Noble House

"What're the chances of Hong Kong legalizing gambling?"
"None—you know better than I do that without gambling and gold Macao'd drift into the sea and it's a cornerstone of British and Hong Kong business policy never to let that happen. We have our horse racing—you've the tables. But with modern ownership, new hotels, new games, new hydrofoils you'd have so much revenue you'd have to open your own bank."
Lando Mata took out a slip of paper, glanced at it, then handed it over. "Here are four groups of three names of people who might be allowed to bid. I'd like your opinion."
Dunross did not look at the list. "You'd like me to choose the group of three you've already decided on?"
Mata laughed. "Ah, Ian, you know too much about me! Yes, I've chosen the group that should be successful, if their bid is substantial enough."
"Do any of the groups know now that you might take them as partners?"
"No."
"What about Tightfist—and the Chins? They won't lose their monopoly lightly."
"If Tightfist dies before the auction, a new syndicate will come to pass. If not, the change will be made but differently."
Dunross glanced at the list. And gasped. All the names were well-known Hong Kong and Macao Chinese, all substantial people, some with curious pasts. "Well, they're certainly all famous, Lando."
"Yes. To earn such great wealth, to run a gambling empire needs men of vision." Dunross smiled with him. "I agree. Then why is it I'm not on the list?"
"Resign from the Noble House within the month and you can form your own syndicate. I guarantee your bid will be successful. I take 40 percent."
"Sorry, that's not possible, Lando."
"You could have a personal fortune of 500 million to a billion dollars within ten years."
Dunross shrugged. "What's money?"
"Moh cfting moh meng!" No money no life.
"Yes, but there's not enough money in the world to make me resign. Still, I'll make a deal with you. Struan's'll run the gambling for you, through nominees."
"Sorry, no. It has to be all or nothing."
"We could do it better and cheaper than anyone, with more flair."
"If you resign. All or none, tai-pan."
Dunross's head hurt at the thought of so much money, but he heard Lando Mata's finality. "Fair enough. Sorry, I'm not available," he said.
"I'm sure you'd, you personally, would be welcomed as a … as a consultant."
"If I choose the correct group?"
"Perhaps." The Portuguese smiled. "Well?"
Dunross was wondering whether or not he could risk such an association. To be part of the Macao gambling syndicate was not like being a steward of the Turf Club. "I'll think about that and let you know."
"Good, Ian. Give me your opinion within the next two days, eh?"
"All right. Will you tell me what the successful bid is—if you decide to change?"
"An associate or consultant should have that knowledge. Now a last item and I must go. I don't think you'll ever see your friend Tsu-yan again."
Dunross stared at him. "What?"
"He called me from Taipei, yesterday morning, in quite a state. He asked if I'd send the Catalina for him, to pick him up privately. It was urgent he said, he'd explain when he saw me. He'd come straight to my home, the moment he arrived." Mata shrugged and examined his perfectly manicured nails. "Tsu-yan's an old friend, I've accommodated old friends before, so I authorized the flight. He never appeared, Ian. Oh he came with the flying boat—my chauffeur was on the jetty to meet him." Mata looked up. "It's all rather unbelievable. Tsu-yan was dressed in filthy coolie rags with a straw hat. He mumbled something about seeing me later that night and jumped into the first taxi and took off as though all the devils from hell were at his heels. My driver was stunned."
"There's no mistake? You're sure it was he?"
"Oh yes, Tsu-yan's well known—fortunately my driver's Portuguese and can take some initiative. He charged in pursuit. He says Tsu-yan's taxi headed north. Near the Barrier Gate the taxi stopped and then Tsu-yan fled on foot, as fast as he could run, through the Barrier Gate into China. My man watched him run all the way up to the soldiers on the PRC's side and then he vanished into the guardhouse."
Dunross stared at Mata in disbelief. Tsu-yan was one of the best-known capitalists and anti-Communists in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Before the fall of the Mainland he had been almost a minor warlord in the Shanghai area. "Tsu-yan'd never be welcome in the PRC," he said. "Never! He must be top of their shit list."
Mata hesitated. "Unless he was working for them."
"It's just not possible."
"Anything's possible in China."
Twenty stories below, Roger Crosse and Brian Kwok were getting out of the police car, followed by Robert Armstrong. A plain-clothes SI man met them. "Dunross's still in his office, sir."
"Good." Robert Armstrong stayed at the entrance and the other two went for the elevator. On the twentieth floor they got out.
"Ah good evening, sir," Claudia said and smiled at Brian Kwok. Zeppelin Tung was waiting by the phone. He stared at the policemen in sudden shock, obviously recognizing them.
Roger Crosse said, "Mr. Dunross's expecting me."
"Yes sir." She pressed the boardroom button and, in a moment, spoke into her phone. "Mr. Crosse's here, tai-pan."
Dunross said, "Give me a minute, then show him in, Claudia." He replaced his phone and turned to Mata. "Crosse's here. If I miss you at the bank tonight, I'll catch up with you tomorrow morning."
"Yes. I'm … please call me, Ian. Yes. I want a few minutes with you privately. Tonight or tomorrow."
"At nine tonight," Dunross said at once. "Or anytime tomorrow."
"Call me at nine. Or tomorrow. Thank you." Mata walked across the room and opened a hardly noticeable door that was camouflaged as part of the bookshelves. This opened onto a private corridor which led to the floor below. He closed the door behind him.
Dunross stared after him thoughtfully. I wonder what's on his mind? He put the agenda papers in a drawer and locked it, then leaned back at the head of the table trying to collect his wits, his eyes on the door, his heart beating a little quicker. The phone rang and he jumped.
"Yes?"
"Father," Adryon said in her usual rush, "sorry to interrupt but Mother wanted to know what time you'd be in for dinner."
"I'll be late. Ask her to go ahead. I'll get something on the run. What time did you get in last night?" he asked, remembering that he had heard her car return just before dawn.
"Early," she said, and he was going to give her both barrels but he heard unhappiness under her voice.
"What's up, pet?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"What's up?"
"Nothing really. I had a grand day, had lunch with your Line Harriett—we went shopping but that twit Martin stood me up."
"What?"
"Yes. I waited a bloody hour for him. We had a date to go to the V and A for tea but he never showed up. Rotten twit!"
Dunross beamed. "You just can't rely on some people, can you, Adryon? Fancy! Standing you up! What cheek!" he told her, suitably grave, delighted that Haply was going to get what for.
"He's a creep! A twenty-four-carat creep!"
The door opened. Crosse and Brian Kwok came in. He nodded to them, beckoned them. Claudia shut the door after them.
"Got to go, darling. Hey pet, love you! 'Bye!" He put the phone down. "Evening," he said, no longer perturbed.
"The files please, Ian."
"Certainly, but first we've got to see the governor."
"First I want those files." Crosse pulled out the warrant as Dunross picked up the phone and dialed. He waited only a moment. "Evening, sir. Superintendent Crosse's here… yes sir." He held out the phone. "For you."