James clavell

Bartlett stared after him blankly. His feet began to take him back into the house but he stopped and returned to his place in the line. There's plenty of time, he told himself. No need to ask her yet. Think it out.

Casey had told him about the Royal Belgium's connection with First Central, and Murtagh had elaborated this afternoon, adding how hard it was to get an in here with the Establishment but that was all. Bartlett had noted the Texan's nervousness and Casey's nervousness. At the time he'd put it down to the races.

But now? he asked himself suspiciously. Casey and Murtagh and the tai-pan! "First Central'll go for the deal if" and "the tai-pan'll owe us favours till hell freezes...." and "just as Casey and me laid it out." She's the go-between? Casey'd run rings around that joker and she's no messenger. Hell, Casey has to lead him by the nose. He's no match for her. So probably she put him up to—to what? What does the tai-pan need most?

Credit, fast, in millions by Monday.

Jesus, First Central's going to back him! That's got to be it. If. If he makes concessions, and he's got to make some to get out from under...

"You want the car, sir?"

"Oh. Yes, Lim, sure. Police headquarters in Wanchai. Thanks." He got into the back, his mind buzzing.

So Casey's got a private game going. It must've been in the works a day or so but she hasn't told me. Why? If I'm right and the scam succeeds, Ian's got the wherewithal to fight off Gornt, even cream him. She's gone out of her way to help hint against Gornt. Without my okay. Why? And in return for what?

Drop dead money! Is the 50-50 a payoff—my 2 mill but she shares 50-50?

Sure. That's one possibility—one that I know about now. What're the others? Jesus! Casey independent, maybe going with the enemy? They're still both enemy, Ian and Gornt.

His excitement increased.

What to do?

The money at risk with Gornt is covered every which way. The 2 mill with Struan's is covered too, and stays. I'd never planned to jerk it—that was just testing Casey. The Struan deal's good either way. The Gornt deal's good, either way. So my plan's still good—I can still jump either way, though the timing's critical.

But now there's Orlanda.

If it's Orlanda, it's the States or somewhere else but not here. It's quite clear she'd never be welcome in Happy Valley's winner's circle. Or in the cliques and clubs. She'd never be freely invited into the great houses, except maybe by Ian. And Gornt, but that'd be to taunt, to jerk the reins, to remind her of the past—like last night when that other girl came on deck. I saw Orlanda's face. Oh she covered, better than anyone could have covered except maybe Casey. She hated that the other girl had been below, in the master suite that was once hers.

Maybe Gornt didn't do that deliberately? Maybe the girl came up on her own. She went back below almost at once. Maybe she wasn't supposed to come up at all. Maybe.

Shit! There's too much going on I can't figure: like the General Stores and the Ho-Pak rescue—too much agreed by a couple of guys on a Saturday—a couple of whiskeys here and a phone call there. It's all dynamite if you're in the club but Jesus watch out if you're not. Here you've got to be British or Chinese to belong.

I'm just as much an outsider as Orlanda.

Still, I could be happy here, for a time. And I could even handle it here with Orlanda, for a short time, on visits. I could handle the Pacific Rim and having Par-Con as a Noble House but for it to be accepted as the Noble House by British and Chinese, it'll still have to be Struan-Par-Con with our name in small letters, or Rothwell-Gornt-Par-Con the same.

Casey?

You'd better choose, old buddy, while you're still tai-pan.

"Yes, Phillip?"

They were in the study under the portrait of Dirk Struan, and Dunross had chosen the place deliberately. Phillip Chen sat opposite him. Very formal, very correct and very weary. "How is Alexi?"

"Still unconscious. Doc Tooley says he'll be all right if he comes out of it in a couple of hours."

"Tiptop?"

"I'm to call him at 9:00 P.M."

"Still no approval of his offer from... from the authorities?"

Dunross's eyes narrowed. "You know the arrangement he suggested?"

"Oh yes, tai-pan. I... I was asked. I still find it hard to believe... Brian Kwok? God help us, but yes... my opinion was asked before the suggestion was put to you."

"Why the devil didn't you tell me?" Dunross snapped.

"Rightly you no longer consider me compradore of the Noble House and favour me with your trust."

