Elephant Song - Smith Wilbur - Страница 93
- Предыдущая
- 93/140
- Следующая
Heng dismissed it with a brusque gesture, his dark eyes sparkling.
Man is what he is today because he has always done these things. He touched the cedar panels of the wall beside him, the hem of his silk tunic, the gold and ivory ring on his finger, the precious ceramic bowl on the table before him. All these were mined or felled or killed, as is the very food we eat. You and I, we know that, Tug agreed. But this new madness is a force to be reckoned with, almost an unreasoning religious fanaticism. A jihad, if you like, a holy war. I mean no disrespect, Sir Peter, but the Occidental is emotionally immature. I like to think that we of the cast have more sophistication.
We are not so readily caught up by such exaggerated behaviour. That is why I appeal to you, sir. My company, BOSS, has recently become a victim of this campaign. The attention of the British public has been drawn to our operations in Ubomo by groups of these people who call themselves childish names such as "Greenpeace" or "The Friends of the Earth". Heng grimaced at the title, and Tug nodded. I know it sounds silly and harmless, but one such Organisation is led by a fanatical young woman.
She has chosen my company as her target. She has already managed to do us some damage. There is a small but noticeable decline in sales and income that is directly attributable to her campaign. Some of our major markets in the United Kingdom and the United States are getting nervous, and asking us to back off from Ubomoi or at least to play down our involvement, and I personally have received hate mail and death threats.
You do not take those seriously? No, Mr. Ning, I do not, although these are from people who blow up animal experimentation laboratories and set fire to furrier's shops. However, I think it might be prudent to play down BOSS's role in Ubomo, or at least to give it better public relations. What do you propose, Sir Peter? Firstly, I have already hired an independent film-producer, quite well-known in Europe and America, to film a television feature on Ubomo with particular emphasis on the benefits to the country of our involvement.
You do not plan to expose all the syndicate's operations to the camera, Sir Peter? There was a tone of alarm in Heng's question. Of course not, Mr. Ning. The film-producer will be carefully guided to show our syndicate in the best possible light. It may even be necessary to prepare some exhibits for him to film. To put on a little show for his benefit? Heng suggested. Exactly, Mr. Ning. We will keep him away from the sensitive areas of our operations. Heng nodded.
That is wise. You seem to have arranged matters without my help. You are in a better position than I am, Mr. Ning. These so called green people cannot reach you here in Taiwan. Your own Chinese people are too pragmatic to take up such an immature attitude to mining and forestry, especially as nearly all the products that we reap will be shipped here. You are invulnerable to this childish but dangerous influence. Yes. Heng nodded. I see that all you have said makes good sense, but where does it lead us? I want Lucky Dragon to become the figurehead of the syndicate. I want one of your best men, rather than one of mine, to go to Ubomo and take charge of the operations there.
I will pull out my geologists and forestry experts and architects; you will put in Chinese experts. I will gradually sell off my share of the syndicate to Hong Kong front companies and other oriental nominees.
Although you and I will meet regularly and discreetly to direct the syndicate operations, BOSS will gradually withdraw from the scene. You will become the invisible man, Sir Peter.
Heng chuckled with genuine amusement. The invisible man, I like that.
Tug laughed with him. May I know who it is that you would send to Ubomo to take charge there. Ning Heng H'Sui stopped laughing and tugged thoughtfully at the silver tuft that hung from his cheek.
His sons, sitting below him at the long lacquer table, leaned forward, trying not to display their eagerness, watching their father's face with impassive expressions that were betrayed by their eyes.
Ha! Heng coughed and wet his lips from the tea bowl. That will require some consideration, Sir Peter. Will you give me a week or so to decide?
Of course, Mr. Ning. It is not a decision to be taken lightly.
We will need somebody clever and dedicated and. . . he hesitated as he weighed the adjective, discarding ruthless as too explicit, and strong, yet diplomatic. I will telephone you with my decision. Where will you be, Sir Peter? Well, I am flying to Sydney tomorrow morning, and from there I will go on directly to Nairobi and Kahali in Ubomo to meet President Taffari. However, my aircraft has direct satellite communication. You can contact me in flight as easily as if I were in the next room. These modern miracles. Heng shook his head.
Sometimes it is difficult for an old man to adjust. it seems to me that you are old only in experience and sagacity, Mr. Ning. In courage and dash you are young, sir. Tug said, not entirely in flattery, and Ning Heng H'Sui inclined his head graciously.
Cheng had waited patiently for exactly the right moment to present his father with the gift that he had brought for him from Africa. It was almost two weeks since Sir Peter Harrison had visited Taiwan and still his father had made no announcement within the family as to which of his sons he was sending to run the syndicate's operation in Ubomo.
All the brothers knew it must be one of them. They had known it the moment that the Englishman had made the request. Cheng had noticed the others lean forward at the words, and he had seen his own excitement and expectation mirrored in their eyes. Ever since then, the brothers had been walking around each other like dogs with stiff legs. The extent of Lucky Dragon's investment in the Ubomo syndicate was unprecedented. When the project was fully financed and developed, the family would be committed to raising almost a thousand million dollars, much of it borrowed from banks in Hong Kong and Japan.
It must be one of the sons. Ning Heng H'Sui would never put so much trust in an outsider. Only his age forced him to delegate the task to one of them. Not long ago he would have taken command in Ubomo into his own hands, but now his sons knew he had to give it to one of them, and each of them would kill for the honour. That command would be the ultimate accolade which would show clearly whom Heng had chosen as his heir.
Cheng longed for the honour with a passion so intense that it denied him sleep and spoiled his appetite. In the two weeks since Sir Peter's visit, Cheng had lost weight and become pale and hollow-cheeked. Now, when he exercised in the gymnasium with his hired sparring partners, his body was lean to the point of emaciation. Every rib showed through the hard rubbery casing of muscle. However, his blows and kicks had lost none of their fury. As he fought, his dark eyes, sunken into bruisedlooking cavities, glittered with a feverish intensity.
He found every excuse to be in his father's company. Even when the old man was painting, or meditating with the Confucian priests at the shrine in the gardens of the estate, or cataloguing his ivory collection, Cheng; tried to be with him, keeping himself close. Yet he sensed that the moment was not exactly right to make the gift. He believed that his father's choice must in the end come down to that between his second brother, Wu, and Cheng himself.
The eldest brother, Fang, was tough and ruthless, but lacking in guile and cunning, a good hatchet man but not a leader. The third son, Ling, possessed an unreliable temperament. tie was clever, as clever as either Wu or Cheng, but he was easily panicked and inclined to fly into a rage when things went against him. Ling would never head Lucky Dragon. He might become Number Two perhaps, but never Number One. No, Cheng reasoned, the choice must be between himself and Wu.
- Предыдущая
- 93/140
- Следующая
