—he went to fix the factory sites pending your approval." Dunross glanced at Armstrong. "Evening, Robert. How're things?"
"Same, same as usual." Armstrong put out his hand to Casey and smiled wearily. "I'll leave you now. Have a safe trip. Everything's cleared as soon as you're aboard." "Thank you, Superintendent. I wish . . . thank you." Armstrong nodded to Dunross and began to leave. "Robert, did that consignment get delivered to Lo Wu?" He pretended to think. "Yes, yes I believe it did." He saw the relief.
"Thanks. Can you hang on a moment? I'd like to hear about it." "Certainly," Armstrong replied. "I'll be outside." When they were alone Dunross handed her a thin envelope. "This is a cashier's check for $750,000 U.S. I bought Struan's for you at 9.50 and sold at 28." "What?"
"Well I, er, I bought in for us first thing—at 9.50 as I promised I would. Your part of the deal was three quarters of a million. Struan's made millions. I made millions, so did Phillip and Dianne, I let them in early too."
She could not take it in. "Sorry, I don't understand." He smiled and repeated what he had said, then added, "There's also another check—for a quarter of a million dollars U.S. against your share of the General Stores takeover." She gasped. "I don't believe you."
A smile went over him fleetingly. "Yes. In thirty days another three quarters of a million will be on call. In sixty days we could advance another half million if need be."
Behind her, in the cockpit of Yankee 2, Jannelli fired the first jet engine. It shrieked into life. "Is that enough to tide you over?" he asked.
Her mouth worked but no sound came out, then, "A quarter million?"
"Yes. Actually it comes to a million—these two checks. By the way, don't forget you're tai-pan of Par-Con now. That's Line's real gift to you. Tai-pan. The money's unimportant." He grinned at her and gave her a brusque hug. "Good luck, Casey. See you in thirty days. Eh?" The second engine shrieked into life.
"A million U.S.?"
"Yes. I'll get Dawson to send you some tax advice. As your profit is Hong Kong money I'm sure there are legitimate ways to avoid —not evade—taxes." Another engine howled awake.
She was staring at him, speechless. The door of the VIP lounge opened and a tall man came in breezily. "Hello, Ian! They told me I could find you here."
"Hello, David. Casey, this is David MacStruan, my cousin."
Blankly Casey looked at him, half-smiled, but did not really notice him. "Hello. But, Ian, you mean that—you mean what you said?"
"Of course." The last engine exploded into life. "You'd better go aboard! See you next month."
"What? Oh. Oh, but I, yes, see you!" Dazed, she put the envelope in her bag, turned around and left.
They watched her go up the gangway. "So that's the famous Casey," David MacStruan said thoughtfully. He was as tall as Dunross but a few years younger, redheaded, with curious slanting, almost Asian eyes, though green, his face very used, most of the three smaller fingers of his left hand missing where the shrouds of his parachute had mashed them.
"Yes. Yes, that's Kamalian Ciranoush Tcholok."
"Smasher!"
"More than that. Think of her as the Hag."
MacStruan whistled. "Is she that good?"
"She could be, with the right training."
Aboard the airplane Svensen closed the cabin door, locked it. "You want anything, Casey?" he asked kindly, very concerned for her.
"No," she said helplessly. "Just leave me, Sven. I'll, I'll call if I need anything. Okay?"
"Sure." He closed the door.
Now she was alone. Numbly she buckled on her seat belt and looked out of the porthole. Through her tears she saw Dunross and the other man whose name she did not remember wave. She waved back but they did not see her.
Clouds went over the moon. The engines picked up tempo, the airplane taxied away, lined up and shrieked into the black sky, climbing steeply. Casey noticed none of it, Dunross's words still pounding in her brain, over and over, taking her apart and putting her back together again.
Tai-pan. That's Line's real gift to you, he had said. Tai-pan, the money's unimportant. Yes, yes that's true but…. But…
What was it Line said that time, that first day at the stock market? Wasn't it: "If Gornt wins, we win. If Dunross wins, we win. Either way we become the Noble House—which's why we're here."
The darkness lifted off her. Her mind cleared. The tears stopped.
That's what he wanted, truly wanted, she thought, her excitement growing. He wanted us to be the Noble House. Sure. Maybe that's what I can do for him in return, make that his epitaph—the Noble House.
"Oh Line," she said joyously. "It's worth a try. Isn't it?" The jetliner barreled into the high clouds, continuing its faultless departure. The night was warm and very dark, the moon crescent, the wind kind. Below was the Island.
Dunross came out onto the Peak Road fast, heading for home, the traffic light and the engine sounding sweet. On a sudden impulse he changed direction and pulled up at the Peak lookout and stood at the rail, alone.
Hong Kong was a sea of lights. Over in Kowloon another jet took off from the floodlit runway. A few stars came through the high clouds.
"Christ, it's so good to be alive," he said.