James clavell

Tang-po turned to his accountant. "Did he owe us any money?"

"Oh no Honoured Sir. He was fully paid up-to-date, Sergeant Lee saw to that."

"How much did it cost that old fornicator? To get the visa?"

"His exit was smoothed by a gift of 3,000 HK to Corporal Sek Pun So in Immigration on our recommendation—our percentage was paid—we also assisted him to find the right diamond merchant to convert his wealth into the best blue whites available." Ho referred to his books. "Our 2 percent commission came to 8,960 HK."

"Good old One Eye!" Tang-po said, pleased for him. "He's done very well for himself. What was his 'unique services' job for his visa?"

Sergeant Lee said, "A cook in a restaurant in Chinatown—the Good Eating Place it's called. Oh ko, I've tasted his home cooking and old One Eye is very bad indeed."

"He'll hire another to take his place while he goes into real estate, or gambling and a nightclub," someone said. "Eeee, what joss!"

"But what did his U. S. visa cost him?"

"Ah, the golden gift to Paradise!" Ho sighed. "I heard he paid 5,000 U.S. to jump to the head of the list."

"Ayeeyah, that's more than usual! Why?"

"It seems there's also a promise of a U. S. passport as soon as the five years are up and not too much harassment about his English—old One Eye doesn't talk English as you know...."

"Those fornicators from the Golden Country—they squeeze but they aren't organised. They've no style, none at all," Tang-po said scornfully. "One or two visas here and there—when everyone here knows you can buy one if you're at the right time with the right squeeze. So why don't they do it properly in a civilised way? Twenty visas a week—even forty—they're all mad these foreign devils!"

"Dew neh loh moh but you're right," Sergeant Lee said, his mind boggled at the potential amount of squeeze he could make if he were a vice-consul in the U. S. Consulate of Hong Kong in the Visa Department. "Eeeeee!"

"We should have a civilised person in that position, then we'd soon be set up like Mandarins and policing San Francisco!" Tang-po said, and they all guffawed with him. Then he added disgustedly, "At least they should have a man there, not one who likes a Steaming Stalk in his Ghastly Gulley, or his in another's!"

They laughed even more. "Hey," one of them called out, "I heard his partner's young Foreign Devil Stinknose Pork Belly in the Public Works—you know, the one who's selling building permits that shouldn't be!"

"That's old news, Chan, very old. They've both moved on to unwiser pastures. The latest rumour is our vice-consul devil's connected with a youth...." Tang-po added delicately, "Son of a prominent accountant who's also a prominent Communist."

"Eeeee, that's not good," Sergeant Lee said, knowing at once who the man was.

"No," Tang-po agreed. "Particularly as I heard yesterday the youth has a secret flat around the corner. In my district! And my district has the least crime of any."

"That's right," they all said proudly.

"Should he be spoken to, Elder Brother?" Lee asked.

"No, just put under special surveillance. I want to know all about these two. Everything. Even if they belch." Tang-po sighed. He gave Sergeant Lee the address and made the work assignments. "Since you're all here, I've decided to bring payday forward from tomorrow." He opened the large bag that contained bank notes. Each man received the equivalent of his police pay plus authorised expenses.

HK a month salary with no expenses was not enough for a constable to feed even a small family and have a small flat, not even a two-room apartment with one tap and no sanitation, and to send one child to school; or enough to be able to send a little back to the home village in the Kwantung to needy fathers and grandmothers and mothers and uncles and grandfathers, many of whom, years upon years ago, had given their life's saving to help launch him on the broken road to Hong Kong.

Tang-po had been one of these. He was very proud that he had survived the journey as a six-year-old, alone, and had found his relations and then, when he was eighteen, had joined the police—thirty-six years ago. He had served the Queen well, the police force impeccably, the Japanese enemy during their occupation not at all and now was in charge of a key division in the Colony of Hong Kong. Respected, rich, with one son in college in San Francisco, another owning half a restaurant in Vancouver, Canada, his family in Kwantung supported—and, most important, his Division of Tsim Sha Tsui with less unsolved robberies, less unsolved woundings and maimings and triad wars than any other district—and only three murders in four years and all solved and the culprits caught and sentenced, and one of those a foreign devil seaman who'd killed another over a dance-hall girl. And almost no petty theft and never a tourist foreign devil harassed by beggars or sneak thieves and this the largest tourist area with upward of also 300,000 civilised persons to police and protect from evildoers and from themselves.

