“Oh yes.”
“Good. Wait for me, then we’ll move in. I want to search her place. Have a team stand by.”
“How long will you be?”
Armstrong said, “It’ll take me a couple of hours to get there. Traffic’s sodded up from here all the way back to the ferry.”
“It is here too. All over Aberdeen. But it’s not just the rain, old lad. There’s about a thousand ghouls gawking at the wreck, then there’re more bloody mobs already at the Ho-Pak, the Victoria … in fact every bloody bank in the vicinity, and I hear there’s already about five hundred collecting outside the Vic in Central.”
“Christ! My whole miserable bloody life savings’re there.”
“I told you yesterday to get liquid, old boy!” Armstrong heard the Snake’s laugh. “And by the way, if you’ve any spare cash, sell Struan’s short—I hear the Noble House is going to crash.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
8:29 A.M.:
Claudia picked up a mass of notes and letters and replies from Dunross’s out tray and began to leaf through them. Rain and low clouds obscured the view but the temperature was down and very comfortable after the heavy humidity of the last weeks. The antique clock set into a silver gimbal on the mantel chimed 8:30.
One of the phones jangled. She watched it but made no attempt to answer it. It rang on and on then ceased. Sandra Yi, Dunross’s secretary, came in with a new batch of documents and mail and refilled the in tray. “The draft of the Par-Con contract’s on the top, Elder Sister. Here’s his appointments list for today, at least, the ones I know about. Superintendent Kwok called ten minutes ago.” She blushed under Claudia’s gaze, her chong-sam slit high and tight, her neck collar fashionably high. “He called for the tai-pan, not me, Elder Sister. Would the tai-pan please return his call.”
“But I hope you talked to Honorable Young Stallion at length, Younger Sister, and swooned and sighed marvelously?” Claudia replied in Cantonese, then switched to English without noticing it, still leafing through all the notes as she talked, stacking them into two different piles. “After all, he really should be gobbled up and safely in the family before some Mealy Mouth from another clan catches him.”
“Oh yes. I’ve also lit five candles in five different temples.”
“I hope on your time and not company’s time.”
“Oh very yes.” They laughed. “But we do have a date—tomorrow for dinner.”
“Excellent! Be demure, dress conservatively, but go without a bra—like Orlanda.”
“Oh, then it was true! Oh oh do you think I should?” Sandra Yi was shocked.
“For young Brian, yes.” Claudia chuckled. “He has a nose that one!”
“My fortune-teller said this was going to be a wonderful year for me. Terrible about the fire wasn’t it?”
“Yes.” Claudia checked the appointment list. Linbar in a few minutes, Sir Luis Basilio at 8:45. “When Sir Luis arrives p—”
“Sir Luis’s waiting in my office now. He knows he’s early—I’ve given him coffee and the morning papers.” Sandra Yi’s face became apprehensive. “What’s going to happen at ten?”
“The stock market opens,” Claudia told her crisply and handed her the larger stack. “You deal with this lot, Sandra. Oh and here, he’s canceled a couple of board meetings and lunch but I’ll deal with those.” Both looked up as Dunross came in.
“Morning,” he said. His face was graver than before, the bruises enhancing his ruggedness.
Sandra Yi said prettily, “Everyone’s so happy you weren’t hurt, tai-pan.”
“Thank you.”
She left. He noticed her walk, then Claudia’s look. Some of his gravity left him. “Nothing like a pretty bird. Is there?”
Claudia laughed. “While you were out your private phone rang twice.” This was his unlisted phone that, by rule, he alone picked up, the number given only to family and a handful of special people.
“Oh, thank you. Cancel everything between now and noon except Linbar, old Sir Luis Basilio and the bank. Make sure everything’s VIP for Penn and Miss Kathy. Gavallan’s taking her to the airport. First get Tightfist Tung on the phone. Also Lando Mata—ask if I can see him today, preferably at 10:20 at the Coffee Place. You saw my note about Zep?”
“Yes, terrible. I’ll take care of everything. The governor’s aide called: will you be at the noon meeting?”
“Yes.” Dunross picked up a phone and dialed as Claudia left, closing the door behind her.
“Penn? You wanted me?”
