CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

9:25 A.M.:

Dunross came around the corner in his Jaguar fast, climbing the winding road easily, then turned into a driveway and stopped an inch from the tall gates. The gates were set into high walls. In a moment a Chinese porter peered through the side door. When he recognized the tai-pan he opened the gates wide and waved him through.

The driveway curled and stopped outside an ornate Chinese mansion. Dunross got out. Another servant greeted him silently. The grounds were well kept and down a slope was a tennis court where four Chinese, two men and two women, were playing mixed doubles. They paid no attention to him and Dunross did not recognize any of them.

“Please follow me, tai-pan,” the servant said.

Dunross hid his curiosity as he was shown into an anteroom. This was the first time he or anyone that he knew had ever been invited into Tiptop’s home. The interior was clean and busy with the strange, careless but usual Chinese mixture of good lacquer antiques and ugly modern bric-a-brac. Walls were paneled and ornate with a few bad prints hanging on them. He sat down. Another servant brought tea and poured.

Dunross could feel that he was being observed but this too was usual. Most of these old houses had spyholes in the walls and doors—there were many even in the Great House.

When he had got back to the Great House this morning near 4:00 A.M. he had gone straight to his study and opened the safe. There was no doubt, with even a cursory glance, that one of the two remaining coins fitted the imprints that were in Four Finger Wu’s beeswax matrix. No doubt at all. His fingers were trembling when he broke the half-coin from its restraining sealing wax in Dirk Struan’s Bible and cleaned it. It fitted the indentations perfectly.

“Christ,” he had muttered. “Now what?” Then he had put the matrix and the coin back into the safe. His eyes saw the loaded automatic and the empty space where AMG’s files had been. Uneasily he had relocked the safe and went to bed. There was a message on his pillow: “Father dear: Will you wake me when you leave? We want to watch the tryouts. Love, Adryon. P.S. Can I invite Martin to the races Saturday please please please? P.P.S. I think he’s super. P.P.P.S. You’re super too. P.P.P.P.S. You’re out late, aren’t you? Now it’s 3:16!!!!”

He had tiptoed to her room and opened her door but she was fast asleep. When he had left this morning he had had to knock twice to awaken her. “Adryon! It’s 6:30.”

“Oh! Is it raining?” she said sleepily.

“No. Soon will be. Shall I open the blinds?”

“No, Father dear, thank you … doesn’t matter, Martin won’t … won’t mind.” She had stifled a yawn. Her eyes had closed and, almost instantly, she was deep asleep again.

Amused, he had shaken her lightly but she had not come out of sleep. “Doesn’t matter, Father. Martin won’t…” And now, remembering how lovely she was and what his wife had said about the pill, he decided to make a very serious check on Martin Haply. Just in case.

“Ah, tai-pan, sorry to keep you waiting.”

Dunross got up and shook the outstretched hand. “It’s good of you to see me, Mr. Tip. Sorry to hear about your cold.”

Tip Tok-toh was in his sixties, graying, with a round nice face. He wore a dressing gown and his eyes were red and his nose stuffed, his voice a little hoarse. “It’s this rotten climate. Last weekend I went sailing with Shitee T’Chung and I must’ve caught a chill.” His English accent was slightly American, perhaps Canadian. Neither Dunross nor Alastair Struan had ever been able to draw him out about his past, nor had Johnjohn or the other bankers any knowledge of him in banking circles in Nationalist China days, pre-1949. Even Shitee T’Chung and Phillip Chen who entertained him lavishly could not pry anything out of him. The Chinese had nicknamed him the Oyster.

“The weather has been bad,” Dunross agreed pleasantly. “Thank God for the rain.”

Tiptop motioned to the man beside him. “This is an associate, Mr. L’eung.”

The man was nondescript. He wore a drab Maoist jacket and drab trousers. His face was set and cold and guarded. He nodded. Dunross nodded back. “Associate” could cover a multitude of positions, from boss to interpreter, from commissar to guard.

“Would you like coffee?”

“Thank you. Have you tried vitamin C to cure your cold?” Patiently Dunross began the formal chitchat that would precede the real reason for the meeting. Last night while he was waiting for Brian Kwok in the Quance Bar he had thought Johnjohn’s proposal was worth a try so he had phoned Phillip Chen then and asked him to request an appointment early today. It would have been just as easy to have called Tiptop direct but that was not correct Chinese protocol. The civilized way was to go through a mutually friendly intermediary. Then, if the request was refused, you would not lose face, nor would the other person, nor would the intermediary.

He was listening to Tiptop with only half his head, making polite conversation, surprised they were still speaking English, because of L’eung. This could only mean the man’s English was also perfect, and, possibly, that he did not understand either Cantonese or Shanghainese which Tiptop spoke and Dunross was fluent in. He fenced with Tiptop, waiting for the opening that at length the banker would give him. Then it came.

“This stock market crash on your stock must be very worrying for you, tai-pan.”

“Yes, yes it is, but it’s not a crash, Mr. Tip, just a readjustment. The market ebbs and flows.”

“And Mr. Gornt?”

“Quillan Gornt is Quillan Gornt and always snapping at our heels. All crows under heaven are black.” Dunross kept his voice matter-of-fact, wondering how much the man knew.

“And the Ho-Pak mess? That’s a readjustment too?”

“No, no that’s bad. I’m afraid the Ho-Pak’s out of luck.”

“Yes, Mr. Dunross, but luck hasn’t much to do with it. It’s the capitalistic system, that and ineptness by Banker Kwang.”

Dunross said nothing. His eyes flicked momentarily to L’eung who sat stiffly, immobile and very attentive. His ears were concentrated and so was his mind, seeking the oblique currents under what was said. “I’m not party to Mr. Kwang’s business, Mr. Tip. Unfortunately the run on the Ho-Pak’s spilling over to other banks and that’s very bad for Hong Kong and also, I think, bad for the People’s Republic of China.”

“Not bad for the People’s Republic of China. How can it be bad for us?”

“China is China, the Middle Kingdom. We of the Noble House have always considered China to be the mother and father of our house. Now our base in Hong Kong’s under siege, a siege that’s actually meaningless—just a temporary lack of confidence and a week or so of cash. Our banks have all the reserves and all of the wealth and strength they need to perform … for old friends, old customers and ourselves.”

“Then why don’t they print more money if the currency’s so strong?”

“It’s a matter of time, Mr. Tip. It’s not possible for the mint to print enough Hong Kong money.” Even more patiently, Dunross answered the questions, knowing now that most were for the benefit of L’eung, which suggested L’eung was senior to Tiptop, a more senior Party member, a non-banker. “Our interim solution would be to bring in, at once, a few aircraft loads of pounds sterling to cover withdrawals.” He saw both men’s eyes narrow slightly.

“That would hardly support the Hong Kong dollar.”

“Yes, yes our bankers know that. But Blacs, the Victoria and Bank of England decided this would be best in the interim. We just don’t have enough Hong Kong cash to satisfy every depositor.”

The silence thickened. Dunross waited. Johnjohn had told him he believed the Bank of China did not have substantial reserves of pounds because of the currency restrictions on their movement in and out of Britain but had very substantial amounts of Hong Kong dollars for which there were no export restrictions.

“It would not be at all good for the Hong Kong dollar to be weakened,” Tip Tok-toh said. He blew his nose noisily. “Not good for Hong Kong.”

“Yes.”

Tip Tok-toh’s eyes hardened and he leaned forward. “Is it true, tai-pan, that the Orlin Merchant Bank won’t renew your revolving fund?”

Dunross’s heart picked up a beat. “Yes.”

“And true that your fine bank will not cover this loan or advance you enough to stave off the Rothwell-Gornt attack on your stock?”

“Yes.” Dunross was very pleased to hear the calm quality of his voice.

“And true that many old friends have refused credit to you?”

“Yes.”

“And true that the … the person Hiro Toda arrives this afternoon and requires payment for ships ordered from his Japanese shipyards shortly?”

“Yes.”

“And true that Mata and Tung and their Great Good Luck Company of Macao have tripled their normal order for gold bullion but will not help you directly?”

“Yes.” Dunross’s already fine-tuned concentration increased.

“And true that the running-dog Soviet hegemonists have once more, impudently, very very impudently, applied for a banking charter in Hong Kong?”

“I believe so. Johnjohn told me they had. I’m not sure. I would presume he would not tell me a falsehood.”

“What did he tell you?”

Dunross repeated it verbatim, ending, “Certainly the application would be opposed by me, the boards of all British banks, all the tai-pans and the governor. Johnjohn also said the hegemonists had the temerity to offer immediate and substantial amounts of HK dollars to assist them in their present trouble.”

Tip Tok-toh finished his coffee. “Would you like some more?”

“Thank you.” Dunross noted that L’eung poured and he felt he had achieved a great step forward. Last night he had delicately mentioned the Moscow bank to Phillip Chen, knowing that Phillip would know how to pass the information on, which would of course indicate to such an astute man as Tiptop the real reason for the urgent meeting and so give him the necessary time to contact the decision-maker who would assess its importance and ways to acquiesce or not. Dunross could feel a sheen of sweat on his forehead and prayed that neither of the men opposite him noticed it. His anxiety would push the price up—if a deal was to be made.

“Terrible, terrible,” Tiptop said thoughtfully. “Terrible times! Old Friends forsaking Old Friends, enemies being welcomed to the hearth … terrible. Oh by the way, tai-pan, one of our old friends asks if you could get him a shipment of goods. Thorium oxide I think it was.”

With a great effort Dunross kept his face clean. Thorium oxide was a rare earth, the essential ingredient for old-fashioned gas mantles: it made the mantle emit its brilliant white light. Last year he had happened to hear that Hong Kong had recently become the greatest user after the United States. His curiosity had peaked as Struan’s were not in what must clearly be a profitable trade. Quickly he had found out that access to the material was relatively easy and that the trade was prodigious, quite secret, with many small importers, all of them very vague about their business. In nature, thorium occurred in various radioactive isotopes. Some of these were easily converted into fissionable uranium 235, and thorium 232 itself was an enormously valuable breeder material for an atomic pile. Of course, these and many other thorium derivatives were restricted strategic materials but he had been astounded to discover the oxide and nitrate, chemically easily convertible, were not.

