Noble House by James Clavell
“No.”
“That’s strange, seeing how close you two were.” Grey ripped his eyes away and glanced at Fleur Marlowe and thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. So pretty and fine and English and fair, just like his ex-wife Trina who went off with an American barely a month after he was reported missing in action. Barely a month. “Did you know we were enemies in Changi, Mrs. Marlowe?” he said with a gentleness that she found frightening.
“Peter’s never discussed Changi with me, Mr. Grey. Or anyone that I know of.”
“Curious. It was an awesome experience, Mrs. Marlowe. I’ve forgotten none of it. I … well, sorry to interrupt…” He glanced up at Marlowe. He began to say something but changed his mind and turned away.
“Oh, Peter, what an awful man!” Fleur said. “He gave me the creeps.”
“Nothing to bother about, my darling.”
“Why were you enemies?”
“Not now, my pet, later.” Marlowe smiled at her, loving her. “Grey’s nothing to us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
9:45 P.M.:
Linc Bartlett saw Orlanda before she saw him and she took his breath away. He couldn’t help comparing her with Casey who was beside him talking to Andrew Gavallan. Orlanda was wearing white silk, floor-length, backless with a halter neck that, discreetly, somehow, seemed to offer her golden body. Casey wore her green that he had seen many times, her tawny hair cascading.
“Would you both like to come to Shi-teh’s tonight?” Orlanda had asked him this morning. “It could be important for you and your Casey to be there.”
“Why?”
“Because almost all business that counts in Hong Kong is done at this type of function, Mr. Bartlett. It could be very important for you to become involved with people like Shi-teh—and in the Turf Club, Cricket Club, even the Club itself, though that’d be impossible.”
“Because I’m American?”
“Because someone has to die to create an opening—an English or Scotsman.” She had laughed. “The waiting list’s as long as Queen’s Road! It’s men only, very stuffy, old leather chairs, old men sleeping off their three-hour and ten-gin lunches, The Times and all that.”
“Hell, that sounds exciting!”
She had laughed again. Her teeth were white and he could see no blemish in her. They had talked over breakfast and he had found her more than easy to talk to. And to be with. Her perfume was enticing. Casey rarely wore perfume—she said that she’d found it just another distraction to the businessmen she had to deal with. With Orlanda, breakfast had been coffee and toast and eggs and crisp bacon, American style, at a brand-new hotel she suggested, called the Mandarin. Casey didn’t eat breakfast. Just coffee and toast sometimes, or croissants.
The interview had passed easily and the time too fast. He had never been in the company of a woman with such open and confident femininity. Casey was always so strong, efficient and cool and not feminine. By choice, her choice and my agreement, he reminded himself.
“That’s Orlanda?” Casey was looking at him, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes,” he replied, trying unsuccessfully to read her. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s dynamite.”
“Which way?”
Casey laughed. She turned to Gavallan who was trying to concentrate and be polite but whose mind was taken up with Kathy. After Kathy had told him this evening, he had not wanted to leave her but she had insisted, saying that it was important for him to be there. “Do you know her, Andrew?”
“Who?”
“The girl in white.”
“Where? Oh! Oh yes, but only by reputation.”
“Is it good or bad?”
“That, er, depends on your point of view, Casey. She’s, she’s Portuguese, Eurasian, of course. Orlanda was Gornt’s friend for quite a few years.”
“You mean his mistress?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s the word,” he told her politely, disliking Casey’s directness intensely. “But it was all very discreet.”
“Gornt’s got taste. Did you know she was his steady, Linc?”
“She told me this morning. I met her at Gornt’s a couple of days ago. He said they were still friends.”
“Gornt’s not to be trusted,” Gavallan said.
Casey said, “He’s got heavy backers, in and outside Hong Kong, I was told. Far as I know he’s not stretched at the moment, as you are. You must have heard he wants us to deal with him, not you.”
“We’re not stretched,” Gavallan said. He looked at Bartlett. “We do have a deal?”
“We sign Tuesday. If you’re ready,” Bartlett said.
