Noble House by James Clavell
“Christ, tai-pan, but did you …”
“Tiptop? That means it’s real! Don’t you think …”
“First Central of New York? Aren’t they the berks who …”
“Christ, I’ve been selling short…”
“Me too! Shit, I’d better buy first thing or …”
“Or I’ll be wiped out and …”
Dunross saw that Sir Luis, Joseph Stern and Phillip Chen had their heads together, Gornt still staring at him, his face frozen. Then he saw Casey smiling at him so happily and he raised his glass and toasted her. She toasted him back. Gornt saw this and he went over to her and those nearby shivered and fell silent. “First Central’s Par-Con’s bank. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes it is, Quillan,” she said, her voice sounding small but it went through the room and once more all attention surrounded them.
“You and Bartlett, you did this?” Gornt asked, towering over her.
Dunross said quickly, “I arrange our loans.”
Gornt paid no attention to him, just watched her. “You and Bartlett. You helped him?”
She looked back at him, her heart thumping. “I’ve no control over that bank, Quillan.”
“Ah but your fingers’re in that pie somewhere,” Gornt said coldly. “Aren’t they?”
“Murtagh asked me if I thought Struan’s a good risk,” she said, her voice controlled. “I told him, yes, that Struan’s was an admirable risk.”
“Struan’s is on the rocks,” Gornt said.
Dunross came up to them. “The whole point is, we’re not. By the way, Quillan, Sir Luis has agreed to withdraw Struan’s from trading until noon.”
All eyes went to Sir Luis who stood stoically, Phillip Chen beside him, then went back to Dunross and Gornt again.
“Why?”
“To give the market time to adjust to the boom.”
“What boom?”
“The boom we all deserve, the boom Old Blind Tung forecast.” A wave of electricity went through everyone, even Casey. “Also to adjust our stock value,” Dunross’s voice rasped. “We open at 30.”
“Impossible,” someone gasped, and Gornt snarled, “You can’t! You closed at 9.50 by God! Your stock closed at 9.50!”
“So we offer stock at 30 by God!” Dunross snarled back.
Gornt whirled on Sir Luis. “You’re going along with this highway robbery?”
“There isn’t any, Quillan,” Sir Luis said calmly. “I’ve agreed, with the committee’s unanimous approval, that it’s the best for all, for the safety of all investors, that there should be a quiescent period—so that everyone could prepare for the boom. Till noon seemed fair.”
“Fair eh?” Gornt grated. “You’ve got lots of stock I’ve sold short. Now I buy it all back. What price?”
Sir Luis shrugged. “I’ll deal at noon tomorrow, on the floor, not away from the market.”
“I’ll deal with you right now, Quillan,” Dunross said harshly. “How many shares’ve you sold short? 700,000? 8? I’ll let you buy back in at 18 if you will sell the controlling interest in All Asia Air at 15.”
“All Asia Air’s not for sale,” Gornt said, enraged, his mind shouting that at 30 he would be wiped out.
“The offer’s good till opening tomorrow.”
“The pox on you, tomorrow, and your 30!” Gornt whirled on Joseph Stern. “Buy Struan’s! Now, in the morning or at noon! You’re responsible!”
“At, at what price, Mr. Gornt?”
“Just buy!” Gornt’s face closed and he turned on Casey. “Thanks,” he said to her and stomped off, slamming the door behind him. Then conversation exploded, and Dunross was surrounded, people pounding him on the back, swamping him with questions. She stayed alone at the doorway of the veranda, shocked by the violence that had been. Absently, in turmoil, she saw Plumm hurry off, Roger Crosse following, but she paid them little attention, just watched Dunross, Riko now beside him.
In the small back bedroom Plumm reached into the drawer of a bureau that was near the big iron-bound sea trunk. The door swung open and he spun around and when he saw it was Roger Crosse his face twisted. “What the shit’re you doing? You deliberately f—”
With catlike speed Crosse was across the room and he belted the man open-handed before Plumm knew what was happening. Plumm gasped and blindly readied to leap at Crosse but again Crosse belted him and Plumm stumbled backward against the bed and fell onto it. “What the f—”
“Shut up and listen!” Crosse hissed. “Suslev’s going to shop you!”