He could never find out where the thorium oxides actually went. Of course into China. For a long time, he and others had suspected the PRC of having a crash atomic program, though everyone believed it had to be formulative and at least ten years from fruition. The idea of China nuclear armed filled him with mixed feelings. On the one hand, any nuclear proliferation was dangerous; on the other, as a nuclear power China would instantly become a formidable rival to Soviet Russia, even an equal to Soviet Russia, even a threat, certainly unconquerable—particularly if it also had the means to deliver a retaliatory strike.

Dunross saw both men looking at him. The small vein in L’eung’s forehead was pulsing though his face was impassive. “That might be possible, Mr. Tip. How much would be needed and when?”

“I believe immediately, as much as can be obtained. As you know, the PRC is attempting to modernize but much of our lighting is still by gas.”

“Of course.”

“Where would you obtain the oxides or nitrates?”

“Australia would probably be the quickest, though I’ve no idea at this moment about quality. Outside of the United States,” he added delicately, “it’s only found in Tasmania, Brazil, India, South Africa, Rhodesia and the Urals … big deposits there.” Neither man smiled. “I imagine Rhodesia and Tasmania’d be best. Is there anyone Phillip or I should deal with?”

“A Mr. Vee Cee Ng, in Princes Building.”

Dunross bit back a whistle as another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Mr. Vee Cee Ng, Photographer Ng, was a great friend of Tsu-yan, the missing Tsu-yan, his old friend and associate who had mysteriously fled into China over the Macao border. Tsu-yan had been one of the thorium importers. Up to now, the connection had been meaningless. “I know Mr. Ng. By the way, how is my old friend, Tsu-yan?”

L’eung was plainly startled. Bull’s-eye, Dunross thought grimly, shocked that he had never once suspected Tsu-yan of being Communist or having Communist leanings.

“Tsu-yan?” Tiptop frowned. “I haven’t seen him for a week or more. Why?”

“I heard he was visiting Peking by way of Macao.”

“Curious! That’s very curious. I wonder why he’d want to do that—an arch-capitalist? Well, wonders will never cease. If you’d be kind enough to contact Mr. Ng direct, I’m sure he will give you the details.”

“I’ll do that this morning. As soon as I get back to the office.”

Dunross waited. There would be other concessions before they would grant what he sought, if it was to be granted. His mind was racing with the implication of their first request, how to get thorium oxides, whether to get them, wanting to know how far along the PRC was with its atomic program, knowing they would never tell him that. L’eung took out a pack of cigarettes and offered it.

“No thanks,” he said.

Both men lit up. Tiptop coughed and blew his nose. “It’s curious, taipan,” he said, “very curious that you go out of your way to help the Victoria and Blacs and all your capitalist banks while the strong rumor is that they’ll not help you in your need.”

“Perhaps they’ll see the error of their ways,” Dunross said. “Sometimes it’s necessary to forget present advantages for the common good. It would be bad for the Middle Kingdom for Hong Kong to falter.” He noted the scorn on L’eung’s face but it did not bother him. “It’s ancient Chinese doctrine not to forget Old Friends, trusted ones, and as long as I’m tai-pan of the Noble House and have power, Mr. Tip, I and those like me—Mr. Johnjohn for one, our governor for another—will give eternal friendship to the Middle Kingdom and will never permit hegemonists to thrive on our barren rock.”

Tiptop said sharply, “It is our barren rock, Mr. Dunross, that is presently administered by the British, is it not?”

“Hong Kong is and always was earth of the Middle Kingdom.”

“I will let your definition pass for the moment but everything in Kowloon and the New Territories north of Boundary Road reverts to us in thirty-five-odd years doesn’t it—even if you accept the Unequal Treaties forced on our forebears which we don’t.”

“My forebears have always found their Old Friends wise, very wise, and never men to cut off their Stalks to spite a Jade Gate.”

Tiptop laughed. L’eung continued to be set-faced and hostile.

“What do you forecast will happen in 1997, Mr. Dunross?”

“I am not Old Blind Tung, nor a soothsayer, Mr. Tip.” Dunross shrugged. “1997 can take care of 1997. Old friends will still need old friends. Heya?”

After a pause Tiptop said, “If your bank will not help the Noble House, nor Old Friends, nor Orlin, how will you remain the Noble House?”

“My forebear, Green-Eyed Devil, was asked the same question by the Great and Honorable Jin-qua when he was beset by his enemies, Tyler Brock and his scum, and he just laughed and said, ‘Neng che to lao’—an able man has many burdens. As I’m abler than most I have to sweat more than most.”

Tip Tok-toh smiled with him. “And you are sweating, Mr. Dunross?”

“Well, let me put it this way,” Dunross told him cheerfully, “I’m trying to avoid the eighty-fourth. As you know, Buddha said that all men have eighty-three burdens. If we succeed in eliminating one we automatically acquire another. The secret of life is to adjust to eighty-three and avoid at all costs acquiring the eighty-fourth.”

The older man smiled. “Have you considered selling part of your company, perhaps even 51 percent?”

“No, Mr. Tip. Old Green-Eyed Devil forbade that.” The lines around Dunross’s eyes crinkled. “He wanted us to sweat.”

“Let us hope you don’t have to sweat too much. Yes.” Tiptop stubbed out his cigarette. “In troubled times it would be good for the Bank of China to have a closer liaison with your banking system. Then these crises would not be so continuous.”

Instantly Dunross’s mind leaped forward. “I wonder if the Bank of China would consider having a permanent contact stationed within the Vic and an equivalent one in yours?” He saw the fleeting smile and knew he had guessed correctly. “That would ensure close monitoring of any crisis, and assist you should you ever need international assistance.”

“Chairman Mao advises self-help and that’s what we are doing. But your suggestion might be worthwhile. I will be glad to pass it on.”

“I’m sure the bank would be grateful if you would recommend someone to be their contact with the great Bank of China.”

“I would be glad to pass that on too. Do you think Blacs or the Victoria would advance the necessary foreign exchange for Mr. Ng’s imports?”

“I’m sure they’d be delighted to be of service, the Victoria certainly. After all, the Victoria has had a century and more of association with China. Wasn’t it instrumental in making most of your foreign loans, railway loans, aircraft loans?”

“To great profit,” Tiptop said dryly. His eyes darted at L’eung who was staring intently at Dunross. “Capitalist profit,” he added thinly.

“Quite,” Dunross said. “You must excuse us capitalists, Mr. Tip. Perhaps our only defense is that many of us are Old Friends of the Middle Kingdom.”

L’eung spoke to Tiptop briefly in a dialect Dunross did not understand. Tiptop answered him affirmatively. Both men looked back at him. “I’m sorry but you must excuse me now, Mr. Dunross, I really must get some medication. Perhaps you’d phone me here after lunch, say around 2:30.”

Dunross got up and stretched out his hand, not sure if he had succeeded but very sure he had better do something about the thorium very quickly, certainly before 2:30. “Thank you for seeing me.”

“What about our fifth race?” The older man peered up at him, walking with him to the door.

“Noble Star’s worth a bet. Each way.”

“Ah! Butterscotch Lass?”

“Same.”

“And Pilot Fish?”

Dunross laughed. “The stallion’s good but not in the same class, unless there’s an act of God, or the devil.”

They were at the front door now and a servant had opened it wide. Again L’eung spoke in the dialect Dunross did not recognize. Again Tiptop answered affirmatively and led the way outside. At once L’eung walked off down toward the tennis court.

“I’d like you to meet a friend, a new friend, Mr. Dunross,” Tiptop said. “He could, perhaps, be doing a lot of business with you in the future. If you wish.”

Dunross saw the flinty eyes and his good humor vanished.

The Chinese coming back with L’eung was well formed, fit and in his forties. His hair was blue-black and tousled from his game, his tennis clothes modern, smart and American. On the court behind him, the other three waited and watched. All were fit and well dressed.

“May I introduce Dr. Joseph Yu from California? Mr. Ian Dunross.”

“Hi, Mr. Dunross,” Joseph Yu said with easy American familiarity. “Mr. Tip’s filled me in on you and Struan’s—happy to meet you. Mr. Tip thought we should meet before I leave—we’re going into China tomorrow, Betty ’n’ I, my wife and I.” He waved a vague hand toward one of the women on the tennis court. “We’re not expecting to come back for some time so I’d like to make a date to meet in Canton in a month or so.” He glanced back at Tiptop. “No trouble about Mr. Dunross’s visa, anything like that?”

“No, Dr. Yu. Oh no. None at all.”

“Great. If I give you a call, Mr. Dunross, or Mr. Tip does, can we arrange something at a couple days’ notice?”

“Certainly, if all the paperwork’s done.” Dunross kept the smile on his face, noticing the assured hardness in Yu. “What had you in mind?”

“If you’ll excuse us,” Tiptop said, “we’ll leave you two together.” He nodded politely and went back inside with L’eung.

“I’m from the States,” Yu continued cheerfully, “American born, Sacramento. I’m third-generation California though I was educated, in part, in Canton. My Ph.D. is from Stanford, aerospace engineering, my specialty rocketry and rocket fuels. NASA’s where I’ve spent my best years, best since college.” Yu was no longer smiling. “The equipment I’ll be ordering will be all manner of sophisticated metallurgy and aerospace hardware. Mr. Tip said you’d be our best bet as the importer. The British, then the French and Germans, maybe Japanese will be the manufacturers. You interested?”

Dunross listened with growing concern that he did not bother to hide.

“If it’s not strategic and not restricted,” he said.

“It’ll be mostly strategic and mostly restricted. You interested?”

“Why’re you telling me all this, Dr. Yu?”

Yu’s mouth smiled. “I’m going to reorganize China’s space program.” His eyes slitted even more as he watched Dunross carefully. “You find that surprising?”

“Yes.”