“We’re ready now.”
“Ian wants us to keep it quiet till Saturday and that’s fine with us,” Casey said. “Isn’t it, Linc?”
“Sure.” Bartlett glanced back at Orlanda. Casey followed his eyes.
She had noticed her the first moment the girl had hesitated in the doorway. “Who’s she talking to, Andrew?” The man was interesting-looking, lithe, elegant and in his fifties.
“That’s Lando Mata. He’s also Portuguese, from Macao.” Gavallan wondered achingly if Dunross would manage to persuade Mata to come to their rescue with all his millions. What would I do if I was tai-pan? he asked himself wearily. Would I buy tomorrow, or make a deal with Mata and Tightfist tonight? With their money, the Noble House would be safe for generations, though out of our control. No point in worrying now. Wait till you’re tai-pan. Then he saw Mata smiling at Orlanda and then both of them looked over and began to thread their way toward them. His eyes watched her firm breasts, free under the silk. Taut nipples. Good God, he thought, awed, even Venus Poon wouldn’t dare do that. When they came up he introduced them and stood back, odd man out, wanting to watch them.
“Hello,” Orlanda said warmly to Casey. “Linc told me so much about you and how important you are to him.”
“And I’ve heard about you too,” Casey said as warmly. But not enough. You’re much more lovely than Linc indicated, she thought. Very much more. So you’re Orlanda Ramos. Beautiful and soft-spoken and feminine and a bitch piranha who has set her sights on my Linc. Jesus, what do I do now?
She heard herself making small talk but her mind was still thinking Orlanda Ramos through. On the one hand it would be good for Linc to have an affair, she thought. It would take the heat out of him. Last night was as lousy for him as it was for me. He was right about me moving out. But once this one’s magic surrounds him could I extract him? Would she be just another girl like the others that were nothing to me and after a week or so, nothing to him either?
Not this one, Casey decided with finality. I’ve got two choices. I either stick to thirteen weeks and four days and do battle, or don’t and do battle.
She smiled. “Orlanda, your dress is fantastic.”
“Thanks. May I call you Casey?”
Both women knew the war had begun.
Bartlett was delighted that Casey obviously liked Orlanda. Gavallan watched, fascinated by the four of them. There was a strange warmth among them all. Particularly between Bartlett and Orlanda.
He turned his attention to Mata and Casey. Mata was suave, filled with old world charm, concentrating on Casey, playing her like a fish. I wonder how far he’ll get with this one. Curious that Casey doesn’t seem to mind Orlanda at all. Surely she’s noticed that her boyfriend’s smitten? Perhaps she hasn’t. Or perhaps she couldn’t care less and she and Bartlett are just business partners and nothing else. Perhaps she’s a dyke after all. Or maybe she’s just frigid like a lot of them. How sad!
“How do you like Hong Kong, Miss Casey?” Mata asked, wondering what she would be like in bed.
“Afraid I haven’t seen much of it yet though I did go out to the New Territories on the hotel tour and peek into China.”
“Would you like to go? I mean really go into China? Say to Canton? I could arrange for you to be invited.”
She was shocked. “But we’re forbidden to go into China ??
? our passports aren’t valid.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t have to use your passport. The PRC doesn’t bother with passports. So few quai loh go into China there’s no problem. They give you a written visa and they stamp that.”
“But our State Department … I don’t think I’d risk it right now.”
Bartlett nodded. “We’re not even supposed to go into the Communist store here. The department store.”
“Yes, your government really is very strange,” Mata said. “As if going into a store is subversive! Did you hear the rumor about the Hilton?”
“What about it?”
“The story is that they bought a marvelous collection of Chinese antiques for the new hotel, of course all locally.” Mata smiled. “It seems that now the U.S. has decided they can’t use any of it, even here in Hong Kong. It’s all in storage. At least that’s the story.”
“It figures. If you can’t make it in the States, you join the government,” Bartlett said sourly.
“Casey, you should decide for yourself,” Mata said. “Visit the store. It’s called China Arts and Crafts on Queen’s Road. The prices are very reasonable and the Communists really don’t have horns and barbed tails.”
