to accept anything, from DDT to Concorde, nobody really cares any more.
Come hell and high water, we'll carry the El Barras oil. Nobody is
strong enough to stop us. Duncan gathered his papers and went on
softly, I need six million dollars for sixty days - and I need it by
noon tomorrow. You are a brave man! the man repeated softly. But you
are finely stretched out. Already my brothers and I have made a
considerable investment in your courage. To be blunt Mr. Alexander,
Christy Marine has exhausted its collateral. Even Golden Dawn is pawned
down to her last rivet - and the charter for Orient Amex does not change
that. Duncan took another sheaf of papers, bound in a brown folder, and
the man lifted an eyebrow in question.
My personal assets, Duncan explained, and the man skimmed swiftly
through the typed lists.
Paper values, Mr. Alexander. Actual values are 5o'/'O of those you
list, and that is not six million dollars of collateral. He handed the
folder back to Duncan. They will do for a start, but we'll need more
than that. What more is there? Share options, stock options in Christy
Marine. If we are to share risk, then we must have a share of the
winnings. Do you want my soul also? Duncan demanded harshly, and the
man laughed.
We'll take a slice of that as well, the agreed amiably.
It was two hours later that Duncan sank wearily into the leather-work of
the Rolls. The muscles in his thighs trembled as though he had run a
long way and there was a nerve in the corner of his eye that jumped as
though a cricket was trapped beneath the skin. He had made the gamble,
everything - Christy Marine, his personal fortune, his very soul. It
was all at risk now.
Eaton Square, sir? the chauffeur asked.
No! Duncan told him. He knew what he needed now to smooth away the
grinding, destroying tension that wracked his body, but he needed it
quickly without fuss and, like the peppermint-tasting powder, like a
medicine.
The Senator Club in Frith Street, he told the chauffeur.
Duncan lay face down on the massage table in the small green-curtained
cubicle. He was naked, except for the towel, and his body was smooth
and lean. The girl worked up his spine with strong skilled fingers,
finding the little knots of tension in the sleek muscle and unravelling
them.
Do you want the soft massage, sir? she asked.
Yes, he said and rolled on to his back. She lifted away the towel from
around his waist. She was a pretty blonde girl in a short green tunic
with the golden laurel leaf club insignia on the pocket, and her manner
was brisk and business like.
Do you want any extras, sir? Her tone was neutral, and she began to
unbutton the green tunic automatically.
No/ Duncan said, No extras, and closed his eyes, surrendering himself
completely to the touch of her expert fingers.
He thought of Chantelle, feeling the sneaking guilt of the moment, but
it was so seldom these days that he had the energy for her smouldering
demanding Persian passions. He did not have the strength for her, he
was drained and weary, and all he wanted was the release, swift and
simple. In two months time it would be different, he would have the
strength and energy to pick the world up in his bare hands and shake it
like a toy.
His mind was separated from his body, and odd disconnected images
flitted across the red darkness of his closed eyelids. He thought again
how long it had been since last he and Chantelle had made love together,
and he wondered what the world would say if they knew of it.
Nicholas Berg left a big empty place in his bed also, they would say.
The hell with them, Duncan thought, but without the energy for real
anger.
The hell with all of them., And he gave himself up to the explosion of
light that burst against his eyelids and the dark, but too fleeting,
peace that followed it.
Nicholas lay back in the rather tatty old brown leather armchair which
was one of James Teacher's concessions to create comfort and he stared
cheroot smoke, Teacher could have afforded a decent Gaugin or a Turner,
but such vulgar display was frowned on in the Inns of Court. It might
lead prospective clients to ponder the amount of the fees that they were
to be charged.
James Teacher replaced the telephone and stood up behind his desk.
It did not make much difference to his height.
Well, I think we have covered all the entrances to the warren, he
announced cheerfully, and he began to tick off the items on his fingers.
The sheriff of the South African supreme court will serve notice of
attachment on the hull of Golden Adventurer at noon local time tomorrow.
Our French correspondent will do the same on Golden Dawn - He spoke for
three minutes more, and, listening to him, Nicholas reluctantly admitted
to himself that he earned the greater proportion of his enormous fees.
Well, there it is, Mr. Berg. If your hunch is correct It's not a hunch,
Mr. Teacher. It's a certainty. Duncan Alexander has his backside
pinched in the doorway. He's been rushing round the City like a
demented man looking for money. My God, he even tried to stall me with
that incredible offer of a partnership. No, Mr. Teacher, it's not a
hunch. Christy Marine is going to default. I cannot understand that,
Six millions is peanuts/ said James Teacher. At least it's peanuts to a
company like Christy Marine, one of the healthiest shipping owners. It
was, a year ago/ Nicholas agreed grimly. But since then, Alexander has
had a clear run, no checks, it's not a public company, he administers
the shares in the Trust. He drew on his cheroot. I'm going to use this
to force a full investigation of the company's affairs. I'm going to
have Alexander under the microscope and we'll have a close look at all
his pimples and warts. Teacher chuckled and picked up the telephone at
the first ring, Teacher/ he chuckled, and then laughed out loud,
nodding, Yes, and Yes! again. He hung up and turned to Nicholas, his
face bright red with mirth, fat and round as the setting sun.