“So do I.” Yu glanced at his wife, then back to Dunross. “Mr. Tip says you’re to be trusted. He feels you’re fair and since you owe him one or two, you’ll pass on a message for me.” Yu’s voice hardened. “I’m telling you so that when you read about my demise or kidnapping or some ‘while his mind was disturbed’ crap, you’ll know it’s all lies and as a favor will pass back that message to the CIA and from them up the line. The truth!” He took a deep breath. “I’m leaving of my own free will. We both are. For three generations our folk and my people, who’re the best goddamn immigrants there are, have been kicked around in the States by Americans. My old man was in the First World War and I helped make the Big Bang, but the last goddamn straw was two months ago. June 16. Betty ’n’ I wanted a house in Beverly Hills. Are you familiar with Beverly Hills in Los Angeles?”

“Yes.”

“We were turned down because we were Chinese. The son of a bitch came out and said it. ‘I’m not selling to goddamn Chinese.’ That wasn’t the first time, hell no, but the son of a bitch said it in front of Betty and that was it. That was the big one!” Yu’s lips twisted with anger. “Can you imagine the stupidity of that bastard? I’m the best there is in my field and that red-neck horse’s ass says ‘I’m not selling to Chinese.’” He spun his racket in his hands. “You’ll tell them?”

“Do you want me to pass this information on privately or publicly? I will quote you verbatim if you wish.”

“Privately to the CIA, but not before next Monday at 6:00 P.M. Okay? Then next month, after our Canton meeting, it’s public. Okay, Mr. Dunross?”

“Very well. Can you give me the name of the house seller, the date, any details?”

Yu took out a typed slip of paper.

Dunross glanced at it. “Thank you.” There were two names and addresses and phone numbers in Beverly Hills. “Both the same refusal?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll take care of it for you, Dr. Yu.”

“You think that’s petty, huh?”

“No, I don’t think so at all. I’m just so sorry that it happened and happens everywhere—to all sorts of people. It’s greatly saddening.” Dunross hesitated. “It happens in China, Japan, here, all over the world. Chinese and Japanese, Vietnamese, all manner of people, Dr. Yu, are sometimes equally intolerant and bigoted. Most times very much more so. Aren’t we all called quai loh?”

“It shouldn’t happen Stateside—not Americans to Americans. That’s my bitch.”

“Do you think once you’re inside China, you’ll be allowed to go in and out freely?”

“No. But I don’t give a damn about that. I’m going freely. I’m not being tempted by money or being blackmailed to go. I’m just going.”

“What about NASA? I’m surprised they allowed such nonsense to happen in the first place.”

“Oh we had a fine house on offer, but it wasn’t where we wanted to live. Betty wanted that goddamn house and we had the money and position to pay for it, but we couldn’t get in. It wasn’t just that son of a bitch, it was the neighborhood too.” Yu wiped a thread of hair out of his eyes. “They didn’t want us so I’m going where I am wanted. What about China having a nuclear retaliatory strike force of its own? Like the French, eh? What do you think of that?”

“The idea of anyone having A- or H-bomb tipped rockets fills me with horror.”

“They’re just the weapons of the day, Mr. Dunross, just the weapons of the day.”

“Jesus Christ!” Johnjohn said, aghast.

Havergill was equally shocked. “Dr. Joseph Yu’s really top bracket, Ian?”

“Absolutely. I phoned a friend in Washington. Yu’s one of two or three in the world—rockets and rocket fuel.” It was after lunch. Dunross had just told them what had transpired this morning. “It’s also true no one knows he’s going over the border, even that he’s left Hawaii where he’s supposed to be on vacation—he told me he traveled here quite openly.”

“Christ,” Johnjohn said again. “If China gets experts like him …” He twisted the paper knife that was on Havergill’s desk. “Ian, have you considered telling Roger Crosse, or Rosemont to prevent that?”

“Of course, but I can’t do that. I absolutely can’t.”

“Of course Ian can’t! Have you considered what’s at stake?” Havergill jerked an angry thumb at the window. Fourteen floors below he could see an impatient, angry mob of people trying to get into the bank, the police stretched very thin now. “Let’s not delude ourselves, the run is on, we’re getting down to the bottom of the barrel. We barely have enough cash to last the day, barely enough to pay government employees. Thank God it’s Saturday tomorrow! If Ian says there’s a chance we could get China’s cash, of course he can’t risk giving away such a confidence! Ian, did you hear the Ho-Pak’s closed its doors?”

“No. I’ve been chasing around like a blue-arsed fly since I left Tiptop.”

“The Ching Prosperity closed too, the Far East and India’s tottering, Blacs is eking out its reserves and like us, praying they can last the next half an hour to closing.” He shoved the phone across his pristine desk. “Ian, please call Tiptop now, it’s just 2:30.”

Dunross kept his face stony and his voice level. “There’re a couple of things to settle first, Paul. What about the thorium imports?” He had told them he had contacted Photographer Ng who had happily given him an immediate firm order for as much of the rare earth as he could obtain. “Will you provide the foreign exchange?”

“Yes, provided the trade is not restricted.”

“I’ll need that in writing.”

“You’ll have it before closing tonight. Please call him now.”

“In ten minutes. It’s a matter of face. You’ll agree to having a permanent Bank of China contact in the building?”

“Yes. I’m sure they’ll never let one of our people inside their building, but no matter.” Havergill glanced at his watch again, then looked at Johnjohn. “The fellow’d have to be monitored and we might have to change a few procedures for security, eh?”

Johnjohn nodded. “Yes, but that shouldn’t cause any problem, Paul. If it was Tiptop himself, that would be perfect. Ian, do you think there’s a chance?”

“I don’t know. Now, what about the Yu trade?”

Havergill said, “We can’t finance any smuggling. You would of necessity be on your own.”

“Who said anything about smuggling?”

“Quite. Then let me say we’ll have to take a careful look at the Yu trade when and if you are asked to assist them.”

“Come on, Paul, you know damn well it’s part of the deal—if there’s a deal. Why else would they have wanted me to meet him?”

Johnjohn interjected, “Why not table that one, Ian? We’ll bend every which way to assist you when the time comes. You told Yu the same thing—that you’d wait and see but no actual commitment, eh?”

“But you agree to help in every way to assist me?”

“Yes, on this and the thorium.”

“Then what about my loan?”

Paul Havergill said, “I’m not permitted to grant it, Ian. We’ve already been through that.”

“Then call a board meeting right now.”

“I’ll consider it. Let’s see how things’re going, eh?” Paul Havergill pressed a button and spoke into the small speaker. “Stock Exchange, please.”

In a moment a voice came over the speaker. Behind the voice they could hear pandemonium. “Yes, Mr. Havergill?”

“Charles, what’s the latest?”

“The whole market’s off 28 points …” Both bankers blanched. The small vein in Dunross’s forehead was pulsing. “… and it looks like the beginning of a panic. The bank’s off 7 points, Struan’s is down to 11.50 …”

“Christ!” Johnjohn muttered.

“… Rothwell-Gornt off 7, Hong Kong Power off 5, Asian Land 11 … everything’s skidding. All bank stocks are tumbling. The Ho-Pak’s frozen at 12 and when it gets unfrozen it’ll go to a dollar. The Far East and India is only paying out maximum 1,000 a customer.”

Havergill’s nervousness increased. Far East was one of the biggest in the Colony.

“I hate to be a pessimist but it looks like New York in ’29! I th—” The voice was drowned out by a surge of shouting. “Sorry, there’s another huge sell offering up on Struan’s. 200,000 shares….”

“Christ, where the hell’s all the stock coming from?” Johnjohn asked.

“From every Tom, Dick and Harry in Hong Kong,” Dunross said coldly. “Including the Victoria.”

“We had to protect our investors,” Havergill said, then added into the mike, “Thank you, Charles. Call me back at a quarter to three.” He clicked the speaker off. “There’s your answer, Ian. I cannot in all conscience recommend to the board we bail you out with another unsecured 100 million loan.”

“Are you going to call a board meeting right now or not?”

“Your stock’s plunging. You’ve no assets to pledge to support the run on your stock, your bank holdings are already pledged, the stock in your treasury gets more valueless every minute. On Monday or Tuesday, Gornt will buy back in and then he’ll control Struan’s.”

Dunross watched him. “You’ll let Gornt take us over? I don’t believe you. You’ll buy in before he does. Or have you already made a deal to split up Struan’s between you?”

“No deal. Not yet. But if you’ll resign from Struan’s right now, agree in writing to sell us as much of your treasury stock as we want at market price at Monday’s closing, agree to appoint a new tai-pan of our board’s choosing, we’ll announce that we’re supporting Struan’s totally.”

“When would you make the announcement?”

“Monday at 3:10.”

“In other words you’ll give me nothing.”

“You’ve always said the best thing about Hong Kong was that it was a free marketplace, where the strong survive and the weak perish. Why didn’t you persuade Sir Luis to withdraw your stock from trading?”

“He suggested it. I refused.”

“Why?”

“Struan’s is as strong as ever.”

“Wasn’t the real reason face—and your foolish pride? Sorry, there’s nothing I can do to prevent the inevitable.”

“Balls!” Dunross said and Havergill flushed. “You can call a meeting. You can c—”

“No meeting!”

“Ian.” Johnjohn tried to soften the open hostility between the two men. “Listen, Paul, how about a compromise: If, through Ian, we get China’s cash, you will call a meeting of the board at once, an extraordinary meeting, today. You could do that—there are enough directors in town, and it’s fair. Eh?”

Havergill hesitated. “I’ll consider it.”

“That’s not good enough,” Dunross said hotly.

“I’ll consider it. Kindly call Tipt—”

“When’s the meeting? If?”

“Next week.”

“No. Today as Johnjohn suggests.”

“I said I’ll consider it,” Havergill said, flaring. “Now please call Tiptop.”

“If you’ll guarantee to call the board no later than tomorrow at ten!”

Havergill’s voice harshened. “I will not be blackmailed as I was the last time. If you don’t want to call Tiptop, I will. I can now. If they want to lend us their money, they’ll lend it to us whoever the hell calls. You’ve agreed to the thorium deal, you’ve agreed to meet Yu next month, we agree to support that deal whoever controls the Noble House. I am not empowered to grant you any further loans. So take it or leave it. I will consider calling a board meeting before Monday’s market opens. That’s all I promise.”

