by Peter Tonkin
Robin was absolutely alone in the baggage collection hall. There weren’t even any baggage handlers. No need for any, she supposed. The Foreign Secretary’s luggage would hardly come through here. Nor Symes’ or even Maxwell’s, she thought glumly. Handlers would only have been an unnecessary security risk, what with the Prince of Wales, the Foreign Secretary, the Governor and the representatives of the People’s Republic all out there somewhere. There was a distant babble of voices interspersed with the popping of camera flashes as the official opening ceremony got under way in the main hall.
As she waited, alone, Robin had leisure to consider the efficiency with which the other passengers — the VIPs — had been whisked away and their baggage disposed of. It would have been so easy to treat her single little case with the same consideration. Ah well, she thought, that’s what you get for upsetting the Foreign Secretary’s lackey. The thought, and the anger it stirred against Syme whom she blamed for all of this, failed signally to make her feel better. Against the tall windows above the baggage collection hall, rain and wind thundered suddenly, like a waterfall. It drowned out the sounds of the ceremony in the next hall. The power of the noise emphasised how small humanity’s efforts were, how insignificant she was, and how alone. Her overnight bag, when it finally flopped onto the carousel, looked unutterably forlorn.
She didn’t bother with a trolley, she just slung the strap over her shoulder and walked through into the Customs hall. There were the familiar lanes and she chose the one marked in green as she had nothing to declare. The Customs officer who stopped her halfway along it was another Chinese. He was a slim, bird-like man whose high forehead and thin neck made his whole head seem far too big for him. When he asked to examine her luggage she almost told him to get lost. But she controlled herself and placed the case and the briefcase side by side in front of him with a brittle smile.
The officer opened the overnight bag and rummaged through it comprehensively. He kept moving the case and his slim body in such a way that it became obvious to her that everything he was doing was being monitored by the security camera over his seemingly fragile shoulder. Thank God, she thought, that the personal items were all new. It would have pushed her over the edge into the hysteria Syme apparently feared had those busy little fingers been sorting through anything which she had actually worn herself, revealing it to whoever was watching through the camera.
She no sooner welcomed the thought into her weary head than the officer opened her wash-case clumsily and half a dozen tampons fell out onto the floor.
He took out each file from her briefcase and examined it in detail with the sort of concentration which someone displays when looking at something utterly beyond their understanding. The manner in which he looked at each document made it obvious that they were also being checked by whoever was behind the security cameras. A wave of helplessness swept over her and she hoped that the information in those limited access company files would not fall into the wrong hands. But the thought that it might do so made her go cold again. It was worse than the moment when they had taken her passport away.
But then it was over. The bags went through the X-ray machine just to double-check, she supposed. And she went on through the body-scan. She had half expected the machine to set off the alarm but it did not do so. There was a female officer waiting for her at the other side, however, and her stomach clenched with an absolute terror far worse than anything so far. Her steps faltered as the nightmare possibility of a body search flashed into her mind. For an instant, she was on the verge of panic flight, absolutely certain that she was going to be stripped and given a full, intimate examination; by the Chinese woman, in a private room, no doubt, but still in front of those sinister security cameras.
But then a single thought came. One thought which straightened her spine and steadied her nerve. The thought of why she was here. Even a strip-search, even that she would have borne to get to Richard’s side. She met the woman’s gaze and stepped out firmly. On her third step, the bird-like officer joined his colleague and each one handed her one of her bags. With almost regal calm she accepted them and then turned towards the apparent freedom of the gate. So, with the briefcase again in her right hand and her ill-packed overnight case thumping her left thigh and dragging on her shoulder, she walked through into the reception hall.
It seemed that she had missed the ceremony. The noise and the flashing lights she had seen from baggage collection were gone now and all that was left to show what had been going on was an empty podium, a large number of vacant chairs and an enormous amount of photographic equipment being busily packed away. With this as a background, a broad young man was standing, looking anxiously towards her. A beautifully tailored suit contained the body of a rugby prop forward by something akin to a miracle. The anxious face was square and freckled and, to chime with the body, presented a snub nose which might have been squashed in a lively scrum and a pair of ears with just the most distant hint of the cauliflower. The hair swept back above the broad forehead was bright copper and crinkled like live fuse wire. ‘There you are, Captain Mariner!’ he called as his blue gaze fell on her. He strode forward at once, his movements lively and forceful, his broad face breaking into a welcoming grin. ‘Thank goodness. I was becoming concerned.’ He shoved out a hand towards her and caught the weekend case off her shoulder before she could object. He swung it up onto his own shoulder. ‘Security has been incredibly tight tonight. I’m extremely surprised you managed to get through!’
‘You’re not alone there.’ She was beginning to come out of the near-shock which had been an inevitable result of her fears, if not of her actual experience. She registered more than his bright eyes and ruddy hair. His voice held the softest ghost of a lilt which made her think irresistibly of crofts and peat-scented malt whisky. But then, she had been on the Isle of Skye less than fifty hours ago, and his accent brought it all back too vividly.
