Noble House by James Clavell
The silence was heavy and electric.
Dunross shrugged. He picked up the phone and dialed.
“Weyyyyy?” The woman’s voice was arrogant.
“The Honorable Tip Tok-toh please,” he said in Cantonese. “This is the tai-pan.”
“Ah, the tai-pan. Ah, please wait a moment.” Dunross waited. A bead of sweat gathered on the bottom of Johnjohn’s chin. “Weyyyy? Tai-pan, the doctor’s with him, he’s very sick. Please call back later!” The phone clicked off before Dunross could say anything. He redialed.
“This’s the tai-pan, I wan—”
“This phone is terrible.” The amah doubled her volume. “He’s sick,” she shouted. “Call back later.”
Dunross called in ten minutes. Now the line was busy. He kept on trying with no luck.
There was a knock and the harassed chief cashier hurried in. “Sorry, sir, but there’s no let up in the queues, we’ve a quarter of an hour to go. I suggest we limit withdrawals now, say a thou—”
“No,” Havergill said at once.
“But sir, we’re almost empty. Don’t y—”
“No. The Victoria must keep going. We must. No. Keep honoring every penny.”
The man hesitated, then went out. Havergill mopped his brow. Johnjohn too. Dunross dialed again. Still busy. Just before three he tried a last time, then dialed the phone company asking them to check the line. “It’s temporarily out of order, sir,” the operator said.
Dunross put the phone down. “Twenty to a brass farthing it’s deliberately off the hook.” His watch read 3:01. “Let’s find out about the market.”
Havergill wiped the palms of his hands. Before he could dial, the phone rang. “Chief cashier, sir. We’ve … we’re all right now. Last customer has been paid. The doors’ve closed. Blacs just made it too, sir.”
“Good. Check the remaining currency in the vault and call me back.”
“Thank God it’s Friday,” Johnjohn said.
Havergill dialed. “Charles? What’s the latest?”
“The market finished off 37 points. Our stock’s off 8 points.”
“Christ,” Johnjohn said. The bank had never fallen so much before, even during the ’56 riots.
“Struan’s?”
“9.50.”
Both bankers looked at Dunross. His face was impassive. He redialed Tiptop as the stockbroker continued to reel off the closing prices. Again a busy signal. “I’ll call again from the office,” he said. “The moment I get him I’ll call you. If no China money, what are you going to do?”
“There are only two solutions. We wait for the pounds, the governor declaring Monday a bank holiday or as long as we need. Or we accept the Moscow trade-bank offer.”
“Tiptop was bloody clear that’ll backfire. That’ll throw a monkey wrench in Hong Kong forever.”
“Those are the only solutions.”
Dunross got up. “There’s only one. By the way, did the governor phone you?”
“Yes,” Havergill said. “He wants us to open the vaults at 6:00 P.M. for him, you, Roger Crosse and some fellow called Sinders. What’s all that about?”
“Didn’t he tell you?”
“No. Just that it was something covered by the Official Secrets Act.”
“See you at six.” Dunross walked out.
Havergill wiped more sweat off with a handkerchief. “The only good thing about all this is that that arrogant sod’s in worse trouble,” he muttered angrily. He dialed Tiptop’s number. And again. The interoffice phone rang. Johnjohn picked it up for Havergill. “Yes?”
“This is the chief cashier, sir. There’s only 716,027 HK in the vault.” The man’s voice trembled. “We’re … that’s all we’ve left, sir.”
“Thank you.” Johnjohn put the phone down and told Havergill. The deputy chairman did not answer, just redialed Tiptop’s number. It was still busy. “You’d better open a dialogue with the Soviet contact.”
Johnjohn went red. “But that’s impossible—”
“Do it! Do it now!” Havergill, equally choleric, redialed Tiptop. Still busy.
Dunross went into his office.
“Mr. Toda’s here with the usual entourage, tai-pan.” Claudia did not hide her distaste or nervousness.
“Show them in please.”
“Mr. Alastair called twice—asked that you call him back the moment you come in. And your father.”
“I’ll call them later.”
