After a pause deVille said, "It's astonishing more didn't die." They watched Pilot Fish as the stallion cantered past looking very good. DeVille's eyes ranged the course.
"Is it true that Bartlett saved Peter Marlowe's wife?" Travkin asked.
"He jumped with her. Yes. Both Linc and Casey did a great job. Wonderful."
"Will you excuse me, tai-pan?" Jacques deVille nodded at the stands. "There's Jason Plumm—I'm supposed to be playing bridge with him tonight."
"See you at Prayers, Jacques." Dunross smiled at him and deVille walked off. He sighed, sad for his friend. "I'm off to the office, Alexi. Call me at six."
"Tai-pan..."
"What?"
Travkin hesitated. Then he said simply, "I just want you to know I... I admire you greatly."
Dunross was nonplussed at the suddenness and at the open, curious melancholy that emanated from the other man. "Thanks," he said warmly and clapped him on the shoulder. He had never touched him as a friend before. "You're not so bad yourself."
Travkin watched him walk off, his chest hurting him, tears of shame adding to the rain. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and went back to watching Noble Star, trying to concentrate.
In the periphery of his vision he saw someone and he turned, startled. The KGB man was in a corner of the stands, another man joining him now. The man was old and gnarled and well known as a punter in Hong Kong. Travkin searched his mind for the name. Clinker. That's it! Clinker!
He watched them blankly for a moment. Jason Plumm was in the stands just behind the KGB man and he saw Plumm get up to return Jacques deVille's wave and walk down the steps to meet him. Just then the KGB man glanced in his direction and he turned carefully, trying not to be sudden again. The KGB man had lifted binoculars to his eyes and Travkin did not know if he had been noticed or not. His skin crawled at the thought of those high-powered binoculars focused on him. Perhaps the man can lip-read, he thought, aghast. Christ Jesus and Mother of God, thank God I didn't blurt out the truth to the tai-pan.
His heart was grinding nastily and he felt sick. A flicker of lightning went across the eastern sky. Rain was puddling the concrete and the open, lower section of the stands. He tried to calm himself and looked around helplessly not knowing what to do, wanting very much to find out who the KGB man was. Absently he noticed Pilot Fish was finishing his workout in fine form. Beyond him Richard Kwang was talking intently to a group of other Chinese he did not know. Linbar Struan and Andrew Gavallan were leaning on the rails with the American Rosemont and others from the consulate he knew by sight. They were watching the horses, oblivious of the rain. Near the changing rooms, under cover, Donald McBride was talking to other stewards, Sir Shi-teh T'Chung, Pugmire and Roger Crosse among them. He saw McBride glance over to Dunross, wave and beckon him to join them. Brian Kwok was waiting for Roger Crosse on the outskirts of the stewards. Travkin knew both of them but not that they were in SI.
Involuntarily his feet began to move toward them. The foul taste of bile rose into his mouth. He dominated his urge to rush up to them and blurt out the truth. Instead he called over his chief ma-foo. "Send our string home. All of them. Make sure they're dry before they're fed."
"Yes sir."
Unhappily Travkin trudged for the changing rooms. From the corner of his eye he saw that the KGB man had his binoculars trained on him. Rain trickled down his neck and mixed with the fear-sweat.
"Ah, Ian, we were thinking that if it rains tomorrow, we'd better cancel the meet. Say at 6:00 P.M. tomorrow," McBride said. "Don't you agree?"
"No, actually I don't. I suggest we make a final decision at ten Saturday morning."
"Isn't that a little late, old boy?" Pugmire asked.
"Not if the stewards alert the wireless and television fellows. It'll add to the excitement. Particularly if you release that news today."
"Good idea," Crosse said.
"Then that's settled," Dunross said. "Was there anything else?"
"Don't you think... it's a matter of the turf," McBride said. "We don't want to ruin it."
"I quite agree, Donald. We'll make a final decision Saturday at ten. All in favour?" There were no dissenters. "Good! Nothing else? Sorry, but I've got a meeting in half an hour."
Shi-teh said uncomfortably, "Oh, tai-pan, I was terribly sorry about last night... terrible."