“Oh Ian, yes, but I didn’t phone, is that what you mean?”
“I thought it was you on the private line.”
“No, but oh I’m ever so pleased you called. I heard about the fire on the early news and I … I wasn’t sure if I’d dreamed it or not that you’d come back last night. I … I was quite worried, sorry. Ah Tat said you’d left early but I don’t trust that old hag—she wanders sometimes. Sorry. Was it awful?”
“No. Not bad actually.” He told her about it briefly. Now that he knew everything was all right with her he wanted to get off the phone. “I’ll give you a blow-by-blow when I pick you up for the airport. I checked on the flight and it’ll leave on time …” His intercom buzzed. “Hang on a moment, Penn … Yes, Claudia?”
“Superintendent Kwok on line two. He says it’s important.”
“All right. Sorry, Penn, got to go, I’ll pick you up in good time for your flight. ’Bye, darling.… Anything else, Claudia?”
“Bill Foster’s plane from Sydney’s delayed another hour. Mr. Havergill and Johnjohn will see you at 9:30. I called to confirm. I hear they’ve been at the bank since six this morning.”
Dunross’s uneasiness grew. He had been trying to talk to Havergill since 3:00 P.M. yesterday but the deputy chairman had not been available and last night was not the time. “That’s not good. There was a crowd already outside the bank when I came in at 7:30.”
“The Vic won’t fail, will it?”
He heard the anxiety in her voice. “If they do we’re all up the spout.” He stabbed line two. “Hi, Brian, what’s up?” Brian Kwok told him about John Chen.
“Jesus Christ, poor John! After giving them the ransom money last night I thought … what bastards! He’s been dead some days?”
“Yes. At least three.”
“The bastards! Have you told Phillip or Dianne?”
“No, not yet. I wanted to tell you first.”
“You want me to call them? Phillip’s at home now. After the payoff last night I told him to miss the eight o’clock morning meeting. I’ll call him now.”
“No, Ian, that’s my job. Sorry to bring bad news but I thought you should know about John.”
“Yes … yes, old chum, thanks. Listen, I’ve a do at the governor’s around seven but that’ll be through by 10:30. Would you like a drink or a late snack?”
“Yes. Good idea. How about the Quance Bar at the Mandarin?”
“10:45?”
“Good. By the way, I’ve left word for your tai-tai to go straight through Immigration. Sorry to bring bad news. ’Bye.”
Dunross put down the phone, got up and stared out of the window. The intercom buzzed but he did not hear it. “Poor bugger!” he muttered. “What a bloody waste!”
There was a discreet knock, then the door opened a fraction. Claudia said, “Excuse me, tai-pan, Lando Mata on line two.”
Dunross sat on the edge of his desk. “Hello Lando, can we meet at 10:20?”
“Yes, yes of course. I heard about Zeppelin. Awful! I just got out with my own life! Damned fire! Still, we got out, eh? Joss!”
“Have you been in touch with Tightfist yet?”
“Yes. He’s arriving on the next ferry.”
“Good. Lando, I may need you to back me today.”
“But Ian, we went through that last night. I thought I ma—”
“Yes. But I want your backing today.” Dunross’s voice had hardened.
There was a long
pause. “I’ll … I’ll talk to Tightfist.”
“I’ll talk to Tightfist too. Meanwhile I’d like to know I have your backing now.”
“You’ve reconsidered our offer?”
“Do I have your backing, Lando? Or not.”
Another pause. Mata’s voice was more nervous. “I’ll … I’ll tell you when I see you at 10:20. Sorry, Ian, but I really must talk to Tightfist first. See you for coffee. ’Bye!”
The phone clicked off. Dunross replaced his receiver gently and muttered sweetly, “Dew neh loh moh, Lando old friend.”
He thought a moment then dialed. “Mr. Bartlett please.”
“No answer his phone. You want message?” the operator said.
“Please transfer me to Miss K. C. Tcholok.”
“Wat?”
“Casey … Miss Casey!”
The call tone rang and Casey answered sleepily, “Hello?”
“Oh sorry, I’ll call you back later….”
“Oh, Ian? No … no, that’s all right, I should … should have been up hours ago …” He heard her stifle a yawn. “… Jesus, I’m tired. I didn’t dream that fire did I?”