Ayeeyah, yes, Tang-po told himself. If it wasn't for us those bone-headed fornicating peasants'd be at each other's throats, raging, looting, killing, and then the inevitable mob cry would go up: Kill the foreign devils! And they would try and then we would be back in the riots again. Fornicate disgustingly all wrongdoers and unpeaceful persons!

"Now," he said affably, "we'll meet in three days. I've ordered a ten-course feast from Great Food Chang's. Until then, let everyone put an eye to the orifice of the gods and get me the answers. I want the Werewolves—and I want John Chen back. Sergeant Lee, you stay a moment. Corporal Ho, write up the minutes and let me have the accounts tomorrow at five."

"Yes, Honoured Lord."

They all trooped out. Tang-po lit another cigarette. So did Sergeant Lee. Tang-po coughed.

"You should quit smoking, Elder Brother."

"So should you!" Tang-po shrugged. "Joss! If I'm to go, I'm to go. Joss. Even so, for peace I've told my Chief Wife I've stopped. She nags and nags and nags."

"Show me one that doesn't and she'll turn out to be a he with a ghastly gulley."

They laughed together.

"That's the truth, ffeya, last week she insisted I see a doctor and you know what that motherless fornicator said? He said, you'd better give up smoking, old friend, or you'll be nothing but a few cinders in a burial jar before you're twenty moons older and then I guarantee your Chief Wife'll be spending all your money on loose boys and your concubine'll be tasting another's fruits!"

"The swine! Oh the swine!"

"Yes. He really frightened me—I felt his words right down in my secret sack! But maybe he was speaking the truth."

He took out a handkerchief, blew his nose, his breath wheezing, cleared his throat noisily and spat into the spittoon. "Listen, Younger Brother, our High Dragon says the time has come to organise Smuggler Yuen, White Powder Lee, and his cousin Four Finger Wu."

Sergeant Lee stared at him in shock. These three men were believed to be the High Tigers of the opium trade in Hong Kong. Importers and exporters. For local use and also, rumour had it, for export to the Golden Country where the great money was. Opium brought in secretly and converted into morphine and then into heroin. "Bad, very bad. We've never touched that trade before."

"Yes," Tang-po said delicately.

"That'd be very dangerous. Narcotics Branch are very serious against it. Big Mountain of Dung himself is very seriously interested in catching those three—very fornicating serious."

Tang-po stared at the ceiling. Then he said, 'The High Dragon explained it this way: A ton of opium in the Golden Triangle costs 67,000 U.S. Changed into fornicating morphine and then into fornicating heroin and the pure heroin diluted to 5 percent, the usual strength on the streets of the Golden Country, delivered there you have almost 680 million worth in American dollars. From one ton of opium." Tang-po coughed and lit another cigarette.

The sweat began on Lee's back. "How many tons could go through those three fornicators?"

"We don't know. But he's been told about 380 tons a year are grown in the whole Golden Triangle—Yunnan, Burma, Laos and Thailand. Much of it comes here. They'd handle 50 tons, he said. He's certain of 50 tons."

"Oh kof"

"Yes." Tang-po was sweating too. "Our High Dragon says we should invest in the trade now. It's going to grow and grow. He has a plan to get Marine with us...."

"Dew neh loh moh, you can't trust those seagoing bastards."

"That's what I said, but he said we need the seagoing bastards and we can trust a selected few, who else can snatch and intercept a token 20 percent—even 50 percent to appease Mountain of Dung himself at prearranged moments?" Tang-po spat deftly again. "If we could get Marine, Narcotics Branch, and the Gang of Three, our present h'eung yau would be like an infant's piddle in the harbour." There was a serious silence in the room. "We would have to recruit new members and that's always dangerous."

"Yes."