"Yes. Shitee, when we meet the governor in Council at noon we should suggest he implants new, very severe fire regulations on Aberdeen."
"Agreed," Crosse said. "It's a miracle more weren't lost."
"You mean close the restaurants down, old boy?" Pugmire was shocked. His company had an interest in two of them. "That'll hurt the tourist business badly. You can't put in more exits.... You'd have to start from scratch!"
Dunross glanced back at Shi-teh. "Why don't you suggest to the governor that he order all kitchens at once be put on barges that can be moored alongside their mother ship? He could order that fire trucks be kept nearby until the changes have been made. The cost'd be modest, it would be easy to operate and the fire hazard would be solved once and for all."
They all stared at him. Shi-teh beamed. "Ian, you're a genius!"
"No. I'm only sorry we didn't think of it before. Never occurred to me. Rotten about Zep... and Christian's wife, isn't it? Have they found her body yet?"
"I don't think so."
"God knows how many others went. Did the MPs get out, Pug?"
"Yes, old chap. Except Sir Charles Pennyworth. Poor sod got his head bashed in on a sampan when he fell."
Dunross was shocked. "I liked him! What bloody bad joss!"
"There were a couple of the others near me at ontji stage. That bloody radical bastard, what's his name? Grey, ah yes, Grey that's it. And the other one, the other bloody Socialist berk, Broadhurst. Both behaved rather well I thought."
"I hear your Superfoods got out too, Pug. Wasn't our 'Call me Chuck' first ashore?"
Pugmire shrugged uneasily. "I really don't know." Then he beamed. "I... er... I hear Casey and Bartlett did a very good job, what? Perhaps they should have a medal."
"Why don't you suggest it?" Dunross said, anxious to leave. "If there's nothing else..."
Crosse said, "Ian, if I were you I'd get a shot. There must be bugs in that bay that haven't been invented yet."
They all laughed with him.
"Actually I've done better than that. After we got out of the water I grabbed Linc Bartlett and Casey and we fled to Doc Tooley." Dunross smiled faintly. "When we told him we'd been swimming in Aberdeen Harbour he almost had a haemorrhage. He said, 'Drink this,' and like bloody berks we did and before we knew what was happening we were retching our hearts out. If I'd had any strength I'd've belted him but we were all on our hands and knees fighting for the loo not knowing which end was first. Then Casey started laughing between heaves and then we were rolling on the bloody floor!" He added with pretended sadness, "Then, before we knew what was happening, Old Sawbones was shoving pills down our throats by the barrel and Bartlett said, 'For chrissake, Doc, how about a suppository and then you've a hole in one!' " They laughed again.
"Is it true about Casey? That she stripped and dived like an Olympic star?" Pugmire asked.
"Better! Stark bollock naked, old boy," Dunross exaggerated airily. "Like Venus de Milo! Probably the best... everything... I've ever seen."
"Oh?" Their eyes popped. "Yes."
"My God, but swimming in Aberdeen Harbour! That sewer!" McBride said, eyebrows soaring. "If you all live it'll be a miracle!"
"Doc Tooley said the very least'll be gastroenteritis, dysentery or the plague." Dunross rolled his eyes. "Well, here today gone tomorrow.
Anything else?"
"Tai-pan," Shi-ten said, "I... hope you don't mind but I've... I'd like to start a fund for the victims' families."
"Good idea! The Turf Club should contribute too. Donald, would you canvass the other stewards today and get their approval? How about 100,000?"
"That's a bit generous, isn't it?" Pugmire said.
Dunross's chin jutted. "No. Then let's make it 150,000 instead. The Noble House will contribute the same." Pugmire flushed. No one said anything. "Meeting adjourned? Good. Morning." Dunross raised his hat politely and walked off.
"Excuse me a moment." Crosse motioned Brian Kwok to follow him. "Ian!"
"Yes, Roger?"
When Crosse came up to Dunross he said quietly, "Ian, we've a report that Sinders is confirmed on the BOAC flight tomorrow. We'll go straight to the bank from the airport if that's convenient."
"The governor will be there too?"
"I'll ask him. We should be there about six."
"If the plane's on time." Dunross smiled.
