"Couldn't we play a waiting game? The Struan-Gornt contest will be solved next week at the latest."
"For this skirmish, we need information—and the right counter-forces. Different guns, big guns, guns we don't have." He sipped his beer, even more thoughtful. "We'd better get some top-level advice. And help. Fast. It's Armstrong and the English cops—or Rosemont and the CIA."
"Or both?"
"Or both."
Dunross got out of the Daimler and hurried into police headquarters. "Evening, sir," the young Australian duty inspector on the desk said. "Sorry you lost the fifth—I heard Bluey White was carpeted for interference. Can't trust a bloody Aussie, eh?"
Dunross smiled. "He won, Inspector. The stewards ruled the race was won fair and square. I've an appointment with Mr. Crosse."
"Yes sir, square but not fair dinkum. Top floor, third on the left. Good luck next Saturday, sir."
Crosse met him on the top floor. "Evening. Come on in. Drink?"
"No thanks. Good of you to see me at once. Evening, Mr. Sind-ers." They shook hands. Dunross had never been in Crosse's office before. The walls seemed as drab as the man and when the door was shut on the three of them the atmosphere seemed to close in even more.
"Please sit down," Crosse said. "Pity about Noble Star—we were both on her."
"She'll be worth another flutter on Saturday."
"You're going to ride her?"
"Wouldn't you?"
Both men smiled.
"What can we do for you?" Crosse asked.
Dunross put his full attention on Sinders. "I can't give you new files—the impossible I can't do. But I can give you something—I don't know what, yet, but I've just received a package from AMG." Both men were startled. Sinders said, "Hand-delivered?" Dunross hesitated. "Hand-delivered. Now, please, no more questions till I've finished."
Sinders lit his pipe and chuckled. "Just like AMG to have a bolt-hole, Roger. He always was clever, damn him. Sorry, please go on."
"The message from AMG said the information was of very special importance and to be passed on to the prime minister personally or the current head of MI-6, Edward Sinders, at my convenience—and if I considered it politic." In the dead silence, Dunross took a deep breath. "Since you understand barter, I'll trade you—you directly, in secret, in the presence of the governor alone—whatever the hell 'it' is. In return Brian Kwok is allowed out and over the border, if he wants to go, so we can deal with Tiptop."
The silence deepened. Sinders puffed his pipe. He glanced at Crosse. "Roger?"
Roger Crosse was thinking about it—and what information was so special that it was for Sinders or the P. M. only. "I think you could consider Ian's proposal," he said smoothly. "At leisure."
"No leisure," Dunross said sharply. "The money's urgent, and the release is clearly considered urgent. We can't delay past Monday at 10:00 A.M. when the ban—"
"Perhaps Tiptop and money don't come into the equation at all," Sinders interrupted, his voice deliberately brittle. "It doesn't matter a jot or a tittle to SI or MI-6 if all Hong Kong rots. Have you any idea the sort of value a senior superintendent in SI-especially a man with Brian Kwok's qualifications and experience—could have to the enemy, if in fact Brian Kwok is under arrest as you think and this Tiptop claims? Have you also considered that such an enemy traitor's information to us about his contacts and them could be of great importance to the whole realm? Eh?"
"Is that your answer?"
"Did Mrs. Gresserhoff hand-deliver the package?"
"Are you prepared to barter?"
Crosse said irritably, "Who's Gresserhoff?"
"I don't know," Sinders told him. "Other than that she's the vanished recipient of the second phone call from AMG's assistant, Kiernan. We're tracing her with the help of the Swiss police." His mouth smiled at Dunross. "Mrs. Gresserhoff delivered the package to you?"
"No," Dunross said. That's not a real lie, he assured himself. It was Riko Anjin.
"Who did?"
"I'm prepared to tell you that after we have concluded our deal."
"No deal," Crosse said.
Dunross began to get up.
"Just a moment, Roger," Sinders said and Dunross sat back. The MI-6 man tapped the pipe stem against his tobacco-discoloured teeth. Dunross kept his face guileless, knowing he was in the hands of experts.
