Noble House

Dunross took the phone. "Bill… no, you were top of the list. Have you closed on the Woolara Properties deal yet? . . . What's the holdup? … I don't care about that." He glanced at his watch. "It's just past noon your time. Call them right now and offer them fifty cents Australian more a share, the offer good till the close of business today. Get on to the bank in Sydney at once and tell them to demand full repayment of all their loans at the close of business today…. I couldn't care less; they're thirty days overdue already. I want control of that company now. Without it our new bulk-carrier charter deal will fall apart and we'll have to begin all over again. And catch the Qantas Flight 543 on Thursday. I'd like you here for a conference." He put the phone down. "Get Linbar up here as soon as the Tcholok meeting's over. Book him on Qantas 716 for Sydney on Friday morning."
"Yes, tai-pan." She made a note and handed him a list. "Here're your appointments for today."
He glanced at it. Four board meetings of some subsidiary companies this morning: Golden Ferry at 10:30, Struan's Motor Imports of Hong Kong at 11:00, Chong-Li Foods at 11:15 and Kowloon Investments at 11:30. Lunch with Lincoln Bartlett and Miss Casey Tcholok 12:40 to 2:00 P.M. More board meetings this afternoon, Peter Marlowe at 4:00 P.M., Phillip Chen at 4:20, cocktails at 6:00 with the governor, his anniversary party beginning at 8:00, a reminder to call Alastair Struan in Scotland at 11:00, and at least fifteen other people to phone throughout Asia during the day.
"Marlowe?" he asked.
"He's a writer, staying at the Vic—remember, he wrote for an appointment a week ago. He's researching a book on Hong Kong."
"Oh yes—the ex-RAF type."
"Yes. Would you like him put off?"
"No. Keep everything as arranged, Claudia." He took out a thin black leather memo-card case from his back pocket and gave her a dozen cards covered with his shorthand. "Here're some cables and telexes to send off at once and notes for the various board meetings. Get me Jen in Taipei, then Havergill at the bank, then run down the list."
"Yes, tai-pan. I hear HavergilFs going to retire."
"Marvelous. Who's taking over?"
"No one knows yet."
"Let's hope it's Johnjohn. Put your spies to work. A hundred says I find out before you do!"
"Done!"
"Good." Dunross held out his hand and said sweetly, "You can pay me now. It's Johnjohn."
"Eh?" She stared at him.
"We decided it last night—all the directors. I asked them to tell no one until eleven today."
Reluctantly she took out the hundred-dollar note and offered it. "Ayeeyah, I was particularly attached to this note."
"Thank you," Dunross said and pocketed it. "I'm particularly attached to that one myself."
There was a knock on the door. "Yes?" he said.
The door was opened by Sandra Yi, his private secretary. "Excuse me, tai-pan, but the market's up two points and Holdbrook's on line two." Alan Holdbrook was head of their in-house stockbroking company.
Dunross punched the line two button. "Claudia, soon as I'm through bring in Armstrong." She left with Sandra Yi.
"Yes, Alan?"
"Morning, tai-pan. First: There's a heavy rumor that we're going to make a bid for control of Asian Properties."
"That's probably put out by Jason Plumm to boost his shares before their annual meeting. You know what a canny bastard he is."
"Our stock's gone up ten cents, perhaps on the strength of it."
"Good. Buy me 20,000 at once."
"On margin?"
"Of course on margin."
"All right. Second rumor: We've closed a multimillion-dollar deal with Par-Con Industries—huge expansion."
"Pipe dreams," Dunross said easily, wondering furiously where the leaks were. Only Phillip Chen—and in Edinburgh, Alastair Struan and old Sean MacStruan—was supposed to know about the ploy to smash Asian Properties. And the Par-Con deal was top secret to the Inner Court only.
"Third: someone's buying large parcels of our stock."
"Who?"
"I don't know. But there's something smelly going on, tai-pan. The way our stock's been creeping up the last month . . . There's no reason that I know of, except a buyer, or buyers. Same with Rothwell-Gornt. I heard a block of 200,000 was bought offshore."
"Find out who."
"Christ, I wish I knew how. The market's jittery, and very nervous. A lot of Chinese money's floating around. Lots of little deals going on … a few shares here, a few there, but multiplied by a hundred thousand or so … the market might start to fall apart … or to soar."
"Good. Then we'll all make a killing. Give me a call before the market closes. Thanks, Alan." He put the phone down, feeling the sweat on his back. "Shit," he said aloud. "What the hell's going on?"
In the outer office Claudia Chen was going over some papers with Sandra Yi who was her niece on her mother's side—and smart, very good to look at, twenty-seven with a mind like an abacus. Then she glanced at her watch and said in Cantonese, "Superintendent Brian Kwok's downstairs, Little Sister, why don't you fetch him up—in six minutes."
"Ayeeyah, yes, Elder Sister!" Sandra Yi hastily checked her makeup and swished away. Claudia smiled after her and thought Sandra Yi would be perfect—a perfect choice for Brian Kwok. Happily she sat behind her desk and began to type the telexes. Everything's done that should be done, she told herself. No, something the tai-pan said … what was it? Ah yes! She dialed her home number.
"Weyyyyy?" said her amah, Ah Sam.
"Listen, Ah Sam," she said in Cantonese, "isn't Third Toiletmaid Fung at the Vic your cousin three times removed?"
"Oh yes, Mother," Ah Sam replied, using the Chinese politeness of servant to mistress. "But she's four times removed, and from the Fung-tats, not the Fung-sams which is my branch."
"Never mind that, Ah Sam. You call her and find out all you can about two foreign devils from the Golden Mountain. They're in Fragrant Spring suite." Patiently she spelled their names, then added delicately, "I hear they have peculiar pillow habits."
"Ayeeyah, if anyone can find out, Third Toiletmaid Fung can. Ha! What peculiars?"
"Strange peculiars, Ah Sam. You get on with it, little oily mouth." She beamed and hung up.
The elevator doors opened and Sandra Yi ushered the two police officers in, then left reluctantly. Brian Kwok watched her go. He was thirty-nine, tall for a Chinese, just over six feet, very handsome, with blue-black hair. Both men wore civilian clothes. Claudia chatted with them politely, but the moment she saw the light on line two go out she ushered them in and closed the door.
"Sorry to come without an appointment," Armstrong said.
"No sweat, Robert. You look tired."
"A heavy night. It's all the villainy that goes on in Hong Kong," Armstrong said easily. "Nasties abound and saints get crucified."
Dunross smiled, then glanced across at Kwok. "How's life treating you, Brian?"
Brian Kwok smiled back. "Very good, thanks, Ian. Stock market's up—I've a few dollars in the bank, my Porsche hasn't fallen apart yet, and ladies will be ladies."
"Thank God for that! Are you doing the hill climb on Sunday?"
"If I can get Lulu in shape. She's missing an offside hydraulic coupling."
"Have you tried our shop?"
"Yes. No joy, tai-pan. Are you going?"
"Depends. I've got to go to Taipei Sunday afternoon—I will if I've got time. I entered anyway. How's SI?"
Brian Kwok grinned. "It beats working for a living." Special Intelligence was a completely independent department within the elite, semisecret Special Branch responsible for preventing and detecting subversive activities in the Colony. It had its own secret ways, secret funding and overriding powers. And it was responsible to the governor alone.