Free Whirlwind by James Clavell Page A

the summer of '65 when the colony was poised on revolution with mao tse-tung's red guards rampaging all over mainland china, tearing the motherland apart and now spilling over into the streets of hong kong and kowloon, gavallan's letter had arrived. at that time mciver's helicopter business was on the edge of disaster, he was behind on lease payments on his small chopper, and genny was trying to cope with two teenage children in a tiny, noisy flat in kowloon where the riots were the worst.
     
     
"for god's sake, gen, look at this!" the letter said: "dear mr. mciver, you may remember we met once or twice at the races when i was with struan's a few years back we both won a bundle on a gelding called chinaboy. the taipan, ian dunross, suggested i write to you as i have great need of your expertise immediately i know that you taught him to fly a chopper, and he recommends you highly. north sea oil is a fait accompli. i have a theory that the only way to supply the rigs in all weather conditions is by helicopter. that is presently not possible i think you'd call it instrument flight rules, ifr. we could make it possible. i've got the weather, you've got the skill. one thousand pounds a month, a three-year contract to prove or disprove, a bonus based on success, transportation for you and your family back to aberdeen, and a case of loch vay whisky at christmas. please phone as soon as possible..."
     
     
without saying a word genny had casually handed him back the letter and started out of the room, the constant noise of the great city traffic, klaxons, street vendors, ships, jets, blaring discordant chinese music through the windows that rattled in the wind.
     
     
"where the hell're you going?"
     
     
"to pack." then she laughed and ran back and hugged him. "it's a gift from heaven, duncan, quick, call him, call him now..."
     
     
"but aberdeen? ifr in all weather? my god, gen, it's never been done. there isn't the instrumentation, i don't know if it's pass "
     
     
"for you it is, my lad. of course. now, where the devil have hamish and sarah gone?"
     
     
"today's saturday, they've gone to the movies an "
     
     
a brick crashed through one of the windows, and the tumult of a riot began again. their apartment was on the second floor and faced a narrow street in the heavily populated mong kok area of kowloon. mciver pulled genny to safety then cautiously looked out. in the street below, five to ten thousand chinese, all shouting, mao, mao, kwai loh! kwai loh foreign devil, foreign devil their usual battle cry, were surging toward the police station a hundred yards away where a small detachment of uniformed chinese police and three british officers waited silently behind a barricade.
     
     
"my god, gen, they're armed!" mciver gasped. usually the police just had batons. yesterday the swiss consul and his wife had been burned to death nearby when a mob had overturned their car and set it on fire. last night on radio and television the governor had warned that he had ordered the police to take whatever steps necessary to stop all rioting. "get down, gen, out of the way..."
     
     
his words were drowned by police loudspeakers as the superintendent commanded the massed rioters in cantonese and english to disperse. the mob paid no attention and attacked the barricade. again the order to stop was disregarded. then the firing began and those in front panicked and were trampled as others fought to get away. soon the street was clear except for the dozen or so bodies lying in the dirt. it was the same on hong kong island. the next day the whole colony was once more at peace; there were no more serious riots, only a few pockets of hard-core red guards trying to whip up the crowds who were quickly deported.
     
     
within the week mclver sold his interest in his helicopter business, flew to aberdeen ahead of genny, and hurled himself into his new job with gusto. it had taken her a month to pack, settle their apartment, and sell what