Lee helped himself to the teapot and poured some jasmine tea, sweat running down his back now, the smoke-ladened air sultry and overbearing. He waited. "What do you think, Younger Brother?" These two men were not related but used the Chinese politeness between themselves because they had trusted each other for more than fifteen years. Lee had saved his superior's life in the riots of 1956. He was thirty-five now and his heroism in the riots had earned him a police medal. He was married and had three children. He had served sixteen years in the force and his whole pay was 843 HK a month. He took the tram to work. Without supplementing his income through the Brotherhood, like all of them, he would have had to walk or bicycle, most days. The tram took two hours.

"I told him the same."

"Are you going to obey him?"

"What's good for one Brother should be good for all," Tang-po said thoughtfully, avoiding an answer.

Again Lee waited. He did not know how a Dragon was elected, or exactly how many there were, or who the High Dragon was. He only knew that his Dragon was Tang-po who was a wise and cautious man who had their interests at heart.

"He also said one or two of our foreign devil superiors are getting itchy piles about their fornicating slice of the gambling money."

Lee spat disgustedly. "What do those fornicators do for their share? Nothing. Just close their fornicating eyes. Except the Snake," This was the nickname of Chief Inspector Donald C. C. Smyth who openly organised his district of East Aberdeen and sold favours and protection on all levels, in front of his Chinese underlings.

"Ah him! He should be stuffed down the sewer, that fornicator. Soon those who he pays off above him won't be able to hide his stink anymore.

And his stench'll spread over all of us."

"He's due to retire in a couple of years," Lee said darkly. "Perhaps he'll finger his rear to all those high-ups until he leaves and there won't be a thing they can do. His friends are very high, so they say."

"Meanwhile?" Tang-po asked.

Lee sighed. "My advice, Elder Brother, is to be cautious, not to do it if you can avoid it. If you can't..." he shrugged. "Joss. Is it decided?"

"No, not yet. It was mentioned at our weekly meeting. For consideration."

"Has an approach been made to the Gang of Three?"

"I understand White Powder Lee made the approach, Younger Brother. It seems the three are going to join together."

Lee gasped. "With blood oaths?"

"It seems so."

"They're going to work together? Those devils?"

"So they said. I'll bet old Four Finger Wu will be the Highest Tiger."

"Ayeeyah, that one? They say he's murdered fifty men himself," Lee said darkly. He shivered at the danger. "They must have three hundred fighters in their pay. It'd be better for all of us if those three were dead—or behind bars."

"Yes. But meanwhile White Powder Lee says they're ready to expand, and for a little cooperation from us they can guarantee a giant return." Tang-po mopped his brow and coughed and lit another cigarette. "Listen, Little Brother," he said softly. "He swears they've been offered a very large source of American money, cash money and bank money, and a very large retail outlet for their goods there, based in this place called Manhattan."

Lee felt the sweat on his forehead. "A retail outlet there... ayeeyah, that means millions. They will guarantee?"

"Yes. With very little for us to do. Except close our eyes and make sure Marine and Narcotics Branch seize only the correct shipments and close their eyes when they're supposed to. Isn't it written in the Ancient Books: If you don't squeeze, lightning will strike you?"

Again a silence. "When does the decision... when's it going to be decided?"

"Next week. If it's decided yes, well, the flow of trade will take months to organise, perhaps a year." Tang-po glanced at the clock and got up. "Time for our shower. Nighttime Song has arranged dinner for us afterwards."

"Eeeee, very good." Uneasily Lee turned out the single overhead light. "And if the decision is no?"

Tang-po stubbed out his cigarette and coughed. "If no..." He shrugged. "We only have one life, gods notwithstanding, so it is our duty to think of our families. One of my relations is a captain with Four Finger Wu...."
11
8:30 PM
"Hello, Brian," Dunross said. "Welcome."

"Evening, tai-pan—congratulations—great night for a party," Brian Kwok said. A liveried waiter appeared out of nowhere and he accepted a glass of champagne in fine crystal. "Thanks for inviting me."

"You're very welcome." Dunross was standing beside the door of the ballroom in the Great House, tall and debonair, Penelope a few paces away greeting other guests. The half-full ballroom was open to crowded floodlit terraces and gardens where the majority of brightly dressed ladies and dinner-jacketed men stood in groups or sat at round tables. A cool breeze had come with nightfall.

"Penelope darling," Dunross called out, "you remember Superintendent Brian Kwok."

