“Are you going to tell him?”
“No, not unless there’s a reason. He’s over twenty-one.” Dunross hardened even more. “What do you propose?”
“Are you agreeing to the new concessions First Central wants?”
“So you know about that too?”
“You must have wanted everyone to know that you’re seeking support from them, tai-pan. Why else invite Murtagh to your box at the races, why else invite him here? It was easy to put two and two together, even if one hasn’t copies of his telexes y—”
“Have you?”
“Some of them.” Phillip Chen took out a handkerchief and wiped his hands. “Will you concede?”
“No. I told him I’d think about it—he’s waiting downstairs for my answer but it’s got to be no. I can’t guarantee to give them first option on all future loans. I can’t because the Victoria has so much power here and so much of our paper and they’d squeeze us to death. In any event I can’t replace them with an American bank that’s already proved to be politically unreliable. They’re fine as a backup and fantastic if they’ll get us out of this mess but I’m not sure about them long-term. They have to prove themselves.”
“They must be ready to compromise too. After all, giving us 2 million to cement the General Stores takeover’s a great vote of confidence, heya?”
Dunross let that pass. “What had you in mind?”
“May I suggest you counter by making a specific offer: all Canadian, U.S., Australian and South American loans for five years—that covers our expansion in those territories—plus the immediate loan for two giant oil tankers to be purchased through Toda, on the lease-back scheme, and, for an associate, firm orders for a further seven.”
“Christ Jesus, who’s got that type of operation?” Dunross exploded.
“Vee Cee Ng.”
“Photographer Ng? Impossible.”
“Within twenty years Vee Cee will have a fleet bigger than Onassis.”
“Impossible.”
“Very probably, tai-pan.”
“How do you know?”
“I’ve been asked to help finance and arrange a huge extension to his fleet. If we put the first seven tankers into our package with the promise of more, and I can, Í can, that should satisfy First Central.” Phillip Chen wiped the perspiration off his forehead. “Heya?”
“Christ, that’d satisfy the Chase Manhattan and the Bank of America jointly! Vee Cee?” Then Dunross’s boggled mind jerked into top efficiency. “Ah! Vee Cee plus thoriums plus Old Friends plus all sorts of delicate hardware plus oil plus Old Friends. Eh?”
Phillip smiled tentatively. “All crows under heaven are black.”
“Yes.” After a pause, he said, “First Central might go for it. But what about Bartlett?”
“With First Central you don’t need Par-Con. First Central will be happy to help us get an alternate backer or partner in the States. It’d take a little time, but with Jacques in Canada, David MacStruan here, Andrew in Scotland … Tai-pan, I don’t know what’s in your mind about Andrew and this man Kirk but the theories he’s been sporting strike me as farfetched, very farfetched.”
“You were saying about Bartlett?”
“I suggest we pray that First Central takes the bait, that Tiptop gives us the money, that I can cover First Central with a syndicate of Mata, Tightfist and Four Fingers. Then you, David MacStruan and I can easily find an alternate to Par-Con. I suggest we open an immediate office in New York. Put David in charge for three months with … perhaps Kevin as his assistant.” Phillip Chen let that set a moment in the air and rushed on. “Within three months we should know if young Kevin has any value—I think you’ll be very impressed, tai-pan, in fact I guarantee it. In three months we’ll know what young George Trussler feels about Rhodesia and South Africa. When he has that office set up we could send him to New York. Or we could perhaps tempt your other cousin, the Virginian, Mason Kern, out of Cooper-Tillman and put him in charge of our New York office. After six months Kevin should go to Salisbury and Johannesburg—I have a great feeling that the thorium and precious metal trade will go from strength to strength.”
“Meanwhile, we still have our immediate problems. Bartlett, Gornt and the run on our stock?”
“To ensure Bartlett’s silence we have to split him totally from Gornt and make him an ally, a complete ally.”
“How do you do that, Phillip?”
“Leave that with me. There are … there are possibilities.”
Dunross kept his eyes on Phillip Chen but the old man did not look up from the desk. What possibilities? Orlanda? Has to be. “All right,” he said. “Next?”