"You consider yourself trustworthy?"

"Yes. I've proved it in the past many times, so did my father—and his. Even so, if I were you and sitting where you are sitting, I would not be having this meeting, I would not have you in my house and I would already have decided the ways and means of your destruction."

"Perhaps I have."

"Not you." Phillip Chen pointed at the portrait. "He would have, but not you, Ian Struan Dunross."

"Don't bet on it."

"I do."

"First the coin: Wait until the favour is asked. I will endeavour to find out what it is in advance. If it is too much th—"

"It will be too much."

"What will he ask for?"

"Something to do with narcotics. There's a strong rumour Four Fingers, Smuggler Yuen and White Powder Lee are in partnership, smuggling heroin."
"It's under consideration. They're not actually partners yet," Phillip Chen said.

"Again, why didn't you tell me? It's your duty as compradore to keep me informed, not to write down intimate details of our secrets and then lose them to enemies."

"Again, I ask forgiveness. But now is the time to talk."

"Because you're finished?"

"Because I might be finished—if once more I cannot prove my worth." The old man looked at Dunross bleakly, seeing the face of many tai-pans in the face of the man opposite him, not liking the face or that of the man above the fireplace whose eyes bored into him—the foreign devil pirate who had forsaken his great-grandfather because of mixed blood, half of which was his own.

Ayeeyah, he thought, curbing his anger. These barbarians and their intolerance! Five generations of tai-pans we've served and now this one threatens to change Dirk's legacy for one mistake?

"About the ask: even if it's connected with heroin or narcotics, it will concern some future performance or action. Agree to it, tai-pan, and I promise I will deal with Four Fingers long before the ask has to be granted."

"How?"

"What other trickeries did you have in your safe? I've been through all the documents and balance sheets you gave Andrew. With that information in the wrong hands we're naked."

"Yes, but only in front of Bartlett and Par-Con, providing he keeps them to himself and doesn't pass them over to Gornt or another enemy here. Tai-pan, Bartlett doesn't strike me as a malicious person. Perhaps we can deal with him to get what he has back and ask him to agree to keep the information secret."

"To do that you have to barter with a secret he doesn't want let out. Do you have one?"

"Not yet. As partners to us he should protect us."

"Yes. But he's already dealing with Gornt and advanced $2 million U.S. to cover Gornt selling us short."

Phillip Chen whitened. "Eeeee, I didn't know that." He thought a moment. "So Bartlett will withdraw from us on Monday and go over to the enemy?"

"I don't know. At the moment I think he's fence-sitting. I would if I were him."

Phillip Chen shifted in his chair. "He's very fond of Orlanda, tai-pan."

"Yes, she could be a key. Gornt's got to have arranged that, or pushed her toward Bartlett."

"Are you going to tell him?"

"No, not unless there's a reason. He's over twenty-one." Dunross hardened even more. "What do you propose?"

"Are you agreeing to the new concessions First Central wants?"

"So you know about that too?"

"You must have wanted everyone to know that you're seeking support from them, tai-pan. Why else invite Murtagh to your box at the races, why else invite him here? It was easy to put two and two together, even if one hasn't copies of his telexes y—"

"Have you?"

"Some of them." Phillip Chen took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands. "Will you concede?"

"No. I told him I'd think about it—he's waiting downstairs for my answer but it's got to be no. I can't guarantee to give them first option on all future loans. I can't because the Victoria has so much power here and so much of our paper and they'd squeeze us to death. In any event I can't replace them with an American bank that's already proved to be politically unreliable. They're fine as a backup and fantastic if they'll get us out of this mess but I'm not sure about them long-term. They have to prove themselves."

"They must be ready to compromise too. After all, giving us 2 million to cement the General Stores takeover's a great vote of confidence, heya?"

Dunross let that pass. "What had you in mind?"

"May I suggest you counter by making a specific offer: all Canadian, U. S., Australian and South American loans for five years—that covers our expansion in those territories—plus the immediate loan for two giant oil tankers to be purchased through Toda, on the lease-back scheme, and, for an associate, firm orders for a further seven."

"Christ Jesus, who's got that type of operation?" Dunross exploded.

"Vee Cee Ng."

