Noble House by James Clavell
Yes. I will be tai-tai.
And one day he will ask to go to Portugal to see my daughter and I will refuse the first time and the second and the third and then we will go—if I have our son in my arms. Then he will see her and love her too, and that specter will be laid to rest forever.
Orlanda sighed, feeling wonderful, weightless, with his head resting comfortably against her chest. Pillowing without precautions is so much more glorious, she thought. Ecstasy. Oh so wonderful to feel the surge, knowing you’re young and fertile and ready, giving yourself totally, deliberately, praying to create a new life—his life and yours joined forever. Oh yes.
Yes but have you been wise? Have you? Say he leaves you? The only other time in your life you deliberately left yourself free was that single month with Quillan. But that was with permission. This time you have none.
Say Linc leaves you. Perhaps he’ll be furious and tell you to stop the child!
He won’t, she told herself with complete confidence. Linc’s not Quillan. There’s nothing to worry about. Nothing. Madonna, please help me! All gods help me! Let his seed grow, oh please please please, I beg you with all my heart.
Bartlett stirred and half awoke. “Orlanda?”
“Yes, my darling, I’m here. Oh how wonderful you are!” She cradled him happily, so glad that she had given her amah the day and the night away. “Go back to sleep, we’ve all the time in the world, sleep.”
“Yes but…”
“Sleep. In a little while I’m going to fetch some Chinese food an—”
“Maybe you’d like t—”
“Sleep, my darling. Everything’s arranged.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
7:30 P.M.:
Three stories below on the other side of the building, facing the mountainside, Four Finger Wu was watching television. He was in Venus Poon’s apartment, in front of her set, his shoes off, his tie loose, sprawled in the easy chair. The old amah was sitting on a stiff chair beside him and they both guffawed at the antics of Laurel and Hardy.
“Eeeeee, the Fat One’s going to catch his fornicating foot in the scaffolding,” he chortled, “and the—”
“And the Thin One’s going to hit him with the plank! Eeeeee.”
They both laughed at the routine they had seen a hundred times in a hundred re-re-reruns of the old black-and-white movies. Then the film ended and Venus Poon reappeared to announce the next program and he sighed. She was looking directly at him from the box and he—along with every other male viewer—was certain that her smile was for him alone, and though he did not understand her English, he understood her very well. His eyes were glued to her breasts that had fascinated him for hours, examining them closely, never seeing or feeling a sign of the surgical interference that all Hong Kong whispered about.
“I attest your tits are blemishless, certainly the biggest and best I’ve ever touched,” he had volunteered importantly, still mounted, the night before last.
“You’re just saying that to please your poor impoverished Daughter oh oh oh!”
“Impoverished? Ha! Didn’t Banker Kwang give you that miserable fur yesterday and I hear he added an extra 1,000 to his monthly check! And me, didn’t I supply the winner of the first, third and the runner-up in the fifth? 30,000 those brought you minus 15 percent for my informant—for less effort than it takes me to fart!”
“P’shaw! That 25,800 HK’s not worth talking about, I have to buy my own wardrobe, a new costume every day! My public demands it, I have my public to think of.”
They had argued back and forth until, feeling the moment of truth approaching, he had asked her to move her buttocks more vigorously. She had obliged with such enthusiasm that he was left a husk. When at length he had miraculously recovered his spirit from the Void he choked out, “Ayeeyah, Little Strumpet, if you can do that one more time I’ll give you a diamond ring the—no, no, not now by all the gods! Am I a god? Not now, Little Mealy Mouth, no, not now and not tomorrow but the next day….”
And now it was the next day. Elated and filled with anticipation he watched her on television, all smiles and dimples as she said good night and the new program began. Tonight was her early night and in his mind he could almost see her hurry out of the TV station to his waiting Rolls, sure that she would be just as anxious. He had sent Paul Choy with the Rolls to escort her to the station tonight, to talk English with her, to ensure she arrived safely and returned quickly. And then, after their new bout, the Rolls would take them to the barbarian eating palace in the barbarian hotel with its foul barbarian food and foul smells but one of the places where all the tai-pans go, and all important, civilized persons go with their wives—and, when their wives were busy, with their whores—so he could show off his mistress and how rich he was to all Hong Kong, and she could show off the diamond.
