Noble House

And now I've almost got 20 million U.S. but I think we're somehow involved in gun-running, Tsu-yan's apparently on the run and John Chen's God knows where!
"Christ all sodding mighty!" he said angrily.
"What?" Gavallan stopped, aghast, in midflow. "What's up?"
"Oh nothing—nothing, Andrew," he said. "Nothing to do with you. Tell me about her. What's she like?"
"Good at figures, fast and confident, but impatient. And she's the best-looking bird I've seen in years, with potentially the best pair of knockers in town." Gavallan told him about the bets. "I think Linbar's got the inside track."
"I'm going to fire Foster and send Linbar down to Sydney for six months, get him to sort everything out there."
"Good idea." Gavallan laughed. "That'll stop his farting in church—though they say the ladies Down Under are very accommodating."
"You think this deal will go through?"
"Yes. Phillip was ecstatic about it. But it's shitty dealing through a woman and that's the truth. Do you think we could bypass her and deal with Bartlett direct?"
"No. He was quite clear in his correspondence that K. C. Tcholok was his chief negotiator."
"Oh well . . . into the breach and all that! What we do for the Noble House!"
"Have you found her weak spot?"
"Impatience. She wants to 'belong'—to be one of the boys. I'd say her Achilles' heel is that she desperately wants acceptance in a man's world."
"No harm in wanting that—like the Holy Grail. The meeting with Dawson's set for eleven tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"Get Dawson to cancel it, but not until nine tomorrow morning. Tell him to make an excuse and reset it for Wednesday at noon."
"Good idea, keep her off balance, what?"
"Tell Jacques I'll take that meeting myself."
"Yes, tai-pan. What about John Chen? You'll want him there?"
After a pause Dunross said, "Yes. Have you seen him yet?"
"No. He's expected for lunch—you want me to chase him?"
"No. Where's Phillip?"
"He went home. He's coming back at 2:30."
Good, Dunross thought, and tabled John Chen until that time. "Listen . . ." The intercom buzzed. "Just a minute, Andrew." He punched the hold. "Yes, Claudia?"
"Sorry to interrupt, tai-pan, but I've got your call to Mr. Jen in Taipei on line two and Mr. Bartlett's just arrived downstairs."
"Bring him in as soon as I'm through with Jen." He stabbed line four again. "Andrew, I may be a couple of minutes late. Host drinks and that sort of thing for me. I'll bring Bartlett up myself."
"Okay."
Dunross stabbed line two. "Tsaw an, " he said in Mandarin dialect—How are you?—glad to talk to Wei-wei's uncle, General Jen Tang-wa, deputy chief of the illegal Kuomintang secret police for Hong Kong.
"Shey-shey," then in English, "What's up, tai-pan?"
"I thought you should know …" Dunross told him briefly about the guns and Bartlett, that the police were involved, but not about Tsu-yan or John Chen.
"Ayeeyah! That's very curious indeed."
"Yes. I thought so too. Very curious."
"You're convinced it's not Bartlett?"
"Yes. There appears to be no reason. None at all. It'd be stupid to use your own plane. Bartlett's not stupid," Dunross said. "Who'd need that sort of armament here?"
There was a pause. "Criminal elements."
"Triads?"
"Not all triads are criminals."
"No," Dunross said.
"I'll see what I can find out. I'm sure it's nothing to do with us, Ian. Are you still coming Sunday?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'll see what I can find out. Drinks at 6:00 P.M.?"
"How about eight o'clock? Have you seen Tsu-yan yet?"
"I thought he wasn't due until the weekend. Isn't he making up our foursome on Monday with the American?"
"Yes. I heard he caught an early flight today." Dunross kept his voice matter-of-fact.
"He's sure to call—do you want him to phoneT'
"Yes. Anytime. It's nothing important. See you Sunday at eight."
"Yes, and thanks for the information. If I get anything I'll phone at once. 'Bye."
Dunross put the phone down. He had been listening very carefully to the tone of Jen's voice but he had heard nothing untoward. Where the hell's Tsu-yan?
A knock.
"Come in." He got up and went to meet Bartlett. "Hello." He smiled and held out his hand. "I'm Ian Dunross."
"Line Bartlett." They shook hands firmly. "Am I too early?"
"You're dead on time. You must know I like punctuality." Dunross laughed. "I heard the meeting went well."
"Good," Bartlett replied* wondering if Dunross meant the Gornt meeting. "Casey knows her facts and figures."
"My fellows were most impressed—she said she could finalize things herself. Can she, Mr. Bartlett?"
"She can negotiate and settle up to 20 million. Why?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to find out your form. Please sit down— we've a few minutes yet. Lunch won't begin till 12:40. It sounds as though we may have a profitable enterprise in front of us."
"I hope so. As soon as I've checked with Casey, perhaps you and I can get together?"
Dunross looked at his calendar. "Tomorrow at ten. Here?"
"You're on."
"Smoke?"
"No thanks. I quit a few years back."
"So did I—still want a cigarette though." Dunross leaned back in his chair. "Before we go to lunch, Mr. Bartlett, there're a couple of minor points. I'm going to Taipei on Sunday afternoon, will be back Tuesday in time for dinner, and I'd like you to come along. all
There're a couple of people I'd like you to meet, a golf match you might enjoy. We could chat leisurely, you could see the potential plant sites. It could be important. I've made all the arrangements, but it's not possible to take Miss Tcholok."
Bartlett frowned, wondering if Tuesday was just a coincidence. "According to Superintendent Armstrong I can't leave Hong Kong."
"I'm sure that could be changed."
"Then you know about the guns too?" Bartlett said and cursed himself for the slip. He managed to keep his eyes steady.
"Oh yes. Someone else's been bothering you about them?" Dun-ross asked, watching him.
"The police even chased Casey! Jesus! My airplane's seized, we're all suspect, and I don't know a goddamn thing about any guns."
"Well, there's no need to worry, Mr. Bartlett. Our police are very good."
"I'm not worried, just teed off."
"That's understandable," Dunross said, glad the Armstrong meeting was confidential. Very glad.
Christ, he thought queasily, if John Chen and Tsu-yan are involved somehow, Bartlett's going to be very teed off indeed, and we'll lose the deal and he'll throw in with Gornt and then . . .
"How did you hear about the guns?"
"We were informed by our office at Kai Tak this morning."
"Nothing like this ever happened before?"
"Yes." Dunross added lightly, "But there's no harm in smuggling or even a little gun-running—actually they're both very honorable professions—of course we do them elsewhere."
"Where?"
"Wherever Her Majesty's Government desires." Dunross laughed. "We're all pirates here, Mr. Bartlett, at least we are to outsiders." He paused. "Presuming I can make arrangements with the police, you're on for Taipei?"