"Photographer Ng? Impossible."

"Within twenty years Vee Cee will have a fleet bigger than Onassis."

"Impossible."

"Very probably, tai-pan."

"How do you know?"

"I've been asked to help finance and arrange a huge extension to his fleet. If we put the first seven tankers into our package with the promise of more, and I can, Ian, that should satisfy First Central." Phillip Chen wiped the perspiration off his forehead. "Heya?"

"Christ, that'd satisfy the Chase Manhattan and the Bank of America jointly! Vee Cee?" Then Dunross's boggled mind jerked into top efficiency. "Ah! Vee Cee plus thoriums plus Old Friends plus all sorts of delicate hardware plus oil plus Old Friends. Eh?"

Phillip smiled tentatively. "All crows under heaven are black."

"Yes." After a pause, he said, "First Central might go for it. But what about Bartlett?"

"With First Central you don't need Par-Con. First Central will be happy to help us get an alternate backer or partner in the States.

It'd take a little time, but with Jacques in Canada, David MacStruan here, Andrew in Scotland... Tai-pan, I don't know what's in your mind about Andrew and this man Kirk but the theories he's been sporting strike me as farfetched, very farfetched."

"You were saying about Bartlett?"

"I suggest we pray that First Central takes the bait, that Tiptop gives us the money, that I can cover First Central with a syndicate of Mata, Tightfist and Four Fingers. Then you, David MacStruan and I can easily find an alternate to Par-Con. I suggest we open an immediate office in New York. Put David in charge for three months with... perhaps Kevin as his assistant." Phillip Chen let that set a moment in the air and rushed on. "Within three months we should know if young Kevin has any value—I think you'll be very impressed, tai-pan, in fact I guarantee it. In three months we'll know what young George Trussler feels about Rhodesia and South Africa. When he has that office set up we could send him to New York. Or we could perhaps tempt your other cousin, the Virginian, Mason Kern, out of Cooper-Tillman and put him in charge of our New York office. After six months Kevin should go to Salisbury and Johannesburg—I have a great feeling that the thorium and precious metal trade will go from strength to strength."

"Meanwhile, we still have our immediate problems. Bartlett, Gornt and the run on our stock?"

"To ensure Bartlett's silence we have to split him totally from Gornt and make him an ally, a complete ally."

"How do you do that, Phillip?"

"Leave that with me. There are... there are possibilities."

Dunross kept his eyes on Phillip Chen but the old man did not look up from the desk. What possibilities? Orlanda? Has to be. "All right," he said. "Next?"

"About the market. With the Bank of China supporting us, the bank runs are over. With the General Stores takeover and massive financial backing, the run on our stock has to cease. Everyone will rush to buy and the boom will be on. Now," Phillip Chen said, "I know you didn't want to before, but say we can get Sir Luis to withdraw our stock from trading till Monday at noon we ea—"

"What?"

"Yes. Say no one can trade Struan's officially until noon, say we set the price where it was on Wednesday last—28.80. Gornt is trapped. He has to buy at whatever price he can to cover. If no one offers enough stock below that figure all his profits go out of the window, he might even be mauled."

Phillip Chen was very pale, beads of sweat on his forehead. "If the stock exchange committee agreed that it was necessary 'to stabilise the market'... and if the great broking firms of Joseph Stern and Arjan Soorjani also agree not to offer any stock, any bulk stock below 28.80, what can Gornt do?" He wiped his forehead shakily. "That's my plan."

"Why should Sir Luis cooperate?"

"I think... I think he will, and Stern and Soorjani owe us many favours."

The old man's fingers were twitching nervously. "Between Sir Luis, Stern, Soorjani, you and me, we control most of the major blocks of stock Gornt sold short."

"Stern is Gornt's broker."

"True, but he's Hong Kong yan and he needs goodwill more than one client." Phillip Chen shifted more into the light. Dunross noticed the pallor and was greatly concerned. He got up and went to the liquor cabinet and fetched two brandy and sodas. "Here."

"Thank you." Phillip Chen drank his quickly. "Thank God for brandy."

"You think we can line them all up by Monday's opening? By the way, I've cancelled my trip to Taipei."

"Good, yes that's wise. Will you be going to Jason Plumm's cocktail party now?"