I have a disappointment for you, Mr. Berg. He guffawed.
An hour ago a transfer was made to the credit of Ocean Salvage in
Bermuda by Christy Marine. How much? Every penny, Mr. Berg. In full
and final payment. Six million and some odd dollars in the legal
currency of the United States of America. Nicholas stared at him,
uncertain as to which of his emotions prevailed - relief at having the
money, or disappointment at being prevented from tearing Duncan
Alexander to shreds.
He's a high roller and very fast on his feet/ said Teacher.
It wouldn't pay to underestimate a man like Duncan Alexander. No, it
would not/ Nicholas agreed quietly, knowing that he had done so more
than once and each time it had cost him dearly.
I wonder if your clerk could find out from British Airways when the next
flight leaves for Bermuda? You are leaving so soon? Will it be in
order to mark my brief and send it direct to Bach Wackie in Bermuda?
Teacher asked delicately.
Bernard Wackie in person was waiting for Nicholas beyond the customs
barrier. He was tall and lean and alert, burned by the sun dark as a
stick of chew tobacco, and dressed in open-neck shirt and cotton
trousers.
Nicholas, it's good to see you. His handshake was hard and dry and
cool. He was under sixty and over forty, it was impossible to get
nearer to his age, I'm taking you directly to the office, there is too
much to discuss. I don't want to waste time. And he took Nicholas arm
and hurried him through burning sunlight into the shivery cold of the
Rolls air-conditioning.
The car was too big for the island's narrow winding roads. Here
ownership of automobiles was restricted to one per family unit, but
Bernard made the most of his rights.
He was one of those men whose combination of energy and brilliance made
it impossible for him to live in England and to subject himself to the
punitive taxes of envy.
It's hard to be a winner, in a society dedicated to the glorification of
the losers/ he had told Nicholas, and had moved his whole operation to
this taxless haven.
To a lesser man it would have been suicide, but Bernard had taken over
the top floor of the Bank of Bermuda building, with a magnificent view
across Hamilton Harbour, and had fitted out with a marine operations
room and a communications system the equal of NATO Command.
From where he offered a service so efficient, so personally involved, so
orientated to every single facet of ship ownership and operation, that
not only had his old clients followed him, but others had come flocking.
No taxes, Nicholas/ he smiled, And look at the view. The picturesque
buildings of Hamilton town were painted in candy colours, strawberries
and limes, plum and lemon and across the bay the cedar trees stood tall
in the sunlight, and the yachts from the pink-painted clubhouse spread
multicoloured sails across green waters. It's better than London in
winter, isn't it?
The same temperature/ said Nicholas, and glanced up at the
air-conditioning.
I'm a hot-blooded man/ Bernard explained, and when his tall nubile
secretary entered to his ring, bearing the Ocean Salvage files like a
high priestess carrying the sacrament, Bernard fell into an awed
silence, concentrating all his attention on her pneumatic bosoms; they
bounced and strained against the laws of gravity as though filled with
helium.
She flashed a dazzling, painted smile at Nicholas as she placed the
files on Bernard's desk, and then she left with her perfectly rounded
buttocks under the tightly tailored skirt, swinging and dancing to a
distant music. She can type too/ Bernard assured Nick with a sigh, and
shook his head as if to clear it, He opened the top file.
Right/he began. The deposit from Christy Marine The money had come in,
and only just in time. The next instalment on Sea Witch was already
forty-eight hours overdue and Atlantique were becoming highly agitated.
Son of a gun/ said Bernard. You would not think six million was an easy
sum of money to get rid of, would you? You don't even have to try/ Nick
agreed. It just spends itself. Then with a scowl, What's this? They've
invoked the escalation clause again, another 3 + 106 % 'Sea Witch's
builders had included a clause that related the contract price to the
index cost of steel and the Union labour rates. They had avoided the
threatened dockyard strike by capitulating to Union demands, and now the
figures came back to Nicholas. They were big fat ugly figures. The
clause was a festering canker to Nicholas draining his strength and
money.
