Noble House

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, Struan'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."