"Did you get Eastern Cloud's formal release yet?"
"Yes, thanks. It was telexed yesterday from Delhi. I ordered her back here at once and she sailed on the tide. Brian, you remember the bet you wanted—the one about Casey. About her knockers—fifty dollars to a copper cash they're the best in Hong Kong?"
Brian Kwok reddened, conscious of Crosse's bleak stare. "Er, yes, why?"
"I don't know about the best, but like the judgment of Paris, you'd have one helluva problem if it—they—were put to the test!"
"Then it's true, she was starkers?"
"She was Lady Godiva to the rescue." Dunross nodded to both of them pleasantly and walked off with, "See you tomorrow."
They watched him go. At the exit an SI agent was waiting to follow him.
Crosse said, "He's got something cooking."
"I agree, sir."
Crosse tore his eyes off Dunross and looked at Brian Kowk. "Do you usually bet on a lady's mammary glands?"
"No sir, sorry sir."
"Good. Fortunately women aren't the only source of beauty, are they?"
"No sir."
"There're hounds, paintings, music, even a killing. Eh?"
"Yes sir."
"Wait here please." Crosse went back to the other stewards.
Brian Kwok sighed. He was bored and tired. The team of frogmen had met him at Aberdeen and though he had found out almost at once that Dunross was safe and had already gone home, he had had to wait most of the night helping to organise the search for bodies. It had been a ghoulish task. Then when he was about to go home Crosse had called him to be at Happy Valley at dawn so there had been no point in going to bed. Instead he had gone to the Para Restaurant and glowered at the triads and One Foot Ko.
Now he was watching Dunross. What's that bugger got in the reaches of his mind? he asked himself, a twinge of envy soaring through him. What couldn't I do with his power and his money!
He saw Dunross change direction for the nearby stand, then noticed Adryon sitting beside Martin Haply, both staring at the horses, oblivious of Dunross. Dew neh loh moh, he thought, surprised. Curious that they'd be together. Christ, what a beauty! Thank God I'm not father to that one. I'd go out of my mind.
Crosse and the others had also noticed Adryon and Martin Haply with astonishment. "What's that bastard doing with the tai-pan's daughter?" Pugmire asked, his voice sour.
"No good, that's certain," someone said.
"Blasted fellow creates nothing but trouble!" Pugmire muttered and the others nodded agreement. "Can't understand why Toxe keeps him on!"
"Bloody man's a Socialist that's why! He should be blackballed too."
"Oh come off it, Pug. Toxe's all right—so're some Socialists," Shi-teh said. "But he should fire Haply, and we'd all be better off!" They had all been subject to Haply's attacks. A few weeks ago he had written a series of scathing exposes of some of Shi-teh's trading deals within his huge conglomeration of companies and implied that all sorts of dubious contributions were being made to various VIPs in the Hong Kong Government for favours.
"I agree," Pugmire said, hating him too. Haply, with his accuracy, had reported the private details of Pugmire's forthcoming merger with Superfoods and had made it abundantly clear Pugmire benefited far more than his shareholders in General Stores who were barely consulted on the terms of the merger. "Rotten bastard! I'd certainly like to know where he gets his information."
"Curious Haply should be with her," Crosse said, watching their lips, waiting for them to speak. "The only major company he hasn't gone after yet is Struan's."
"You think it's Struan's turn and Haply's pumping Adryon?" one of the others asked. "Wouldn't that be smashing!"
Excitedly they watched Dunross go into the stands, the two young people still not having noticed him.
"Maybe he'll whip him like he did the other bastard," Pugmire said gleefully.
"Eh?" Shi-teh said. "Who? What was that?"
"Oh, I thought you knew. About two years ago one of the Vic's junior execs straight out from England started pursuing Adryon. She was sixteen, perhaps seventeen—he was twenty-two, as big as a house, bigger than Ian, his name was Byron. He thought he was Lord Byron on the rampage and he mounted a campaign. The poor girl was bowled over. Ian warned him a last time. The creep kept calling, so Ian invited him out to his gym at Shek-O, put on gloves—he knew the bugger fancied himself as a boxer—and proceeded to pulp him." The others laughed. "Within the week the bank had sent him packing."
