you found yourself in a shut-ended situation. Most people keep the key on them throughout the whole mission unless they run into problems: it's as tough as a credit card and you can take it through fire and water and it won't break unless you actually stand it on edge at a bus stop but I like to get rid of it early-it gives me the creeps because if they do happen to get to you before you can stop them they can begin reading your signals and sending stuff back and you won't necessarily live to know you've blown the whole operation.