At length Sinders said, "Mr. Dunross, are you prepared to swear formally under the perjury conditions of the Official Secrets Act that you do not have possession of the original AMG files?"
"Yes," Dunross said at once, quite prepared to twist the truth now—AMG had always had the originals, he had always been sent the top copy. If and when it came to a formal moment under oath, that would be another matter entirely. "Next?"
"Monday would be impossible."
Dunross kept his eyes on Sinders. "Impossible because Brian's being interrogated?"
"Any captured enemy asset would immediately be questioned, of course."
"And Brian will be a very hard nut to take apart."
"If he's the asset, you'd know that better than us. You've been friends a long time."
"Yes, and I swear to God I still think it's impossible. Never once has Brian been anything other than an upright, staunch British policeman. How is it possible?"
"How were Philby, Klaus Fuchs, Sorge, Rudolf Abel, Blake and all the others possible?"
"How long would you need?"
Sinders shrugged, watching him.
Dunross watched him back. The silence became aching.
"You destroyed the originals?"
"No, and I must tell you I also noticed the difference between all the copies I gave you and the one you intercepted. I'd planned to call AMG to ask him why the difference."
"How often were you in contact with him?"
"Once or twice a year."
"What did you know about him? Who suggested him to you?"
"Mr. Sinders, I'm quite prepared to answer your questions, I realise it's my duty to answer them, but the time's not appropriate tonight be—"
"Perhaps it is, Mr. Dunross. We're in no rush."
"Ah, I agree. But unfortunately I've got guests waiting and my association with AMG has nothing to do with my proposal. My proposal requires a simple yes or no."
"Or a maybe."
Dunross studied him. "Or a maybe."
"I'll consider what you've said."
Dunross smiled to himself, liking the cat-and-mouse of the negotiation, aware he was dealing with masters. Again he let the silence hang until exactly the right moment. "Very well. AMG said at my discretion. At the moment I don't know what 'it' is. I realise I'm quite out of my depth and should not be involved in SI or MI-6 matters. It's not of my choosing. You intercepted my private mail. My understanding with AMG was quite clear: I had his assurance in writing that he was allowed to be in my employ and that he would clear everything with the government in advance. I'll give you copies of our correspondence if you wish, through the correct channels, with the correct secrecy provisions. My enthusiasm for my offer diminishes, minute by minute." He hardened his voice. "Perhaps it doesn't matter to SI or MI-6 if all Hong Kong rots but it does to me, so I'm making the offer a last time." He got up. "The offer's good to 8:30 P.M."
Neither of the other men moved. "Why 8:30, Mr. Dunross? Why not midnight or midday tomorrow?" Sinders asked, unperturbed. He continued to puff his pipe but Dunross noticed that the tempo had been interrupted the moment he laid down the challenge. That's a good sign, he thought.
"I have to call Tiptop then. Thanks for seeing me." Dunross turned for the door.
Crosse, sitting behind the desk, glanced at Sinders. The older man nodded. Obediently Crosse touched the switch. The bolts sneaked back silently. Dunross jerked to a stop, startled, but recovered quickly, opened the door and went out without a comment, closing it after him.
"Cool bugger," Crosse said, admiring him.
"Too cool."
"Not too cool. He's tai-pan of the Noble House."
"And a liar, but a clever one and quite prepared to finesse us. Would he obliterate 'it'?"
"Yes. But I don't know if H hour's 8:30 P.M." Crosse lit a cigarette. "I'm inclined to think it is. They'd put immense pressure on him—they have to presume we'd thrust the client into interrogation. They've had plenty of time to study Soviet techniques and they've got a few twists of their own. They must presume we're fairly efficient too."
"I'm inclined to think he hasn't got any more files and 'it' is genuine. If 'it' comes from AMG it must have special value. What's your counsel?"
"I repeat what I said to the governor: If we have possession of the client until Monday at noon we'll have everything of importance out of him."
"But what about them? What can he tell them about us when he recovers?"
"We know most of that now. Concerning Hong Kong, we can certainly cover every security problem from today. It's standard SI policy never to let any one person know master plans an—"
"Except you."