“No. Ciranoush, I just wanted to make sure you were both all right. How’re you feeling?”
“Not so hot. I think I must have stretched a few muscles … don’t know if it was the laughing or throwing up. You all right?”
“Yes. So far. You haven’t a temperature or anything? That’s what Doc Tooley said to watch out for.”
“Don’t think so. I haven’t seen Linc yet. Did you talk to him?”
“No—there’s no reply. Listen, I wanted to ask you two to cocktails, at six.”
“That’s lovely with me.” Another yawn. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
“I’ll call you back later to …”
Again the intercom. “The governor’s on line two, tai-pan. I told him you’d be at the morning meeting.”
“All right. Listen, Ciranoush, cocktails at six, if not cocktails maybe late supper. I’ll call later to confirm.”
“Sure, Ian. And Ian, thanks for calling.”
“Nothing. ’Bye.” Dunross stabbed line two. “Morning, sir.”
“Sorry to disturb you, Ian, but I need to talk to you about that awful fire,” Sir Geoffrey said. “It’s a miracle that more weren’t lost, the minister’s hopping mad about poor Sir Charles Pennyworth’s death and quite furious that our security procedures allowed that to happen. The Cabinet have been informed so we can expect high-level repercussions.”
Dunross told him his idea about the kitchens for Aberdeen, pretending it was Shi-teh T’Chung’s.
“Excellent. Shitee’s clever! That’s a start. Meanwhile Robin Grey and Julian Broadhurst and the other MPs have already phoned for a meeting to protest our incompetent fire regulations. My aide said Grey was quite incensed.” Sir Geoffrey sighed. “Rightly so, perhaps. In any event that gentleman’s going to stir things up nastily, if he can. I hear he’s scheduled a press conference for tomorrow with Broadhurst. Now that poor Sir Charles’s dead Broadhurst becomes the senior member and God only knows what’ll happen if those two get on their high horse about China.”
“Ask the minister to muzzle them, sir.”
“I did and he said, ‘Good God, Geoffrey, muzzle an MP? That’d be worse than trying to set fire to Parliament itself.’ It’s all really very trying. My thought was that you might be able to cool Mr. Grey down. I’ll seat him next to you tonight.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea at all, sir. The man’s a lunatic.”
“I quite agree, Ian, but I really would appreciate it if you tried. You’re the only one I’d trust. Quillan would hit him. Quillan’s already phoned in a formal refusal purely because of Grey. Perhaps you could invite the fellow to the races on Saturday also?”
Dunross remembered Peter Marlowe. “Why not invite Grey and the others to your box and I’ll take him over part of the time.” Thank God Penn won’t be here, he thought.
“Very well. Next: Roger asked me to meet you at the bank at six o’clock tomorrow.”
Dunross let the silence hang.
“Ian?”
“Yes sir?”
“At six. Sinders should be there by then.”
“Do you know him, sir? Personally?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I just wanted to be sure.” Dunross heard the governor’s silence. His tension increased.
“Good. At six. Next: Did you hear about poor John Chen?”
“Yes sir, just a few minutes ago. Rotten luck.”
“I agree. Poor fellow! This Werewolf mess couldn’t’ve come at a worse time. It will surely become a cause célèbre for all opponents of Hong Kong. Damned nuisance, apart from the tragedy so far. Dear me, well, at least we live in interesting times with nothing but problems.”
“Yes sir. Is the Victoria in trouble?” Dunross asked the question casually but he was listening intently and he heard the slightest hesitation before Sir Geoffrey said lightly, “Good Lord no! My dear fellow, what an astonishing idea! Well, thank you, Ian, everything else can wait till our meeting at noon.”
“Yes sir.” Dunross put the phone down and mopped his brow. That hesitation was bloody ominous, he told himself. If anyone’d know how bad things are it’d be Sir Geoffrey.
A rain squall battered the windows. So much to do. His eyes went to the clock. Linbar due now, then Sir Luis. He already decided what he wanted from the head of the stock exchange, what he must have from him. He had not mentioned it at the meeting of the Inner Court this morning. The others had soured him. All of them—Jacques, Gavallan, Linbar—were convinced the Victoria would support Struan’s to the limit. “And if they don’t?” he had asked.