‘And I must admit that I’m absolutely flabbergasted that you managed to get here today at all,’ he persisted. ‘Was it only this morning that we were talking on the phone? And you were calling from Waterloo Station! It seems impossible. You are absolutely amazing, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
‘How’s Richard? Have you seen him yet?’
‘I’m afraid not, Captain Mariner. They won’t let me anywhere near him.’
‘But you’re his legal representative! Surely they can’t stop you if you insist?’
‘It’s certainly very odd,’ he admitted.
‘I have to go to him at once,’ she said.
‘We’ve got to leave before they close the bridge,’ he warned. ‘They put up Warning Four just after you touched down and the typhoon warning system only goes up to Six. They cut short the opening ceremony because there was no sign of an improvement — that’s why the place was so empty when you came out of Customs. If they put up Five then we’re here for the night.’
Robin suddenly realised that the noise she had been hearing in the background was going on immediately outside. ‘What is this?’ she said desperately. ‘This is May, for heaven’s sake! It’s far too early for typhoons.’
‘Nobody seems to have told Tin Hau,’ he observed wryly. ‘God, but this is bad joss,’ he added angrily.
And Robin really knew she was back in Hong Kong.
*
Andrew Atherton Balfour’s car sat all alone in the multistorey car park, mercifully close to the lift doors. The power of the wind was apparently intensified by the building’s construction and they seemed to be battling a full hurricane as they hurried across towards it. The fierce gusts were quite warm, however, and although there was spray aplenty, no rain actually penetrated. There was far too much going on for Robin to pay any attention to what type of car it was, though she had an impression of brutal power in the muscular squat of its shape. ‘Sling your stuff on the back seat,’ he yelled, swinging the passenger door open for her. This was easier said than done, for the pale hide seat-backs were high. But he m
anaged to get her overnight case in, so she gave the briefcase a hearty shove and hoped for the best.
Then they were both in, side by side, gasping for breath, with the car doors tightly closed and the massive solidity of the automobile reassuringly close around them. ‘Right!’ he said after the briefest respite. ‘Let’s get this show on the road!’
He shoved his key into the ignition and turned it. The starter crashed into life and the power of the storm was reduced to size at once in comparison. He hit the lights then wrenched the big gearshift into reverse. While she was still reaching for her seatbelt, he slammed the car into violent motion. She rocked forward, as though going to kiss the dashboard. Her briefcase thumped down onto the floor behind. The car crouched back, like a panther about to spring. Balfour reached for his own seatbelt and strapped it on while Robin, silently, was doing the same. Unobtrusively, she eased herself down and pushed her hips forward until her feet were firmly on the floor in front of her. Something made her suspect that they were in for a bumpy ride.
He was very good to begin with. They hardly exceeded 20 mph inside the building. Both acceleration and brakes were tested to the limit at the exit barrier, however, and then they were out on the open road onto Lan Tao Island.
Conversation was impossible while he was thundering up through the gears, apparently with his own tai fun somewhere just behind the dashboard. The blaze of the airport fell away on their left, seemingly sailing off across the agitated ocean, while they sped along the new highway up the steep hillsides which were the backbone of the long island. Hong Kong itself remained invisible, concealed behind the sharp peaks of the skyline, until they came to the watershed and the massive car seemed to leap over the sharp crest and the whole breathtaking view spread out dazzlingly in front of them.
The swirling storm clouds whipped by above their heads and ran — almost as agitatedly as the surface of the sea below them — to break against the tops of the sharp peaks across the bay. Beneath them hung chains of rain which seemed to whip in the grip of the wind and glitter in the reflected brightness of the red, green and broad bright yellow lights. The lights themselves seemed to run down the hillsides with the rain to gather in bright pools hard against the sea. Straight ahead lay the New Territories, scarcely twenty kilometres away, the slopes below the whirling clouds falling precipitately from sheer darkness concealed by driving rain to increasing jewelled brightness extended by a bright aura of driving spray.
Pointing straight towards the invisible Tai Mo Shan peak at the cloud-capped summit of the Territories, the great span of the new road bridge reached out like a golden arrow beside its darker twin railway bridge. Footed on Ma Wan Island, they stepped across more than three kilometres of rough water, and even as Robin looked down in breathless wonder, another fierce gust seemed to make both structures tremble.
To the right of the road bridge’s span, behind the bulk of Tsing Yi Island, the bright glow of the mainland coast followed down past the Kwai Chung container terminal towards the low hump of Stonecutter’s Island, and the Kowloon Peninsula beyond. Even as she looked at the gaudy brightness plunging like a golden waterfall between the streaming sky and the foaming sea, she saw the lights of a jumbo jet sailing steadily down behind the hillsides, settling towards the runway at Kai Tak. ‘Kai Tak’s still open,’ she called with some surprise.
‘Not for long, I’d say,’ he answered. The massive car swung downwards, plunging towards the bridge. The movement was to the right as well as down. The whole of the peninsula swam into her view, with the glitter of the bay and the brightness of the lights on Central, Wanchai, Causeway Bay and North Point of Hong Kong Island itself. It was a breathtaking view, one of the wonders of the world. The beauty of it buoyed her up; simply being here fed her the extra energy she needed, even though in terms of her body’s time it was just coming up to twenty-four hours since she had pulled the Monterey to a halt outside the front door at Ashenden.