Crosse smiled. "Except me. And you in the UK of course. The client knows a lot, but not everything. We can cover everything here, change codes and so on. Don't forget, most of what he passed on's routine. His real danger's over. He's uncovered, fortunately in time. Sure as God made little apples, he'd've been the first Chinese commissioner, and probably head of SI en route. That would have been catastrophic. We can't recover the private dossiers, Fong-fong and others, or the riot and counterinsurrection plans. A riot is a riot and there are only so many contingency plans. As to Sevrin, he knows no more than we knew before we caught him. Perhaps the 'it' could provide keys, possibly keys to questions we should put to him."
"That occurred to me instantly too. As I said, Mr. Dunross is too bloody cool." Sinders lit another match, smoked the match a moment, then tamped the used-up tobacco. "You believe him?"
"About the files, I don't know. I certainly believe he has an 'it' and that AMG came back from the dead. Sorry I never met him. Yes. The 'it' could easily be more important than this client—after Monday at noon. He's mostly a husk now."
Since they had returned, the interrogation of Brian Kwok had continued, most of it rambling and incoherent but details here and there of value. More about atomics and names and addresses of contacts in Hong Kong and Canton, security risks here and patterns of information about the Royal Mounted Police, along with an immensely interesting reiteration of vast Soviet infiltration into Canada.
"Why Canada, Brian?" Armstrong had asked.
"Northern border, Robert... the weakest fence in the world, there isn't any. Such great riches in Canada... ah I wish... there was this girl I almost married, they said my duty... if Soviets can disrupt Canadians... they're so gullible, and wonderful up there.... Can I have a cigarette... oh thanks... Can I have a drink my... So we have counterespionage cells everywhere to disrupt Soviet cells and find out... then there's Mexico... The Soviets are making a big push there too... Yes they have plants everywhere... did you know Philby..."
An hour had been enough.
"Curious he should break so quickly," Sinders said.
Crosse was shocked. "I guarantee that he's not controlled, not lying, that he's telling absolutely everything he believes, what has happened and will continue to do so un—"
"Yes of course," Sinders said somewhat testily. "I meant curious that a man of his quality should crumble so soon. I'd say he'd been wavering for years, that his dedication was now nonexistent or very small and he was probably ready to come over to us but somehow couldn't extract himself. Pity. He could have been very valuable to us." The older man sighed and lit another match. "After a time it always happens to their deep-cover moles in our societies. There's always some kindness, or girl or man friend or freedom or happiness that turns their whole world upside down, poor buggers. That's why we'll win, in the end. Even in Russia the tables'll be turned and the KGB'll get their comeuppance—from Russians—that's why the pressure now. No Soviet on earth can survive without dictatorship, secret police, injustice and terror." He tapped out his pipe into the ashtray. The dottle was wet at the base. "Don't you agree, Roger?"
Crosse nodded and stared back at the intense, pale blue eyes, wondering what was behind them. "You'll phone the minister for instructions?"
"No. I can take the responsibility for this one. We'll decide at 8:30." Binders glanced at his watch. "Let's get back to Robert. It's almost time to begin again. Good fellow that, very good. Did you hear that he was a big winner?"
8:05 PM
"Ian? Sorry to interrupt," Bartlett said.
"Oh hello!" Dunross turned back from the other guests he was chatting with. Bartlett was alone. "You two aren't leaving, I hope—this'll go on till at least 9:30."
"Casey's staying awhile. I've a date."
Dunross grinned. "I hope she's suitably pretty."
"She is, but that comes later. First a business meeting. Do you have a minute?"
"Certainly, of course. Excuse me a moment," Dunross said to the others and led the way out of the crowded anteroom to one of the terraces. The rain had lessened in strength but continued implacably. "The General Stores takeover's almost certain at our figure, without any overbid from Superfoods. We really will make the proverbial bundle—if I can stop Gornt."
"Yes. Monday will tell."
Dunross looked at him keenly. "I'm very confident."
