Noble House

Shu waiting.
"Come on in and make yourself at home," P.B. said jovially. "The ladies' bathroom's on the left, gentlemen on the right, champagne in the anteroom . . . I'll show you all around in a moment. Oh, Ian, you wanted to phone?"
"Yes."
"Come along, you can use my study." He led the way down a corridor lined with fine oils and a rare collection of icons. The apartment was spacious, four bedrooms, three anterooms, a dining room to seat twenty. His study was at the far end. Books lined three walls. Old leather, smell of good cigars, a fireplace. Brandy, whiskey and vodka in cut-glass decanters. And port. Once the door closed his concern deepened.
"How long will you be?" he asked.
"As quick as I can."
"Don't worry, I'll entertain them—if you're not back in time I'll make your excuses. Is there anything else I can do?"
"Lean on Tiptop." Dunross had told him earlier about the possible deal to exchange Brian Kwok, though nothing about the AMG papers and his problems with Sinders.
"Tomorrow I'll call some friends in Peking and some more in Shanghai. Perhaps they would see the value in helping us."
Dunross had been acquainted with P. B. White for many years though, along with everyone else, he knew very little about his real past, his family, whether he had been married and had children, where his money came from or his real involvement with the Victoria. "I'm just a sort of legal advisor though I retired years ago," he would say vaguely and leave it at that. But Dunross knew him as a man of great charm with many equally discreet lady friends. "Casey's quite a woman, P.B.," he said with a grin. "I think you're smitten."
"I think so too. Yes. Ah, if I was only thirty years younger! And as for Riko!" P.B.'s eyebrows soared. "Delectable. Are you certain she's a widow?"
"Pretty sure."
"I would like three of those please, tai-pan." He chuckled and went over to the bookcase and pressed a switch. Part of the bookcase swung open. A staircase led upward. Dunross had used it before to have private talks with the chief manager. As far as he knew he was the only outsider privy to the secret access—another of the many secrets that he could pass on only to his succeeding tai-pan. "The Hag arranged it," Alastair Struan had told him the night he took over. "Along with this." He had handed him the master passkey to the safety deposit boxes in the vaults. "It's bank policy that Ch'ung Lien Loh Locksmiths Ltd. change locks. Only our tai-pans know we own that company."
Dunross smiled back at P.B., praying that he could be so young when he was so old. 'Thanks."
"Take your time, Ian." P. B. White handed him a key.
Dunross ran up the stairs softly to the chief manager's landing. He unlocked a door which led to an elevator. The same key unlocked the elevator. There was only one button. He relocked the outside door and pressed the button. The machinery was well oiled and silent. At length it stopped and the inner door slid open. He pushed the outer door. He was in the chief manager's office. John-John got up wearily. "Now what the hell is all this about, Ian?"
Dunross shut the false door that fitted perfectly into the bookcase. "Didn't P.B. tell you?" he asked, his voice mild, none of his tension showing.
"He said you had to get to the vaults tonight to fetch some papers, that I should please let you in and there was no need to bother Havergill. But why the cloak-and-dagger bit? Why not use the front door?"
"Now give over, Bruce. We both know you've got the necessary authority to open the vault for me."
Johnjohn began to say something but changed his mind. The chief manager had said before he left, "Be kind enough to react favorably to whatever P.B. suggests, eh?" P.B. was on first-name terms with the governor, most of the visiting VVIPs and shared the chief manager's direct line to their skeleton staff in the bank offices still operating in Shanghai and Peking.
"All right," he said.
Their footsteps echoed on the vast, dimly lit main floor of the bank. Johnjohn nodded to one of the night watchmen making his rounds, then pressed the button for the elevator to the vaults, stifling a nervous yawn. "Christ, I'm bushed."
"You architected the Ho-Pak takeover, didn't you?" , "Yes, yes I did, but if it hadn't been for your smashing coup with General Stores, I don't think Paul'd … well, that certainly helped. Smashing coup, Ian, if you can pull it off."
"It's in the bag."
"What Japanese bank's backing you with the 2 million?"
"Why did you force Richard Kwang's advance resignation?"
"Eh?" Johnjohn stared at him blankly! The elevator arrived. They got into it. "What?"
Dunross explained what Phillip Chen had told him. "That's not exactly cricket. A director of the Victoria being made to sign an undated resignation like a two-cent operation? Eh?"
Johnjohn shook his head slowly. "No, that wasn't part of my plan." His tiredness had vanished. "I can see why you'd be concerned."
"Pissed off would be the correct words."
"Paul must have planned just a holding situation till the chief comes back. This whole operation's precedent-setting so you c—"
"If I get Tiptop's money for you, I want that torn up and a free vote guaranteed to Richard Kwang."
After a pause, Johnjohn said, "I'll support you on everything reasonable—till the chief comes back. Then he can decide."
"Fair enough."
"How much is the Royal Belgium-First Central backing you for?"
"I thought you said a Japanese bank?"
"Oh come on, old chum, everyone knows. How much?"
"Enough, enough for everything."
"We still own most of your paper, Ian."
Dunross shrugged. "It makes no difference. We still have a major say in the Victoria."
"If we don't get China's money, First Central won't save you from a crash."
Again Dunross shrugged.
The elevator doors opened. Dim lights in the vaults cast hard shadows. The huge grille in front of them seemed like a cell door to Dunross. Johnjohn unlocked it.
"I'll be about ten minutes," Dunross said, a sheen to his forehead. "I've got to find a particular paper."
"All right. I'll unlock your box for y—" Johnjohn stopped, his face etched in the overhead light. "Oh, I forgot, you've your own master key."
"I'll be as quick as I can. Thanks." Dunross walked into the gloom, turned the corner and went unerringly to the far bank of boxes. Once there he made sure he was not being followed. All his senses were honed now. He put the two keys into their locks. The locks clicked back.
His fingers reached into his pocket and he took out AMG's letter that gave the numbers of the special pages spread throughout the files, then a flashlight, scissors and a butane Dunhill cigarette lighter that Penelope had given him when he still smoked. Quickly he lifted the false bottom of the box away and slid out the files.
I wish to Christ there was some way I could destroy them now and have done with it, he thought. I know everything that's in them, everything important, but I have to be patient and wait. Sometime soon, they—whoever they are, along with SI, the CIA and the PRC —they won't be following me. Then I can safely fetch the files and destroy them.
Following AMG's instructions with great care, he flicked the lighter and waved it back and forth just under the bottom right quadrant of the first special page. In a moment, a meaningless jumble of symbols, letters and numbers began to appear. As the heat brought them forth, the type in this quadrant began to vanish. Soon all the lettering had gone, leaving just the code. With the scissors he cut off this quarter neatly and put that file aside. AMG had written: "The paper cannot be traced to the files, tai-pan, nor I believe, the information read by any but the highest in the land."
A slight noise startled him and he looked off. His heart was thumping in his ears. A rat scurried around a wall of boxes and vanished. He waited but there was no more danger.