Plumm gaped at him, the weal from the blows scarlet. At once his anger vanished. “What?”
“Suslev’s going to shop you to Sinders, and that means all of us.” Crosse’s eyes narrowed. “You all right now? For chrissake keep your voice down.”
“What? Yes … yes. I … yes.”
“Sorry, Jason, it was the only thing to do.”
“That’s, that’s all right. What the hell’s going on, Roger?” Plumm scrambled off the bed, rubbing his face, a thin trickle of blood at the corner of his mouth, now totally controlled. Outside was the rise and fall of indistinct conversation.
“We’ve got to make a plan,” Crosse said grimly and recapped his conversation with Suslev. “I think I’ve got him convinced, but that bugger’s slippery and there’s no telling what he’ll do. Sinders’ll shop him, I’m sure of that, if Suslev doesn’t finger Arthur—and if Sinders shops him, Suslev won’t come back to Hong Kong. They’ll keep him and break him. Then wh—”
“But what about Dunross?” Plumm asked helplessly. “Surely Dunross could’ve got him out of the mess. Now Gregor’s bound to talk. Why stop me?”
“I had to. There was no time to tell you. Listen, after I left Suslev I checked with HQ. They told me Tiptop’d helped those bastards squeeze out of the trap with China’s money. Earlier I’d heard that Ian’d arranged his loan,” Crosse added, lying. “So the runs’re over, the stock market’s got to boom, Dunross or not. But worse than that, Jason, I got a whisper from an informant in Special Branch that Sinders has tripled security on Kai Tak, the same on the Ivanov wharf, and that, right now, they’re opening every crate, every bag, searching every piece of equipment, checking every coolie that goes aboard. If they’d intercepted Dunross, and they would—SI’s too smart—we’d be trapped.”
Plumm’s nervousness increased. A tremor went through him. “What, what about … Say we give Sinders Gregor?” he burst out. “What if we gi—”
“Keep your voice down! You’re not thinking clearly, for God’s sake! Gregor knows all of us. Sinders’d shove him on a sleep-wake-sleep regimen and into the Red Room and he’d tell everything! That’d wreck us, wreck Sevrin and put the Soviets back ten years in Asia.”
Plumm shivered and wiped his face. “Then what’re we going to do?”
“Let Gregor go aboard and out of Hong Kong, and hope to God he convinces his bosses. Even if he leaks your name to Sinders I think we’re buried so deep we can squeeze out of that. You’re British, not a foreign national. Thank God we’ve laws to protect us—even under the Official Secrets Act. Don’t worry, nothing’ll happen without me knowing and if anything happens I’ll know at once. There’ll always be time enough for Plan Three.” Plan Three was an elaborate escape that Plumm had erected against such an eventuality—with false passports, valid air tickets, ready luggage, clothes, disguises and covers, even including passkeys to airplane waiting areas without going through Immigration—that had a ninety-five percent chance of success given an hour’s notice.
“Christ!” Plumm looked down at the waiting trunk. “Christ,” he said again, then went to the mirror to look at his face. The redness was going. He doused some water on it.
Crosse watched him, wondering if Plumm was convinced. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. He hated improvisation, but in this case he had little option. What a life we lead! Every one expendable except yourself: Suslev, Plumm, Sinders, Kwok, Armstrong, even the governor.
&n
“I was just thinking we’re in a rough business.”
“The Cause makes it worthwhile. That’s the only part that counts.”
Crosse hid his contempt. I really think you’ve outlived your usefulness, Jason old fellow, he thought, then went over to the phone. There were no extensions on this line and he knew it was not bugged. He dialed.
“Yes?” He recognized Suslev and coughed Arthur’s dry cough. “Mr. Lop-sing please,” continuing the code in a perfect imitation of Plumm’s voice, then said urgently, “There’s been a foul-up. The target did not appear. Be careful at the dock. Surveillance is tripled. We cannot deliver the trunk. Good luck.” He hung up. The silence gathered.
“That’s his death knell, isn’t it?” Plumm said sadly.