Bartlett smiled, tiredness and concern behind the smile. "I noticed. But I wanted to ask, are we still on for Taipei tomorrow?"
"I was going to suggest we'should postpone it till next week, next weekend? Tomorrow and Monday are rather important for both of us. Is that all right?"
Bartlett nodded, hiding his relief. "Fine with me." And that solves my problem about Orlanda, he thought. "Well then, I think I'll be off."
"Take the car. Just send Lim back when you're through with him. You're going to the hill climb if it's on? That's at 10:00 A.M. till about noon."
"Where is it?"
"New Territories. I'll send the car for you, weather permitting. Casey too if she wants."
"Thanks."
"Don't worry about Casey tonight—I'll see she gets back safely. Is she free afterwards?"
"I think so."
"Good, then I'll ask her to join us—a few of us are going for a Chinese supper." Dunross studied him. "No problem?"
"No. Nothing that can't be handled." Bartlett grinned and walked away, girding himself for the next onslaught—Armstrong. He had cornered Rosemont a few moments ago and told him about the meeting with Banastasio.
"Best leave it with us, Linc," Rosemont had said. "As far as you're concerned we're informed officially. The consulate. I'll pass it on to whomever. Leave it all lie—tell Casey, okay? If Banastasio calls either of you, stall him, call us and we'll work out a scam. Here's my card—it's good twenty-four hours a day."
Bartlett was outside the front door now and he joined the others watting impatiently for their cars.
"Oh hi, Linc," Murtagh said, hurriedly getting out of a cab, almost knocking him over. "Sorry! Party still going on?"
"Sure it is, Dave. What's the rush?"
"Got to see the tai-pan!" Murtagh dropped his voice, his excitement showing. "There's a chance that head office'll go for it, if Ian'll concede a little! Casey still here?"
"Sure," Bartlett said at once and all his senses focused, everything else forgotten. "What concessions?" he asked warily.
"Double the foreign exchange period and he's to deal direct with First Central, giving us first option on all future loans for five years."
"That's not much," Bartlett said, hiding his perplexity. "What's the whole deal now?"
"Can't stop, Linc, gotta get the tai-pan's okay. They're waiting, but it's just as Casey and me laid it out. Hell, if we pull this off the tai-pan'll owe us favours till hell freezes!" Murtagh rushed off.
Bartlett stared after him blankly. His feet began to take him back into the house but he stopped and returned to his place in the line. There's plenty of time, he told himself. No need to ask her yet. Think it out.
Casey had told him about the Royal Belgium's connection with First Central, and Murtagh had elaborated this afternoon, adding how hard it was to get an in here with the Establishment but that was all. Bartlett had noted the Texan's nervousness and Casey's nervousness. At the time he'd put it down to the races.
But now? he asked himself suspiciously. Casey and Murtagh and the tai-pan! "First Central'll go for the deal if" and "the tai-pan'll owe us favours till hell freezes...." and "just as Casey and me laid it out." She's the go-between? Casey'd run rings around that joker and she's no messenger. Hell, Casey has to lead him by the nose. He's no match for her. So probably she put him up to—to what? What does the tai-pan need most?
Credit, fast, in millions by Monday.
Jesus, First Central's going to back him! That's got to be it. If. If he makes concessions, and he's got to make some to get out from under...
"You want the car, sir?"
"Oh. Yes, Lim, sure. Police headquarters in Wanchai. Thanks." He got into the back, his mind buzzing.
So Casey's got a private game going. It must've been in the works a day or so but she hasn't told me. Why? If I'm right and the scam succeeds, Ian's got the wherewithal to fight off Gornt, even cream him. She's gone out of her way to help hint against Gornt. Without my okay. Why? And in return for what?
Drop dead money! Is the 50-50 a payoff—my 2 mill but she shares 50-50?
Sure. That's one possibility—one that I know about now. What're the others? Jesus! Casey independent, maybe going with the enemy? They're still both enemy, Ian and Gornt.
His excitement increased.
What to do?