The silence was heavy and electric.

Dunross shrugged. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Weyyyyy?” The woman’s voice was arrogant.

“The Honorable Tip Tok-toh please,” he said in Cantonese. “This is the tai-pan.”

“Ah, the tai-pan. Ah, please wait a moment.” Dunross waited. A bead of sweat gathered on the bottom of Johnjohn’s chin. “Weyyyy? Tai-pan, the doctor’s with him, he’s very sick. Please call back later!” The phone clicked off before Dunross could say anything. He redialed.

“This’s the tai-pan, I wan—”

“This phone is terrible.” The amah doubled her volume. “He’s sick,” she shouted. “Call back later.”

Dunross called in ten minutes. Now the line was busy. He kept on trying with no luck.

There was a knock and the harassed chief cashier hurried in. “Sorry, sir, but there’s no let up in the queues, we’ve a quarter of an hour to go. I suggest we limit withdrawals now, say a thou—”

“No,” Havergill said at once.

“But sir, we’re almost empty. Don’t y—”

“No. The Victoria must keep going. We must. No. Keep honoring every penny.”

The man hesitated, then went out. Havergill mopped his brow. Johnjohn too. Dunross dialed again. Still busy. Just before three he tried a last time, then dialed the phone company asking them to check the line. “It’s temporarily out of order, sir,” the operator said.

Dunross put the phone down. “Twenty to a brass farthing it’s deliberately off the hook.” His watch read 3:01. “Let’s find out about the market.”

Havergill wiped the palms of his hands. Before he could dial, the phone rang. “Chief cashier, sir. We’ve … we’re all right now. Last customer has been paid. The doors’ve closed. Blacs just made it too, sir.”

“Good. Check the remaining currency in the vault and call me back.”

“Thank God it’s Friday,” Johnjohn said.

Havergill dialed. “Charles? What’s the latest?”

“The market finished off 37 points. Our stock’s off 8 points.”

“Christ,” Johnjohn said. The bank had never fallen so much before, even during the ’56 riots.

“Struan’s?”

“9.50.”

Both bankers looked at Dunross. His face was impassive. He redialed Tiptop as the stockbroker continued to reel off the closing prices. Again a busy signal. “I’ll call again from the office,” he said. “The moment I get him I’ll call you. If no China money, what are you going to do?”

“There are only two solutions. We wait for the pounds, the governor declaring Monday a bank holiday or as long as we need. Or we accept the Moscow trade-bank offer.”

“Tiptop was bloody clear that’ll backfire. That’ll throw a monkey wrench in Hong Kong forever.”

“Those are the only solutions.”

Dunross got up. “There’s only one. By the way, did the governor phone you?”

“Yes,” Havergill said. “He wants us to open the vaults at 6:00 P.M. for him, you, Roger Crosse and some fellow called Sinders. What’s all that about?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

“No. Just that it was something covered by the Official Secrets Act.”

“See you at six.” Dunross walked out.

Havergill wiped more sweat off with a handkerchief. “The only good thing about all this is that that arrogant sod’s in worse trouble,” he muttered angrily. He dialed Tiptop’s number. And again. The interoffice phone rang. Johnjohn picked it up for Havergill. “Yes?”

“This is the chief cashier, sir. There’s only 716,027 HK in the vault.” The man’s voice trembled. “We’re … that’s all we’ve left, sir.”

“Thank you.” Johnjohn put the phone down and told Havergill. The deputy chairman did not answer, just redialed Tiptop’s number. It was still busy. “You’d better open a dialogue with the Soviet contact.”

Johnjohn went red. “But that’s impossible—”

“Do it! Do it now!” Havergill, equally choleric, redialed Tiptop. Still busy.

Dunross went into his office.

“Mr. Toda’s here with the usual entourage, tai-pan.” Claudia did not hide her distaste or nervousness.

“Show them in please.”

“Mr. Alastair called twice—asked that you call him back the moment you come in. And your father.”

“I’ll call them later.”

“Yes sir. Here’s the telex for Nelson Trading from Switzerland confirming that they’ve purchased triple the regular order of gold for the Great Good Luck Company of Macao.”

“Good. Send a copy to Lando at once and request the funds.”

“This telex is from Orlin Merchant Bank confirming they regret they cannot renew the loan and require payment.”

“Telex them, ‘Thank you.’”

“I checked with Mrs. Dunross and they arrived safely.”

“Good. Get Kathy’s specialist’s home number so I can call him over the weekend.”

Claudia made another note. “Master Duncan called from Sydney to say he had a great evening and he’s on the Monday Qantas flight. Here’s a list of your other calls.”

He glanced at the long list, wondering fleetingly if his son was no longer a virgin, or was not even before the lovely Sheila. Thinking of a lovely sheila reminded him again of the exquisite Snow Jade. Curious her name was Snow Jade—she reminded me so much of Elegant Jade who’s somewhere in Taipei in charge of a House of Many Pleasures. Perhaps the time’s come to find Elegant Jade and thank her. Once more he remembered old Chen-chen’s admonition when he was dying. “Listen, my son,” old Chen-chen had whispered, his voice failing, “never try to find her. You will take away her face and take away beauty, both from her and from you. Now she’ll be old, her Jade Gate withered and her pleasures will come from good food and good brandy. Children of the Pleasure World do not age well, nor do their tempers. Leave her to her joss and to her memories. Be kind. Always be kind to those who give you their youth and their yin to succor your yang. Eeeee, how I wish I was as young as you again.…”

Dunross sighed. His evening with Snow Jade had been impeccable. And filled with laughter.

“I don’t eat dessert,” he had replied at once. “I’m on a diet.”

“Oh ko, not you, tai-pan. I help you lose weight never mind.”

“Thank you but no dessert and never in Hong Kong.”

“Ah! Four Fingers said you’d say that, tai-pan, and for me not to be shamed.” She had beamed and poured him a whiskey. “I’m to say, Have passport can travel.”

They had laughed together. “What else did Four Fingers say?”

The tip of her tongue touched her lips. “Only that foreign devils are mighty very peculiar in some things. Like saying no dessert! As if it mattered.” She watched him. “I’ve never been with a barbarian before.”

“Oh? Some of us are really quite civilized.”

Dunross smiled to himself, remembering how tempted he was, their banter and the great meal, everything good-humored and satisfying. Yes. But that doesn’t forgive that old bastard Four Fingers, nor the half-coin, nor the theft of the half-coin, he thought grimly, nor the trap that he thinks he has me in. But all that comes later. First things come first. Concentrate, there’s a lot to do before you sleep tonight!

The list Claudia had given him was long, most of the calls urgent, and two hours of work were ahead of him. Tiptop wasn’t on the list, nor Lando Mata, Tightfist Tung, Four Fingers or Paul Choy. Casey and Bartlett were there. Travkin, Robert Armstrong. Jacques deVille, Gavallan, Phillip Chen, Dianne Chen, Alan Holdbrook—Struan’s in-house stockbroker—Sir Luis, and dozens of others spread throughout the world. “We’ll get to them after Hiro Toda, Claudia.”

“Yes sir.”

“After Toda, I want to see Jacques—then Phillip Chen. Anything on Mrs. Riko Gresserhoff?”

“Her plane’s due in at 7:00 P.M. She’s booked into the V and A and she’ll be met. Flowers are in her room.”

“Thank you.” Dunross went into his office and stared out of the window. For the time being he had done everything he could for the Noble House and for Hong Kong. Now it was up to joss. And the next problem. The ships. His excitement picked up.

“Hello, tai-pan.”

“Hello, Hiro.” Dunross shook the outstretched hand warmly.

Hiro Toda, managing director of Toda Shipping Industries was of an age with Dunross, trim, hard, and much shorter, with wise eyes and a ready smile, his accent slightly American from two years of postgraduate work at UCLA in the late forties. “May I introduce my associates: Mr. Kazunari, Mr. Ebe, Mr. Kasigi.”

The three younger men bowed and Dunross bowed back. They were all dressed in dark suits, well cut, with white shirts and subdued ties.

“Please sit down.” Airily Dunross waved to the chairs around the small conference table. The door opened and his Japanese interpreter and assistant, Akiko, came in. She brought a tray with green tea, introduced herself, poured the tea delicately, then took her seat near Dunross. Though his Japanese was easily good enough for a business meeting she was necessary for face.

Partially in Japanese, partially in English, he began the polite conversation about inconsequential matters, that by Japanese custom preceded serious discussion. It was also Japanese custom that business meetings were shared by many executives, the more senior the executive, usually the more people who came with him.

Dunross waited patiently. He liked the other man. Hiro Toda was titular head of the great shipping conglomerate that had been founded by his great-grandfather almost a hundred years before. His forebears were daimyos, feudal lords, until feudalism and the samurai class was abolished in 1870 and modern Japan began. His authority in Toda Shipping was outwardly all powerful, but as frequently happened in Japan, all real power was centered in the hands of his seventy-three-year-old father who, ostensibly, was retired.

At length Toda came to the point. “This stock market collapse must be very worrying, tai-pan.”

“A temporary loss of confidence. I’m sure everything will work itself out over the weekend.”

“Ah yes. I hope so too.”

“How long are you staying, Hiro?”

“Till Sunday. Yes Sunday. Then on to Singapore and Sydney. I shall be back for the closing of our business with you next week. I’m glad to tell you your ships are ahead of schedule.” Toda put a sheaf of papers on the table. “Here’s a detailed report.”

“Excellent!” Dunross swung to the attack, blessing the gods and AMG and Kirk. Coming home last night he had suddenly realized the enormity of the key AMG and Kirk had given him to a plan he had been working on for almost a year. “Would you like to bring forward your payment schedule?”

“Ah!” The other man covered his surprise. “Perhaps I could discuss that with my colleagues later but I’m glad to hear that everything is in control then, and the takeover bid contained.”

