Noble House

She walked on. Now my plan has to change, she was thinking, all her being concentrated. Tonight I was going to love Line properly, but now everything has to change. If he's in her bed he's under her spell. Jesus, I'm glad I found that out. God, if I'd offered he would have had to say no and then…. Now I can…. what should I do?
Shit on the Orlandas of the world! It's so easy for them. They have a game plan from day one. But the rest of us?
What do I do? Stick to November 25 and gamble Orlanda will bore the hell out of him by that time?
Not that lady. That one's dynamite and she knows Line's her passport to eternity.
Her heart picked up a beat. I'm a match for her, she told herself confidently. Maybe not in bed or in the kitchen, but I can learn.
She stepped up and over a boulder, cursing the mud that fouled her shoes, and jumped down the other side of the earth barrier. Dunross's Rolls and his chauffeur were at the head of the line.
"Excuse, Missee, is the tai-pan still there?"
"Yes, yes he is."
"Ah, thank you." The driver locked the car and hurried over the roadblock back up the hill. Casey turned and watched him. Her eyes centered on Orlanda who was approaching and she looked at her, wanting to shove her into the mud. The thought amused her and she stood there, letting her enemy approach, letting her wonder what she would do. She saw the eyes harden and there was no fear on Orlanda's face, just a very confident half-smile. Orlanda passed her fearlessly, and a tremor of apprehension went through Casey that she managed to dominate. Maybe you're just as afraid of me and my power as I am of yours, she thought, her eyes now on Rose Court, a brilliant tower of light, wondering which light surrounded Line or which darkened window. . . .
When Orlanda had first seen Casey, she had immediately jumped to the conclusion that Casey had been to her apartment and confronted Bartlett—that's what I would have done, she told herself. And, even though she knew now where Casey had been, fear again swept through her at the sight of her rival. Has she power over him through Par-Con? she asked herself, trembling. Can she control Line through stocks or shares? If Line's first wife nearly destroyed him financially and Casey saved him as many times as he said, she's bound to have him tied up. I would if I were she, of course I would.
Involuntarily Orlanda glanced back. Casey was still watching Rose Court. Beyond her, Dunross and others—Riko, Toxe, Phillip and Dianne Chen among them—came out of the foyer and started down the hill. She dismissed them and everything except the question of how to deal with Line when she returned. Should she tell him about meeting Casey or not? Numbly she took the remainder of her packages from her car. I know one thing, she told herself over and over again. Line's mine, and Casey or no Casey I'll marry him, whatever the cost.
Casey had seen Dunross come out of the foyer and she watched him, enjoying the sight of him, tall, debonair, ten years younger than when she first saw him, and it pleased her very much that she had helped him. Then, just as she turned away, she heard him call out, "Casey! Casey! Hang on a moment!" She glanced back. "How about joining us for dinner?" he called out to her.
She shook her head, not in the mood, and called out, "Thanks but I've a date! See you tomorr—"
At that moment the earth fell away.
82
8:56 P.M.:
The landslide had begun further up the mountain on the other side of Po Shan Road, and it swept across the road, smashing into a two-story garage, its mass and velocity so vast that the garage building rotated and toppled off the garden terrace, slid down for a short distance, then fell over. The slide gathered momentum and rushed past a darkened high rise, crossed Conduit Road and smashed into Richard Kwang's two-story house, obliterating it. Then, together with these buildings, the slip, now nine hundred feet long and two hundred feet wide—fifty thousand tons of earth and rock—continued on its downward path across Kotewall Road and struck Rose Court.
The landslide had taken seven seconds.
When Rose Court was struck, it appeared to shudder, and then the building came away from its foundations and moved forward in the direction of the harbor, toppled over and broke up near the middle like a man kneeling then falling.
As it fell, the upper stories struck and ripped off a corner of the upper stories of Sinclair Towers below, then crumpled and disintegrated into rubble. Part of the slide and the demolished building continued on and fell into a construction site farther down the mountain, then stopped. The lights went out as the building collapsed in a cloud of dust. And now over all Mid Levels there was a stunned, vast silence.
Then the screams began. . . .
In the tunnel under Sinclair Road, Suslev was choking, half-buried in rubble. Part of the tunnel roof was torn off, water gushing in now from fractured mains and drains, the tunnel filling rapidly.
He scrambled and fought up into the open, his confused mind helpless, not knowing what was happening, what had happened, only that somehow he must have been captured and drugged and now he was in a wake-sleep nightmare from the Red Room. He looked around, panic-stricken. All buildings were dark, power gone, a monstrous pile of shrieking, shifting wreckage surrounding him. Then his glands overpowered him and he fled pell-mell down Sinclair Road. . . .
Far above on Kotewall Road, those on the other side of the barrage were safe though paralyzed with shock. The few still on their feet, Casey among them, could not believe what they had witnessed. The vast slide had torn away all of the roadway as far as they could see. Most of the mountainside that a moment ago was terraced was now an undulating, ugly mud-earth-rock slope—roads vanished, buildings gone, and Dunross and his party carried away somewhere down the slope.
Casey tried to scream but she had no voice. Then, "Oh Jesus Christ! Line!" tore from her mouth and her feet moved and before she knew what was happening she was scrambling, falling, groping her way toward the wreckage. The darkness was awful now, the screams awful, voices beginning, shouts for help from everywhere, the unbelievable twisted pile of debris still moving here and there, bits still falling and being crushed. All at once the night was lit by power lines exploding, sending cascades of fireballs into the air among the wreckage.
Frantically she rushed to where the foyer once had been. Extended below, far below, the darkness obscuring almost everything, was the twisted mass of rubble, concrete blocks, girders, shoes, toys, pots pans sofas chairs beds radios TVs clothes limbs books, three cars that had been parked outside, and more screams. Then in the light of the exploding power lines she saw the mashed wreckage that was once the elevator down the slope, broken arms and legs jutting from its carcass.
"Line!" she shrieked at the top of her voice, again and again, not knowing she was crying, the tears streaming down her face. But there was no answer. Desperately she clambered and half fell and groped her way into and over the dangerous rubble. Around her, men and women were shouting, screaming. Then she heard a faint wail of terror nearby and part of the rubble moved. She was on her knees now, stockings torn, dress torn, knees bruised and she pulled away some bricks and found a small cavity, and there was a Chinese child of three or four, beyond terror, coughing, almost choking, trapped under a vast, groaning pile of debris in the rubble dust. "Oh Jesus you poor darling." Casey looked around frantically but there was no one to help. Part of the rubble shifted, screaming and groaning, a big chunk of concrete with its imbedded, reinforcing iron almost hanging loose. Careless of her safety, Casey fought the debris away, fingers bleeding. Again the wreckage twisted over her as some of it slid farther down the slope. Desperately she clawed a crawlspace and grabbed the child's arm, helping her to squeeze out, then caught her in her arms and darted back to safety as this part of the wreckage collapsed and she stood alone, the trembling child safe and unhurt in her arms, clutching her tightly. . . .