"Oh of course," she said, threading her way over to them with her happy smile, not remembering at all. "How're you?"

"Fine thanks—congratulations!"

"Thank you—make yourself at home. Dinner's at nine fifteen, Claudia has the seating lists if you've lost your card. Oh excuse me a moment...." She turned away to intercept some other guests, her eyes trying to watch everywhere to see that everything was going well and that no one stood alone—knowing in her secret heart that if there was a disaster there was nothing for her to do, that others would make everything well again.

"You're very lucky, Ian," Brian Kwok said. "She gets younger every year."

"Yes."

"So. Here's to twenty more years! Health!" They touched glasses. They had been friends since the early fifties when they had met at the first racing hill climb and had been friendly rivals ever since—and founding members of the Hong Kong Sports Car and Rally Club.

"I'm playing the field." Brian Kwok dropped his voice. "Actually I'm staying single permanently."

"Dreamer! This's your year—you're the catch of Hong Kong. Even Claudia's got her eyes on you. You're a dead duck, old chap."

"Oh Christ!" Brian dropped the banter for a moment. "Say, tai-pan, could I have a couple of private minutes this evening?"

"John Chen?" Dunross asked at once.

"No. We've got every man looking, but nothing yet. It's something else."

"Business?"

"Yes."

"Private."

"All right," Dunross said, "I'll find you after dinner. What ab—"

A burst of laughter caused them to look around. Casey was standing in the centre of an admiring group of men—Linbar Struan and Andrew Gavallan and Jacques deVille among them—just outside one of the tall French doors that led to the terrace. "Eeeee," Brian Kwok muttered. "Quite," Dunross said and grinned.

She was dressed in a floor-length sheath of emerald silk, moulded just enough and sheer just enough. "Christ, is she or isn't she?"

"What?"

"Seek and ye shall find."

"I'd like to. She's stunning."

"I thought so too," Dunross said agreeably, "though I'd say 100 percent of the other ladies don't."

"Her breasts are perfect, you can see that."

"Actually you can't. Just. It's all in your mind."

"I'll bet there isn't a pair in Hong Kong to touch them."

"Fifty dollars to a copper cash says you're wrong—provided we include Eurasians."

"How can we prove who wins?"

"We can't. Actually I'm an ankle man myself."

"What?"

"Old Uncle Chen-Chen used to say, 'First look at the ankles, my son, then you tell her breeding, how she'll behave, how she'll ride, how she'll... like any filly. But remember, all crows under heaven are black!'"

"Now there's an English beauty at her best!"

"Who? Oh, Fleur Marlowe? Yes, yes she is. I didn't know you knew the Marlowes, tai-pan."

"Likewise! I met him this afternoon, Brian. You've known him long?"

"Oh a couple of months-odd. He's persona grata with us."

"Oh?"

"Oh? Why?"

"Some months ago he wrote to the commissioner, said he was coming to Hong Kong to research a novel and asked for our cooperation. Seems the Old Man happened to have read his first novel and had seen some of his films. Of course we checked him out and he appears all right." Brian Kwok's eyes went back to Casey. "The Old Man thought we could do with an improved image so he sent word down that, within limits, Peter was approved and to show him around." He glanced back at Dunross and smiled thinly. "Ours not to reason why!"

"What was his book?"

"Called Changi, about his POW days. The Old Man's brother died there, so I suppose it hit home."

"Have you read it?"

"Not me—I've too many mountains to climb! I did skim a few pages. Peter says it's fiction but I don't believe him." Brian Kwok laughed. "He can drink beer though. Robert had him on a couple of his Hundred Pinters and he held his end up." A Hundred Pinter was a police stag party to which the officers contributed a barrel of a hundred pints of beer. When the beer was gone, the party ended.

Brian Kwok's eyes were feasting on Casey, and Dunross wondered for the millionth time why Asians favoured Anglo-Saxons and Anglo-Saxons favoured Asians.

"Why the smile, tai-pan?"

"No reason. But Casey's not bad at all, is she?"

"Fifty dollars says she's bat jam gai, heya?"