"Did you see it?" Shi-teh asked.
"Of course not. They were aione for God's sake, but the bloody fool was really in a bad way. I wouldn't like to go against the tai-pan—not when his temper's up."
Shi-teh looked back at Dunross. "Perhaps he'll do the same to that little rotter," he said happily.
They watched. Hopefully. Crosse wandered off with Brian Kwok, going closer.
Dunross was running up the steps in the stands now with his easy strength and he stopped beside them. "Hello, darling, you're up early," he said.
"Oh hello, Dad," Adryon said, startled. "I didn't se—What happened to your face?"
"I ran into the back end of a bus. Morning, Haply."
"Morning, sir." Haply half got up and sat down again.
"A bus?" she said, then suddenly, "Did you prang the Jag? Oh, did you get a ticket?" she asked hopefully, having had three this year herself.
"No. You're up early aren't you?" he said, sitting beside her.
"Actually we're late. We've been up all night."
"Oh?" He held on to forty-eight immediate questions and said instead, "You must be tired."
"No. No, actually I'm not."
"What's this all about, a celebration?"
"No. Actually it's poor Martin." She put a gentle hand on the youth's shoulder. With an effort Dunross kept his smile as gentle as her hand. He turned his attention to the young Canadian. "What's the problem?"
Haply hesitated, then told him what had happened at the paper when the publisher had called and Christian Toxe, his editor, had cancelled his rumour series. "That bastard's sold us out. He's allowed the publisher to censor us. I know I'm right. I know I'm right."
"How?" Dunross asked, thinking, What a callous little bastard you are!
"Sorry, I can't reveal my source."
"He really can't, Dad, that's an infringement of freedom of the press," Adryon said defensively.
Haply was bunching his fists, then absently he put his hand on Adryon's knee. She covered it with one of her own. "The Ho-Pak's being shoved into the ground for nothing."
"Why?"
"I don't know. But Gor—but tai-pans are behind the raid and it doesn't make sense."
"Gornt's behind it?" Dunross frowned at this new thought.
"I didn't say Gornt, sir. No I didn't say that."
"He didn't, Father," Adryon said. "What should Martin do? Should he resign or just swallow his pride an—"
"I just can't, Adryon," Martin Haply said.
"Let Father talk, he'll know."
Dunross saw her turn her lovely eyes back on him and he felt a glow at her confident innocence that he had never felt before. "Two things: First you go back at once. Christian will need all the help he can get. Second, y—"
"Help?"
"Haven't you heard about his wife?"
"What about her?"
"Don't you know she's dead?"
They stared at him blankly.
Quickly he told them about Aberdeen. Both of them were shocked and Haply stuttered, "Jesus, we... we didn't listen to a radio or anything... we were just dancing and talking...."He jumped up and started to leave then came back. "I... I'd better go at once. Jesus!"
Adryon was on her feet. "I'll drop you."
Dunross said, "Haply, would you ask Christian to emphasise in bold type that anyone who got dunked or went swimming should see their doctors right smartly—very important."
"Got it!"
Adryon said anxiously, "Father, did you see Doc Too—"
"Oh yes," Dunross said. "Cleansed inside and out. Off you go!"
"What was the second thing, tai-pan?" Haply asked.
"Second was that you should remember it's the publisher's money, therefore his newspaper and he can do what he likes. But publishers can be persuaded. I wonder, for instance, who got to him or her and why he and she agreed to call Christian.... if you're so sure your story's true."
Haply beamed suddenly. "Come on, honey," he said and shouted thanks. They ran off hand-in-hand.
Dunross stayed sitting in the stands for the moment. He sighed deeply, then got up and went away.
Roger Crosse was with Brian Kwok under cover near the jockeys' changing rooms and he had been lip-reading the tai-pan's conversation. He watched him leave, the SI guard following him. "No need to waste any more time here, Brian. Come along." He headed for the far exit. "I wonder if Robert found anything at Sha Tin."
