James clavell

"Hello above!"

Faintly, "We hear youuuuu!"

"I'm in the light now!"

After a moment, "Which light?"

"How the hell do I know for chrissake?" Bartlett said. Don't panic, think and wait, he almost heard Spurgeon say. Holding on, he waited, then the light he was in moved a little. "That one!" he shouted.

Instantly the light stopped.

"We have you positioned! Stay where you are!"

Bartlett looked around, quartering the area very carefully. A second time with still the same result: there was no way out.

None.

"They'll have to dig me out," he muttered, his fear gathering Sangri, the young Gurkha, was down about ten feet under the surface but well away to the right from Bartlett. He could go no farther. His way was blocked. He squirmed around and got a purchase on a j'agged concrete slab and moved it slightly. At once this part of the wreckage began to shift. He froze, let the slab rest again. But there was no other way to go, so, gritting his teeth and praying that everything would not collapse on him and whoever was below, he pulled the slab aside. The wreckage held. Panting, he put his flash into the cavity, then his head, peering around.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yes sah, very sure!"

"Come back!"

Before he left he shouted down into the darkness, "Hello down there!"

"I hear you!" Bartlett called back.

"We're not far away! We'll get you out, sah! Don't worry!"

"Okay!"

Dunross and Gornt clambered over the wreckage to join the clusters of men who were in a chain, removing rubble and beams where they could.

"Evening, tai-pan, Mr. Gornt. We've pegged him but we're not close." Hooks pointed at the man who was holding the flash steady. "That's his direction."

"How far down is he?"

"By the sound of his voice about twenty feet."

"Christ!"

"Aye, Christ it is. The poor bugger's in a pickle. Look't those!" Heavy steel H-beams were blocking the way down. "We daren't use cutters, too much gas."

"There must be another way? From the side?" Dunross asked.

"We're looking. Best we can do's get more men and clear what we can away." Hooks glanced off at an encouraging shout. They all hurried toward the excited soldiers. Below a mess of torn-up flooring that the men had taken away was a rough passageway that seemed to lead downward, twisting out of sight. They saw one of the small men jump into the cavity, then vanish. Others watched, shouting encouragement. The way was easy for six feet, very hard for the next ten feet, twisting and turning, then he was blocked. "Hello down there, sah, can you see my light?"

"Yes!" Bartlett's voice was louder. There was almost no need to shout.

"I'm going to move the light around, sah. Please if it gets near, please give me right or left, up or down, sah."

"Okay." Bartlett could see a tiny part of light up and to his right through a mass of the beams, girders and joists and broken rooms. Directly above him was an impenetrable mess of flooring and girders. Once he lost the light beam but soon picked it up again. "Right a bit," he called, his voice already a little hoarse. Obediently the light moved. "Down! Stop there! Now up a fraction." It seemed to take an age but the light centred on him. "That's it!"

The soldier held the flash steadily, made a cradle for it with rubble, then took his hand away. "All right, sah?" he shouted.

"Yesss! You're on the money!"

"I'm going back for more help."

"All right."

The soldier retreated. In ten minutes he had guided Hooks back. The fire chief gauged the path of the beam and meticulously examined the obstacle course ahead. "Stone the crows, it'll take a month of Sundays," he muttered. Then, containing his dread, he took out his compass and measured the angle carefully.

"Don't you worry, mate," he called down. "We'll get you out nice and easy. Can you get closer to the light?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Just stay where you are and rest. Are you hurt?"

"No, no but I can smell gas."

"Don't worry, lad, we're not far away." Hooks clambered out of the passage. On the surface again, he measured the line on the compass and then paced out over the tilted surface. "He's below this spot, tai-pan, Mr. Gornt, within five feet or so, about twenty feet down." They were two thirds of the way down the slope, closer to Sinclair Road than to Kotewall. There was no way in from the sides that they could see, mud and earth of the slide heavier to the right than to the left.

"The only thing we can do's dig," he said with finality. "We can't get a crane here, so it's elbow grease. We'll try here first." Hooks indicated an area that seemed promising, ten feet away, close to the hole the soldiers had discovered.

"Why there?"

"Safer, tai-pan, in case we start the whole mess a-shifting. Come on, mates, lend a hand. But take care!"

So they began to dig and to carry away everything removable. It was very hard work. All surfaces were wet and treacherous, the wreckage itself unbalanced. Beams, joists, flooring, planks, concrete, plaster, pots, radios, TV sets, bureaus, clothes, all in an untidy impossible jumble. Work stopped as they uncovered another body. "Get a medic up here!" Hooks shouted. "She's alive?"

"In a manner of speaking." The woman was old, her once white smock and black trousers tattered and mud-colored, her long hair tied in a ratty queue. It was Ah Poo. "Someone's gan sun, " Dunross said.