“About the market. With the Bank of China supporting us, the bank runs are over. With the General Stores takeover and massive financial backing, the run on our stock has to cease. Everyone will rush to buy and the boom will be on. Now,” Phillip Chen said, “I know you didn’t want to before, but say we can get Sir Luis to withdraw our stock from trading till Monday at noon we ca—”
“What?”
“Yes. Say no one can trade Struan’s officially until noon, say we set the price where it was on Wednesday last—28.80. Gornt is trapped. He has to buy at whatever price he can to cover. If no one offers enough stock below that figure all his profits go out of the window, he might even be mauled.”
Dunross felt weak. The idea of jerking the stock now had not occurred to him. “Christ, but Sir Luis’d never go for it.”
Phillip Chen was very pale, beads of sweat on his forehead. “If the stock exchange committee agreed that it was necessary ‘to stabilize the market’ … and if the great broking firms of Joseph Stern and Arjan Soorjani also agree not to offer any stock, any bulk stock below 28.80, what can Gornt do?” He wiped his forehead shakily. “That’s my plan.”
“Why should Sir Luis cooperate?”
“I think … I think he will, and Stern and Soorjani owe us many favors.” The old man’s fingers were twitching nervously. “Between Sir Luis, Stern, Soorjani, you and me, we control most of the major blocks of stock Gornt sold short.”
“Stern is Gornt’s broker.”
“True, but he’s Hong Kong yan and he needs goodwill more than one client.” Phillip Chen shifted more into the light. Dunross noticed the pallor and was greatly concerned. He got up and went to the liquor cabinet and fetched two brandy and sodas. “Here.”
“Thank you.” Phillip Chen drank his quickly. “Thank God for brandy.”
“You think we can line them all up by Monday’s opening? By the way, I’ve canceled my trip to Taipei.”
“Good, yes that’s wise. Will you be going to Jason Plumm’s cocktail party now?”
“Yes. Yes, I said I would.”
“Good, we can talk more then. About Sir Luis. There’s a good chance, tai-pan. Even if the stock isn’t withdrawn, the price has to skyrocket, it must—if we get the support we need.”
That’s obvious to anyone, Dunross thought sourly. If. He glanced at his watch. It was 8:35. Sinders was to call by 8:30. He had given him half an hour leeway before his call to Tiptop. His stomach seemed to fall apart but he dominated it. Christ, I can’t call him, he thought irritably. “What?” he asked, not having heard Phillip Chen.
“The deadline you gave me to have my resignation on your desk—Sunday midnight if Mata and Tightfist or—may I ask that it be extended a week?”
Dunross picked up Phillip Chen’s glass to replenish it, liking the Asian subtlety of the request, to extend it to a time when it would have no value, for, in a week’s time, the crisis would be long resolved. The way the request was put saved face on both sides. Yes, but he has to make a major effort. Can his health stand it? That’s my only real consideration. As he poured the brandy he thought about Phillip Chen, Kevin Chen, Claudia Chen and old Chen-chen and what he would do without them. I need cooperation and service and no more betrayal or treachery. “I’ll consider that, Phillip. Let’s discuss it just after Prayers on Monday.” Then he added care
fully, “Perhaps extensions would be justified.”
Gratefully Phillip Chen accepted the brandy and took a big swallow, his color better. He had heard the deft plural and was greatly relieved. All I have to do is deliver. That’s all. He got up to go. “Thank y—”
The phone jangled irritatingly and he almost jumped. So did Dunross.
“Hello? Oh hello, Mr. Sinders.” Dunross could hear the beating of his heart over the rain. “What’s new?”
“Very little I’m afraid. I’ve discussed your suggestion with the governor. If ‘it’ is in my possession by noon tomorrow, I have reason to believe your friend could be delivered to the Lo Wu border terminal by sunset Monday. I cannot guarantee, of course, that he will wish to cross the border into Red China.”
Dunross got his voice going. “There’s a lot of ‘reason to believe’ and ‘could be’ in that, Mr. Sinders.”
“That’s the best I can do, officially.”
“What guarantees do I have?”
“None, I’m afraid, from Mr. Crosse or myself. It would seem there has to be trust on both sides.”