“Didn’t Sun Tzu say, ‘He who exercises no forethought but makes light of his opponents is sure to be captured by them’? Gornt is certainly snapping at our heels, of course the run on our banks is serious, but the worst is over. Everything’s just fine. Don’t you think we should expand the amount of business we’re doing together?”

Toda smiled. “Two ships, tai-pan? Giants by present standards. In one year? That’s not a minor connection.”

“It could perhaps be twenty-two ships,” he said, outwardly nonchalant, his whole being concentrated. “I have a proposal for you, in fact for all Japanese shipbuilding industrial complexes. At the moment you just build ships and sell them, either to gai-jin—outsiders—to ourselves for example, or to Japanese shippers. If to Japanese shippers, your operating costs with the high cost of Japanese crews—which by your law you have to carry—are already becoming noncompetitive, like American ships with American crews. Soon you won’t be able to compete with the Greeks, with others and with us, because our costs will be so much lower.”

Dunross saw them all concentrating on Akiko who was translating almost simultaneously and he thought with glee of another Sun Tzu saying: “In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle but indirect methods will be needed to secure victory.” Then he continued, “Second point: Japan has to import everything it needs to support its rising economy and standard of living and its industrial complex, and certainly the 95 percent of all energy it needs to sustain it. Oil’s the key to your future. Oil has to come to you seaborne, so do all your bulk raw materials—always carried by bulk cargo ships. Always seaborne. You’re building the great ships very efficiently, but as shipowners your operating costs and your own internal tax structure are going to drive you out of the marketplace. My proposal for you is simple: You stop trying to own your own uneconomic merchant fleets. You sell your ships abroad on a lease-back basis.”

“What?”

Dunross saw them staring at him, astounded. He waited a moment, then continued, “A ship’s life is, say fifteen years. You sell your bulk carrier say to us, but as part of the deal lease it back for fifteen years. We supply the captain and crew and operate her. Prior to delivery, you charter the ship to Mitsubishi or another of your own great companies for bulk supplies over fifteen years—coal, iron ore, rice, wheat, oil, whatever you want. This system guarantees Japan a continuous supply of raw material, set up at your whim and controlled by Japanese. Japan Inc. can increase its financing to you, because you yourselves, in effect, are the carriers of your own vital raw materials.

“Your industries can plan ahead. Japan Inc. can afford to assist financially selected buyers of your ships, because the purchase price is easily covered by the fifteen years charter. And since the ships are on long-term charter, our bankers, like Blacs and the Victoria, will also be happy to finance the rest. Everyone gains. You gain most because you ensure a long-term supply line under your control. And I haven’t yet mentioned the tax advantages to you, to Toda Industries particularly!”

Dunross got up in a dead silence, the others staring at him, and went to his desk. He brought back some stapled reports. “Here’s a tax study done by our people in Japan with specific examples, including methods to depreciate the ship’s cost for added profit. Here’s a suggested plan for bulk carriers. This one documents various ways Struan’s could assist you in charters, should we be one of the foreign shippers chosen. For example, Woolara Mines of Australia are prepared, at our direction, to enter into a contract with Toda Industries to supply 95 percent of their coal output for one hundred years.”

Toda gasped. So did the others when Akiko had translated. Woolara Mines was a huge, highly efficient and productive mine.

“We could assist you in Australia which is the treasury of Asia—supplying all the copper, wheat, foodstuffs, fruit, iron ore you need. I’m told privately there are new, immense deposits of high-grade iron ore just discovered in Western Australia within easy access of Perth. There’s oil, uranium, thorium, and other precious materials you require. Wool. Rice. With my scheme you control your own flow of materials, the foreign shippers get ships and a steady cash flow to finance and order more ships, to lease back, to carry more and more raw materials and more cars, more television sets, more electronic goods, and more goods outward bound to the States—and heavy industry plants and machines to the rest of the world. Last, back to your most vital import of all: oil. Here’s a suggested pattern for a new fleet of bulk oil carriers, half a million to a million tons dead weight each.”

Toda gasped and abruptly finished the translation himself. Astounded, they all sucked in their breath when he mentioned the half a million to a million tons.

Dunross sat back enjoying the tension. He watched them glance at one another, then at Toda, waiting for him to react.

“I … I think we had better study your proposals, tai-pan,” Toda said, trying to keep his voice level. “Obviously they are far-reaching. May we get back to you later?”

“Yes. You’re coming to the races tomorrow? Lunch’ll be 12:45.”

“Thank you, yes, if it’s not too much trouble,” Toda said with sudden nervousness, “but it would be impossible for us to have an answer by that time.”

“Of course. You got your invitations and badges?”

“Yes, thank you. I, er, I hope everything turns out well for you. Your proposal certainly sounds far-reaching.”

They left. For a moment Dunross allowed himself to enjoy the excitement. I’ve got them, he thought. Christ, in a year we can have the biggest fleet in Asia, all totally financed, with no risks to financier, builder, operator or supplier, with oil tankers, huge tankers as its nucleus—if we can weather this typhoon.

All I need’s some luck. Somehow I’ve got to stave off the crash till Tuesday when we sign with Par-Con. Par-Con pays for our ships, but what about Orlin and what about Gornt?

“Mr. Jacques’s on his way up, tai-pan. Mr. Phillip’s in his office and’ll come up whenever you’re ready. Roger Crosse called, your appointment’s at 7:00 P.M. instead of 6:00. He said Mr. Sinders’s plane was late. He’s informed the governor and everyone connected.”

“Thank you, Claudia.” He glanced at his list of calls. He dialed the V and A and asked for Bartlett. He was out. “Miss Tcholok please.”

“Hello?”

“Hello! Ian Dunross returning your call and Linc Bartlett’s call. How’re things?”

There was a slight pause. “Interesting. Tai-pan, can I drop by?”

“Of course. How about cocktails at 6:15 at the Mandarin? That’d give me half an hour-odd before my next appointment. Eh?” A twinge of anxiety went through him at the thought of Crosse, Sinders and AMG’s admonition about never giving up the files.

“Is it possible for me to come by the office? I could leave now and be there in half to three quarters of an hour? I have something to talk over with you. I’ll make it as short as possible.”

“All right. I may have to keep you waiting a moment or two but come on over.” He put the phone down, frowning. What’s up there?

The door opened. Jacques deVille came in. He looked careworn and tired. “You wanted me, tai-pan?”

“Yes, sit down, Jacques. I understood you were going to be on the plane last night.”

“We talked, Susanne and I, and she thought it best for Avril if I waited a day or two….”

Dunross listened with fascination as they began to talk, still astounded that Jacques could be a Communist plant. But now he had thought through the possibility. It was easily possible for Jacques, being young, an idealist and in the Maquis during the hated and terrible Nazi occupation of France to have had his idealistic nationalism and anti-Nazi feelings channeled into communism—Christ, wasn’t Russia our ally in those days? Wasn’t communism fashionable everywhere in those days even in America? Didn’t Marx and Lenin seem so sensible then? Then. Before we knew the truth about Stalin, about gulags and KGB and police state and mass murders and mass conquests and never freedom.

But how could all that Communist nonsense last for someone like Jacques? How could someone like Jacques retain such convictions and keep them buried for so long—if indeed he is the Sevrin plant AMG claimed?

“What did you think of Grey?” Dunross asked.

“A total cretin, tai-pan. He’s far too left-wing for me. Even Broadhurst’s a little too left for my taste. As I’m … I’m staying now, can I take over Bartlett and Casey again?”

“No, for the time being I’ll deal with them, but you take care of the contract.”

“It’s being drawn up now. I’ve already been on to our solicitors. One slight problem. Dawson met with Bartlett’s lawyer, Mr. Steigler, this morning. Mr. Steigler wants to renegotiate the payment schedule and put off signing till next weekend.”

A wave of fury rushed through Dunross. He tried to keep it off his face. That’s got to be the reason for Casey wanting a meeting, he thought. “I’ll deal with that,” he said, putting the problem aside for the more pressing one: Jacques deVille, who should be innocent until proven guilty.

He looked at him, liking the craggy, chunky man, remembering all the fine times they had had in Avisyard and in France. He, Penelope, Jacques and Susanne, their children along for Christmas or summer holidays, good food and good wine and good laughter and great plans for the future. Jacques certainly the wisest, the most close-mouthed, and until the AMG accusation, possibly the next in line. But now you’re not, not until you’ve proved yourself and I’m certain. Sorry my friend, but you must be tested.

“I’m making some organizational changes,” he said. “Linbar went to Sydney today as you know. I’m going to leave him there for a month to try to get the Woolara merger fixed. I don’t hope for much. I want you to take over Australia.” He saw Jacques’s eyes widen momentarily but could not read if it was concern or happiness. “I’ve pushed the button on our Toda plan and I w—”

“How did he take it?”

“Hook, line and bait.”

“Merde, but that is great.” Dunross saw Jacques beam and read no guile in him. The man had been one of the main planners for the shipping scheme, working out the intricacies of the financing. “What a shame poor John’s not alive to know,” Jacques said.

“Yes.” John Chen had been working closely with Jacques deVille. “Have you seen Phillip?”

“I had dinner with him last night. Poor fellow, he’s aged twenty years.”

“So have you.”

A Gallic shrug. “Life, mon ami! But yes, yes I am sad about poor Avril and poor Borge. Please excuse me, I interrupted you.”

“I’d like you to take over Australasia—effective today—and be responsible for putting into effect all our Australian and New Zealand plans. Keep this to yourself for the month—I’ll tell Andrew only—but get yourself organized and be prepared to leave then.”

“Very well.” Jacques hesitated.

“What? Susanne never did like Hong Kong—you’ll have no problem there, will you?”

“Oh no, tai-pan. Since the accident … frankly I was going to ask you if I could move for a while. Susanne’s not been happy here and … But I was going to ask if I could take over Canada for a year or so.”

Dunross was startled at the new thought. “Oh?”

