"I cursed him," Casey said. "I can curse pretty good when I get mad and I told him what to do with himself in three languages. Within four more weeks I'd no customers left. Another month and the work force had to get other jobs. About that time I thought I'd try California. I didn't want to stay in the East." She smiled wryly, i "It was a matter of face—if I'd known about face then. I thought I'd take a couple of weeks off to figure out what to do. Then one day I was wandering aimlessly around a state fair in Sacramento and Line was there. He was selling shares in Bartlett Construction in a booth and I bought—""He what?" Dunross asked."Sure," Bartlett said. "I sold upwards of 20,000 shares that way. I covered state fairs, mail orders, supermarkets, stockbrokers, shopping centers—along with investment banks. Sure. Go on, Casey!""So I read his prospectus and watched him a while and thought he had a lot of get up and go. His figures and balance sheet and expansion rate were exceptional and I thought anyone who'd pitch his own stock has got to have a future. So I bought ten shares, wrote him and went to see him. End of story.""The hell it is, Casey," Gavallan said."You tell it, Line," she said."Okay. Well, then—""Some port, Mr.—sorry, Line?""Thanks Andrew, but, er, may I have another beer?" It arrived instantly. "So Casey'd come to see me. After she'd told it, almost like she's told it now, I said, 'One thing, Casey, Hed-Opticals grossed less than 300,000-odd last year. What's it going to do this year?'" 'Zero,' she said with that smile of hers. 'I'm Hed-Opticals' total asset. In fact, I'm all there is.'" 'Then what's the use of my merging with zero—I've got enough problems of my own.'" 'I know how to take Randolf Opticals to the cleaners.'" 'How?'" '22 percent of Randolf s is owned by three men—all of whom despise Toffer. With 22 percent you could get control. I know how you could get their proxies, and most of all, I know the weakness of Toffer.'" 'What's that?'" 'Vanity, and he's a megalomaniac, but most of all he's stupid.'" 'He can't be stupid and run that company.'" 'Perhaps he wasn't once, but now he is. He's ready to be taken.'" 'And what do you want out of this, Casey?'" 'Toffer's head—I want to do the firing.'" 'What else?'" 'If I succeed in showing you how … if we succeed in taking over Randolf Opticals, say within six months, I'd like … I'd like a one-year deal with you, to be extended to seven, at a salary you think is commensurate with my ability, as your executive vice-president in charge of acquisitions. But I'd want it as a person, not as a woman, just as an equal person to you. You're the boss of course, but I'm to be equal as a man would be equal, as an individual … if I deliver.' "Bartlett grinned and sipped his beer. "I said, okay you've got a deal. I thought, what've I got to lose—me with my lousy three-quarter million and her with her nothing zero balance for Randolf Opticals in six months, now that's one helluva steal. So we shook, man to woman." Bartlett laughed. "First time I'd ever made a deal with a woman, just like that—and I've never regretted it.""Thanks, Line," Casey said softly, and every one of them was envious.And what happened after you fired Toffer, Dunross was thinking with all the others. Is that when you two began?"The takeover," he said to Bartlett. "It was smooth?""Messy, but we got blooded and the lessons I learned, we learned, paid off a thousand percent. In five months we'd control. Casey and I had conquered a company 53 Vi times our size. At D-hour minus one I was down to minus 4 million dollars in the bank and goddamn near in jail, but the next hour I'd control. Man, that was a battle and a half. In a month and a half we'd reorganized it and now Par-Con's Randolf Division grosses $150 million yearly and the stock's way up. It was a classic blitzkrieg and set the pattern for Par-Con Industries.""And this George Toffer, Casey? How did you fire him?"Casey took her tawny eyes off Line and turned them on Dunross and he thought, Christ I'd like to possess you.Casey said, "The hour we got control I—" She stopped as the single phone rang and there was a sudden tension in the room. Everyone, even the waiters, immediately switched their total attention to the phone—except Bartlett. The color had drained out of Gavallan's face and deVille's. "What's the matter?" Casey asked.Dunross broke the silence. "It's one of our house rules. No phone calls are put through during lunch unless it's an emergency—a personal emergency—for one of us."They watched Lim put down the coffee tray. It seemed to take him forever to walk across the room and pick up the phone. They all had wives and children and families and they all wondered what death or what disaster and please God, let the call be for someone else, remembering the last time the phone had rung, two days ago. For Jacques. Then another time last month, for Gavallan, his mother was dying. They had all had calls, over the years. All bad.Andrew Gavallan was sure the call was for him. His wife, Kath-ren, Dunross's sister, was at the hospital for the results of exhaustive tests—she had been sick for weeks for no apparent reason. Jesus Christ, he thought, get hold of yourself, conscious of others watching him."Weyyyy?" Lim listened a moment. He turned and offered the phone. "It's for you, tai-pan."The others breathed again and watched Dunross. His walk was tall. "Hello? … Oh hel— What? …. No … no, I'll be right there. . . . No, don't do anything, I'll be right there." They saw his shock as he replaced the phone in the dead silence. After a pause he said, "Andrew, tell Claudia to postpone my afternoon board meetings. You and Jacques continue with Casey. That was Phillip. I'm afraid poor John Chen's been kidnapped." He left.82:35 P.M. :Dunross got out of his car and hurried through the open door of the vast, Chinese-style mansion that was set high on the mountain crest called Struan's Lookout. He passed a glazed servant who closed the door after him, and went into the living room. The living room was Victorian and gaudy and overstuffed with bric-a-brac and ill-matched furniture."Hello, Phillip," he said. "I'm so sorry. Poor John! Where's the letter?""Here." Phillip picked it up from the sofa as he got up. "But first look at that." He pointed at a crumpled cardboard shoebox on a marble table beside the fireplace.As Dunross crossed the room he noticed Dianne, Phillip Chen's wife, sitting in a high-backed chair in a far corner. "Oh, hello, Dianne, sorry about this," he said again.She shrugged impassively. "Joss, tai-pan." She was fifty-two, Eurasian, Phillip Chen's second wife, an attractive, bejeweled matron who wore a dark brown chong-sam, a priceless jade bead necklace and a four-carat diamond ring—amid many other rings. "Yes, joss," she repeated.Dunross nodded, disliking her a little more than usual. He peered down at the contents of the box without touching them. Among loose, crumpled newspaper he saw a fountain pen that he recognized as John Chen's, a driving license, some keys on a key ring, a letter addressed to John Chen, 14A Sinclair Towers, and a small plastic bag with a piece of cloth half-stuffed into it. With a pen that he took out of his pocket he flipped open the cover of the driving license. John Chen.