"Yes. Yes, I said I would."

"Good, we can talk more then. About Sir Luis. There's a good chance, tai-pan. Even if the stock isn't withdrawn, the price has to skyrocket, it must—if we get the support we need."

That's obvious to anyone, Dunross thought sourly. If. He glanced at his watch. It was 8:35. Sinders was to call by 8:30. He had given him half an hour leeway before his call to Tiptop. His stomach seemed to fall apart but he dominated it. Christ, I can't call him, he thought irritably. "What?" he asked, not having heard Phillip Chen.

"The deadline you gave me to have my resignation on your desk—Sunday midnight if Mata and Tightfist or—may I ask that it be extended a week?"

Dunross picked up Phillip Chen's glass to replenish it, liking the Asian subtlety of the request, to extend it to a time when it would have no value, for, in a week's time, the crisis would be long resolved.

The way the request was put saved face on both sides. Yes, but he has to make a major effort. Can his health stand it? That's my only real consideration. As he poured the brandy he thought about Phillip Chen, Kevin Chen, Claudia Chen and old Chen-chen and what he would do without them. I need cooperation and service and no more betrayal or treachery. "I'll consider that, Phillip. Let's discuss it just after Prayers on Monday." Then he added carefully, "Perhaps extensions would be justified."

Gratefully Phillip Chen accepted the brandy and took a big swallow, his colour better. He had heard the deft plural and was greatly relieved. All I have to do is deliver. That's all. He got up to go. "Thank y—"

The phone jangled irritatingly and he almost jumped. So did Dunross.

"Hello? Oh hello, Mr. Sinders." Dunross could hear the beating of his heart over the rain. "What's new?"

"Very little I'm afraid. I've discussed your suggestion with the governor. If 'it' is in my possession by noon tomorrow, I have reason to believe your friend could be delivered to the Lo Wu border terminal by sunset Monday. I cannot guarantee, of course, that he will wish to cross the border into Red China."

Dunross got his voice going. "There's a lot of 'reason to believe' and 'could be' in that, Mr. Sinders."

"That's the best I can do, officially."

"What guarantees do I have?"

"None, I'm afraid, from Mr. Crosse or myself. It would seem there has to be trust on both sides."

Bastards, Dunross thought furiously, they know I'm trapped. "Thank you, I'll consider what you've said. Noon tomorrow? I'm in the hill climb tomorrow if it's on—ten to noon. I'll come to police headquarters as soon as I can afterwards."

"No need to worry, Mr. Dunross. If it's on, I'll be there too. Noon can be a deadline here or there. All right?"

"All right. Good night." Grimly Dunross put the phone down. "It's a maybe, Phillip. Maybe, by Monday sunset."

Phillip Chen sat down, aghast. His pallor increased. "That's too late."

"We'll find out." He picked up the phone and dialled again.

"Hello, good evening. Is the governor there, please? Ian Dunross." He sipped his brandy. "Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Mr. Sinders just called. He said, in effect: perhaps. Perhaps by sunset Monday. May I ask, could you guarantee that?"

"No, Ian, no I can't. I don't have jurisdiction over this matter. Sorry. You have to make any arrangements direct. Sinders struck me as a reasonable man though. Didn't you think so?"

"He seemed very unreasonable," Dunross said with a hard smile. "Thanks. Never mind. Sorry to disturb you, sir. Oh, by the way if this can be resolved, Tiptop said your chop would be required, with the bank's and mine. Would you be available tomorrow, if need be?"

"Of course. And Ian, good luck."

Dunross replaced the phone. After a moment, he said, "Would they agree, the money tomorrow for the fellow Monday sunset?"

"I wouldn't," Phillip Chen said helplessly. "Tiptop was clear. 'Whenever the correct procedures are entered into.' The exchange would be simultaneous."

Dunross sat back in the high chair, sipped his brandy and let his mind roam.

At 9:00 P.M. he dialled Tiptop, and chatted inconsequentially until the moment had come. "I hear the police underling will surely be fired for making such a mistake and that the wronged party could be at Lo Wu at noon Tuesday."

There was a great silence. The voice was colder than ever. "I hardly think that's immediate."