“Yes. I thought that perhaps I could be useful there. My contacts among French-Canadians are good, very good. Perhaps we could shift Struan’s Canadian office from Toronto to Montreal or to Ottawa. I could help very much from there. If our Japanese connection goes through, we’ll need wood pulp, woods, copper, wheat, coal and a dozen other Canadian raw materials.” He smiled wanly, then rushed onward. “We both know how Cousin David’s been chomping to get back out here and I thought, if I moved there, he could return. Actually he’s better equipped to be here, to deal with Australasia, non? He speaks Cantonese, a little Japanese and reads and writes Chinese which I don’t. But whatever you say, tai-pan. I’ll take Australasia if you wish. It is true I would like a change.”

Dunross let his mind range. He had decided to isolate Jacques from Hong Kong while he found out the truth. It would be too easy to tell Crosse or Sinders secretly and ask them to use their sources to investigate, to watch and to probe. But Jacques was a member of the Inner Court. As such he was party to all sorts of skeletons and private informations which would be put to risk. No, Dunross thought, much better to deal with our own. Perhaps it will take longer but I will find out the truth if he is or isn’t. One way or another, I’ll know about Jacques deVille.

But Canada?

Logically Jacques’d be better there. So would Struan’s—I should have thought of that myself—there’s never been any reason to question his business loyalty, or acumen. Good old David’s certainly been screaming for two years to come back. The switch would be easier. Jacques’s right. David’s better equipped to do Australasia, and Australia and New Zealand are far more important to us than Canada, far more important—they’re vital and the treasure house of all Asia. If Jacques’s innocent he can help us in Canada. If he’s not, he can harm us less there. “I’ll think about that,” he said, having already decided to make the change. “Keep this all to yourself and we’ll finalize it Sunday.”

Jacques got up and stuck out his hand. “Thanks, mon ami.”

Dunross shook the hand. But in his heart he wondered whether it was the hand of his friend—or his Judas.

Alone once more, the weight of his burdens swamped him. The phone rang and he dealt with that problem, then another and another—Tiptop’s phone still engaged—and he asked for Phillip to come up, and all the time it seemed as though he were sinking into a pit. Then his eyes caught the eye of Dirk Struan on the wall, looking out of the oil painting at him, half-smiling, supremely confident, arrogant, master of clipper ships—the loveliest craft ever built by man. As always, he was comforted.

He got up and stood before the tai-pan. “Christ, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said out loud, remembering that Dirk Struan had been beset by far greater burdens and had conquered them. Only to have the tempest, the wrath of nature, kill him at the zenith of his life, just forty-three, undisputed warlord of Hong Kong and Asia.

Is it always “those whom the gods love die young”? he asked himself. Dirk was not much more than my age when the Devil Winds of the Great Typhoon tore our brand-new three-story factory in Happy Valley to pieces and buried him in the rubble. Is that old or young? I don’t feel old. Was that the only way for Dirk to die? Violently? In storm? Young? Killed by nature? Or does the expression mean, those whom the gods love die young in heart?

“Never mind,” he said to his mentor and friend. “I wish I’d known you. I tell you openly, tai-pan, I hope to God there is a life after death so that in some eon of time, I can thank you personally.”

Confident again, he went back to his desk. In his top drawer was Four Finger Wu’s matrix. His fingers touched it, caressing it. How do I squeeze out of this one? he asked himself grimly.

There was a knock. Phillip Chen came in. He had aged in the last few days. “Good God, tai-pan, what are we going to do? 9.50!” he said in a rush, a nervous screech in his voice. “I could tear my hair out! Dew neh loh moh because of the boom, you remember I bought in at 28.90, every penny of spare cash and a lot more and Dianne bought at 28.80 and sold at 16.80 and demands I make up the difference. Oh ko what’re we going to do?”

“Pray—and do what we can,” Dunross said. “Have you got hold of Tiptop?”

“Eh … no, no, tai-pan. I’ve been trying every few minutes but the phone’s still out of order. The phone company says the phone’s been left off the hook. I had my cousin in the phone company check it personally. Both lines into his house are off the hook.”

“What do you advise?”

“Advise? I don’t know, I think we should send a messenger but I didn’t want to until I’d consulted with you … what with our stock crash and the bank run and poor John and the reporters pestering … all my stocks are down, all of them!” The old man went into a paroxysm of Cantonese obscenities and curses on Gornt, his ancestors and all his future generations. “If the Vic goes, what are we going to do, tai-pan?”

“The Vic won’t go. The governor will certainly declare Monday a bank holiday if Tiptop fails us.” Dunross had already apprised his compradore of his conversations with Tiptop, Yu, Johnjohn and Havergill. “Come on, Phillip, think!” he added with pretended anger, deliberately sharpening his voice to help the old man. “I can’t just send a god-cursed messenger there to say ‘you’ve deliberately left your bloody phone off the hook’!”

Phillip Chen sat down, the rare anger pulling him a little together. “Sorry, yes, sorry but everything … and John, poor John …”

“When’s the funeral?”

“Tomorrow, tomorrow at ten, the Christian one, Monday’s the Chinese one. I was … I was wondering if you’d say a few words, tomorrow.”

“Of course, of course I will. Now, what about Tiptop?”

Phillip Chen concentrated, the effort hard for him. At length he said, “Invite him to the races. To your box. He’s never been and that would be great face. That’s the way. You could say … No, sorry, I’m not thinking clearly. Better, much better, tai-pan, I will write. I’ll write the note asking him for you. I’ll say you wanted to ask personally but unfortunately his phone is out of order—then if he wants to come, or is forbidden by his superiors, his face is saved and so is yours. I could add that ‘by the way, the Noble House has already telexed firm orders to Sydney for the thoriums …’” Phillip Chen brightened a little. “That will be a very good trade for us, tai-pan, the price offered.… I’ve checked prices and we can supply all their needs easily and get very competitive bids from Tasmania, South Africa and Rhodesia. Ah! Why not send young George Trussler from Singapore to Johannesburg and Salisbury on an exploratory mission for thoriums …” Phillip Chen hesitated. “… and er, certain other vital aerospace metals and materials. I did some quick checking, tai-pan. I was astounded to discover that, outside Russia, almost 90 percent of all the Free World’s supply of vanadium, chrome, platinums, manganese, titanium—all vital and essential in aerospace and rocketry—come from the southern part of Rhodesia and South Africa. Think of that! 90 percent outside Russia. I never realized how vastly important that area is to the Free World, with all the gold, diamonds, uranium, thorium and God knows what other essential raw materials. Perhaps Trussler could also investigate the possibility of opening an office there. He’s a sharp young man and due for promotion.” Now that his mind was fully occupied, the old man was breathing easier. “Yes. This trade and, er, Mr. Yu’s, could be immense for us, tai-pan. I’m sure it can be handled delicately.” He looked up at Dunross. “I’d also mention to Tiptop about Trussler, that we were sending an executive, one of the family, in preparation.”

“Excellent. Do it immediately.” Dunross clicked on the intercom. “Claudia, get George Trussler please.” He glanced back at Phillip. “Why would Tiptop cut himself off?”

“To bargain, to increase the pressure on us, to get more concessions.”

“Should we keep on calling him?”

“No. After the hand-delivered note, he will call us. He knows we’re not fools.”

“When will he call?”

“When he has permission, tai-pan. Not before. Sometime before Monday at 10:00 A.M. when the banks are due to open. I suggest you tell that lump of dogmeat Havergill and Johnjohn not to call—they’ll muddy already dark waters. You don’t use a tadpole to catch a shark.”

“Good. Don’t worry, Phillip,” he said compassionately, “we’re going to get out of this mess.”

“I don’t know, tai-pan. I hope so.” Phillip Chen rubbed his red-rimmed eyes tiredly. “Dianne … those damned shares! I see no way out of the morass. Th—”

Claudia interrupted on the intercom. “Master Trussler on line two.”

“Thank you, Claudia.” He stabbed line two. “Hello, George, how’s Singapore?”

“Afternoon, sir. Fine, sir, hot and rainy,” the breezy, enthusiastic voice said. “This’s a pleasant surprise, what can I do for you?”

“I want you to get on the next plane to Johannesburg. Leave at once. Telex me your flight and hotel and call me as soon as you arrive at the hotel in Johannesburg. Got it?”

There was a slight hesitation and slightly less breeziness. “Johannesburg, South Africa, tai-pan?”

“Yes. The next plane out.”

“I’m on my way. Anything else?”

“No.”

“Right you are, tai-pan. I’m on my way. ’Bye!”

Dunross put the phone down. Power’s a marvelous device, he thought with great satisfaction, but being tai-pan’s better.

Phillip got up. “I’ll deal with that letter at once.”

“Just a minute, Phillip. I’ve another problem that I need your advice on.” He opened the desk and brought out the matrix. Apart from himself and previous tai-pans who were still alive, only Phillip Chen in all the world knew the secret of the four coins. “Here. This was giv—”

Dunross stopped, paralyzed, totally unprepared for the effect the matrix had on his compradore. Phillip Chen was staring at it, his eyes almost popped from their sockets, his lips stretched back from his teeth. As though in a dream, everything in slow motion, Phillip Chen reached out and took the matrix, his fingers trembling, and peered at it closely, mouthing soundlessly.

Then Dunross’s brain detonated and he realized the half-coin must have belonged to Phillip Chen, that it had been stolen from him. Of course, Dunross wanted to shout. Sir Gordon Chen must have been given one of the four coins by Jin-qua! But why? What was the connection between the Chen family and a Co-hong Mandarin that would make Jin-qua give the Eurasian son of Dirk Struan so valuable a gift?

Still in slow motion, he saw the old man raise his head to squint up at him. Again the mouth moved. No sound. Then in a strangled gasp, “Bar … Bartlett gave this … this to you already?”

“Bartlett?” Dunross echoed incredulously. “What in the name of Christ’s Bartlett got to d—” He stopped as another explosion seemed to shatter his head and more pieces of the jigsaw slammed into place. Bartlett’s secret knowledge! Knowledge that could only come from one of seven men, all of them unthinkable, Phillip Chen the most unthinkable of all!

Phillip Chen’s the traitor! Phillip Chen’s working in conjunction with Bartlett and Casey … it’s Phillip Chen who’s sold us out and passed over our secrets and passed over the coin.

