Noble House

by James Clavell

  She stared at him. “No. No, of course not!”

  “Then why’re you here?”

  “I don’t know. He … he just said I was invited as an equal.”

  “Oh. Oh I see.” Peter Marlowe was equally relieved. “He’s got a strange sense of humor. Well, I did warn you. To answer your question, at least eight are part of the Marlowe harem!” She laughed with him and he added more seriously, “You don’t have to worry about Fleur. She’s very wise.”

  “I wish I was, Peter. This’s all rather new to me. Sorry about … yes, sorry.”

  “It’s new to me too. I’ve never been on a Sunday cruise before. Why did y—” His smile vanished. She followed his glance. Robin Grey had come up from below and was pouring himself a glass of champagne, one of the girls holding out her glass too. Casey turned and stared up at Gornt, watching him glance from man to man, then at her.

  “Come aloft,” Gornt called out. “There’s wine, champagne, Bloody Marys or, if you prefer, coffee.” He kept his face expressionless but inside he was vastly amused.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

  11:15 A.M.:

  “I repeat, Mr. Sinders, I know nothing of any cable, any Arthur, any files, any American and I know no Major Yuri Bakyan—the man was Igor Voranski, seaman first class.” Suslev kept a firm hold on his temper. Sinders sat opposite him, behind the desk in the drab interview room at police headquarters. Suslev had expected Roger Crosse to be there, to help. But he had not seen him since he arrived.

  Be careful, he cautioned himself, you’re on your own. You’ll get no help from Roger. Rightly. That spy has to be protected. And as to Boradinov, he’s no help either. He glanced at his first officer who sat beside him, stiff, upright in his chair and greatly ill-at-ease.

  “And you still insist this spy Dimitri Metkin’s name was not Leonov—Nicoli Leonov—also a major in the KGB?”

  “It’s nonsense, all nonsense. I shall report this whole incident to my government, I sh—”

  “Are your repairs completed?”

  “Yes, at least they will be by midnight. We bring good money into Hong Kong and pay our bi—”

  “Yes and create nothing but curious troubles. Like Major Leonov, like Bakyan?”

  “You mean Metkin?” Suslev glared at Boradinov to take off some of the heat. “Did you know any Leonov?”

  “No, Comrade, Captain,” Boradinov stuttered. “We didn’t know anything.”

  “What a lot of cobblers!” Sinders sighed. “Fortunately Leonov told us quite a lot about you and the Ivanov before you murdered him. Yes, your Major Leonov was very cooperative.” Suddenly his voice became a whiplash. “First Officer Boradinov, please wait outside!”

  The younger man was on his feet before he knew it, white-faced. He opened the door. Outside a hostile Chinese SI agent motioned him to a chair, closing the door once more.

  Sinders put his pipe aside, took out a package of cigarettes and leisurely lit one. Rain battered the windows. Suslev waited, his heart grinding. He watched his enemy from under his bushy eyebrows, wondering what Roger Crosse had for him that was so urgent. This morning when the secret phone had rung it was Arthur asking if Suslev would meet Roger Crosse around eight o’clock tonight at Sinclair Towers. “What’s so urgent? I should be on my ship and mak—”

  “I don’t know. Roger said it was urgent. There was no time to discuss anything. Did you see Koronski?”

  “Yes. Everything’s arranged. Can you deliver?”

  “Oh yes. Long before midnight.”

  “Don’t fail, Center’s counting on you now,” he had added, lying. “Tell our friend it’s ordered.”

  “Excellent. We won’t fail.”

  Suslev had heard the excitement. Some of his dread had left him. Now it was returning. He did not like being here, so near to staying permanently. Sinders’s reputation was well known in the KGB: dedicated, smart and given to great leaps of insight. “I’m very tired of these questions, Mr. Sinders,” he said, astonished that the head of MI-6 had personally come to Hong Kong and could appear to be so unimportant. He stood up, testing him. “I’m leaving.”

  “Tell me about Sevrin.”

  “Severin? What is Severin? I do not have to stay to answer your questions, I do n—”

  “I agree, Comrade Captain, normally, but one of your men has been caught spying and our American friends really want possession of you.”

