Noble House

"Oh super, I'd forgotten her. How is she?"
"She's in good shape," Dunross said, ordering himself to be adult, wise, and not to worry and it was all quite normal for boys and girls to be boys and girls. Yes, but Christ it's difficult if you're the father. "Well, Duncan, see you Monday! Thanks for calling."
"Oh yes, and Father, Sheila drove me up to Sydney. She … she's staying the weekend with friends and going to see me off! Tonight we're going to a movie, Lawrence of Arabia, have you seen it?"
"Yes, it's just come to Hong Kong, you'll enjoy that."
"Oh super! Well, good-bye, Father, have to run . . . love you!"
"Love you," he said but the connection was already dead.
How lucky I am with my family, my wife and kids, Dunross thought, and at once added, Please God let nothing happen to them!
With an effort he looked back at the letter. It's impossible for Jason Plumm or Jacques to be Communist spies, he told himself. Nothing they've ever said or done would indicate that. Lionel Tuke? No, not him either. I only know him casually. He's an ugly, unpopular fellow who keeps to himself but he's on the cricket team, a member of the Turf Club and he's been out here since the thirties.
Wasn't he even interned at Stanley between '42 and '45? Maybe him, but the other two? Impossible!
I'm sorry AMG's dead. I'd call him right now about Jacques and . . .
First finish the letter, then consider the parts, he ordered himself. Be correct, be efficient. Good God! Duncan and an eighteen-year-old sheila! Thank God it wasn't Tom Scragger's youngest. How old is Priscilla now? Fourteen, pretty, built much older. Girls seem to mature early Down Under.
He exhaled. I wonder if I should do for Duncan what Chen-chen did for me.
The letter continued, ". . . As I've said, I'm not completely sure but my source is usually impeccable.
"I'm sorry to say the espionage war has hotted up since we uncovered and caught the spies Blake, Vassal—the Admiralty cipher clerk—and Philby, Burgess and Maclean all defected. They've all been seen in Moscow by the way. Expect spying to increase radically in Asia. (We were able to peg First Secretary Skripov of the Soviet Embassy in Canberra, Australia, and order him out of the country in February. This broke his Australian ring which was, I believe, tied to your Sevrin and further involved in Borneo and Indonesia.)
"The free world is abundantly infiltrated now. MI-5 and MI-6 are tainted. Even the CIA. While we've been naive and trusting, our opponents realized early that the future balance would depend on economic power as well as military power, and so they set out to acquire—steal—our industrial secrets.
"Curiously our free-world media fail dismally to point out that all Soviet advances are based originally on one of our stolen inventions or techniques, that without our grain they starve, and without our vast and ever-growing financial assistance and credits to buy our grains and technology they cannot fuel and refuel their whole military-industrial infrastructure which keeps their empire and people enthralled.
"I recommend you use your contacts in China to cement them to you further. The Soviets increasingly view China as their number one enemy. Equally strangely, they no longer seem to have that paranoiac fear of the U.S. which is, without doubt, now the strongest military and economic power in the world. China, which is economically and militarily weak, except in numbers of available soldiers, really presents no military threat to them. Even so China petrifies them.
"One reason is the five thousand miles of border they share. Another is national guilt over the vast areas of historic Chinese territory Soviet Russia has swallowed over the centuries; another is the knowledge that the Chinese are a patient people with long memories. One day the Chinese will take back their lands. They have always taken back their lands when it was militarily feasible to do so. I've pointed out many times that the cornerstone of Soviet (Imperialist) politics is to isolate and fragment China to keep her weak. Their great bugaboo is a tripartite alliance between China, Japan and the U.S. Your Noble House should work to promote that. (Also a Common Market among the U.S., Mexico and Canada, totally essential, in my opinion, to a stable American continent.) Where else but through Hong Kong—and therefore your hands— will all the inward wealth to China go?
"Last, back to Sevrin: I have taken a major risk and approached our most priceless asset in the inner core of the KGB's ultra-secret Department 5. I have just heard back today that the identity of Arthur, Sevrin's leader, is Classification One, beyond even his grasp. The only clue he could give was that the man was English and one of his initials is R. Not much to go on I'm afraid.
"I look forward to seeing you. Remember, my papers must never pass into the hands of anyone else. Regards, AMG."
Dunross committed the Geneva phone number to memory, encoded it in his address book and lit a match. He watched the airmail paper curl and begin to burn.
R. Robert Ralph Richard Robin Rod Roy Rex Rupert Red Rodney and always back to Roger. And Robert. Robert Armstrong or Roger Crosse or—or who?
Holy Christ, Dunross thought, feeling weak.
"Geneva 871-65-65, station to station," he said into his private phone. Tiredness engulfed him. His sleep last night had been disturbed, his dreams dragging him back to war, back to his flaming cockpit, the smell of burning in his nostrils, then waking, chilled, listening to the rain, soon to get up silently, Penn sleeping soundly, the Great House quiet except for old Ah Tat who, as always, had his tea made. Then to the track and chased all day, his enemies closing in and nothing but bad news. Poor old John Chen, he thought, then made the effort to push his weariness away. Perhaps
I can kip for an hour between five and six. I'll need all my wits tonight.
The operator made the connections and he heard the number ringing.
"Ja?" the gentle voice said.
"Hierist Herr Dunross im Hong Kong. Frau Gresserhoff bine," he said in good German.
"Oh!" There was a long pause. "Ich bin Frau Gresserhoff. Tai-pan?"
"Ah so desu! Ohayo gozaimasu. Anata wa An/in Riko-san?" he asked, his Japanese accent excellent. Good morning. Your name is also Riko Anjin?
"HaL Hai, dozo. Ah, nihongo wajotzu desu. " Yes. Oh you speak Japanese very well.
"lye, sukoshi, gomen nasai. " No, sorry, only a little. As part of his training, he had spent two years in their Tokyo office. "Ah, so sorry," he continued in Japanese, "but I'm calling about Mr. Gresserhoff. Have you heard?"
"Yes." He could hear the sadness. "Yes. I heard on Monday."
"I've just received a letter from him. He said you have some, some things for me?" he asked cautiously.
"Yes, tai-pan. Yes I have."
"Would it be possible for you to bring them here? So sorry, but I cannot come to you."
"Yes. Yes of course," she said hesitantly, her Japanese soft and pleasing. "When should I come?"
"As soon as possible. If you go to our office on Avenue Bern in a couple of hours, say at noon, there will be tickets and money for you. I believe there's a Swissair connection that leaves this afternoon —if that were possible."
Again the hesitation. He waited patiently. AMG's letter writhed in the ashtray as it burned. "Yes," she said. "That would be possible."
"I'll make all the arrangements for you. Would you like someone to travel with you?"
"No, no thank you," she said, her voice so quiet that he had to cup one hand over his ear to hear better. "Please excuse me for causing all this trouble. I can make the arrangements."
"Truly, it's no trouble," he said, pleased that his Japanese was flowing and colloquial. "Please go to my office at noon. … By the way, the weather here is warm and wet. Ah, so sorry, please excuse me for asking but is your passport Swiss or Japanese, and under what name would you travel?"