A blinding rage overcame him. It took all of his training to hold the fury bottled. He saw himself get up and stride to the window and stare out of it. He did not know how long he stood there. But when he turned, his mind was purged clean and the vast error in his logic now clear to him.

“Well?” His voice was chilling.

“Tai-pan … tai-pan …” the old man began brokenly, wringing his hands.

“Tell the truth, compradore. Now!” The word frightened Phillip.

“It … it was John,” he gasped, tears spilling. “It wasn’t me I sw—”

“I know that! Hurry up for chrissake!”

Phillip Chen spewed out everything, how he had taken his son’s key and opened his son’s safety deposit box and discovered the letters to and from Bartlett and the second key and how, at dinner the night of the taipan’s party, he had suddenly had a premonition about his oh so secret safe buried in the garden and how, after digging it up, he had discovered the worst. He even told the tai-pan about his quarrel with Dianne and how they thought the coin might be on John Chen somehow, and how, when the Werewolf phoned, she suggested calling his cousin, Four Finger Wu, to get his street fighters to follow him, then to follow them….

Dunross gasped but Phillip Chen did not notice it, rambling on in tears, telling how he had lied to the police and had paid over the ransom to the Werewolf youths he would never recognize again and how the street fighters of Four Fingers who were supposed to be guarding him had not intercepted the Werewolves or recaptured John or recaptured his money. “That’s the truth, tai-pan, all of it,” he whimpered, “there’s no more … nothing. Nothing until this morning and my poor son’s body at Sha Tin with that filthy sign on his chest….”

Helplessly Dunross was trying to collect his wits. He had not known that Four Fingers was Phillip’s cousin, nor could he fathom how the old seaman could have got the coin—unless he was the chief Werewolf or in league with them, or in league with John Chen who had masterminded a supposed kidnapping to squeeze money out of the father he hated and then Four Fingers and John Chen had quarreled or … or what? “How did John know our secrets, get all those secrets to pass them over to Bartlett—how the House’s structured? Eh?”

“I don’t know,” the old man lied.

“You must have told John—there’s only you, Alastair, my father, Sir Ross, Gavallan, deVille or me who know, and of those, only the first four know the structure!”

“I didn’t tell him—I swear I didn’t.”

Dunross’s blinding rage began to swell again but once more he held it into place.

Be logical, he told himself. Phillip’s more Chinese than European. Deal with him as a Chinese! Where’s the link? The missing part of the jigsaw?

While he was trying to work out the problem, his eyes bored into the old man. He waited, knowing that silence too was a vast weapon, in defense or attack. What’s the answer? Phillip would never tell John anything that secret, therefore …

“Jesus Christ!” he burst out at the sudden thought. “You’ve been keeping records! Private records! That’s how John found out! From your safe! Eh?”

Petrified by the tai-pan’s devil rage, Phillip blurted out before he could stop himself, “Yes … yes … I had to agree …” He stopped, fighting for control.

“Had to? Why? Come on goddamnit!”

“Because … because my father, before he … he passed the House over to me and the coin to me … made me swear to keep … to record the private dealings of … of the Noble House to protect the House of Chen. It was just that, tai-pan, never to use against you or the House, just a protection.…”

Dunross stared at him, hating him, hating John Chen for selling Struan’s out, hating his mentor Chen-chen for the first time in his life, sick with rage at so many betrayals. Then he remembered one of Chenchen’s admonitions years ago when Dunross was almost weeping with anger at the unfair way his father and Alastair were treating him: “Don’t get angry, young Ian, get even. I told Culum the same thing, and the Hag when they were equally young—Culum never listened but the Hag did. That’s the civilized way: Don’t get angry, get even! “So Bartlett has our structure, our balance sheets. What else’s he got?”

Phillip Chen just shivered and stared back blankly.

“Come on for chrissake, Phillip, think! We’ve all got skeletons, a lot of skeletons! So’ve you, the Hag, Chen-chen, Shitee T’Chung, Dianne … for chrissake, how much more’s documented that John could have passed over?” A wave of nausea went through him as he remembered his theory about the connection between Banastasio, Bartlett, Par-Con, the Mafia and the guns. Christ, if our secrets get into the wrong hands! “Eh?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know … What, what did Bartlett ask? For the coin?” Then Phillip cried out, “It’s mine, it belongs to me!”

He saw the uncontrollable trembling of Phillip’s hands and a sudden tinge of gray in his face. There was brandy and whiskey in decanters on the sideboard and Dunross fetched some brandy and gave it to him. Gratefully the old man drank, choking a little. “Than … thank you.”

“Go home and fetch everything and th—” Dunross stopped and stabbed an intercom button. “Andrew?”

“Yes, tai-pan?” Gavallan said.

“Would you come up a second? I want you to go home with Phillip, he’s not feeling too well and there’re some papers to bring back.”

“On my way.”

Dunross’s eyes had never left Phillip’s.

“Tai-pan, what did, did Bar—”

“Stay away from them on your life! And give Andrew everything—John’s letters, Bartlett’s letters, everything,” he said, his voice chilling.

“Tai-pan …”

“Everything.” His head ached, he had so much rage in him. He was going to add, I’ll decide about you and the House of Chen over the weekend. But he did not say it. “Don’t get mad, get even” kept ringing in his ears.

Casey came in. Dunross met her halfway. She carried an umbrella and was again wearing her pale green dress that set off her hair and eyes perfectly. Dunross noticed the shadows behind her eyes. They made her somehow more desirable. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” His smile was warm but he enjoyed none of its warmth. He was still appalled over Phillip Chen.

Casey’s hand was cool and pleasant. “Thanks for seeing me,” she said. “I know you’re busy so I’ll come to the point.”

“First tea. Or would you like a drink?”

“No liquor thanks, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”

“No trouble, I’m going to have tea anyway. 4:40’s tea time.” As though by magic the door opened and a liveried houseboy brought in a silver tray with tea for two—with thin buttered toast and hot scones in a silver warmer. The man poured and left. The tea was dark brown and strong. “It’s Darjeeling, one of our House blends. We’ve been trading it since 1830,” he said sipping it gratefully, as always thanking the unknown genius Englishman who had invented afternoon tea, which, somehow, always seemed to settle the cares of the day and put the world into perspective. “I hope you like it.”

“It’s great, maybe a mite too strong for me. I had some around 2:00 A.M., and it certainly woke me up.”

“Oh? You still on jet lag?”

She shook her head and told him about Peter Marlowe.

“Oh! What bad joss!” He stabbed the intercom. “Claudia, call the Nathan Nursing Home and see how Mrs. Marlowe is. And send some flowers. Thanks.”

Casey frowned. “How’d you know she was at the Nathan?”

“Doc Tooley always uses that place in Kowloon.” He was watching her closely, astonished that she seemed so friendly when obviously Par-Con was trying to sabotage their deal. If she’s been up most of the night, that accounts for the shadows, he thought. Well, shadows or not, watch out, young lady, we shook on the deal. “Another cup?” he asked solicitously.

“No thanks, this’s fine.”

“I recommend the scones. We eat them like this: a big dollop of Devonshire clotted cream on top, a teaspoon of homemade strawberry jam in the center of the cream and … magic! Here!”

Reluctantly she took it. The scone was just bite-sized. It vanished. “Fantastic,” she gasped, wiping a touch of the cream off her mouth. “But all those calories! No, really, no more, thanks. I’ve done nothing but eat since I got here.”

“It doesn’t show.”

“It will.” He saw her smile back at him. She was sitting in one of the deep high-backed leather chairs, the tea table between them. Again she crossed her legs and Dunross thought once more that Gavallan had been right about her—that her Achilles’ heel was impatience. “May I start now?” she asked.

“You’re sure you don’t want some more tea?” he asked, deliberately to throw her off balance again.

“No thanks.”

“Then tea’s over. What’s cooking?”

Casey took a deep breath. “It seems that Struan’s is way out on a limb and about to go under.”

“Please don’t concern yourself about that. Struan’s really is in very fine shape.”

“You may be, tai-pan, but it doesn’t look that way to us. Or to outsiders. I’ve checked. Most everyone seems to think Gornt, and or the Victoria, will make the raid stick. It’s almost a general thumbs down. Now our deal’s—”

“We have a deal till Tuesday. That’s what we agreed,” he said, his voice sharpening. “Do I understand you want to renege or change it?”

“No. But in the present state you’re in, it’d be crazy and bad business to proceed. So we’ve two alternatives: It’s either Rothwell-Gornt, or we’ve to help you with some kind of bail-out operation.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I’ve a plan, a partial plan for how you could maybe extricate yourself and make us all a fortune. Okay? You’re the best for us—long-term.”

“Thank you,” he said, not believing her, all attention, well aware that any concession she offered was going to be prohibitively expensive.

“Try this on for size. Our bankers are the First Central New York—the hated bank here. They want back into Hong Kong so much it hurts, but they’ll never get a new charter, right?”

Dunross’s interest peaked at this new thought. “So?”

“So recently they bought a small foreign bank with branches in Tokyo, Singapore, Bangkok and Hong Kong: the Royal Belgium and Far East Bank. It’s a tiny, nothing bank and they paid 3 million for everything. First Central has asked us to put our funds through the Royal Belgium if our deal goes through. Last night I met with Dave Murtagh who’s in charge of Royal Belgium and he was moaning and groaning how bad business was, how they’re squeezed out of everything by the Establishment here and though they’ve got the huge dollar resources of First Central behind them, almost nobody’ll open accounts and deposit Hong Kong dollars which they need to make loans. You know about the bank?”

“Yes,” he said, not understanding what she was leading to, “but I didn’t realize the First Central was behind them. I don’t think that’s common knowledge. When was it bought out?”

“A couple of months ago. Now, what if the Royal Belgium would advance you Monday 120 percent of the purchase price of the two Toda ships?”

Dunross gaped at her, caught off guard. “Secured by what?”

“The ships.”

“Impossible! No bank’d do that!”