“Ayeeyah,” he chortled out loud.
“Eh, Honored Lord?” the amah asked suspiciously. “What’s amiss?”
“Nothing, nothing. Please give me some brandy.”
“My mistress doesn’t like the brandy smell!”
“Huh, old woman, give me brandy. Am I a fool? Am I a barbarian from the Outer Provinces? Of course I have fragrant tea leaves to chew before our bout. Brandy!”
She went off grumbling but he paid her no attention—she was just trying to protect her mistress’s interests and that was perfectly correct.
His fingers touched the small box in his pocket. He had purchased the ring this morning, wholesale, from a first cousin who owed him a favor. The stone was worth 48,000 at least though the real cost was barely half that amount, the quality blue-white and excellent, the carats substantial.
Another bout like the last one will be well worth it, he thought ecstatically, though a little uneasily. Oh yes. Eeee, that last time I thought my spirit was truly gone forever into the Void, taken by the gods at the height of all life! Eeee, how lucky I would be to go thence, at that exact moment! Yes, but more wonderful to come back to storm the Jade Gate again and again and once more!
He laughed out loud, daring the gods, very content. Today had been excellent for him. He had met secretly with Smuggler Yuen and White Powder Lee and they had elected him chief of their new Brotherhood, which was only right, he thought. Hadn’t he supplied the link to the marketplace through the foreign devil Ban—whatever his name was—because he had lent money to Number One Son Chen who, in return for such favors, had proposed the gun into opium scheme to him but had had the stupidity to be kidnapped and now murdered? Oh yes. And wasn’t he meeting with the same foreign devil in Macao next week to arrange finances, payments, to set into motion the whole vast operation? Of course he should be High Tiger, of course he should have the most profit! With their combined expertise—and Profitable Choy’s modern techniques—he could revolutionize the smuggling of the opium into Hong Kong, and once here, revolutionize the conversion of the raw narcotic into the immensely profitable White Powders, and finally, the means of export to the markets of the world. Now that Paul Choy was already in the shipping and air freighting department of Second Big Company and two grandsons of Yuen, also American trained, in their customs broking operation—and another four English university-trained relations of White Powder Lee placed within Noble House’s Kai Tak go-down operations and All Asia Air’s loading and unloading division, imports and exports would be ever safer, easier and ever more profitable.
They had discussed whom they would co-opt in the police, particularly Marine.
“None of the barbarians, never one of those fornicators,” White Powder Lee had said hotly. “They won’t support us, never. Not in drugs. We must use only the Dragons.”
“Agreed. All the Dragons have all been approached and all will cooperate. All except Tang-po of Kowloon.”
“We must have Kowloon, he’s senior and Marine operates from there. Is he holding out for a better deal personally? Or is he against us?”
“I don’t know. At the moment.” Four Fingers had shrugged. “Tang-po is up t
Yes, Four Fingers thought, I outsmarted them to make me High Tiger and I outsmarted Profitable Choy on my money. I didn’t give the young fornicator control of my fortune to gamble with as he thought I would. Oh no! I’m not that much of a fool! I only let him have 2 million and promised him 17 percent of all profit—let’s see what he can do with that. Yes. Let’s see what he can do with that!
The old man’s heart picked up and he scratched himself. I’ll bet the cunning young man’ll triple it within the week, he told himself gleefully, not a little awed—the diamond paid for by his son’s wits from the first profit on the stock sale, and a year of Venus Poon already allocated from the same source and not a copper cash of his own capital to lay out! Eeeee! And the cunning schemes Profitable comes up with! Like the one to deal with the tai-pan tomorrow when we meet.
Anxiously his fingers reached up and touched the half-coin that was on the heavy thong around his neck under his shirt, a coin like that his illustrious ancestor, Wu Fang Choi, had called upon to claim a clipper ship to rival the finest in Dirk Struan’s fleet. But Wu Fang Choi, he thought grimly, had been the fool—he had never demanded safe passage for the ship as part of his favor and so had been outsmarted by the Green-Eyed Devil, the tai-pan.