Bastards, Dunross thought furiously, they know I’m trapped. “Thank you, I’ll consider what you’ve said. Noon tomorrow? I’m in the hill climb tomorrow if it’s on—ten to noon. I’ll come to police headquarters as soon as I can afterwards.”
“No need to worry, Mr. Dunross. If it’s on, I’ll be there too. Noon can be a deadline here or there. All right?”
“All right. Good night.” Grimly Dunross put the phone down. “It’s a maybe, Phillip. Maybe, by Monday sunset.”
Phillip Chen sat down, aghast. His pallor increased. “That’s too late.”
“We’ll find out.” He picked up the phone and dialed again. “Hello, good evening. Is the governor there, please? Ian Dunross.” He sipped his brandy. “Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Mr. Sinders just called. He said, in effect: perhaps. Perhaps by sunset Monday. May I ask, could you guarantee that?”
“No, Ian, no I can’t. I don’t have jurisdiction over this matter. Sorry. You have to make any arrangements direct. Sinders struck me as a reasonable man though. Didn’t you think so?”
“He seemed very unreasonable,” Dunross said with a hard smile. “Thanks. Never mind. Sorry to disturb you, sir. Oh, by the way if this can be resolved, Tiptop said your chop would be required, with the bank’s and mine. Would you be available tomorrow, if need be?”
“Of course. And Ian, good luck.”
Dunross replaced the phone. After a moment, he said, “Would they agree, the money tomorrow for the fellow Monday sunset?”
“I wouldn’t,” Phillip Chen said helplessly. “Tiptop was clear. ‘Whenever the correct procedures are entered into.’ The exchange would be simultaneous.”
Dunross sat back in the high chair, sipped his brandy and let his mind roam.
At 9:00 P.M. he dialed Tiptop, and chatted inconsequentially until the moment had come. “I hear the police underling will surely be fired for making such a mistake and that the wronged party could be at Lo Wu at noon Tuesday.”
There was a great silence. The voice was colder than ever. “I hardly think that’s immediate.”
“I agree. Perhaps I might be able to persuade them to bring it forward to Monday. Perhaps your friends could be a little patient. I would consider it a very great favor.” He used the word deliberately and let it hang.
“I will pass your message on. Thank you, tai-pan. Please call me at seven o’clock tomorrow evening. Good night.”
“Night.”
Phillip Chen broke the silence, very concerned. “That’s an expensive word, tai-pan.”
“I know. But I have no option,” he said, his voice hard. “Certainly there’ll be a return favor asked in payment someday.” Dunross brushed his hair away from his eyes and added, “Perhaps it’ll be with Joseph Yu, who knows? But I had to say it.”
“Yes. You’re very wise. Wise beyond your years, much wiser than Alastair and your father, not as wise as the Hag.” A small shiver went through him. “You were wise to barter the time, and wise not to mention the money, the bank money, very wise. He’s much too smart not to know we need that tomorrow—I’d imagine by evening at the latest.”
“Somehow we’ll get it. That’ll take the Victoria pressure off us. Paul’s got to call a board meeting soon,” Dunross added darkly. “With Richard on the board, well, Richard owes us many favors. The new board will vote to increase our revolving fund, then we won’t need Bartlett, First Central or Mata’s god-cursed syndicate.”
Phillip Chen hesitated, then he blurted out, “I hate to be the bearer of more bad tidings but I’ve heard that part of Richard Kwang’s arrangement with Havergill included his signed, undated resignation from the Victoria board and a promise to vote exactly as Havergill wishes.”
Dunross sighed. Everything fell into place. If Richard Kwang voted with the opposition it would neutralize his dominating position. “Now all we have to do is lose one more supporter and Paul and his opposition will squeeze us to death.” He looked up at Phillip Chen. “You’d better nobble Richard.”
“I … I’ll try, but he’s nobbled already. What about P. B. White? Do you think he’d help?”
“Not against Havergill, or the bank. With Tiptop he might,” Dunross said heavily. “He’s next—and last—on the list.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY
10:55 P.M.:
The six people piled out of the two taxis at the private entrance of the Victoria Bank building on the side street. Casey, Riko Gresserhoff, Gavallan, Peter Marlowe, Dunross and P. B. White, a spare, spritely Englishman of seventy-five. The rain had stopped, though the poorly lit street was heavily puddled.