“Yes sir. Here’s the telex for Nelson Trading from Switzerland confirming that they’ve purchased triple the regular order of gold for the Great Good Luck Company of Macao.”
“Good. Send a copy to Lando at once and request the funds.”
“This telex is from Orlin Merchant Bank confirming they regret they cannot renew the loan and require payment.”
“Telex them, ‘Thank you.’”
“I checked with Mrs. Dunross and they arrived safely.”
“Good. Get Kathy’s specialist’s home number so I can call him over the weekend.”
Claudia made another note. “Master Duncan called from Sydney to say he had a great evening and he’s on the Monday Qantas flight. Here’s a list of your other calls.”
He glanced at the long list, wondering fleetingly if his son was no longer a virgin, or was not even before the lovely Sheila. Thinking of a lovely sheila reminded him again of the exquisite Snow Jade. Curious her name was Snow Jade—she reminded me so much of Elegant Jade who’s somewhere in Taipei in charge of a House of Many Pleasures. Perhaps the time’s come to find Elegant Jade and thank her. Once more he remembered old Chen-chen’s admonition when he was dying. “Listen, my son,” old Chen-chen had whispered, his voice failing, “never try to find her. You will take away her face and take away beauty, both from her and from you. Now she’ll be old, her Jade Gate withered and her pleasures will come from good food and good brandy. Children of the Pleasure World do not age well, nor do their tempers. Leave her to her joss and to her memories. Be kind. Always be kind to those who give you their youth and their yin to succor your yang. Eeeee, how I wish I was as young as you again.…”
Dunross sighed. His evening with Snow Jade had been impeccable. And filled with laughter.
“I don’t eat dessert,” he had replied at once. “I’m on a diet.”
“Oh ko, not you, tai-pan. I help you lose weight never mind.”
“Thank you but no dessert and never in Hong Kong.”
“Ah! Four Fingers said you’d say that, tai-pan, and for me not to be shamed.” She had beamed and poured him a whiskey. “I’m to say, Have passport can travel.”
They had laughed together. “What else did Four Fingers say?”
The tip of her tongue touched her lips. “Only that foreign devils are mighty very peculiar in some things. Like saying no dessert! As if it mattered.” She watched him. “I’ve never been with a barbarian before.”
“Oh? Some of us are really quite civilized.”
Dunross smiled to himself, remembering how tempted he was, their banter and the great meal, everything good-humored and satisfying. Yes. But that doesn’t forgive that old bastard Four Fingers, nor the half-coin, nor the theft of the half-coin, he thought grimly, nor the trap that he thinks he has me in. But all that comes later. First things come first. Concentrate, there’s a lot to do before you sleep tonight!
The list Claudia had given him was long, most of the calls urgent, and two hours of work were ahead of him. Tiptop wasn’t on the list, nor Lando Mata, Tightfist Tung, Four Fingers or Paul Choy. Casey and Bartlett were there. Travkin, Robert Armstrong. Jacques deVille, Gavallan, Phillip Chen, Dianne Chen, Alan Holdbrook—Struan’s in-house stockbroker—Sir Luis, and dozens of others spread throughout the world. “We’ll get to them after Hiro Toda, Claudia.”
“Yes sir.”
“After Toda, I want to see Jacques—then Phillip Chen. Anything on Mrs. Riko Gresserhoff?”
“Her plane’s due in at 7:00 P.M. She’s booked into the V and A and she’ll
“Thank you.” Dunross went into his office and stared out of the window. For the time being he had done everything he could for the Noble House and for Hong Kong. Now it was up to joss. And the next problem. The ships. His excitement picked up.
“Hello, tai-pan.”
“Hello, Hiro.” Dunross shook the outstretched hand warmly.
Hiro Toda, managing director of Toda Shipping Industries was of an age with Dunross, trim, hard, and much shorter, with wise eyes and a ready smile, his accent slightly American from two years of postgraduate work at UCLA in the late forties. “May I introduce my associates: Mr. Kazunari, Mr. Ebe, Mr. Kasigi.”
The three younger men bowed and Dunross bowed back. They were all dressed in dark suits, well cut, with white shirts and subdued ties.