Yes, by all the gods, it was Wu Fang Choi’s own fault he lost. But he didn’t lose everything. He hunted down that hunchback called Stride Orlov who ruled the ships of the Noble House for Culum the Weak. His men caught Orlov ashore in Singapore and brought him in chains to Taiwan where his headquarters were. There he tied him to a post, just at high-water mark, and drowned him very slowly.
I won’t be foolish like Wu Fang Choi. No. I will make sure my ask from this tai-pan is watertight.
Tomorrow, the tai-pan will agree to open his ships to my cargoes—secretly of course; will agree to open some of the Noble House accounts for me to hide in—secretly of course, though to his great profit; will agree, equally secretly, to finance with me the vast new pharmaceutical plant that, oh ko, Profitable Choy says will be the perfect, legitimate undetectable narcotic smoke screen for me and mine forever; and last, the taipan will intercede with the half-person, Lando Mata, and choose my name and my suggested syndicate to replace the existing Macao gold and gambling syndicate of Tightfist Tung and the Chin, and he, the tai-pan, he will promise to be part of it.
Four Finger Wu was filled with ecstasy. The tai-pan will have to agree to everything. Everything. And everything is within his fief.
“Here’s the brandy.”
Four Finger Wu took it from the amah and sipped it dreamily, with vast enjoyment. All gods bear witness: For seventy-six years, I, Four Finger Wu, Head of the Seaborne Wu, have lived life to the full and if you gods will take my spirit during the Clouds and the Rain, I will sing your praises in heaven—if there is a heaven—forever more. And if you don’t…
The old man shrugged to himself and beamed and curled his toes. He yawned and closed his eyes, warm and toasty and very happy. Gods are gods and gods sleep and make mistakes but as sure as the great storms will come this year and next, Little Strumpet will earn her diamond tonight. Now which way should it be, he asked himself, going to sleep.
The taxi stopped at the foyer below. Suslev got out drunkenly and paid the man, then, reeling slightly, stepped over the rainwater swirling in the gutters and went in.
There was a crowd of people chattering and waiting at the elevator and he recognized Casey and Jacques deVille among them. Unsteadily he belched his way down the stairs to the lower level, crossed the garage and banged on Clinker’s door.
“Hello, matey,” Clinker said.
“Tovarich!” Suslev gave him a bear hug.
“Vodka’s up! Beer’s up. Mabel, say hello to the captain!” The sleepy old bulldog just opened one eye, chomped her gums and farted loudly.
Clinker sighed and shut the door. “Poor old Mabel! Wish to Christ she wouldn’t do that, the place gets proper niffy! Here.” He handed Suslev a full glass of water with a wink. “It’s your favorite, old mate. 120 proof.”
Suslev winked back and slurped the water loudly. “Thanks, old shipmate. Another of these’n I’ll sail away from this capitalist paradise happily!”
“Another of those,” Clinker guffawed, keeping up the pretense, “an’ you’ll slip out’uv Hong Kong harbor on your knees!” He refilled the glass. “How long you staying tonight?”
“Just had to have some last drinks with you, eh? So long as I leave here by ten I’m fine. Drink up!” he roared with forced bonhomie. “Let’s have some music, eh?”
Happily Clinker turned on the tape recorder, loud. The sad Russian ballad filled the room.
Suslev put his lips close to Clinker’s ear. “Thanks, Ernie. I’ll be back in good time.”
“All right.” Clinker winked, still believing Suslev’s cover that he had an assignation with a married woman in Sinclair Towers. “Who is she, eh?” He had never asked before.
“No names, no pack drill,” Suslev whispered with a broad grin. “But her husband’s a nob, a capitalist swine and on the legislature!”
Clinker beamed. “Smashing! Give her one for me, eh?”