The money at risk with Gornt is covered every which way. The 2 mill with Struan's is covered too, and stays. I'd never planned to jerk it—that was just testing Casey. The Struan deal's good either way. The Gornt deal's good, either way. So my plan's still good—I can still jump either way, though the timing's critical.
But now there's Orlanda.
If it's Orlanda, it's the States or somewhere else but not here. It's quite clear she'd never be welcome in Happy Valley's winner's circle. Or in the cliques and clubs. She'd never be freely invited into the great houses, except maybe by Ian. And Gornt, but that'd be to taunt, to jerk the reins, to remind her of the past—like last night when that other girl came on deck. I saw Orlanda's face. Oh she covered, better than anyone could have covered except maybe Casey. She hated that the other girl had been below, in the master suite that was once hers.
Maybe Gornt didn't do that deliberately? Maybe the girl came up on her own. She went back below almost at once. Maybe she wasn't supposed to come up at all. Maybe.
Shit! There's too much going on I can't figure: like the General Stores and the Ho-Pak rescue—too much agreed by a couple of guys on a Saturday—a couple of whiskeys here and a phone call there. It's all dynamite if you're in the club but Jesus watch out if you're not. Here you've got to be British or Chinese to belong.
I'm just as much an outsider as Orlanda.
Still, I could be happy here, for a time. And I could even handle it here with Orlanda, for a short time, on visits. I could handle the Pacific Rim and having Par-Con as a Noble House but for it to be accepted as the Noble House by British and Chinese, it'll still have to be Struan-Par-Con with our name in small letters, or Rothwell-Gornt-Par-Con the same.
Casey?
With Casey, Par-Con could be a Noble House, easily. But is Casey still to be trusted? Why didn't she tell me? Is she sucked in by Hong Kong and beginning to play her own game for Number One?
You'd better choose, old buddy, while you're still tai-pan.
"Yes, Phillip?"
They were in the study under the portrait of Dirk Struan, and Dunross had chosen the place deliberately. Phillip Chen sat opposite him. Very formal, very correct and very weary. "How is Alexi?"
"Still unconscious. Doc Tooley says he'll be all right if he comes out of it in a couple of hours."
"Tiptop?"
"I'm to call him at 9:00 P.M."
"Still no approval of his offer from... from the authorities?"
Dunross's eyes narrowed. "You know the arrangement he suggested?"
"Oh yes, tai-pan. I... I was asked. I still find it hard to believe... Brian Kwok? God help us, but yes... my opinion was asked before the suggestion was put to you."
"Why the devil didn't you tell me?" Dunross snapped.
"Rightly you no longer consider me compradore of the Noble House and favour me with your trust."
"You consider yourself trustworthy?"
"Yes. I've proved it in the past many times, so did my father—and his. Even so, if I were you and sitting where you are sitting, I would not be having this meeting, I would not have you in my house and I would already have decided the ways and means of your destruction."
"Perhaps I have."
"Not you." Phillip Chen pointed at the portrait. "He would have, but not you, Ian Struan Dunross."
"Don't bet on it."
"I do."
Dunross said nothing, just waited.
"First the coin: Wait until the favour is asked. I will endeavour to find out what it is in advance. If it is too much th—"
"It will be too much."
"What will he ask for?"
"Something to do with narcotics. There's a strong rumour Four Fingers, Smuggler Yuen and White Powder Lee are in partnership, smuggling heroin."
"It's under consideration. They're not actually partners yet," Phillip Chen said.
"Again, why didn't you tell me? It's your duty as compradore to keep me informed, not to write down intimate details of our secrets and then lose them to enemies."
"Again, I ask forgiveness. But now is the time to talk."
"Because you're finished?"
"Because I might be finished—if once more I cannot prove my worth." The old man looked at Dunross bleakly, seeing the face of many tai-pans in the face of the man opposite him, not liking the face or that of the man above the fireplace whose eyes bored into him—the foreign devil pirate who had forsaken his great-grandfather because of mixed blood, half of which was his own.
Ayeeyah, he thought, curbing his anger. These barbarians and their intolerance! Five generations of tai-pans we've served and now this one threatens to change Dirk's legacy for one mistake?