“It’s nothing like what I expected,” Bartlett said. “Casey, you’d freak out at some of the things.”
“You’ve been?” she asked, surprised.
“Sure.”
“I took Mr. Bartlett this morning,” Orlanda explained. “We happened to be passing. I’d be glad to go shopping with you if you wish.”
“Thanks, I’d like that,” Casey said as nicely, all her danger signals up. “But we were told in L.A. the CIA monitors Americans who go in and out because they’re sure it’s a Communist meeting place.”
“It looked like an ordinary store to me, Casey,” Bartlett said. “I didn’t see anything except a few posters of Mao. You can’t bargain though. All prices’re written out. Some of the biggest bargains you ever did see. Pity we can’t take them back home.” There was a total embargo on all goods of Chinese origin into the States, even antiques that had been in Hong Kong a hundred years.
“That’s no problem,” Mata said at once, wondering how much he would make as a middleman. “If there’s anything you want I’d be happy to purchase it.”
“But we still can’t get it into the States, Mr. Mata,” Casey said.
“Oh that’s easy too. I do it for American friends all the time. I just send their purchases to a company I have in Singapore or Manila. For a tiny fee they send it to you in the States with a certificate of origin, Malaya or the Philippines, whichever you’d prefer.”
“But that’d be cheating. Smuggling.”
Mata, Gavallan and Orlanda laughed outright and Gavallan said, “Trade’s the grease of the world. Embargoed goods from the U.S. or Taiwan find their way to the PRC, PRC goods go to Taiwan and the U.S.—if they’re sought after. Of course they do!”
“I know,” Casey said, “but I don’t think that’s right.”
“Soviet Russia’s committed to your destruction but you still trade with her,” Gavallan said to Bartlett.
“We don’t ourselves,” Casey said. “Not Par-Con, though we’ve been approached to sell computers. Much as we like profits they’re a no-no. The government does, but only on very carefully controlled goods. Wheat, things like that.”
“Wherever there’s a willing buyer of anything, there’ll always be a seller,” Gavallan said, irritated by her. He glanced out of the windows and wished he was back in Shanghai. “Take Vietnam, your Algiers.”
“Sir?” Casey said.
Gavallan glanced back at her. “I mean that Vietnam will bleed your economy to death as it did to France and as Algiers also did to France.”
“We’ll never go into Vietnam,” Bartlett said confidently. “Why should we? Vietnam’s nothing to do with us.”
“I agree,” Mata said, “but nevertheless the States is having a growing involvement there. In fact, Mr. Bartlett, I think you’re being sucked into the abyss.”
“In what way?” Casey asked.
“I think the Soviets have deliberately enticed you into Vietnam. You’ll send in troops but they won’t. You’ll be fighting Viets and the jungle, and the Soviets will be the winners. Your CIA’s already there in strength. They’re running an airline. Even now airfields are being constructed with U.S. money, U.S. arms are pouring in. You’ve soldiers fighting there already.”
“I don’t believe it,” Casey said.
“You can. They’re called Special Forces, sometimes Delta Force. So sorry but Vietnam’s going to be a big problem for your government unless it’s very smart.”
Bartlett said confidently, “Thank God it is. JFK handled Cuba. He’ll handle Vietnam too. He made the Big K back off there and he can do it again. We won that time. The Soviets took their missiles out.”
Gavallan was grimly amused. “You should talk to Ian about Cuba, old chap, that really gets him going. He says, and I agree, you lost. The Soviets sucked you into another trap. A fool’s mate. He believes they built their sites almost openly—wanting you to detect them and you did and then there was a lot of saber-rattling, the whole world’s frightened to death, and in exchange for the Soviet agreement to take the missiles out of Cuba your President tore up your Monroe Doctrine, the cornerstone of your whole security system.”
“What?”