“Sure you won’t join us for a nightcap, Peter?” P. B. White asked.
“No thanks, P. B., I’d better be getting home. Night and thanks for supper, tai-pan!”
He walked off into the night, heading for the ferry terminal that was just across the square. Neither he nor the others noticed the car pull up and stop down the street. In it was Malcolm Sun, senior agent, SI, and Povitz, the CIA man. Sun was driving.
“This the only way in and out?” Povitz asked.
“Yes.”
They watched P. B. White press the door button. “Lucky bastards. Those two broads are the best I’ve ever seen.”
“Casey’s okay but the other? There are prettier girls in any dance hall….” Sun stopped. A taxi went past.
“Another tail?”
“No, no I don’t think so, but if we’re watching the tai-pan you can bet others are.”
“Yes.”
They saw P. B. White press the button again. The door opened and the sleepy Sikh night guard greeted him, “Evening, sahs, memsahs,” then went to the elevator, pressed the button and closed the front door.
“The elevator’s rather slow. Antiquated, like me. Sorry,” P. B. White said.
“How long have you lived here, P. B.?” Casey asked, knowing there was nothing ancient about him, given the dance in his step or the twinkle in his eyes.
“About five years, my dear,” he replied taking her arm. “I’m very lucky.”
Sure, she thought, and you’ve got to be very important to the bank and powerful, must be to have one of the only three apartments in the whole vast building. He had told them one of the others belonged to the chief manager who was presently on sick leave. The last one was staffed but kept vacant. “It’s for visiting HRHs, the governor of the Bank of England, prime ministers, those sort of luminaries,” P. B. White had said grandly during the light spicy Szechuan food. “I’m rather like a janitor, an unpaid caretaker. They let me in to look after the place.”
“I’ll bet!”
“Oh it’s true! Fortunately there’s no connection between this part of the building and the bank proper, otherwise I’d have my hand in the till!”
Casey was feeling very happy, replete with good food and good wine and fine, witty conversation and much attention from the four men, particularl
y Dunross—and very content that she had held her own with Riko—everything in her life seemingly in place again, Linc so much more her Linc once more, even though he was out with the enemy. How to deal with her? she asked herself for the billionth time.
The elevator door opened. They went into it, crowding into the small area. P. B. White pressed the lowest of three buttons. “God lives on the top floor,” he chuckled. “When he’s in town.”
Dunross said, “When’s he due back?”
“In three weeks, Ian, but it’s just as well he’s out of touch with Hong Kong—he’d be back on the next plane. Casey, our chief manager’s a marvelous fellow. Unfortunately he’s been quite sick for almost a year and now he’s retiring in three months. I persuaded him to take some leave and go to Kashmir, to a little place I know on the banks of the Jehlum River, north of Srinagar. The floor of the valley’s about six thousand feet and, up there amongst the greatest mountains on earth, it’s paradise. They have houseboats on the rivers and lakes and you drift, no phones, no mail, just you and the Infinite, wonderful people, wonderful air, wonderful food, stupendous mountains.” His eyes twinkled. “You have to go there very sick, or with someone you love very much.”
They laughed. “Is that what you did, P.B.?” Gavallan asked.
“Of course, my dear fellow. It was in 1915, that was the first time I was there. I was twenty-seven, on leave from the Third Bengal Lancers.” He sighed, parodying a lovesick youth. “She was Georgian, a princess.”
They chuckled with him. “What were you really in Kashmir for?” Dunross asked.
“I’d been seconded for two years from the Indian General Staff. That whole area, the Hindu Kush, Afghanistan and what’s now called Pakistan, on the borders of Russia and China’s always been dicey, always will be. Then I was sent up to Moscow—that was late in ’17.” His face tightened a little. “I was there during the putsch when the real government of Kerenski was tossed out by Lenin, Trotsky and their Bolsheviks….” The elevator stopped. They got out. The front door of his apartment was open, his Number One Boy Shu waiting.
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