Gornt was staring incredulously at the place she had been found, a tiny hole within an ugly, almost solid, jagged mess of broken and reinforced concrete. "How the hell do people survive?"

Hooks's face split with his grin, his broken teeth brown and tobacco stained. "Joss, Mr. Gornt. There's always hope so long as a body can breathe. Joss." Then he bellowed below. "Send a stretcher up here, Charlie! On the double!"

It came quickly. The stretcher bearers carried her away. Work continued. The pit deepened. An hour later, four or five feet lower they were blocked by tons of steel beams. "We'll have to detour," Hooks said. Patiently they began again. A few feet later again blocked. "Detour over there."

"Can't we saw through this mess?"

"Oh yes, tai-pan, but one spark and we're all bloody angels. Come on, lads. Here. Let's try here." Men rushed to obey...

"Better wait, Mr. Bartlett!" Hooks had shouted to him. "We knows where you be!"

So he had stayed. He was rain soaked, lying on some boards, not too uncomfortably and well protected by heavy beams. Most of his line of sight was blocked a few feet away. Above was more twisted flooring. There was just enough room to lie down or, with care, to sit up. The smell of gas was strong but he had no headache yet and felt he was safe enough, the air good enough to last forever. He was tired, very tired. Even so, he forced himself to stay awake. From his vantage point he knew it would take them the rest of the night, perhaps part of the day, to work a shaft to him. That did not worry him at all. They were there. And he had made contact. An hour ago he had heard Dunross nearby. "Linc? Linc, it's Ian!"

"What the hell're you doing here?" he had called back happily.

"Looking for you. Don't worry, we're not far away."

"Sure. Say, Ian," he had begun, his anxiety almost overwhelming, "Orlanda, Orlanda Ramos, you know her? I was wai—"

"Yes. Yes I saw her just after the slip hit the building. She's fine. She's waiting up at Kotewall. She's fine. How about you?"

"Hell, no sweat," he had said, almost light-headed now, knowing she was safe. And when Dunross had told him about his own miraculous escape and that Casey had seen the whole catastrophe happen, he was appalled at the thought of how close the others had all been to disaster. "Jesus! A couple of minutes either way and you'd all've been clobbered."

"Joss!"

They had chatted for a while then Dunross had moved out of the way so the rescue could continue.

He eased himself more comfortably, his soaking clothes making his skin crawl, the shouts and noises of the approaching rescue comforting. To pass the time, he continued his reverie about the two women. I've never known a body like Orlanda's or a woman like her. It's almost as though I've known her for years, not a couple of days. That's a fact. She's exciting, unknown, female, wonderfully dangerous. Casey's no danger.

She'd make a great wife, a great partner but she's not female like Orlanda is. Sure Orlanda likes pretty clothes, expensive presents, and if what people here say is true she'll spend money like there's no tomorrow. But isn't that what most of it's for? My ex's taken care of, so're the kids. Shouldn't I have some fun? And be able to protect her from the Biltzmanns of the world?

Sure. But I still don't know what it is about her—or Hong Kong—that's got to me. It's the best place I've ever been and I feel more at home here than back home. "Maybe, Linc, you've been here in a previous lifetime," Orlanda had said.

"You believe in reincarnation?"

"Oh yes."

Wouldn't that be wonderful, he thought in his reverie, not noticing the gas or that now the gas was touching him a little. To have more than one lifetime would be the best luck in all the world an— "Linc!"

"Hey! Hi, Ian, what's cooking?" Bartlett's happiness picked up. Dunross's voice was quite close. Very close. "Nothing. We're just going to take a short break. It's heavy going.

We've got to detour again but we're only a few yards away. Thought I'd chat. As far as we can judge we're about five feet above you, coming in from the west. Can you see us yet?"

"No. There's a floor above me, all busted up, and beams, but I'm okay. I can last out easy. Hey, you know something?"

"What?"

"Tonight's the first time you called me Linc."

Bullshit, Bartlett thought and grinned to himself. "What y—" A sudden chill took both men as the wreckage began groaning, twisting here and there. In a moment the noise ceased, most of it. Bartlett began to breathe easier. "What you going to do tomorrow?"

"What about?"

"The stock market. How are you going to beat Gornt?" He listened with growing awe as Dunross told him about the Bank of China's money, Plumm's party and his challenge to Gornt, backed by his new 50 million revolving fund.

"Fantastic! Who's supporting you, Ian?"

"Father Christmas!"

Bartlett laughed. "So Murtagh came through, huh?" He heard the silence and smiled again.

"Casey told you?"

"No. No, I had that figured. I told you Casey's as smart as a whip. So you're home free. Congratulations," he said with a grin, meaning it. "I thought I had you, Ian." Bartlett laughed. "You really think your stock'll open at 30?"

"I'm hoping."