  “Eh?”

  “Oh yes and I’m afraid they’re not as patient as we are.”

  Suslev’s dread swooped back. “More threats! Why threaten me?” he flustered. “We are law-abiding. I’m not responsible for troubles! I demand to be allowed to go back to my ship! Now!”

  Sinders just looked at him. “All right. Please leave,” he said quietly.

  “I can go?”

  “Yes, yes of course. Good morning.”

  Astonished, Suslev stared at him a moment, then turned and went for the door.

  “Of course we will certainly leak it to your superiors that you gave us Leonov.”

  Suslev stopped, ashen. “What, what did you say?”

  “Leonov told us, among other things, that you encouraged him to make the intercept. Then you leaked the exchange.”

  “Lies … lies,” he said, suddenly aghast that perhaps Roger Crosse had been caught as Metkin was caught.

  “Didn’t you also leak to North Korean agents about Bakyan?”

  “No, no I did not,” Suslev stuttered, enormously relieved to discover Sinders was kiting him, probably without any real information. Some of his confidence returned. “That’s more nonsense. I know no North Koreans.”

  “I believe you, but I’m sure the First Directorate won’t. Good morning.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tell me about the cable.”

  “I know nothing about it. Your superintendent was mistaken, I did not drop it.”

  “Oh but you did. What American?”

  “I know nothing about an American.”

  “Tell me about Sevrin.”

  “I know nothing of this Severin. What is it, who is it?”

  “I’m sure you know your superiors in the KGB are impatient with leaks and very untrusting. If you manage to sail, I suggest you, your first officer, your ship and your entire crew do not come back into these waters again—”

  “You threaten me again? This will become an international incident. I will inform my government and yours an—”

  “Yes, and so will we, officially and privately. Very privately.” Sinders’s eyes were freezing though his lips wore a smile.

  “I … I can go now?”

  “Yes. For information.”

  “What?”

  “Who is the American, and who is ‘Arthur’?”

  “I don’t know any Arthur. Arthur who?”

  “I will wait till midnight. If you sail without telling me, when I return to London I will make sure information gets to the ears of your naval attaché in London that you leaked Leonov whom you call Metkin, and you leaked Bakyan whom you call Voranski in return for SI favors.”

  “That’s lies, all lies, you know it’s lies.”

  “Five hundred people saw you at the racetrack with Superintendent Crosse. That’s when you gave him Metkin.”

  “All lies.” Suslev tried to hide his terror.

  Sinders chuckled. “We’ll see, won’t we? Your new naval attaché in London will clutch at any straws to ingratiate himself with his superiors. Eh?”

  “I don’t understand,” Suslev said, understanding very well. He was trapped.

  Sinders leaned forward to tap out his pipe. “Listen to me clearly,” he said with absolute finality. “I’ll swap you your life for the American and Arthur.”

  “I don’t know any Arthur.”

  “This will be a secret between you and me only. I’ll tell no one. I give you my word.”

  “I know no Arthur.”

  “You pinpoint him and you’re safe. You and I are professionals, we u
nderstand barter—and safety—and an occasional private, very secret deal. You’re caught, this time, so you have to deliver. If you sail without telling me who Arthur is, as sure as God made little apples and the KGB exists, I will shop you.” The eyes bored into him. “Good morning, Comrade Captain.”

  Suslev got up and left. When he and Boradinov were in the air once more, in the reality of Hong Kong, both began to breathe. Silently Suslev led the way across the street to the nearest bar. He ordered two double vodkas.

  Suslev’s mind was ripped. Kristos, he wanted to shout, I’m dead if I do and dead if I don’t. That goddamned cable! If I finger Banastasio and Arthur, I admit I know Sevrin and I’m in their power forever. And if I don’t, my life will surely be finished. One way or another it will be dangerous to return home now, and equally dangerous to come back. One way or another now I need those AMG files or Dunross, or both, for protection. One way or an—

  “Comrade Cap—”

  He whirled on Boradinov and cursed him in Russian. The younger man whitened and stopped, petrified.

  “Vodka! Two more,” he called. “Please.”

  The bar girl brought them. “My name Sally, what your, heya?”