"About the ask: even if it's connected with heroin or narcotics, it will concern some future performance or action. Agree to it, tai-pan, and I promise I will deal with Four Fingers long before the ask has to be granted."
"How?"
"This is China. I will deal with it in Chinese fashion. I swear it by the blood of my ancestors." Phillip Chen pointed at the portrait. "I will continue to protect the Noble House as I have sworn to do."
"What other trickeries did you have in your safe? I've been through all the documents and balance sheets you gave Andrew. With that information in the wrong hands we're naked."
"Yes, but only in front of Bartlett and Par-Con, providing he keeps them to himself and doesn't pass them over to Gornt or another enemy here. Tai-pan, Bartlett doesn't strike me as a malicious person. Perhaps we can deal with him to get what he has back and ask him to agree to keep the information secret."
"To do that you have to barter with a secret he doesn't want let out. Do you have one?"
"Not yet. As partners to us he should protect us."
"Yes. But he's already dealing with Gornt and advanced $2 million U.S. to cover Gornt selling us short."
Phillip Chen whitened. "Eeeee, I didn't know that." He thought a moment. "So Bartlett will withdraw from us on Monday and go over to the enemy?"
"I don't know. At the moment I think he's fence-sitting. I would if I were him."
Phillip Chen shifted in his chair. "He's very fond of Orlanda, tai-pan."
"Yes, she could be a key. Gornt's got to have arranged that, or pushed her toward Bartlett."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"No, not unless there's a reason. He's over twenty-one." Dunross hardened even more. "What do you propose?"
"Are you agreeing to the new concessions First Central wants?"
"So you know about that too?"
"You must have wanted everyone to know that you're seeking support from them, tai-pan. Why else invite Murtagh to your box at the races, why else invite him here? It was easy to put two and two together, even if one hasn't copies of his telexes y—"
"Have you?"
"Some of them." Phillip Chen took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands. "Will you concede?"
"No. I told him I'd think about it—he's waiting downstairs for my answer but it's got to be no. I can't guarantee to give them first option on all future loans. I can't because the Victoria has so much power here and so much of our paper and they'd squeeze us to death. In any event I can't replace them with an American bank that's already proved to be politically unreliable. They're fine as a backup and fantastic if they'll get us out of this mess but I'm not sure about them long-term. They have to prove themselves."
"They must be ready to compromise too. After all, giving us 2 million to cement the General Stores takeover's a great vote of confidence, heya?"
Dunross let that pass. "What had you in mind?"
"May I suggest you counter by making a specific offer: all Canadian, U. S., Australian and South American loans for five years—that covers our expansion in those territories—plus the immediate loan for two giant oil tankers to be purchased through Toda, on the lease-back scheme, and, for an associate, firm orders for a further seven."
"Christ Jesus, who's got that type of operation?" Dunross exploded.
"Vee Cee Ng."
"Photographer Ng? Impossible."
"Within twenty years Vee Cee will have a fleet bigger than Onassis."
"Impossible."
"Very probably, tai-pan."
"How do you know?"
"I've been asked to help finance and arrange a huge extension to his fleet. If we put the first seven tankers into our package with the promise of more, and I can, Ian, that should satisfy First Central." Phillip Chen wiped the perspiration off his forehead. "Heya?"
"Christ, that'd satisfy the Chase Manhattan and the Bank of America jointly! Vee Cee?" Then Dunross's boggled mind jerked into top efficiency. "Ah! Vee Cee plus thoriums plus Old Friends plus all sorts of delicate hardware plus oil plus Old Friends. Eh?"
Phillip smiled tentatively. "All crows under heaven are black."
"Yes." After a pause, he said, "First Central might go for it. But what about Bartlett?"
"With First Central you don't need Par-Con. First Central will be happy to help us get an alternate backer or partner in the States.
It'd take a little time, but with Jacques in Canada, David MacStruan here, Andrew in Scotland... Tai-pan, I don't know what's in your mind about Andrew and this man Kirk but the theories he's been sporting strike me as farfetched, very farfetched."
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