“Certainly. Didn’t JFK give Khrushchev a written promise not to invade Cuba, not to permit an invasion from American territory—or from any other place in the Western Hemisphere? Written, by God! So now, a hostile European power, Soviet Russia, totally against your Monroe Doctrine, is openly established ninety miles off your coast, the borders of which are guaranteed in writing by your own President and ratified by your own Congress. The Big K pulled off a colossal coup never duplicated in your whole history. And all for nothing!” Gavallan’s voice harshened. “Now Cuba’s nicely safe, thank you very much, where it’ll grow, expand and eventually infect all South America. Safe for Soviet subs, ships, aircraft.… Christ almighty that’s certainly a marvelous victory!”
Casey looked at Bartlett, shocked. “But surely, Linc, surely that’s not right.”
Bartlett was as shocked. “I guess … if you think about it, Casey, I guess.… It sure as hell cost them nothing.”
“Ian’s convinced of it,” Gavallan said. “Talk to him. As to Vietnam, no one here thinks President Kennedy can handle that either, much as we admire him personally. Asia’s not like Europe, or the Americas. They think differently here, act differently and have different values.”
There was a sudden silence. Bartlett broke it. “You think there’ll be war then?”
Gavallan glanced at him. “Nothing for you to worry about. Par-Con should do very well. You’ve heavy industry, computers, polyurethane foam, government contracts into aerospace, petrochemicals, sonics, wireless equipment … With your goods and our expertise if there’s a war, well, the sky’s the limit.”
“I don’t think I’d like to profit that way,” Casey said, irritated by him. “That’s a lousy way to earn a buck.”
Gavallan turned on her. “A lot of things on this earth are lousy, and wrong and unfair….” He was going to give her both barrels, infuriated with the way she kept interrupting his conversation with Bartlett but he decided that now was not the time, nor the place, so he said pleasantly, “But of course you’re right. No one wants to profit from death. If you’ll excuse me I’ll be going.… You know everyone has place cards? Dinner’ll start any moment. Matter of face.”
He walked off.
Casey said, “I don’t think he likes me at all.”
They laughed at the way she said it. “What you said was right, Casey,” Orlanda told her. “You were right. War is terrible.”
“You were here during it?” Casey asked innocently.
“Yes, but in Macao. I’m Portuguese. My mother told me it wasn’t too bad there. The Japanese didn’t trouble Macao because Portugal
was neutral.” Orlanda added sweetly, “Of course I’m only twenty-five now so I hardly remember any of it. I was not quite seven when the war ended. Macao’s nice, Casey. So different from Hong Kong. You and Linc might like to go there. It’s worth seeing. I’d love to be your guide.”
I’ll bet, Casey thought, feeling her twenty-six was old against Orlanda who had the skin of a seventeen-year-old. “That’d be great. But Lando, what’s with Andrew? Why was he so teed off? Because I’m a woman VP and all that?”
“I doubt that. I’m sure you exaggerate,” Mata said. “It’s just that he’s not very pro-American and it drives him mad that the British Empire’s no more, that the U.S. is arbiter of the world’s fate and making obvious mistakes, he thinks. Most British people agree with him, I’m afraid! It’s part jealousy of course. But you must be patient with Andrew. After all, your government did give away Hong Kong in ’45 to Chiang—only the British navy stopped that. America did side with Soviet Russia against them over Suez, did support the Jews against them in Palestine—there are dozens of examples. It’s also true lots of us here think your present hostility to China’s ill-advised.”
“But they’re as Communist as Russia. They went to war against us when we were only trying to protect freedom in South Korea. We weren’t going to attack them.”
“But historically, China’s always crossed the Yalu when any foreign invader approached that border. Always. Your MacArthur was supposed to be a historian,” Mata said patiently, wondering if she was as naive in bed, “he should have known. He—or your President—forced China into a path it did not want to take. I’m absolutely sure of that.”
“But we weren’t invaders. North Korea invaded the South. We just wanted to help a people be free. We’d nothing to gain from South Korea. We spend billions trying to help people stay free. Look what China did to Tibet—to India last year. Seems to me we’re always the fall guy and all we want is to protect freedom.” She stopped as a murmur of relief went through the room and people began heading for their tables. Waiters bearing silver-domed platters were trooping in. “Thank God! I’m starving!”