Crosse hesitated. He smiled thinly. “Better his death than yours. Eh?”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-ONE
8:25 P.M.:
In the noise-filled living room at the other end of the hall, Casey finished her drink and set it down. She was feeling unsettled and very strange. Part of her was joyous at Dunross’s reprieve and the other part sad that Gornt was now entrapped. It was quite clear to her with the wheeling and dealing now going on around her that Struan’s opening price would be very high. Poor Quillan, she thought. If he doesn’t cover his position he’ll be in shitsville—and let’s face it, I put him there. Didn’t I?
Sure, but I had to bail out Dunross because, without him, Gornt would have squeezed us dry—and maybe everyone else. And don’t forget, I didn’t start the raid on Struan’s. That was Linc’s raid, not mine. Hasn’t Linc always said business and pleasure should never mix? Haven’t we both always gone along with that?
Linc. Always back to Linc.
Casey had not seen him all day, nor even heard from him. They were supposed to have met for breakfast but there was a “do not disturb” on his door and a “do not disturb” on his phone so she left him and pushed away the thought of Orlanda—was Orlanda there too? And tonight, when she had returned from the day’s sailing, there was a message: “Hi, have fun.” So she had showered and changed and bottled her impatience and had come here tonight. It had been no fun in the beginning, everyone gloom and doom-filled, then after the news and Gornt slamming out, no fun again. Shortly afterward Dunross had forced his way over and thanked her again but almost at once he had been surrounded by excited men discussing deals and chances. She watched them, feeling very lonely. Perhaps Linc’s back at the hotel now, she thought. I wish … never mind, but it is time to go home. No one noticed her slip out.
Roger Crosse was standing at the elevator. He held the door for her then pressed the down button.
“Thanks. Nice party, wasn’t it?” she said.
“Yes, yes it was,” he replied absently.
On the ground floor Crosse let her get out first then strode off out the front door and down the hill. What’s his hurry? she asked herself, heading for the group that waited for taxis, glad that it was not raining again. She jerked to a stop. Orlanda Ramos, with packages in her arms, was coming into the foyer. Each woman saw the other at the same instant. Orlanda was the first to recover. “Evening, Casey,” she said with her best smile. “How pretty you look.”
“So do you,” Casey replied. Her enemy did. The pale blue skirt and blouse were perfectly matched.
Orlanda poured a stream of impatient Cantonese over the crumpled concierge who was lounging nearby. At once he took her packages, mumbling.
“Sorry, Casey,” she said nicely, a thread of nervousness to her voice, “but there’s been a small landslide just down the hill and I had to leave my car there. You’re, you’re visiting here?”
“No, just leaving. You live here?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
Another silence between them, both readying. Then Casey nodded a polite good night and began to leave.
“Perhaps we should talk,” Orlanda said and Casey stopped.
“Certainly, Orlanda, whenever you wish.”
“Do you have time now?”
“I think so.”
“Would you like to walk with me back to my car? I’ve got to get the rest of my packages. You won’t be able to get a taxi here anyway. Below will be easy.”
“Sure.”
The two women went out. The night was cool but Casey was burning and so was Orlanda, each knowing what was coming, each fearful of the other. Their feet picked a way carefully. The street was wet from the water that rushed downward. There was a promise of more rain soon from the heavy nimbus overcast. Ahead, fifty yards away, Casey could see where the embankment had partially given way, sending a mess of earth and rocks and shrubs and rubble across the road. There was no sidewalk. On the other side of the slip, a line of cars were stopped, impatiently maneuvering to turn around. A few pedestrians scrambled over the embankment.
“Have you lived in Rose Court long?” Casey asked.
“A few years. It’s very pleasant. I th—Oh! Were you at Jason Plumm’s party, the Asian Properties party?”
“Yes.” Casey saw the relief on Orlanda’s face and it angered her but she contained the anger and stopped and said quietly, “Orlanda, there’s nothing really for us to talk about, is there? Let’s say good night.”
Orlanda looked up at her. “Linc’s with me. He’s with me in my apartment. At the moment.”