"If you're hoping, that means you and your pals have fixed it. But Gornt's smart. You won't get him."

"Oh yes I will."

"No you won't! How about our deal?"

"Par-Con? That stands of course. I thought that was all arranged?"

Bartlett heard the dry innocence. "Quillan must be fit to be tied."

"He is! He's just above. He's helping too."

Bartlett was surprised. "Why?"

There was a pause. "Quillan's a first-class, twenty-four-carat berk but... I don't know. Maybe he likes you!"

"Screw you too!" Bartlett was equally good-natured. "What're you going to do about Quillan?"

"I've made him a proposal." Dunross told it to him.

Bartlett grunted. "So my 2 mill's down the sewer?"

"Of course. That 2 million is. But your share of the General Stores takeover'll bring you 5, perhaps more, our Struan-Par-Con deal much more."

"You really figure 5?"

"Yes. You 5, Casey 5."

"Great! I always wanted her to get her drop dead money." I wonder what she'll do now? he asked himself. "She's always wanted to be independent and now she is. Great! What?" he asked, missing what Dunross had said.

"I just said, would you like to talk to her? It's dicey but safe enough."

"No," Bartlett said firmly. "Just say hi, I can say it better when I'm out."

"Casey's said she's not moving till you are." There was a slight pause. "Orlanda too. How about her? You want to say hello or anything?"

"No thanks. Plenty of time later. Tell them both to go home."

"They won't. I'm afraid you're rather popular." Bartlett laughed and sat up and bumped his head. A pain snaked down his back and he grunted, then moved more comfortably, his head almost touching the roof.

Dunross was cramped in a small space not far away at the bottom of the twisting passage, hating the closeness, his claustrophobia nauseating, a chill cold sweat soaking him because of it. He could see no sign of Bartlett but he had noted his voice sounded strong and confident. Hooks had asked him to keep Bartlett talking while they rested, in case the gas was enveloping him. "You never know, tai-pan, gas can sneak up on you. We need him alert. We'll be needing his help soon now."

The tai-pan squirmed around uneasily, sensing danger. Someone was climbing down, rubble cascading with him. It was Hooks. He stopped a few feet above.

"All right, tai-pan. Best come out now, we'll get some of my lads back in."

"Right away. Linc! Stay awake. We're starting again."

"Okay, no sweat. Say, Ian, would you consider being a best man?"

"Certainly," he said at once, his brain shouting, Which one? "It'd be an honour."

"Thanks," he heard Bartlett say and as much as he wanted to know, he knew he could never ask. He was sure Bartlett would volunteer the who. But all Bartlett said was, "Thanks. Yes, thanks very much." He smiled, surprised. Linc's learning, he told himself. It'll be good to have him as a partner—and a voting member of the Turf Club. Casey too—"We'll have you out in a jiify!"

Just as he was leaving he heard: "Wouldn't it be great if they could be friends? Guess that's too much to hope for?"

Dunross was not sure if it had been meant for him. "What?" he called out.

"Nothing," Bartlett replied. "Say, Ian, we've got lots to do this week!

Hey, I'm glad you won over Gornt!" Yes, he told himself happily. It'll be good manoeuvring with you, watching you carefully, building our Noble House.

About eight yards away, a few feet up, Dunross turned awkwardly and began to climb back.

Sixteen feet above him, Gornt and the others were waiting beside the greatly widened mouth of the pit. Dawn was lightening the east, a patch of sky now among the enveloping clouds. All over the slope tired men were still digging, searching, calling and listening. Wearily Hooks clambered out of the deepening pit. At that moment there was a tremendous noise from up near Po Shan Road. All heads jerked around. Then far above and to the left they saw part of the slope moving. The noise increased, then a wall of water and mud surged from behind the curve of the hillside up Kotewall Road and, gathering speed, rushed at them. Men began to flee as the sludge crest swept down to where the foyer had been and poured over the slope and wreckage, inundating it, the enormous mass of the sludge pressing the crest forward and down. Gornt saw it coming and hung on to an H-beam, the others hanging on as best they could. The foul, stinking murk swept up to them and passed, Gornt buried to his knees but his grip firm against the suction. The wave surged onward leaving inches of slush over everything, Hooks and the others pulling themselves out, everything else momentarily forgotten.

Gornt had not forgotten.

From where he was he could see down into the pit. He saw Dunross's hands and head appear out of the sludge. The hands grabbed a hold. More sludge was sweeping downward into the pit, finding a level, filling it. Dunross's grip slipped and he was sucked under but he fought out again and hung on precariously.

Gornt watched. And waited. And did not move. The mud poured down. The level rose more.