"Those bloody Werewolves are going to have a field day. All Hong Kong'll be frightened to death. I'll bet we..." Brian Kwok stopped suddenly. "Sir! Look!" He nodded at the stands, noticing Suslev and Clinker among the scattered groups who watched out of the rain. "I wouldn't've thought he'd be up yet!" Crosse's eyes narrowed. "Yes. That's curious. Yes." He hesitated, then changed direction, watching their lips carefully. "Since he's honoured us we might as well have a little chat. Ah... they've seen us. Clinker really doesn't like us at all." Leisurely he led the way into the stands.
The big Russian put a smile on his face and slid out a thin flask and took a sip. He offered it to Clinker.
"No thanks, mate, I just drink beer." Clinker's cold eyes were on the approaching policemen. "Proper niffy around here, ain't it?" he said loudly.
"Morning, Clinker," Crosse said, equally coldly. Then he smiled at Suslev. "Morning, Captain. Filthy day, what?"
"We're alive, tovarich, alive, so how can a day be filthy, eh?" Suslev was filled with outward bonhomie, continuing his cover as a hail-fellow-well-met. "Will there be racing Saturday, Superintendent?"
"Probably. The final decision'll be made Saturday morning. How long will you be in port?"
"Not long, Superintendent. The repairs to the rudder go slowly."
"Not too slowly I hope. We all get very nervous if our VIP harbour guests don't get very rapid service." Crosse's voice was crisp. "I'll talk to the harbour master."
"Thank you, that's... that's very thoughtful of you. And it was thoughtful of your department..." Suslev hesitated, then turned to Clinker. "Old friend, do you mind?"
"Not on your nelly," Clinker said. "Narks make me nervous." Brian Kwok looked at him. Clinker looked back unafraid. "I'll be in me car." He wandered off.
Suslev's voice hardened. "It was thoughtful of your department to send back the body of our poor comrade Voranski. Have you found the murderers?"
"Unfortunately no. They could be hired assassins—from any point of the compass. Of course if he hadn't slipped ashore mysteriously he'd still be a useful operative of the... of whatever department he served."
"He was just a seaman and a good man. I thought Hong Kong was safe."
"Did you pass on the assassins' photographs and information about their phone call to your KGB superiors?"
"I'm not KGB, piss on KGB! Yes, the information was passed on... by my superior," Suslev said irritably. "You know how it is, Superintendent, for God's sake. But Voranski was a good man and his murderers must be caught."
"We'll find them soon enough," Crosse said easily. "Did you know Voranski was in reality Major Yuri Bakyan, First Directorate, Department 6, KGB?"
They saw shock on Suslev's face. "He was... he was just a friend to me and he came with us from time to time."
"Who arranges that, Captain?" Crosse said.
Suslev looked at Brian Kwok who stared back at him with unconcealed distaste. "Why're you so angry? What have I done to you?"
"Why's the Russian empire so greedy, particularly when it comes to Chinese soil?"
"Politics!" Suslev said sourly then added to Crosse, "I don't interfere in politics."
"You buggers interfere all the time! What's your KGB rank?"
"I don't have one."
Crosse said, "A little cooperation could go a long way. Who arranges your crews, Captain Suslev?"
Suslev glanced at him. Then he said, "A word in private, eh?"
"Certainly," Crosse said. "Wait here, Brian."
Suslev turned his back on Brian Kwok and led the way down the exit stairs onto the grass. Crosse followed. "What do you think of Noble Star's chances?" Suslev asked genially.
"Good. But she's never raced in the wet."
"Pilot Fish?"
"Look at him—you can see for yourself. He loves the wet. He'll be the favourite. You plan to be here Saturday?"
Suslev leaned on the railings. And smiled. "Why not?"
Crosse laughed softly. "Why not indeed?" He was sure they were quite alone now. "You're a good actor, Gregor, very good."
"So're you, comrade."
"You're taking a hell of a risk, aren't you?" Crosse said, his lips hardly moving now as he talked.
"Yes, but then all life's a risk. Centre told me to take over until Voranski's replacement arrives—there are too many important contacts and decisions to be made on this trip. Not the least, Sevrin. And anyway, as you know, Arthur wanted it this way."
"Sometimes I wonder if he's wise."