"I agree. Perhaps I might be able to persuade them to bring it forward to Monday. Perhaps your friends could be a little patient. I would consider it a very great favour." He used the word deliberately and let it hang.

"I will pass your message on. Thank you, tai-pan. Please call me at seven o'clock tomorrow evening. Good night."

"Night."

Phillip Chen broke the silence, very concerned. "That's an expensive word, tai-pan."

"I know. But I have no option," he said, his voice hard. "Certainly there'll be a return favour asked in payment someday." Dunross brushed his hair away from his eyes and added, "Perhaps it'll be with Joseph Yu, who knows? But I had to say it."

"Yes. You're very wise. Wise beyond your years, much wiser than Alastair and your father, not as wise as the Hag." A small shiver went through him. "You were wise to barter the time, and wise not to mention the money, the bank money, very wise. He's much too smart not to know we need that tomorrow—I'd imagine by evening at the latest."

"Somehow we'll get it. That'll take the Victoria pressure off us. Paul's got to call a board meeting soon," Dunross added darkly. "With Richard on the board, well, Richard owes us many favours. The new board will vote to increase our revolving fund, then we won't need Bartlett, First Central or Mata's god-cursed syndicate."

Phillip Chen hesitated, then he blurted out, "I hate to be the bearer of more bad tidings but I've heard that part of Richard Kwang's arrangement with Havergill included his signed, undated resignation from the Victoria board and a promise to vote exactly as Havergill wishes."

Dunross sighed. Everything fell into place. If Richard Kwang voted with the opposition it would neutralise his dominating position. "Now all we have to do is lose one more supporter and Paul and his opposition will squeeze us to death." He looked up at Phillip Chen. "You'd better nobble Richard."

"I... I'll try, but he's nobbled already. What about P. B. White? Do you think he'd help?"

"Not against Havergill, or the bank. With Tiptop he might," Dunross said heavily. "He's next—and last—on the list."
70
10:55 PM
The six people piled out of the two taxis at the private entrance of the Victoria Bank building on the side street. Casey, Riko Gresserhoff, Gavallan, Peter Marlowe, Dunross and P. B. White, a spare, spritely Englishman of seventy-five. The rain had stopped, though the poorly lit street was heavily puddled.

"Sure you won't join us for a nightcap, Peter?" P. B. White asked.

"No thanks, P. B., I'd better be getting home. Night and thanks for supper, tai-pan!"

He walked off into the night, heading for the ferry terminal that was just across the square. Neither he nor the others noticed the car pull up and stop down the street. In it was Malcolm Sun, senior agent, SI, and Povitz, the CIA man. Sun was driving.

"This the only way in and out?" Povitz asked.

"Yes."

"Casey's okay but the other? There are prettier girls in any dance hall...." Sun stopped. A taxi went past.

"Another tail?"

"No, no I don't think so, but if we're watching the tai-pan you can bet others are."

"Yes."

They saw P. B. White press the button again. The door opened and the sleepy Sikh night guard greeted him, "Evening, sahs, mem-sahs," then went to the elevator, pressed the button and closed the front door.

"How long have you lived here, P. B.?" Casey asked, knowing there was nothing ancient about him, given the dance in his step or the twinkle in his eyes.

"About five years, my dear," he replied taking her arm. "I'm very lucky."

Sure, she thought, and you've got to be very important to the bank and powerful, must be to have one of the only three apartments in the whole vast building. He had told them one of the others belonged to the chief manager who was presently on sick leave. The last one was staffed but kept vacant. "It's for visiting HRHs, the governor of the Bank of England, prime ministers, those sort of luminaries," P. B. White had said grandly during the light spicy Szechuan food. "I'm rather like a janitor, an unpaid caretaker. They let me in to look after the place."

"I'll bet!"

"Oh it's true! Fortunately there's no connection between this part of the building and the bank proper, otherwise I'd have my hand in the till!"

Casey was feeling very happy, replete with good food and good wine and fine, witty conversation and much attention from the four men, particularly Dunross—and very content that she had held her own with Riko—everything in her life seemingly in place again, Linc so much more her Linc once more, even though he was out with the enemy. How to deal with her? she asked herself for the billionth time.