Dunross felt himself falling, the suction very great. He was choking in the slime, but his fingers held, he forced his toes into a crevice and began to climb. Somehow he tore himself out of the suction and now he was safe, hugging the side, half out of the mud, his chest heaving, heart pounding, retching. Still half in shock, his knees trembling, he wiped the mud from his eyes and mouth and stared around blankly. Then he saw Gornt ten feet above, watching him, resting easily against an outcrop...

For an instant his whole being concentrated, seeing the sardonic twisted smile, the hate open and disappointment vast, and he knew that if he had been above and Gornt trapped as he had been trapped, he would have watched and waited too.

Would I?

I'd've watched and waited equally and never never a helping hand. Not for Gornt. And then, at long last, Dirk Struan's curse would be ended, be laid to rest, and those who follow me never bedevilled again.

Then the instant was over. His head cleared. He remembered Bartlett and he stared downward in horror. Where the crawlspace had been was now only a slimy pool.

"Oh Christ! Helllp!" he cried out. Then there was sudden pandemonium and others were in the pit, Hooks and firemen and soldiers, and they hurled themselves impotently at the slime with shovels and with hands.

Dunross pulled himself out. Shakily he stood on the edge. In anguish. Gornt had already gone. In a little while all attempts ceased. The puddle remained.

TUESDAY

Claudia knocked and opened the door. Casey came in. Her face was stark, her tawny hair like the sunset. Her grief made her ethereal.

"Hello, Casey."

"Hello, Ian."

There was no need to say any more. Everything about Bartlett had been said already. It had taken until late last night to get his body out. Casey had waited on the slope for him. Then she had gone back to the hotel. This morning she had called and now she was here.

"Drink? Tea? Coffee? There's wine. I made martinis."

"A martini. Thanks, Ian," she said, her voice flat, the hurt in it tearing him. "Yes, I'd like that."

She sat on the sofa. He poured and put in an olive. "Everything can wait, Casey," he said compassionately. "There's no hurry."

"Yes, yes I know. But we agreed. Thanks." She accepted the chilled glass and raised it. "Joss."

"Joss."

"Thanks. Did Linc give anything to Gornt?"

"No, I don't think so." Again the hesitation. "For safety I'd consider part of the information leaked."

"Yes."

Dunross's eyes widened slightly. "For ten years?"

"Yes," she said without emotion, feeling nothing, wanting nothing except to weep and to die.

Later I can be weak, she thought. Now I must be strong and wise. "For ten years. Linc... Linc had voting control. I'll send you a formal verification when it's official."

Dunross nodded. From the lacquer desk he brought back an equivalent set of papers. "These are the same. I've chopped them formally. This"—he put an envelope onto the pile—"this's our private agreement giving Par-Con title to my ships as collateral."

"Thanks. But with your revolving fund that's not necessary."

"Even so, it was part of our agreement." Dunross watched her, admiring her courage. There had been no tears at the new beginning on the slope, just a numbed nod and, "I'll wait. I'll wait until... I'll wait." Orlanda had broken at once. He had sent her to a hotel and, later, a doctor to succour her. "It was part of our deal."

"All right. Thanks. But it's not necessary."

"Next: Here is the letter of agreement on our deal on General Stores. I'll get you the formal documents within ten days. I'll nee— "But Linc never put up the 2 million."

"Oh but he did. He did it by cable Saturday night. My Swiss bank confirmed the transaction yesterday and the money was duly passed over to the board of General Stores. They accepted so that deal's accomplished now."

"Even though Pug's dead?"

"Yes. His widow agreed to the board's recommendation. It's a very good deal by the way. Far better than the Superfoods tender."

"I don't want that, any part of that."

"When I was down in the pit, chatting with Linc, he said how happy he was that the General Stores deal was going through. His exact words were, 'Great! 5 mill? I always wanted her to get her drop dead money. She always wanted to be independent, and now, she is. Great!'"

"But at what a cost," she told him, her misery welling. "Linc always warned me that drop dead money costs more than you're prepared to pay. It has. I don't want it."

"Money is money. You're not thinking clearly. It was his to give and he gave it to you. Freely."

"You gave it to me."

"You're wrong, he did. I just helped you as you helped me." He sipped his drink. "I'll need to know where to send his profits. You'll remember there were no voting rights included. Who's his trustee?"

"It's a bank. First Central. I'm his executor, along with a man from the bank." She hesitated. "I guess his mother's his heir. She's the only one named in his will—Linc, Linc was open about that, to me. His ex-wife and their kids are well taken care of and specifically excluded from his will. There's just the voting control to me and the rest goes, the rest to his ma."

"Then she'll be very rich."

"That won't help her." Casey was trying very hard to keep her voice level and the tears away. "I talked to her last night and she broke up, poor lady. She's... she's in her sixties, nice woman, Linc's her only son." A tear seeped in spite of her resolve. "She, she asked me to bring him back. His will says he's to be cremated."

"Look, Casey," Dunross said quickly, "perhaps I could make the arr—"