Noble House

"What about Red China?"
"We think Hong Kong benefits the PRC—as we call the People's Republic of China. We're the controlled 'open door' for them. Hong Kong and Rothwell-Gornt represent the future."
"Why?"
"Because since Shanghai was the business and industrial center of China, the pacesetter, Shanghainese are the go-getters of China, always have been and always will be. And now the best are with us here. You'll soon see the difference between Cantonese and Shanghainese. Shanghainese're the entrepreneurs, the industrialists, promoters and internationalists. There's not a great textile or shipping magnate or industrialist who isn't Shanghainese. Cantonese-run family businesses, Mr. Bartlett, they're loners, but Shanghainese understand partnerships, corporate situations and above all, banking and financing." Gornt lit another cigarette. "That's where our strength is, why we're better than Struan's—why we'll be number one eventually."
Line Bartlett studied the man opposite him. From the dossier that Casey had prepared he knew that Gornt had been born in Shanghai of British parents, was forty-eight, a widower with two grown children, and that he had served as a captain in the Australian infantry '42-45 in the Pacific. He knew too that he ruled Rothwell-Gornt very successfully as a private fief and had done so for eight years since he took over from his father.
Bartlett shifted in the deep leather chair. "If you've got this rivalry with Struan's and you're so sure you'll be number one eventually, why wait? Why not take them now?"
Gornt was watching him, his craggy face set. "There's nothing in the world that I'd like to do more. But I can't, not yet. I nearly did three years ago—they'd overreached themselves, the previous tai-pan's joss had run out."
"Joss?"
"It's a Chinese word meaning luck, fate, but a bit more." Gornt watched him thoughtfully. "We're very superstitious out here. Joss is very important, like timing. Alastair Struan's joss ran out, or changed. He had a disastrous last year, and then, in desperation, handed over to Ian Dunross. They almost went under that time. A run had started on their stock. I went after them, but Dunross squeezed out of the run and stabilized the market."
"How?"
"Let's say he exercised an undue amount of influence in certain banking circles." Gornt remembered with cold fury how Havergill at the bank had suddenly, against all their private, secret agreements, not opposed Struan's request for a temporary, enormous line of credit that had given Dunross the time to recover.
Gornt remembered his blinding rage when he had called Haver-gill. "What the hell did you do that for?" he had asked him. "A hundred million as an Extraordinary Credit? You've saved their necks for chrissake! We had them. Why?" Havergill had told him that Dunross had mustered enough votes on the board and put an extreme amount of personal pressure on him. "There was nothing I could do. …"
Yes, Gornt thought, looking at the American. I lost that time but I think you're the twenty-four-carat explosive key that will trigger the bomb to blow Struan's to hell out of Asia forever. "Dunross went to the edge that time, Mr. Bartlett. He made some implacable enemies. But now we're equally strong. It's what you'd call a standoff. They can't take us and we can't take them."
"Unless they make a mistake."
"Or we make a mistake." The older man blew a smoke ring and studied it. At length he glanced back at Bartlett. "We'll win eventually. Time in Asia's a little different from time in the U.S.A."
"That's what people tell me."
"You don't believe it?"
"I know the same rules of survival apply here, there or where the hell ever. Only the degree changes."
Gornt watched the smoke from his cigarette curling to the ceiling. His office was large with well-used old leather chairs and excellent oils on the walls and it was filled with the smell of polished leather and good cigars. Gornt's high-backed chair, old oak and carved, with red plush fitted seat and back looked hard, functional and solid, Bartlett thought, like the man.
"We can outbid Struan's and we've time on our side, here, there, where the hell ever," Gornt said. Bartlett laughed.
Gornt smiled too but Bartlett noticed his eyes weren't smiling. "Look around Hong Kong, Mr. Bartlett. Ask about us, and about them. Then make up your mind." "Yes, I'll do that." "I hear your aircraft's impounded."
"Yes. Yes it is. The airport cops found some guns aboard." "I heard. Curious. Well, if you need any help to unimpound it, perhaps I can be of service."
"You could help right now by telling me why and who." "I've no idea—but I'll wager someone in Struan's knows." "Why?"
"They knew your exact movements." "So did you."
"Yes. But it was nothing to do with us." "Who knew we were to have this meeting, Mr. Gornt?" "You and I. As we agreed. There was no leak from here, Mr. Bartlett. After our private meeting in New York last year, everything's been by telephone—not even a confirming telex. I subscribe to your wisdom of caution, secrecy and dealing face to face. In private. But who on your side knows of our . . . our continuing interest?" "No one but me."
"Not even your lady treasurer executive vice-president?" Gornt asked with open surprise. "No sir. When did you learn Casey was a she?" "In New York. Come now, Mr. Bartlett, it's hardly likely we'd contemplate an association without ascertaining your credentials and those of your chief executives." "Good. That will save time." "Curious to have a woman in such a key position." "She's my right and left arm and the best executive I've got." "Then why wasn't she told of our meeting today?" "One of the first rules of survival is to keep your options open."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning I don't run my business by committee. Besides, I like to play off the cuff, to keep certain operations secret." Bartlett thought a moment then added, "It's not lack of trust. Actually, I'm making it easier for her. If anyone at Struan's finds out and asks her why I'm meeting with you now, her surprise will be genuine."
After a pause Gornt said, "It's rare to find anyone really trustworthy. Very rare."
"Why would someone want M14's and grenades in Hong Kong and why would they use my plane?"
"I don't know but I'll make it my business to find out." Gornt stubbed out his cigarette. The ashtray was porcelain—Sung dynasty. "Do you know Tsu-yan?"
"I've met him a couple of times. Why?"
"He's a very good fellow, even though he's a director of Struan's."
"He's Shanghainese?"
"Yes. One of the best." Gornt looked up, his eyes very hard. "It's possible there could be peripheral benefit to dealing with us, Mr. Bartlett. I hear Struan's is quite extended just now—Dunross's gambling heavily on his fleet, particularly on the two super bulk cargo carriers he has on order from Japan. The first's due to be paid for substantially in a week or so. Then, too, there's a strong rumor he's going to make a bid for Asian Properties. You've heard of them?"
"A big land operation, real estate, all over Hong Kong."
"Yes. They're the biggest—even bigger than his own K.I."
"Kowloon Investments is part of Struan's? I thought they were a separate company."
"They are, outwardly. But Dunross is tai-pan of K.I.—they always have the same tai-pan."
"Always?"
"Always. It's in their Heads of Agreement. But lan's overriding himself. The Noble House may soon become ignoble. He's very cash light at the moment."
Bartlett thought a moment, then he asked, "Why don't you join with another company, maybe Asian Properties, and take Struan's? That's what I'd do in the States if I wanted a company I couldn't take alone."
"Is that what you want to do here, Mr. Bartlett?" Gornt asked at once, pretending shock. "To 'take' Struan's?"
"Is it possible?"
Gornt looked at the ceiling carefully before answering. "Yes—but you'd have to have a partner. Perhaps you could do it with Asian Properties but I doubt it. Jason Plumm, the tai-pan, hasn't the balls. You'd need us. Only we have the perspicacity, the drive, the knowledge and the desire. Nevertheless, you'd have to risk a very great deal of money. Cash." "How much?"