"He's wise." The lines around Suslev's eyes crinkled with his smile. "Oh yes. Very wise. I'm pleased to see you. Center's very very pleased with your year's work. I've much to tell you."
"Who's the bastard who leaked Sevrin to AMG?"
"I don't know. It was a defector. As soon as we know, he's a dead man."
"Someone's betrayed a group of my people to the PRC. The leak had to come from the AMG file. You read my copy. Who else on your ship did? Someone's infiltrated your operation here!"
Suslev blanched. "I'll activate a security check immediately. It could have come from London, or Washington."
"I doubt it. Not in time. I think it came from here. And then there's Voranski. You're infiltrated."
"If the PRC... yes, it will be done. But who? I'd bet my life there's no spy aboard."
Crosse was equally grim. "There's always someone who can be subverted."
"You have an escape plan?"
"Several."
"I'm ordered to assist in any way. Do you want a berth on the Ivanov?"
Crosse hesitated. "I'll wait until I've read the AMG files. It would be a pity after such a long time..."
"I agree."
"It's easy for you to agree. If you're caught you just get deported and asked politely, please don't come back. Me? I wouldn't want to be caught alive."
"Of course." Suslev lit a cigarette. "You won't get caught, Roger. You're much too clever. You have something for me?"
"Look down there, along the rails. The tall man."
Casually Suslev put his binoculars to his eyes. He took his time about centering the man indicated, then looked away.
"That's Stanley Rosemont, CIA. You know they're tailing you?"
"Oh yes. I can lose them if I wish to."
"The man next to him's Ed Langan, FBI. The bearded fellow's Mishauer, American Naval Intelligence."
"Mishauer? That sounds familiar. Do you have files on them?"
"Not yet but there's a deviate in the consulate who's having a jolly affair with the son of one of our prominent Chinese solicitors. By the time you're back on your next trip he'll be happy to oblige your slightest wish."
Suslev smiled grimly. "Good." Again, casually, he glanced at Rosemont and the others, cementing their faces into his memory. "What's his job?"
"Deputy chief of station. CIA for fifteen years. OSS and all that. They've a dozen more cover businesses here and safe houses everywhere. I've sent a list in microdots to 32."
"Good. Centre wants increased surveillance of all CIA movements."
"No problem. They're careless but their funding's big and growing."
"Vietnam?"
"Of course Vietnam."
Suslev chuckled. "Those poor fools don't know what they've been sucked into. They still think they can fight a jungle war with Korean or World War Two tactics."
"They're not all fools," Crosse said. "Rosemont's good, very good. By the way, they know about the Iman Air Base."
Suslev cursed softly and leaned on one hand, casually keeping it near his mouth to prevent any lip-reading.
"... Iman and almost all about Petropavlovsk, the new sub base at Korsakov on Sakhalin...."
Suslev cursed again. "How do they do it?"
"Traitors." Crosse smiled thinly.
"Why are you a double agent, Roger?"
"Why do you ask me that every time we meet?"
Suslev sighed. He had specific orders not to probe Crosse and to help him every way he could. And although he was KGB controller of all Far Eastern espionage activities, it was only last year that even he had been allowed into the secret of Crosse's identity. Crosse, in KGB files, had the highest secret classification, an importance on the level of a Philby. But even Philby didn't know that Crosse had been working for the KGB for the last seven years.
"I ask because I'm curious," he said.
"Aren't your orders not to be curious, comrade?"
Suslev laughed. "Neither of us obeys orders all the time, no? Centre enjoyed your last report so much I've been told to tell you your Swiss account will be credited with an extra bonus of $50,000 on the fifteenth of next month."
"Good. Thank you. But it's not a bonus, it's payment for value received."
"What does SI know about the visiting delegation of Parliament?"
Crosse told him what he had told the governor. "Why the question?"
"Routine check. Three are potentially very influential—Guthrie, Broadhurst and Grey." Suslev offered a cigarette. "We're manoeuvring Grey and Broadhurst into our World Peace Council. Their anti-Chinese sentiments help us. Roger, would you please put a tail on Guthrie. Perhaps he has some bad habits. If he was compromised, perhaps photographed with a Wanchai girl, it might be useful later, eh?"
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