  “Piss off,” Boradinov snarled.

  “Dew neh loh moh on your piss off, heya? You Mr. Pissoff? I no like your face Mr. Pissoff so piss off without swearings.” She picked up the vodka bottle and prepared to carry the battle forward.

  “Apologize to her,” Suslev snapped, wanting no trouble, not sure that she wasn’t a plant, the bar being so close to police headquarters.

  Boradinov was shocked. “What?”

  “Apologize to her, you motherless turd!”

  “Sorry,” Boradinov muttered, his face flushed.

  The girl laughed. “Hey, big man, you want jig-jig?”

  “No,” Suslev said. “Just more vodka.”

  Crosse got out of the police car and hurried through the light rain into the Struan Building. Behind him the streets were crowded with umbrellas and snarled traffic, the sidewalks massed, people going to and from work, Sunday not a general holiday. On the twentieth floor he got out.

  “Good morning, Superintendent Crosse. I’m Sandra Yi, Mr. Dunross’s secretary. This way please.”

  Crosse followed her down the corridor, his eyes noticing her chong-samed rump. She opened a door for him. He went in.

  “Hello, Edward,” he said to Sinders.

  “You’re early too, as usual.” Sinders was sipping a beer. “Old army habit, eh, five minutes early’s on time?” Behind him in the lavish boardroom was a well-stocked bar. And coffee.

  “Would you care for something, sir? Bloody Marys are mixed,” Sandra Yi said.

  “Thank you, just coffee. Black.”

  She served him and went out.

  “How did it go?” Crosse asked.

  “Our visitor? Fine, just fine. I’d say his sphincter’s out of whack.” Sinders smiled. “I taped the session. You can listen to it after lunch. Ah, yes, lunch. Roger, can you get fish and chips in Hong Kong?”

  “Certainly. Fish and chips it is.” Crosse stifled a yawn. He had been up most of the night developing and printing the roll of film he had taken in the vault. This morning he had read and reread AMG’s real pages with enormous interest, privately agreeing with Dunross that the tai-pan had been perfectly correct to be so circumspect. AMG gave value for money whatever he cost, he thought. There’s no doubt these files’re worth a fortune.

  The gimbaled clock struck the hour nicely. Noon. The door opened and Dunross strode in. “’Morning. Thanks for coming here.”

  Politely the other two got up and shook hands.

  “More coffee?”

  “No thank you, Mr. Dunross.”

  As Crosse watched closely Dunross took a sealed envelope out of his pocket and offered it to Sinders. The older man took it, weighing it in his hand. Crosse noticed his fingers were trembling slightly. “Of course you’ve read the contents, Mr. Dunross?”

  “Yes, Mr. Sinders.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing. See for yourself.”

  Sinders opened the envelope. He stared at the first page, then leafed through all eleven sheets. From where Crosse stood he could not see what was on the pieces of paper. Silently Sinders handed him the top one. The letters and numbers and symbols of the code were meaningless. “Looks like they’ve been cut from something.” Crosse looked at Dunross. “Eh?”

  “What about Brian?”

  “Where did you get them, Ian?” Crosse saw Dunross’s eyes change a little.

  “I’ve kept my side of the trade, are you going to keep yours?”

  Sinders sat down. “I did not agree to a trade, Mr. Dunross. I only agreed that it was possible that your request might be complied with.”

  “Then you won’t release Brian Kwok?”

  “It’s possible that he will be where you want him, when you want him.”

  “It has to be left like that?”

  “Sorry.”

  There was a long silence. The tick of the clock filled the room. Except for the rain. Another squall came and went. Rain had been falling sporadically since this morning. Weather reports forecast that the storm would be over soon and that the reservoirs, for all the rain, were hardly touched.

  Dunross said, “Will you give me the odds? Accurately. Please?”

  “First three questions: Did you cut these out of something yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “From what and how?”

  “AMG had written instructions. I was to use a cigarette lighter under the bottom right quadrant of some pages he’d sent—it was an innocuous typed report. When I heated the pages the type disappeared and what you see was left. When I’d finished, again following his instructions, I cut out the pertinent pieces and destroyed the remainder. And his letter.”