Dunross thought a moment, weighing the bet carefully. Bat jam gai meant, literally, white chicken meat. This was the way Cantonese referred to ladies who shaved off their pubic hair. "Taken! You're wrong, Brian, she's see you gai, " which meant soya chicken, "or in her case red, tender and nicely spicy. I have it on the highest authority!"

Brian laughed. "Introduce me."

"Introduce yourself. You're over twenty-one."

"I'll let you win the hill climb on Sunday!"

"Dreamer! Off you go and a thousand says you won't."

"What odds'll you give me?"

"You must be joking!"

"No harm in asking. Christ, I'd like to carry the book on that one. Where's the lucky Mr. Bartlett?"

"I think he's in the garden—I told Adryon to chaperone him. Excuse me a moment...." Dunross turned away to greet someone Brian Kwok did not recognise.

Upward of 150 guests had already arrived and been greeted personally. Dinner was for 217, each carefully seated according to face and custom at round tables that were already set and candlelit on the lawns. Candles and candelabra in the halls, liveried waiters offering champagne in cut glass crystal, or smoked salmon and caviar from silver trays and tureens.

A small band was playing on the dais and Brian Kwok saw a few uniforms among the dinner jackets, American and British, army, navy and air force. It was no surprise that Europeans were dominant. This party was strictly for the British inner circle that ruled Central District and were the power block of the Colony, their Caucasian friends, and a few very special Eurasians, Chinese and Indians. Brian Kwok recognised most of the guests: Paul Havergill of the Victoria Bank of Hong Kong, old Sir Samuel Samuels, multimillionaire, tai-pan of twenty real estate, banking, ferry and stock-broking companies; Christian Toxe, editor of the China Guardian, talking to Richard Kwang, chairman of the Ho-Pak Bank; multimillionaire shipowner V. K. Lam talking to Phillip and Dianne Chen, their son Kevin with them; the American Zeb Cooper, inheritor of the oldest American trading company, Cooper-Tillman, having his ear bent by Sir Dunstan Barre, tai-pan of Hong Kong and Lan Tao Farms, He noticed Ed Langan, the FBI man, among the guests and this surprised him. He had not known that Langan or the man he was talking to, Stanley Rosemont, a deputy director of the China-watching CIA contingent, were friends of Dunross. He let his eyes drift over the chattering group of men, and the mostly separate groups of their wives.

They're all here, he thought, all the tai-pans except Gornt and Plumm, all the pirates, all here in incestuous hatred to pay homage to the tai-pan.

Which one is the spy, the traitor, controller of Sevrin, Arthur?

He's got to be European.

I'll bet he's here. And I'll catch him. Yes. I'll catch him, soon, now that I know about him. We'll catch him and catch them all, he thought grimly. And we'll catch these crooks with their hands in their tills, we'll stamp out their piracies for the common good.

"Champagne, Honoured Sir?" the waiter asked in Cantonese with a toothy smile.

Brian accepted a full glass. "Thank you."

The waiter bowed to hide his lips. "The tai-pan had a blue-covered file among his papers when he came in tonight," he whispered quickly.

"Is there a safe, a secret hiding place here?" Brian asked equally cautiously in the same dialect.

"The servants say in his office on the next floor," the man said His name was Wine Waiter Feng, and he was one of Si's undercover network of intelligence agents. His cover as a waiter for the company that catered all Hong Kong's best and most exclusive parties gave him great value. "Perhaps it's behind the painting, I heard...." He stopped suddenly and switched to pidgin English. "Champ-igy-nee Missee?" he asked toothily, offering the tray to the tiny old Eurasian lady who was coming up to them. "Wery wery first class."

"Don't you Missee me, you impertinent young puppy," she rapped haughtily in Cantonese.

"Yes, Honoured Great-Aunt, sorry, Honoured Great-Aunt." He beamed and fled.

"So, young Brian Kwok," the old lady said, peering up at him.

She was eighty-eight, Sarah Chen, Phillip Chen's aunt, a tiny bird-like person with pale white skin and Asian eyes that darted this way and that. And though she appeared frail her back was upright and her spirit very strong. "I'm glad to see you. Where's John Chen? Where's my poor grand-nephew?"

"I don't know, Great Lady," he said politely.

"When are you going to get my Number One Grand-nephew back?"