On this side of the hill there was a wind shadow which cut down the sound of the storm, but the grumbling snarl of the huge engine just ahead of them continued to dominate the airwaves. ‘We have to go straight there,’ she called.
‘One step at a time. Let’s get across the bridge. I warn you, it could still be closed. If Number Five is up —’
‘No! You don’t seem to understand. We have to go straight to the hospital.’
‘We’ll talk about it when we get past Boundary Street. At least if we get there we know we’re not going to get moved off the road and into the nearest shelter by the police. But until we do get there, it’s too soon to worry. We could get pulled up at any time. Really, Captain, we have to take it one step at a time. Let’s get across the bridge first. Then let’s get in out of the New Territories. Then we’ll decide what to do. Fair enough?’
She sat back, silenced by the logic of his words.
The car sped down the hillside along the eight-lane highway like a thunderbolt. Robin glanced around again, craning to see out of the high, narrow windows, but the position of the car and Balfour’s square body combined to eclipse most of the city. That fact made her think about her companion as though his position in front of the view triggered the obverse of the old saying ‘out of sight, out of mind’. There was nothing else to look at and nothing else to think about — except for the constant agony of thinking about Richard. But that, like the plan for action, needed to be put off for the time being. So she began to wonder about Andrew Atherton Balfour. And the instant she did so, she realised how selfish she had been.
‘You should have been there!’ she said suddenly.
‘I should have been where?’ he asked, obviously failing to follow her logic.
‘At Government House! At the reception for the Prince and the Foreign Secretary, with all the rest of the local bigwigs!’
He gave a bark of laughter. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Captain Mariner —’
‘Call me Robin, please.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Robin, but I’m no tai pan. I would have been there, though; I have to admit that.’
‘Then this is particularly kind of you,’ she said.
‘Not really. I’m not very good socially. I prefer the quiet life at home, if the truth be told.’
‘Then you must be unique in your profession.’
‘Ah now, don’t confuse us poor solicitors with our flamboyant associates the barristers.’
Now it was her turn to bark with laughter as she thought, This from a man driving an Aston Martin. The grudging sound was brought about by recognition of the truth of his observation. The one barrister she knew really well was called Maggie DaSilva and Maggie was as flamboyant as they came. ‘Even so,’ she said, ‘this has to be one of the highlights of the recent social season.’
‘Perhaps, but I think there will be an even bigger party in seven weeks’ time. When the Chinese arrive full force.’
‘Or no party at all. What do you think?’
‘It’s difficult to tell. There has been an enormous brain-drain and a massive movement of companies and capital outwards. But what if the Chinese come in like a lamb rather than a dragon? What if they are serious about the Special Economic Zone and are willing to put up with rampant consumerism in order to establish the window into the capitalist world that they need? They have to realise that Marxism is dead as a social system; I mean, since the collapse of the Soviet Union …’
‘Yes. If?’
‘Well, it’s something I must admit has been exercising my mind recently, though I’m not an economic expert.’
‘And? So?’
‘Well, it does seem to me that, even if the government of the People’s Republic is largely composed of senior and conservative, not to say elderly, men, it is nevertheless probable, perhaps certain, that it will soon become obvious to them that Hong Kong could be really important to them. I mean really important. What if they want to follow the footsteps of post-Marxist Russia but don’t want to make any of the mistakes
? What if they could use Hong Kong like the valve on a pressure cooker to channel solid currency in — dollars, marks, pounds, gold, for heaven’s sake — and let the product out. You see, if they do it carefully, they won’t need to deal with the industrialised West on equal terms at all: they have an infinite supply of the ultimate machine — people. They have an effectively infinite workforce capable of producing damn near anything, and they control the wages and the costs! Forget Japan. Look at South Korea; look at Samsung and Hyundai.
‘The system seems to work just the same as it did in the sixties but on a far larger scale. They’ve already started producing the cheap and easy stuff — the fake St Laurent shirts, the Reeboks, the Rolexes. That spat they had with the USA a couple of years ago showed how good they are getting at copying the more advanced stuff — the videos, laser discs, CD Rom packages, bio-programmes and genetic stuff. They’re even pulling ahead with the legitimate stuff — the extruded plastic toys, the simple electrical goods. Look in any of the Hong Kong markets, look in any high street back home! They can earn millions by keeping on with that sort of product, like the Philippines, Taiwan and South Korea used to do.
‘But then they’ll use those millions to buy in extra expertise. They’ll use Hong Kong as a combination leisure facility and test bed at the same time as they are using it as a conduit and a shop window. Don’t you see? If automation is the way to go, then they’ll get the leading people in from the West and they’ll put them up at the People’s Mandarin Hotel and they’ll have meetings in the People’s floating restaurants in Aberdeen and they’ll buy in advice and expertise and suddenly some factory up in Shenzhen will be automated to hell and beyond and the bottom will fall out of the cheap TV market. Or the cheap car market. Or the personal computer market.