“That’s strange, seeing how close you two were.” Grey ripped his eyes away and glanced at Fleur Marlowe and thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. So pretty and fine and English and fair, just like his ex-wife Trina who went off with an American barely a month after he was reported missing in action. Barely a month. “Did you know we were enemies in Changi, Mrs. Marlowe?” he said with a gentleness that she found frightening.
“Peter’s never discussed Changi with me, Mr. Grey. Or anyone that I know of.”
“Curious. It was an awesome experience, Mrs. Marlowe. I’ve forgotten none of it. I … well, sorry to interrupt…” He glanced up at Marlowe. He began to say something but changed his mind and turned away.
“Oh, Peter, what an awful man!” Fleur said. “He gave me the creeps.”
“Nothing to bother about, my darling.”
“Why were you enemies?”
“Not now, my pet, later.” Marlowe smiled at her, loving her. “Grey’s nothing to us.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
9:45 P.M.:
Linc Bartlett saw Orlanda before she saw him and she took his breath away. He couldn’t help comparing her with Casey who was beside him talking to Andrew Gavallan. Orlanda was wearing white silk, floor-length, backless with a halter neck that, discreetly, somehow, seemed to offer her golden body. Casey wore her green that he had seen many times, her tawny hair cascading.
“Would you both like to come to Shi-teh’s tonight?” Orlanda had asked him this morning. “It could be important for you and your Casey to be there.”
“Why?”
“Because almost all business that counts in Hong Kong is done at this type of function, Mr. Bartlett. It could be very important for you to become involved with people like Shi-teh—and in the Turf Club, Cricket Club, even the Club itself, though that’d be impossible.”
“Because I’m American?”
“Because someone has to die to create an opening—an English or Scotsman.” She had laughed. “The waiting list’s as long as Queen’s Road! It’s men only, very stuffy, old leather chairs, old men sleeping off their three-hour and ten-gin lunches, The Times and all that.”
“Hell, that sounds exciting!”
She had laughed again. Her teeth were white and he could see no blemish in her. They had talked over breakfast and he had found her more than easy to talk to. And to be with. Her perfume was enticing. Casey rarely wore perfume—she said that she’d found it just another distraction to the businessmen she had to deal with. With Orlanda, breakfast had been coffee and toast and eggs and crisp bacon, American style, at a brand-new hotel she suggested, called the Mandarin. Casey didn’t eat breakfast. Just coffee and toast sometimes, or croissants.
The interview had passed easily and the time too fast. He had never been in the company of a woman with such open and confident femininity. Casey was always so strong, efficient and cool and not feminine. By choice, her choice and my agreement, he reminded himself.
“That’s Orlanda?” Casey was looking at him, one eyebrow arched.
“Yes,” he replied, trying unsuccessfully to read her. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s dynamite.”
“Which way?”
Casey laughed. She turned to Gavallan who was trying to concentrate and be polite but whose mind was taken up with Kathy. After Kathy had told him this evening, he had not wanted to leave her but she had insisted, saying that it was important for him to be there. “Do you know her, Andrew?”
“Who?”
“The girl in white.”
“Where? Oh! Oh yes, but only by reputation.”
“Is it good or bad?”
“That, er, depends on your point of view, Casey. She’s, she’s Portuguese, Eurasian, of course. Orlanda was Gornt’s friend for quite a few years.”
“You mean his mistress?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s the word,” he told her politely, disliking Casey’s directness intensely. “But it was all very discreet.”
“Gornt’s got taste. Did you know she was his steady, Linc?”
“She told me this morning. I met her at Gornt’s a couple of days ago. He said they were still friends.”
“Gornt’s not to be trusted,” Gavallan said.
Casey said, “He’s got heavy backers, in and outside Hong Kong, I was told. Far as I know he’s not stretched at the moment, as you are. You must have heard he wants us to deal with him, not you.”