“Please sit down.” Airily Dunross waved to the chairs around the small conference table. The door opened and his Japanese interpreter and assistant, Akiko, came in. She brought a tray with green tea, introduced herself, poured the tea delicately, then took her seat near Dunross. Though his Japanese was easily good enough for a business meeting she was necessary for face.
Partially in Japanese, partially in English, he began the polite conversation about inconsequential matters, that by Japanese custom preceded serious discussion. It was also Japanese custom that business meetings were shared by many executives, the more senior the executive, usually the more people who came with him.
Dunross waited patiently. He liked the other man. Hiro Toda was titular head of the great shipping conglomerate that had been founded by his great-grandfather almost a hundred years before. His forebears were daimyos, feudal lords, until feudalism and the samurai class was abolished in 1870 and modern Japan began. His authority in Toda Shipping was outwardly all powerful, but as frequently happened in Japan, all real power was centered in the hands of his seventy-three-year-old father who, ostensibly, was retired.
At length Toda came to the point. “This stock market collapse must be very worrying, tai-pan.”
“A temporary loss of confidence. I’m sure everything will work itself out over the weekend.”
“Ah yes. I hope so too.”
“How long are you staying, Hiro?”
“Till Sunday. Yes Sunday. Then on to Singapore and Sydney. I shall be back for the closing of our business with you next week. I’m glad to tell you your ships are ahead of schedule.” Toda put a sheaf of papers on the table. “Here’s a detailed report.”
“Excellent!” Dunross swung to the attack, blessing the gods and AMG and Kirk. Coming home last night he had suddenly realized the enormity of the key AMG and Kirk had given him to a plan he had been working on for almost a year. “Would you like to bring forward your payment schedule?”
“Ah!” The other man covered his surprise. “Perhaps I could discuss that with my colleagues later but I’m glad to hear that everything is in control then, and the takeover bid contained.”
“Didn’t Sun Tzu say, ‘He who exercises no forethought but makes light of his opponents is sure to be captured by them’? Gornt is certainly snapping at our heels, of course the run on our banks is serious, but the worst is over. Everything’s just fine. Don’t you think we should expand the amount of business we’re doing together?”
Toda smiled. “Two ships, tai-pan? Giants by present standards. In one year? That’s not a minor connection.”
“It could perhaps be twenty-two ships,” he said, outwardly nonchalant, his whole being concentrated. “I have a proposal for you, in fact for all Japanese shipbuilding industrial complexes. At the moment you just build ships and sell them, either to gai-jin—outsiders—to ourselves for example, or to Japanese shippers. If to Japanese shippers, your operating costs with the high cost of Japanese crews—which by your law you have to carry—are already becoming noncompetitive, like American ships with American crews. Soon you won’t be able to compete with the Greeks, with others and with us, because our costs will be so much lower.”
Dunross saw them all concentrating on Akiko who was translating almost simultaneously and he thought with glee of another Sun Tzu saying: “In all fighting, the direct method may be used for joining battle but indirect methods will be needed to secure victory.” Then he continued, “Second point: Japan has to import everything it needs to support its rising economy and standard of living and its industrial complex, and certainly the 95 percent of all energy it needs to sustain it. Oil’s the key to your future. Oil has to come to you seaborne, so do all your bulk raw materials—always carried by bulk cargo ships. Always seaborne. You’re building the great ships very efficiently, but as shipowners your operating costs and your own internal tax structure are going to drive you out of the marketplace. My proposal for you is simple: You stop trying to own your own uneconomic merchant fleets. You sell your ships abroad on a lease-back basis.”
“What?”
Dunross saw them staring at him, astounded. He waited a moment, then continued, “A ship’s life is, say fifteen years. You sell your bulk carrier say to us, but as part of the deal lease it back for fifteen years. We supply the captain and crew and operate her. Prior to delivery, you charter the ship to Mitsubishi or another of your own great companies for bulk supplies over fifteen years—coal, iron ore, rice, wheat, oil, whatever you want. This system guarantees Japan a continuous supply of raw material, set up at your whim and controlled by Japanese. Japan Inc. can increase its financing to you, because you yourselves, in effect, are the carriers of your own vital raw materials.