“I presumed that.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“It bothers me very much. But that’s up to Linc. We’re not married, as you know, not even engaged, as you know—you have your way, I have mine, so th—”
“What do you mean by that?” Orlanda asked.
“I mean that I’ve known Linc for seven years, you haven’t known him for seven days.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Orlanda said defiantly. “I love him and he loves me.”
“That’s y—” Casey was almost shoved aside by some Chinese who barreled past, chattering noisily. Others were approaching up the incline. Then some of the party guests walked around them, heading down the slope. One of the women was Lady Joanna, and she eyed them curiously but went on.
When they were alone again, Casey said, “That’s yet to be proved. Good night, Orlanda,” she said, wanting to scream at her, You make your money on your back, I work for mine, and all the love you protest is spelled money. Men are such jerks.
“Curiously I don’t blame Linc,” she muttered out loud seeing the firm jaw, the flashing determined eyes, the perfect, voluptuous yet trim body. “Good night.”
She walked on. Now my plan has to change, she was thinking, all her being concentrated. Tonight I was going to love Linc properly, but now everything has to change. If he’s in her bed he’s under her spell. Jesus, I’m glad I found that out. God, if I’d offered he would have had to say no and then.… Now I can.… what should I do?
Shit on the Orlandas of the world! It’s so easy for them. They have a game plan from day one. But the rest of us?
What do I do? Stick to November 25 and gamble Orlanda will bore the hell out of him by that time?
Not that lady. That one’s dynamite and she knows Linc’s her passport to eternity.
Her heart picked up a beat. I’m a match for her, she told herself confidently. Maybe not in bed or in the kitchen, but I can learn.
She stepped up and over a boulder, cursing the mud that fouled her shoes, and jumped down the other side of the earth barrier. Dunross’s Rolls and his chauffeur were at the head of the line.
“Excuse, Missee, is the tai-pan still there?”
“Yes, yes he is.”
“Ah, thank you.” The driver locked the car and hurried over the roadblock back up the hill. Casey turned and watched him. Her eyes centered on Orlanda who was approaching and she looked at her, wanting to shove her into the mud. The thought amused her and she stood there, letting her enemy approach, letting her wonder what she would do. She saw the eyes harden and there was no fear on Orl
When Orlanda had first seen Casey, she had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Casey had been to her apartment and confronted Bartlett—that’s what I would have done, she told herself. And, even though she knew now where Casey had been, fear again swept through her at the sight of her rival. Has she power over him through Par-Con? she asked herself, trembling. Can she control Linc through stocks or shares? If Linc’s first wife nearly destroyed him financially and Casey saved him as many times as he said, she’s bound to have him tied up. I would if I were she, of course I would.
Involuntarily Orlanda glanced back. Casey was still watching Rose Court. Beyond her, Dunross and others—Riko, Toxe, Phillip and Dianne Chen among them—came out of the foyer and started down the hill. She dismissed them and everything except the question of how to deal with Linc when she returned. Should she tell him about meeting Casey or not? Numbly she took the remainder of her packages from her car. I know one thing, she told herself over and over again. Linc’s mine, and Casey or no Casey I’ll marry him, whatever the cost.
Casey had seen Dunross come out of the foyer and she watched him, enjoying the sight of him, tall, debonair, ten years younger than when she first saw him, and it pleased her very much that she had helped him. Then, just as she turned away, she heard him call out, “Casey! Casey! Hang on a moment!” She glanced back. “How about joining us for dinner?” he called out to her.
She shook her head, not in the mood, and called out, “Thanks but I’ve a date! See you tomorr—”
At that moment the earth fell away.
CHAPTER EIGHTY-TWO
8:56 P.M.:
The landslide had begun further up the mountain on the other side of Po Shan Road, and it swept across the road, smashing into a two-story garage, its mass and velocity so vast that the garage building rotated and toppled off the garden terrace, slid down for a short distance, then fell over. The slide gathered momentum and rushed past a darkened high-rise, crossed Conduit Road and smashed into Richard Kwang’s two-story house, obliterating it. Then, together with these buildings, the slip, now nine hundred feet long and two hundred feet wide—fifty thousand tons of earth and rock—continued on its downward path across Kotewall Road and struck Rose Court.