“We’ve the Par-Con deal. It’s inconceivable the Victoria won’t help!”
“If they don’t?”
“Perhaps after last night Gornt won’t continue to sell.”
“He’ll sell. What do we do?”
“Unless we can stop him or put off the Toda and Orlin payments we’re in very great trouble.”
We can’t put off the payments, he thought again. Without the bank or Mata or Tightfist—even the Par-Con deal won’t stop Quillan. Quillan knows he’s got all day today and all Friday to sell and sell and sell and I can’t buy ev—
“Master Linbar, tai-pan.”
“Show him in, please.” He glanced at the clock. The younger man came in and closed the door. “You’re almost two minutes late.”
“Oh? Sorry.”
“I don’t seem to be able to get through to you about punctuality. It’s impossible to run sixty-three companies without executive punctuality. If it happens one more time you lose your yearly bonus.”
Linbar flushed. “Sorry.”
“I want you to take over our Sydney operation from Bill Foster.”
Linbar Struan brightened. “Yes certainly. I’d like that. I’ve wanted an operation of my own for some time.”
“Good. I’d like you to be on the Qantas flight tomorrow an—”
“Tomorrow? Impossible!” Linbar burst out, his happiness evaporating. “It’ll take me a couple of weeks to get ev—”
Dunross’s voice became so gentle but so slashing that Linbar Struan blanched. “I realize that, Linbar. But I want you to go there tomorrow. Stay two weeks and then come back and report to me. Understand?”
“Yes, I understand. But … but what about Saturday? What about the races? I want to watch Noble Star run.”
Dunross just looked at him. “I want you in Australia. Tomorrow. Foster’s failed to get possession of Woolara Properties. Without Woolara we’ve no charterer for our ships. Without the charterer our present banking arrangements are null and void. You’ve two weeks to correct that fiasco and report back.”
“And if I don’t?” Linbar said, enraged.
“For chrissake don’t waste time! You know the answer to that. If you fail you’ll no longer be in the Inner Court. And if you’re not on that plane tom
orrow you’re out of Struan’s as long as I’m tai-pan.”
Linbar Struan started to say something but changed his mind.
“Good,” Dunross said. “If you succeed with Woolara your salary’s doubled.”
Linbar Struan just stared back at him. “Anything else? Sir?”
“No. Good morning, Linbar.”
Linbar nodded and strode out. When the door was closed Dunross allowed himself the shadow of a smile. “Cocky young bastard,” he muttered and got up and went to the window again, feeling closed in, wanting to be out in a speedboat or, better, in his car, racing the corners just too fast, pushing the car and himself just a little harder each lap to cleanse his head. Absently he straightened a picture and watched the raindrops, deep in thought, saddened by John Chen.
A globulet fell a wet obstacle course and vanished to be replaced by another and another. There was still no view and the rain pelted down.
His private phone jangled into life.
“Yes, Penn?” he said.
A strange voice said, “Mr. Dunross?”
“Yes. Who’s this?” he asked, startled, unable to place the man’s voice or his accent.
“My name is Kirk, Jamie Kirk, Mr. Dunross. I’m, er, I’m a friend of Mr. Grant, Mr. Alan Medford Grant….” Dunross almost dropped the phone. “… Hello? Mr. Dunross?”
“Yes, please go on.” Dunross was over his shock now. AMG was one of the few who had been given this number and he had known it was to be used only in emergencies and never passed on except for a very special reason. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m, er, from London; Scotland actually. Alan told me to call you as soon as I got to Hong Kong. He, er, gave me your number. I hope I’m not disturbing you?”
“No, not at all, Mr. Kirk.”
“Alan gave me a package for you, and he also wanted me to talk to you. My, er, my wife and I are in Hong Kong for three days so I, er, I wondered if we could meet.”
“Of course. Where are you staying?” he asked calmly, though his heart was racing.
“At the Nine Dragons in Kowloon, room 455.”
“When did you last see Alan, Mr. Kirk?”
“When we left London. That was, er, two weeks ago now. Yes, two weeks to the day. We’ve, er, we’ve been to Singapore and Indonesia. Why?”