“Your industries can plan ahead. Japan Inc. can afford to assist financially selected buyers of your ships, because the purchase price is easily covered by the fifteen years charter. And since the ships are on long-term charter, our bankers, like Blacs and the Victoria, will also be happy to finance the rest. Everyone gains. You gain most because you ensure a long-term supply line under your control. And I haven’t yet mentioned the tax advantages to you, to Toda Industries particularly!”
Dunross got up in a dead silence, the others staring at him, and went to his desk. He brought back some stapled reports. “Here’s a tax study done by our people in Japan with specific examples, including methods to depreciate the ship’s cost for added profit. Here’s a suggested plan for bulk carriers. This one documents various ways Struan’s could assist you in charters, should we be one of the foreign shippers chosen. For example, Woolara Mines of Australia are prepared, at our direction, to enter into a contract with Toda Industries to supply 95 percent of their coal output for one hundred years.”
Toda gasped. So did the others when Akiko had translated. Woolara Mines was a huge, highly efficient and productive mine.
“We could assist you in Australia which is the treasury of Asia—supplying all the copper, wheat, foodstuffs, fruit, iron ore you need. I’m told privately there are new, immense deposits of high-grade iron ore just discovered in Western Australia within easy access of Perth. There’s oil, uranium, thorium, and other precious materials you require. Wool. Rice. With my scheme you control your own flow of materials, the foreign shippers get ships and a steady cash flow to finance and order more ships, to lease back, to carry more and more raw materials and more cars, more television sets, more electronic goods, and more goods outward bound to the States—and heavy industry plants and machines to the rest of the world. Last, back to your most vital import of all: oil. Here’s a suggested pattern for a new fleet of bulk oil carriers, half a million to a million tons dead weight each.”
Toda gasped and abruptly finished the translation himself. Astounded, they all sucked in their breath when he mentioned the half a million to a million tons.
Dunross sat back enjoying the tension. He watched them glance at one another, then at Toda, waiting for him to react.
“I … I think we had better study your proposals, tai-pan,” Toda said, trying to keep his voice level. “Obviously they are far-reaching. May we get back to you later?”
“Yes. You’re
“Thank you, yes, if it’s not too much trouble,” Toda said with sudden nervousness, “but it would be impossible for us to have an answer by that time.”
“Of course. You got your invitations and badges?”
“Yes, thank you. I, er, I hope everything turns out well for you. Your proposal certainly sounds far-reaching.”
They left. For a moment Dunross allowed himself to enjoy the excitement. I’ve got them, he thought. Christ, in a year we can have the biggest fleet in Asia, all totally financed, with no risks to financier, builder, operator or supplier, with oil tankers, huge tankers as its nucleus—if we can weather this typhoon.
All I need’s some luck. Somehow I’ve got to stave off the crash till Tuesday when we sign with Par-Con. Par-Con pays for our ships, but what about Orlin and what about Gornt?
“Mr. Jacques’s on his way up, tai-pan. Mr. Phillip’s in his office and’ll come up whenever you’re ready. Roger Crosse called, your appointment’s at 7:00 P.M. instead of 6:00. He said Mr. Sinders’s plane was late. He’s informed the governor and everyone connected.”
“Thank you, Claudia.” He glanced at his list of calls. He dialed the V and A and asked for Bartlett. He was out. “Miss Tcholok please.”
“Hello?”
“Hello! Ian Dunross returning your call and Linc Bartlett’s call. How’re things?”
There was a slight pause. “Interesting. Tai-pan, can I drop by?”
“Of course. How about cocktails at 6:15 at the Mandarin? That’d give me half an hour-odd before my next appointment. Eh?” A twinge of anxiety went through him at the thought of Crosse, Sinders and AMG’s admonition about never giving up the files.
“Is it possible for me to come by the office? I could leave now and be there in half to three quarters of an hour? I have something to talk over with you. I’ll make it as short as possible.”
“All right. I may have to keep you waiting a moment or two but come on over.” He put the phone down, frowning. What’s up there?