“The 100 percent is for Toda, the 20 percent to cover all carrying charges, insurances and the first months of operation.”

“With no cash flow, no charterer set?” he asked incredulously.

“Could you charter them in sixty days to give you a cash flow to sustain a reasonable repayment schedule?”

“Easily.” Jesus Christ, if I can pay Toda at once I can slam my lease-back scheme into operation with the first two ships, without having to wait. He held on to his hope, wondering what the cost, the real cost would be. “Is this a theory or will they really do it?”

“They might.”

“In return for what?”

“In return for Struan’s depositing 50 percent of all foreign exchange for a five-year period; a promise you’d keep average cash deposits with them of between 5 and 7 million Hong Kong dollars—one and one half million U.S. dollars’ worth; that you’d use the bank as your second Hong Kong bank and the First Central as your prime lending American bank outside of Hong Kong for a five-year period. What do you say?”

It took all his training not to bellow with joy. “Is this a firm offer?”

“I think it is, tai-pan. I’m a bit out of my depth—I’ve never been into ships but 120 percent seemed fantastic and the other terms okay. I didn’t know how far I should go negotiating terms but I told him he’d better make it all fair or he’d never get to first base.”

An ice shaft went into his guts. “The local man would never have the authority to make such an offer.”

“That was Murtagh’s next point, but he said we’ve the weekend and if you’ll go for the scheme he’ll get on the wire.”

Dunross sat back, nonplussed. He put aside three vital questions and said, “Let’s hold this for the moment. What’s your part in all this?”

“In a minute. There’s another wrinkle to his offer. I think he’s bananas but Murtagh said he’d try to persuade the brass to put up a revolving $50 million U.S. against the value of the unissued shares you got in your treasury. So you’re home free. If.”

Dunross felt the sweat break out on his back and on his forehead, well aware what a tremendous gamble that would be, however big the bank. With effort he put his brain to work. With the ships paid for and that revolving fund, he could fight off Gornt and smash his attack. And with Gornt bottled, Orlin’d come back meekly because he’d always been a good customer—and wasn’t First Central part of the Orlin Merchant Bank consortium? “What about our deal?”

“That stays as is. You announce at the best time for both of us, for you and for Par-Con as we agreed. If, and it’s a big if, if First Central’ll go for the gamble, you and we could make a killing, a real killing by buying Struan at 9.50 Monday morning—it has to go back up to 28, maybe to 30, doesn’t it? The only part I can’t figure is how to deal with the bank runs.”

Dunross took out his handkerchief and unashamedly wiped his forehead. Then he got up and poured two brandy and sodas. He gave her one and sat back in his chair again, his mind amok, one moment blank, the next crammed with happiness, instantly to be agitated and hurting with all the hope and fear, the questions, answers, plans and counterplans.

Christallbloodymighty, he thought, trying to calm himself.

The brandy tasted good. The warming bite was very good. He noticed she only sipped hers then set it down and watched him. When his brain had cleared and he was ready, he looked at her. “All this in return for what?”

“You’ll have to set the parameters with the Royal Belgium—that’s up to you. I don’t know accurately enough your net cash flow. Interest charges’ll be steep, but worth it to get out from under. You’ll have to put up your personal guarantee for every cent.”

“Christ!”

“Yes. Plus face.” He heard her voice harden. “It’ll cost you face to be dealing with the ‘yellow bastards.’ Wasn’t that what Lady Joanna called the First Central people with her big fat sneer and ‘But what do you expect, they’re …’ I guess she meant Americans.” He saw Casey’s eyes flatten and his danger signals came up. “That’s some old bitch, that one.”

“She’s not really,” he said. “She’s a bit caustic, and rough, but all right usually. She is anti-American, sorry to say, paranoid I suppose. You see, her husband, Sir Richard, was killed at Monte Cassino in Italy by American bombs, their aircraft mistaking British troops for Nazis.”

“Oh,” Casey said. “Oh I see.”

“What does Par-Con want? And what do you and Linc Bartlett want?”

She hesitated, then put Lady Joanna aside for a moment, concentrating again. “Par-Con wants a long-term deal with Struan’s—as ‘Old Friends.’” He saw the strange smile. “I’ve discovered what Old Friend means, Chinese style, and that’s what I want for Par-Con. Old Friend status as and from the moment the Royal Belgium delivers.”

“Next?”

“Is that a yes?”

“I’d like to know all the terms before I agree to one.”

She sipped the brandy. “Linc wants nothing. He doesn’t know about all this.”

“I beg your pardon?” Again Dunross was caught off balance.

“Linc doesn’t know about the Royal Belgium yet,” she said, her voice ordinary. “I brainstormed all this with Dave Murtagh today. I don’t know if I’m doing you much of a favor because your … because you’ll be on the line, you personally. But it could get Struan’s off the hook. Then our deal can work.”

“Don’t you think you should consult with your fearless leader?” Dunross said, trying to work out the implications of this unexpected tack.

“I’m executive director and Struan’s is my deal. It costs us nothing but our influence to get you out of your trap and that’s what influence’s for. I want our deal to go through and I don’t want Gornt the winner.”

“Why?”

“I told you. You’re the best for us long-term.”

“And you, Ciranoush? What do you want? In return for using your influence?”

Her eyes seemed to flatten even more and become more hazel, like a lioness’s. “Equality. I want to be treated as an equal, not patronized or scoffed at as a woman who’s in business on the coattails of a man. I want equality with the tai-pan of the Noble House. And I want you to help me get my drop dead money—apart from anything to do with Par-Con.”

“The second’s easy, if you’re prepared to gamble. As to the first, I’ve never patronized or sloughed you o—”

“Gavallan did, and the others.”

“… off, and I never will. As to the others, if they don’t treat you as you like, then leave the conference table and leave the battleground. Don’t force your presence on them. I can’t make you equal. You’re not and you never will be. You’re a woman and like it or not this’s a man’s world. Particularly in Hong Kong. And while I’m alive I’m going to continue to treat it as it is and treat a woman as a woman whoever the hell she is.”

“Then screw you!”

“When?” He beamed.

Her sudden laugh joined his and the tension fled. “I deserved that,” she said. Another laugh. “I really deserved that. Sorry. Guess I lost ass.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She explained her version of face. He laughed again. “You didn’t. You gained arse.”

After a pause she said, “So whatever I do, I can never have equality?”

“Not in business, not on masculine terms, not if you want to be of this world. As I said, like it or not, that’s the way it is. And I think you’re wrong to try to change it. The Hag was undisputedly more powerful than anyone in Asia. And she got there as a woman, not as a neuter.”

Her hand reached out and lifted her brandy and he saw the swell of her breast against the light silk blouse. “How the hell can we treat someone as attractive and smart as you as a non-person? Be fair!”

“I’m not asking for fairness, tai-pan, just equality.”

“Be content you’re a woman.”

“Oh I am. I really am.” Her voice became bitter. “I just don’t want to be classed as someone whose only real value is on her back.” She took a last sip and got up. “So you’ll take it from here? With the Royal Belgium? David Murtagh’s expecting a call. It’s a long shot, but it’s worth a try, isn’t it? Maybe you could go see him, instead of sending for him—face, huh? He’ll need all the support you can give him.”

Dunross had not got up. “Please sit down a second, if you’ve time. There’re still a couple of things.”

“Of course. I didn’t want to take any more of your time.”

“First, what’s the problem with your Mr. Steigler?”

“What do you mean?”

He told her what Dawson had related.

“Son of a bitch!” she said, obviously irritated. “I told him to get the papers drawn, that’s all. I’ll take care of him. Lawyers always think they’ve the right to negotiate, ‘to improve the deal’ is the way they put it, trying to put you down, I guess. I’ve lost more deals because of them than you can imagine. Seymour’s not as bad as some. Attorneys’re the plague of the United States. Linc thinks so too.”

“What about Linc?” he asked, remembering the 2 million he had advanced to Gornt to attack their stock. “Is he going to be 100 percent behind this new twist?”

“Yes,” she said after a pause. “Yes.”

Dunross’s mind reached out for the missing piece. “So you’ll take care of Steigler and everything stands as before?”

“You’ll have to work out title to the ships as we agreed but that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“No. I can handle that.”

“You’ll personally guarantee everything?”

“Oh, yes,” Dunross said carelessly. “Dirk did all the time. That’s the taipan’s privilege. Listen, Ciranoush, I—”

“Will you call me Casey, tai-pan? Ciranoush is for a different era.”

“All right. Casey, whether this works or not, you’re an Old Friend and I owe you a thank you for your bravery, your personal bravery at the fire.”

“I’m not brave. It must have been glands.” She laughed. “Don’t forget we’ve still got the hepatitis over our heads.”

“Oh. You thought of that too.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes were watching him and he could not gauge her. “I’ll help you with drop dead money,” he said. “How much do you need?”

“2 million, tax free.”

“Your tax laws are rigid and tough. Are you prepared to stretch laws?”

She hesitated. “It’s the right of every red-blooded American to avoid taxes, but not evade them.”

“Got it. So at your bracket you might need 4?”

“My bracket’s low, though my capital’s high.”

“$46,000 at the San Fernando Savings and Loan’s not very much,” he said, grimly amused to see her blanch. “$8,700 in your checking account at the Los Angeles and California’s not too much either.”

“You’re a bastard.”

He smiled. “I merely have friends in high places. Like you.” Casually he opened the trap. “Will you and Linc Bartlett have dinner with me tonight?”

“Linc’s busy,” she said.

“Will you have dinner then? Eight? Let’s meet in the lobby of the Mandarin.” He had heard the undercurrent and the giveaway and he could almost see her mind waves churning. So Linc’s busy! he thought. And what would Linc Bartlett be busy with in that tone of voice? Orlanda Ramos? Has to be, he told himself, delighted he had flushed out the real reason—the real why of her help. Orlanda! Orlanda leading to Linc Bartlett leading to Gornt. Casey’s petrified of Orlanda. Is she petrified that Gornt’s behind Orlanda’s onslaught on Bartlett—or is she just frantic with jealousy and ready to bring Bartlett atumbling down?