“We’re not stretched,” Gavallan said. He looked at Bartlett. “We do have a deal?”
“We sign Tuesday. If you’re ready,” Bartlett said.
“We’re ready now.”
“Ian wants us to keep it quiet till Saturday and that’s fine with us,” Casey said. “Isn’t it, Linc?”
“Sure.” Bartlett glanced back at Orlanda. Casey followed his eyes.
She had noticed her the first moment the girl had hesitated in the doorway. “Who’s she talking to, Andrew?” The man was interesting-looking, lithe, elegant and in his fifties.
“That’s Lando Mata. He’s also Portuguese, from Macao.” Gavallan wondered achingly if Dunross would manage to persuade Mata to come to their rescue with all his millions. What would I do if I was tai-pan? he asked himself wearily. Would I buy tomorrow, or make a deal with Mata and Tightfist tonight? With their money, the Noble House would be safe for generations, though out of our control. No point in worrying now. Wait till you’re tai-pan. Then he saw Mata smiling at Orlanda and then both of them looked over and began to thread their way toward them. His eyes watched her firm breasts, free under the silk. Taut nipples. Good God, he thought, awed, even Venus Poon wouldn’t dare do that. When they came up he introduced them and stood back, odd man out, wanting to watch them.
“Hello,” Orlanda said warmly to Casey. “Linc told me so much about you and how important you are to him.”
“And I’ve heard about you too,” Casey said as warmly. But not enough. You’re much more lovely than Linc indicated, she thought. Very much more. So you’re Orlanda Ramos. Beautiful and soft-spoken and feminine and a bitch piranha who has set her sights on my Linc. Jesus, what do I do now?
She heard herself making small talk but her mind was still thinking Orlanda Ramos through. On the one hand it would be good for Linc to have an affair, she thought. It would take the heat out of him. Last night was as lousy for him as it was for me. He was right about me moving out. But once this one’s magic surrounds him could I extract him? Would she be just another girl like the others that were nothing to me and after a week or so, nothing to him either?
Not this one, Casey decided with finality. I’ve got two choices. I either stick to thirteen weeks and four days and do battle, or don’t and do battle.
She smiled. “Orlanda, your dress is fantastic.”
“Thanks. May I call you Casey?”
Both women knew the war had begun.
Bartlett was delighted that Casey obviously liked Orlanda. Gavallan watched, fascinated by the four of them. There was a strange warmth among them all. Particularly between Bartlett and Orlanda.
He turned his attention to Mata and Casey. Mata was suave, filled with old world charm, concentrating on Casey, playing her like a fish. I wonder how far he’ll get with this one. Curious that Casey doesn’t seem to mind Orlanda at all. Surely she’s noticed that her boyfriend’s smitten? Perhaps she hasn’t. Or perhaps she couldn’t care less and she and Bartlett are just business partners and nothing else. Perhaps she’s a dyke after all. Or maybe she’s just frigid like a lot of them. How sad!
“How do you like Hong Kong, Miss Casey?” Mata asked, wondering what she would be like in bed.
“Afraid I haven’t seen much of it yet though I did go out to the New Territories on the hotel tour and peek into China.”
“Would you like to go? I mean really go into China? Say to Canton? I could arrange for you to be invited.”
She was shocked. “But we’re forbidden to go into China ??
“Oh, you wouldn’t have to use your passport. The PRC doesn’t bother with passports. So few quai loh go into China there’s no problem. They give you a written visa and they stamp that.”
“But our State Department … I don’t think I’d risk it right now.”
Bartlett nodded. “We’re not even supposed to go into the Communist store here. The department store.”
“Yes, your government really is very strange,” Mata said. “As if going into a store is subversive! Did you hear the rumor about the Hilton?”
“What about it?”
“The story is that they bought a marvelous collection of Chinese antiques for the new hotel, of course all locally.” Mata smiled. “It seems that now the U.S. has decided they can’t use any of it, even here in Hong Kong. It’s all in storage. At least that’s the story.”
“It figures. If you can’t make it in the States, you join the government,” Bartlett said sourly.