Suslev went down the trapdoor and found the flashlight. Water dripped from the cracked concrete roof of the tunnel, the cracks bigger than before. Small avalanches of rubble made the floor precarious and slippery. His nervousness increased, not liking the closeness, nor the necessity to go to meet Crosse, wanting to be far away, safe on his ship with a complete alibi when Dunross was drugged and snatched. But Crosse had been adamant.
“Goddamn it, Gregor, you have to be there! I’ve got to see you in person and I’m certainly not going aboard the Ivanov. It’s perfectly safe, I guarantee it!”
Guarantee? Suslev thought angrily again. How can one guarantee anything? He took out the snub-nosed automatic with the silencer, checked it and clicked off the safety catch. Then he continued again, picking his way carefully, and climbed the ladder to the false cupboard. Once on the stairs, he stopped and listened, holding his breath, all his concentration seeking danger. Finding none, he began to breathe easier, went up the stairs silently and into the apartment. Light from the high-rise just below and from the city came through the windows and illuminated everything well enough for him to see. He checked the apartment thoroughly. When he had finished he went to the refrigerator and opened a bottle of beer. Absently he stared out of the windows. From where he was he could not see his ship but he knew where she would be and that thought gave him another good feeling. I’ll be glad to leave, he thought. And sorry. I want to come back—Hong Kong’s too good—but can I?
What about Sinders? Dare I trust him?
Suslev’s heart hurt in his chest. Without a doubt, his future was in the balance. It would be easy for his own KGB people to prove he had fingered Metkin. Center could get that out of Roger Crosse by a simple phone call—if they hadn’t already come to the same conclusion themselves.
May Sinders rot in hell! I know he’ll shop me—I would if I was him. Will Roger know the secret deal Sinders put to me? No. Sinders would keep that secret, secret even from Roger. It doesn’t matter. Once I’ve passed anything over to the other side I’m in his power forever.
The minutes ticked by. There was the sound of an elevator. At once he went into a defensive position. His finger slid the safety catch off: a key turned in the lock. The door opened and closed quickly.
“Hello, Gregor,” Crosse said softly. “I wish you wouldn’t point that bloody thing at me.”
Suslev put the safety catch on. “What’s so important? What about that turd Sinders? What’d he—”
“Calm down and listen.” Crosse took out a roll of microfilm, his pale blue eyes unusually excited. “Here’s a gift. It’s expensive but all the real AMG files’re on that film.”
“Eh?” Suslev stared at him. “But how?” He listened as Crosse told him about the vault, ending, “and after Dun
“Is the film developed?”
“Oh yes. I made one print which I read and at once destroyed. That’s safer than giving it to you and risk your being stopped and searched—Sinders is on the warpath. What the devil happened between you and him?”
“First tell me about the files, Roger.”
“Sorry, but they’re the same as the other ones, word for word. No difference.”
“What?”
“Yes. Dunross was telling us the truth. The copies he gave us are exact patterns.”
Suslev was shocked. “But we were sure, you were sure!”
Cross shrugged and passed over the film. “Here’s your proof.”
Suslev swore obscenely.
Crosse watched him and kept his face grave, hiding his amusement. The real files are far too valuable to pass over—yet—he told himself again. Oh yes. Now’s not the time. In due course, Gregor old chap, parts will bring a very great price. And all that knowledge will have to be sifted and offered very carefully indeed. And as to the eleven pieces of code—whatever the devil they mean—they should be worth a fortune, in due course. “I’m afraid this time we’ve drawn a blank, Gregor.”
“But what about Dunross?” Suslev was ashen. He looked at his watch. “Perhaps he’s already in the crate?” He saw Crosse shrug, the lean face etched in the half-light.
“There’s no need to interrupt that plan,” Cross said. “I’ve considered that whole operation very carefully. I agree with Jason it’ll be good to shake up Hong Kong. Dunross’s kidnapping will create all sorts of waves. With the bank runs and the stock market crash—yes it would help us very much. I’m rather worried. Sinders is sniffing around too closely and asking me all sorts of wrong questions. Then there’s the Metkin affair, Voranski, the AMG papers, you—too many mistakes. Pressure needs to be taken off Sevrin. Dunross’ll do that admirably.”