  “Have you kept a copy?”

  “Of the eleven pieces? Yes.”

  “I must ask you for them.”

  “You may have them when you complete the bargain,” Dunross said, his voice pleasant. “Now, what are the odds?”

  “Please give me the copies.”

  “I will, when you complete. Monday at sunset.”

  Sinders’s eyes were even colder. “The copies, now, if you please.”

  “When you complete. That’s a decision. Now, odds please.”

  “50–50,” Sinders said, testing him.

  “Good. Thank you. I’ve arranged that on Tuesday morning all eleven pages will be published in the China Guardian and two Chinese papers, one Nationalist and one Communist.”

  “Then you do so at your peril. Her Majesty’s Government does not enjoy coercion.”

  “Have I threatened you? No, not at all. Those letters and figures are a meaningless mumble-jumble, except perhaps—perhaps to some code cipher expert. Perhaps. Perhaps this’s all a joke from a dead man.”

  “I can stop it under the Official Secrets Act.”

  “You can certainly try.” Dunross nodded. “But come hell or the Official Secrets Act, if I choose, those pages will be published somewhere on earth this week. That’s a decision too. The matter was left to my discretion by AMG. Was there anything else, Mr. Sinders?”

  Sinders hesitated. “No. No, thank you, Mr. Dunross.”

  Equally politely Dunross turned and opened the door. “Sorry, I’ve got to get back to work. Thank you for coming.”

  Crosse let Sinders go first and followed him to the elevator. Sandra Yi, at the reception desk, had already pressed the button for them.

  “Oh excuse me, sir,” she said to Crosse, “do you know when Superintendent Kwok will be back in the Colony?”

  Crosse stared at her. “I’m not sure. I could inquire if you like. Why?”

  “We were going to have dinner Friday evening and neither his housekeeper nor his office seems to know.”

  “I’d be glad to inquire.”

  The phone buzzer on the switchboard went. “Oh, thank you, sir. Hello, S
truan’s,” she said into the phone. “Just a moment.” She began to make the connection. Crosse offered a cigarette to Sinders as they waited, watching the elevator numbers approaching. “Your call to Mr. Alastair, tai-pan,” Sandra Yi said into the phone. Again the phone buzzer on the switchboard went.

  “Hello,” Sandra Yi said. “Just a moment, madam, I’ll check.” She referred to a typed appointment list as the elevator doors opened. Sinders went in and Crosse began to follow.

  “It’s for 1:00 P.M., Mrs. Gresserhoff.”

  At once Crosse stopped and bent down as though to tie his shoelace and Sinders, as efficiently and as casually, held the door.

  “Oh that’s all right, madam, it’s easy to mistake a time. The table’s booked in the tai-pan’s name. The Skyline at the Mandarin at 1:00 P.M.”

  Crosse got up.

  “All right?” Sinders asked.

  “Oh yes.” The doors closed on them. Both smiled.

  “Everything comes to him who waits,” Crosse said.

  “Yes. We’ll have fish and chips for dinner instead.”

  “No. You can have them for lunch. We shouldn’t eat at the Mandarin. I suggest we just peg her secretly ourselves. Meanwhile, I’ll assign surveillance to find out where she’s staying, eh?”

  “Excellent.” Sinders’s face hardened. “Gresserhoff, eh? Hans Gresserhoff was the cover name of an East German spy we’ve been trying to catch for years.”

  “Oh?” Crosse kept his interest off his face.

  “Yes. He was partners with another right rotten bastard, a trained assassin. One of his names was Viktor Grunwald, another Simeon Tzerak. Gresserhoff, eh?” Sinders was silent a moment. “Roger, that publishing business, Dunross’s threat. That could be very dicey.”

  “Can you read the code?”

  “Good God, no.”

  “What could it be?”

  “Anything. The pages are for me or the P.M. so they’re probably names and addresses of contacts.” Sinders added gravely, “I daren’t trust them to cables, however coded. I think I’d better return to London at once.”

  “Today?”

  “Tomorrow. I should finish this business first and I’d very much like to identify this Mrs. Gresserhoff. Will Dunross do what he said?”