“Casey, you should decide for yourself,” Mata said. “Visit the store. It’s called China Arts and Crafts on Queen’s Road. The prices are very reasonable and the Communists really don’t have horns and barbed tails.”
“It’s nothing like what I expected,” Bartlett said. “Casey, you’d freak out at some of the things.”
“You’ve been?” she asked, surprised.
“Sure.”
“I took Mr. Bartlett this morning,” Orlanda explained. “We happened to be passing. I’d be glad to go shopping with you if you wish.”
“Thanks, I’d like that,” Casey said as nicely, all her danger signals up. “But we were told in L.A. the CIA monitors Americans who go in and out because they’re sure it’s a Communist meeting place.”
“It looked like an ordinary store to me, Casey,” Bartlett said. “I didn’t see anything except a few posters of Mao. You can’t bargain though. All prices’re written out. Some of the biggest bargains you ever did see. Pity we can’t take them back home.” There was a total embargo on all goods of Chinese origin into the States, even antiques that had been in Hong Kong a hundred years.
“That’s no problem,” Mata said at once, wondering how much he would make as a middleman. “If there’s anything you want I’d be happy to purchase it.”
“But we still can’t get it into the States, Mr. Mata,” Casey said.
“Oh that’s easy too. I do it for American friends all the time. I just send their purchases to a company I have in Singapore or Manila. For a tiny fee they send it to you in the States with a certificate of origin, Malaya or the Philippines, whichever you’d prefer.”
“But that’d be cheating. Smuggling.”
Mata, Gavallan and Orlanda laughed outright and Gavallan said, “Trade’s the grease of the world. Embargoed goods from the U.S. or Taiwan find their way to the PRC, PRC goods go to Taiwan and the U.S.—if they’re sought after. Of course they do!”
“I know,” Casey said, “but I don’t think that’s right.”
“Soviet Russia’s committed to your destruction but you still trade with her,” Gavallan said to Bartlett.
“We don’t ourselves,” Casey said. “Not Par-Con, though we’ve been approached to sell computers. Much as we like profits they’re a no-no. The government does, but only on very carefully controlled goods. Wheat, things like that.”
“Wherever there’s a willing buyer of anything, there’ll always be a seller,” Gavallan said, irritated by her. He glanced out of the windows and wished he was back in Shanghai. “Take Vietnam, your Algiers.”
“Sir?” Casey said.
Gavallan glanced back at her. “I mean that Vietnam will bleed your economy to death as it did to France and as Algiers also did to France.”
“We’ll never go into Vietnam,” Bartlett said confidently. “Why should we? Vietnam’s nothing to do with us.”
“I agree,” Mata said, “but nevertheless the States is having a growing involvement there. In fact, Mr. Bartlett, I think you’re being sucked into the abyss.”
“In what way?” Casey asked.
“I think the Soviets have deliberately enticed you into Vietnam. You’ll send in troops but they won’t. You’ll be fighting Viets and the jungle, and the Soviets will be the winners. Your CIA’s already there in strength. They’re running an airline. Even now airfields are being constructed with U.S. money, U.S. arms are pouring in. You’ve soldiers fighting there already.”
“I don’t believe it,” Casey said.
“You can. They’re called Special Forces, sometimes Delta Force. So sorry but Vietnam’s going to be a big problem for your government unless it’s very smart.”
Bartlett said confidently, “Thank God it is. JFK handled Cuba. He’ll handle Vietnam too. He made the Big K back off there and he can do it again. We won that time. The Soviets took their missiles out.”
Gavallan was grimly amused. “You should talk to Ian about Cuba, old chap, that really gets him going. He says, and I agree, you lost. The Soviets sucked you into another trap. A fool’s mate. He believes they built their sites almost openly—wanting you to detect them and you did and then there was a lot of saber-rattling, the whole world’s frightened to death, and in exchange for the Soviet agreement to take the missiles out of Cuba your President tore up your Monroe Doctrine, the cornerstone of your whole security system.”
“What?”