They worked on through the afternoon, paying, paying and paying. Bunkers
and the other running costs of Warlock, interest and capital repayments
on the debts of Ocean Salvage, lawyers fees, agents fees, the six
million whittled away. One of the few payments that gave Nicholas any
pleasure was the 121/2% salvage money to the crew of Warlock. David
Allen's share was almost thirty thousand dollars, Beauty Baker another
twenty-five thousand - Nick included a note with that cheque, Have a
Bundaberg on me! Is that all the payments? Nicholas asked at last.
Isn't it enough," It's enough. Nick felt groggy with jet-lag and from
juggling with figures. What's next? Good news, next. Bernard picked up
the second file. I think I've squared Esso. They hate you, they have
threatened never to use your tugs again, but they are not going to sue.
Nicholas had breached contract when he deserted the Esso tow and ran
south for Golden Adventurer; the breach of contract suit had been
hanging since then, It was a relief to have it aside. Bernard Wackie
was worth every penny of his hire. Okay. Next? It went on for another
six unbroken hours, piled on top of the jet-lag that Nicholas had
accumulated across the Atlantic.
You okay? Bernard asked at last. Nicholas nodded though his eyes felt
like hard-boiled eggs, and his chin was dark and raspy with beard.
You want something to eat? Bernard asked, and then Nick shook his head
and realized that it was dark outside.
Drink? You'll need one for what comes next., Scotch/ Nicholas agreed,
and the secretary brought the tray through, and poured the drinks in
another respectful hush.
That will be all, Mr. Wackie? For now, honey, Bernard watched her go,
and then saluted Nicholas with his glass.
I give you the Golden Prince! And when Nicholas scowled, he went on
swiftly, No, Nicholas, I'm not shafting you. It's for real. You've done
it again, The Sheikhs are fixing to make you an offer. They want to buy
you out, take over the whole show, liabilities, everything. of course,
they'll want you to run it for them - two years, while you train one of
their own men. A hell of a salary/ he went on crisply, and Nicholas
stared at him.
How much? Two hundred grand, plus 21/2% profits. Not the salary,
Nicholas told him. How much are they offering for the company? They
are Arabs, the first offer is just to stir the pot a little. How much?
Nicholas asked impatiently.
The sum of five was delicately mentioned. What do you think they'll go
to? Seven, seven and half - eight, perhaps. Through the fuzz of
fatigue, far off like a lantern in the window on a winter's night,
Nicholas saw the vision of a new life, a life such as Samantha had shown
him. A life uncluttered, uncomplicated, shorn of all but joy and
purpose.
Eight million dollars clear? Nicholas voice was husky, and he tried to
wipe away the fatigue from his stinging eyelids with thumb and
forefinger, Maybe only seven, Bernard demurred, but I'd try for eight.
I'll have another drink, Nicholas said.
That's a splendid idea, Bernard agreed, and rang for his secretary with
an anticipatory sparkle in his eyes.
Samantha wore her hair in twin braids down her back, and hacked-off
denim pants which left her long brown legs bare and e
xposed a pale
sliver of tight round buttock at each step as she walked away. She had
sandals on her feet and sun-glasses pushed up on top of her head.
I thought you were never coming/she challenged Nick as he stepped
through the barrier at Miami International, He dropped his bag and
fielded her rush against his chest.
She clung to him and he had forgotten the clean, sun-drenched smell of
her hair.
She was trembling with a suppressed eagerness like a puppy, and it was
only when a small quivering sob shook her shoulders that he realized she
was weeping.
Hey now! He lifted her chin, and her eyes were flooded.
She snuffled once loudly.
What's the trouble, little one? I'm just so happy, Samantha told him,
and deeply Nicholas envied the ability to live so near the surface. To
be able to cry with joy seemed to him at that moment to be the supreme
human accomplishment, He kissed her and she tasted salty with tears.
With surprise he felt a choke deep in his own throat.
The jaded airport crowds had to open and trickle around the two of them
like water around a rock, and they were oblivious to it all.
Even when they came out of the building into the Florida sunlight, she
had both arms around his waist, hampering his stride, as she led him to
her vehicle.
Good God! exclaimed Nicholas, and he shied when he saw it. It was a
Chevy van, but its paintwork had been restyled. What's that? 'It's a
masterpiece, she laughed. Isn't it? It was rainbowed, in layers of
vibrant colour and panels of fantastic landscapes and seascapes.
You did that? Nick asked, and he took his dark glasses . from his
breast pocket, and inspected the seagulls and palm trees and flowers
through them.
It's not that bad, she protested. I was bored and depressed without
you. I needed something to brighten my life.
One of the panels depicted the translucent green of a curling wave, and
on the face of the wave a pair of human figures on Hawaii boards and a
graceful dolphin shape flew in formation together. Nick leaned closer
and barely recognized the male figure as himself each detail of the
features had been rendered with loving attention, and he came out of it
looking something between Clark Gable and Superman - only a little more
glamorous.
From memory/ she said proudly.