Noble House

"He seemed very unreasonable," Dunross said with a hard smile. "Thanks. Never mind. Sorry to disturb you, sir. Oh, by the way if this can be resolved, Tiptop said your chop would be required, with the bank's and mine. Would you be available tomorrow, if need be?"
"Of course. And Ian, good luck."
Dunross replaced the phone. After a moment, he said, "Would they agree, the money tomorrow for the fellow Monday sunset?"
"I wouldn't," Phillip Chen said helplessly. "Tiptop was clear. 'Whenever the correct procedures are entered into.' The exchange would be simultaneous."
Dunross sat back in the high chair, sipped his brandy and let his mind roam.
At 9:00 P.M. he dialed Tiptop, and chatted inconsequentially until the moment had come. "I hear the police underling will surely be fired for making such a mistake and that the wronged party could be at Lo Wu at noon Tuesday."
There was a great silence. The voice was colder than ever. "I hardly think that's immediate."
"I agree. Perhaps I might be able to persuade them to bring it forward to Monday. Perhaps your friends could be a little patient. I would consider it a very great favor." He used the word deliberately and let it hang.
"I will pass your message on. Thank you, tai-pan. Please call me at seven o'clock tomorrow evening. Good night."
"Night."
Phillip Chen broke the silence, very concerned. "That's an expensive word, tai-pan."
"I know. But I have no option," he said, his voice hard. "Certainly there'll be a return favor asked in payment someday." Dunross brushed his hair away from his eyes and added, "Perhaps it'll be with Joseph Yu, who knows? But I had to say it."
"Yes. You're very wise. Wise beyond your years, much wiser than Alastair and your father, not as wise as the Hag." A small shiver went through him. "You were wise to barter the time, and wise not to mention the money, the bank money, very wise. He's much too smart not to know we need that tomorrow—I'd imagine by evening at the latest."
"Somehow we'll get it. That'll take the Victoria pressure off us. Paul's got to call a board meeting soon," Dunross added darkly. "With Richard on the board, well, Richard owes us many favors. The new board will vote to increase our revolving fund, then we won't need Bartlett, First Central or Mata's god-cursed syndicate."
Phillip Chen hesitated, then he blurted out, "I hate to be the bearer of more bad tidings but I've heard that part of Richard Kwang's arrangement with Havergill included his signed, undated resignation from the Victoria board and a promise to vote exactly as Havergill wishes."
Dunross sighed. Everything fell into place. If Richard Kwang voted with the opposition it would neutralize his dominating position. "Now all we have to do is lose one more supporter and Paul and his opposition will squeeze us to death." He looked up at Phillip Chen. "You'd better nobble Richard."
"I… I'll try, but he's nobbled already. What about P. B. White? Do you think he'd help?"
"Not against Havergill, or the bank. With Tiptop he might," Dunross said heavily. "He's next—and last—on the list."
70
10:55 P.M. :
The six people piled out of the two taxis at the private entrance of the Victoria Bank building on the side street. Casey, Riko Gresser-hoif, Gavallan, Peter Marlowe, Dunross and P. B. White, a spare, spritely Englishman of seventy-five. The rain had stopped, though the poorly lit street was heavily puddled.
"Sure you won't join us for a nightcap, Peter?" P. B.'White asked.
"No thanks, P. B., I'd better be getting home. Night and thanks for supper, tai-pan!"
He walked off into the night, heading for the ferry terminal that was just across the square. Neither he nor the others noticed the car pull up and stop down the street. In it was Malcolm Sun, senior agent, SI, and Povitz, the CIA man. Sun was driving.
"This the only way in and out?" Povitz asked.
"Yes."
They watched P. B. White press the door button. "Lucky bastards. Those two broads are the best I've ever seen."
"Casey's okay but the other? There are prettier girls in any dance hall. …" Sun stopped. A taxi went past.
"Another tail?"
"No, no I don't think so, but if we're watching the tai-pan you can bet others are."
"Yes."
They saw P. B. White press the button again. The door opened and the sleepy Sikh night guard greeted him, "Evening, sahs, mem-sahs," then went to the elevator, pressed the button and closed the front door.
"The elevator's rather slow. Antiquated, like me. Sorry," P. B. White said.
"How long have you lived here, P. B.?" Casey asked, knowing there was nothing ancient about him, given the dance in his step or the twinkle in his eyes.
"About five years, my dear," he replied taking her arm. "I'm very lucky."
Sure, she thought, and you've got to be very important to the bank and powerful, must be to have one of the only three apartments in the whole vast building. He had told them one of the others belonged to the chief manager who was presently on sick leave. The last one was staffed but kept vacant. "It's for visiting HRHs, the governor of the Bank of England, prime ministers, those sort of luminaries," P. B. White had said grandly during the light spicy Szechuan food. "I'm rather like a janitor, an unpaid caretaker. They let me in to look after the place."
"I'll bet!"
"Oh it's true! Fortunately there's no connection between this part of the building and the bank proper, otherwise I'd have my hand in the till!"
Casey was feeling very happy, replete with good food and good wine and fine, witty conversation and much attention from the four men, particularly Dunross—and very content that she had held her own with Riko—everything in her life seemingly in place again, Line so much more her Line once more, even though he was out with the enemy. How to deal with her? she asked herself for the billionth time.
The elevator door opened. They went into it, crowding into the small area. P. B. White pressed the lowest of three buttons. "God lives on the top floor," he chuckled. "When he's in town."
Dunross said, "When's he due back?"
"In three weeks, Ian, but it's just as well he's out of touch with Hong Kong—he'd be back on the next plane. Casey, our chief manager's a marvelous fellow. Unfortunately he's been quite sick for almost a year and now he's retiring in three months. I persuaded him to take some leave and go to Kashmir, to a little place I know on the banks of the Jehlum River, north of Srinagar. The floor of the valley's about six thousand feet and, up there amongst the «$| If' greatest mountains on earth, it's paradise. They have houseboats on the rivers and lakes and you drift, no phones, no mail, just you and the Infinite, wonderful people, wonderful air, wonderful food, stupendous mountains." His eyes twinkled. "You have to go there very sick, or with someone you love very much."
They laughed. "Is that what you did, P.B.?" Gavallan asked.
"Of course, my dear fellow. It was in 1915, that was the first time I was there. I was twenty-seven, on leave from the Third Bengal Lancers." He sighed, parodying a lovesick youth. "She was Georgian, a princess."
They chuckled with him. "What were you really in Kashmir for?" Dunross asked.
"I'd been seconded for two years from the Indian General Staff. That whole area, the Hindu Kush, Afghanistan and what's now called Pakistan, on the borders of Russia and China's always been dicey, always will be. Then I was sent up to Moscow—that was late in '17." His face tightened a little. "I was there during the putsch when the real government of Kerenski was tossed out by Lenin, Trotsky and their Bolsheviks. .. ." The elevator stopped. They got out. The front door of his apartment was open, his Number One Boy