“Certainly. Didn’t JFK give Khrushchev a written promise not to invade Cuba, not to permit an invasion from American territory—or from any other place in the Western Hemisphere? Written, by God! So now, a hostile European power, Soviet Russia, totally against your Monroe Doctrine, is openly established ninety miles off your coast, the borders of which are guaranteed in writing by your own President and ratified by your own Congress. The Big K pulled off a colossal coup never duplicated in your whole history. And all for nothing!” Gavallan’s voice harshened. “Now Cuba’s nicely safe, thank you very much, where it’ll grow, expand and eventually infect all South America. Safe for Soviet subs, ships, aircraft.… Christ almighty that’s certainly a marvelous victory!”
Casey looked at Bartlett, shocked. “But surely, Linc, surely that’s not right.”
Bartlett was as shocked. “I guess … if you think about it, Casey, I guess.… It sure as hell cost them nothing.”
“Ian’s convinced of it,” Gavallan said. “Talk to him. As to Vietnam, no one here thinks President Kennedy can handle that either, much as we admire him personally. Asia’s not like Europe, or the Americas. They think differently here, act differently and have different values.”
There was a sudden silence. Bartlett broke it. “You think there’ll be war then?”
Gavallan glanced at him. “Nothing for you to worry about. Par-Con should do very well. You’ve heavy industry, computers, polyurethane foam, government contracts into aerospace, petrochemicals, sonics, wireless equipment … With your goods and our expertise if there’s a war, well, the sky’s the limit.”
“I don’t think I’d like to profit that way,” Casey said, irritated by him. “That’s a lousy way to earn a buck.”
Gavallan turned on her. “A lot of things on this earth are lousy, and wrong and unfair….” He was going to give her both barrels, infuriated with the way she kept interrupting his conversation with Bartlett but he decided that now was not the time, nor the place, so he said pleasantly, “But of course you’re right. No one wants to profit from death. If you’ll excuse me I’ll be going.… You know everyone has place cards? Dinner’ll start any moment. Matter of face.”
He walked off.
Casey said, “I don’t think he likes me at all.”
They laughed at the way she said it. “What you said was right, Casey,” Orlanda told her. “You were right. War is terrible.”
“You were here during it?” Casey asked innocently.
“Yes, but in Macao. I’m Portuguese. My mother told me it wasn’t too bad there. The Japanese didn’t trouble Macao because Portugal
I’ll bet, Casey thought, feeling her twenty-six was old against Orlanda who had the skin of a seventeen-year-old. “That’d be great. But Lando, what’s with Andrew? Why was he so teed off? Because I’m a woman VP and all that?”
“I doubt that. I’m sure you exaggerate,” Mata said. “It’s just that he’s not very pro-American and it drives him mad that the British Empire’s no more, that the U.S. is arbiter of the world’s fate and making obvious mistakes, he thinks. Most British people agree with him, I’m afraid! It’s part jealousy of course. But you must be patient with Andrew. After all, your government did give away Hong Kong in ’45 to Chiang—only the British navy stopped that. America did side with Soviet Russia against them over Suez, did support the Jews against them in Palestine—there are dozens of examples. It’s also true lots of us here think your present hostility to China’s ill-advised.”
“But they’re as Communist as Russia. They went to war against us when we were only trying to protect freedom in South Korea. We weren’t going to attack them.”
“But historically, China’s always crossed the Yalu when any foreign invader approached that border. Always. Your MacArthur was supposed to be a historian,” Mata said patiently, wondering if she was as naive in bed, “he should have known. He—or your President—forced China into a path it did not want to take. I’m absolutely sure of that.”
“But we weren’t invaders. North Korea invaded the South. We just wanted to help a people be free. We’d nothing to gain from South Korea. We spend billions trying to help people stay free. Look what China did to Tibet—to India last year. Seems to me we’re always the fall guy and all we want is to protect freedom.” She stopped as a murmur of relief went through the room and people began heading for their tables. Waiters bearing silver-domed platters were trooping in. “Thank God! I’m starving!”