Wilbur Smith's Smashing Thrillers (45 page)

With so much at stake, it was a piddling amount, six
million for two months, the insignificance of it was an insult, and he
felt the tension in his belly muscles again and the rising hot acid
sting of his digestive juices. He forced himself to relax, glancing
again from the window to find that the Rolls was turning into the
cul-de-sac of yellow-face brick apartments piled upon each other like
hen-coops, angular and unimaginatively lower middle class.

He squared his shoulders and watched himself in the mirror, practising
the smile. It was only six million, and for only two months, he
reminded himself, as the Rolls slid to a halt before one of the
anonymous buildings.

Duncan nodded to his chauffeur as he held the door open and handed
Duncan the pigskin briefcase.

‘
Thank you, Edward. I should not be very long.
’
Duncan took the case and
he crossed the pavement with the long, confident stride of an athlete,
his shoulders thrown back, wearing his top coat like an opera cloak, the
sleeves empty and the tails swirling about his legs, and even in the
grey overcast of a March afternoon, his head shone like a beacon fire.

The man who opened the door to him seemed only half Duncan's height,
despite the tall black Homburg hat that he wore squarely over his ears.

‘
Mr. Alexander, shalom, shalom.
’
His beard was so dense and bushy black
that it covered the starched white collar and white tie, regulation
dress of the strict Hasidic Jew.
‘
Even though you come to me last, you still bring honour on my house
,’
and
his eyes twinkled, a mischievous sparkling black under thick brows.

‘
That is because you have a heart of stone and blood like iced water,
’
said Duncan, and the man laughed delightedly, as though he had been paid
the highest compliment.

‘
Come,
’
he said, taking Duncan's arm.
‘
Come in, let us drink a little tea
together and let us talk.
’
He led Duncan down the narrow corridor, and
halfway they collided with two boys wearing yamulka on their curly heads
coming at speed in the opposite direction.

‘
Ruffians
,’
cried the man, stooping to embrace them briefly and then send
them on their way with a fond slap on their backsides. Still beaming
and shaking the ringlets that dangled out from under the black Homburg,
he ushered Duncan into a small crowded bedroom that had been converted
to an office. A tall old-fashioned pigeon-holed desk filled one wall
and against the other stood an overstuffed horse-hair sofa on which were
piled ledgers and box files.

The man swept the books aside, making room for Duncan. Be seated, he
ordered, and stood aside while a jolly little woman his size brought in
the tea
-
tray.

‘
I saw the award court's arbitration on Golden Adventurer in Lloyd's
List
,’
the Jew said when they were alone.
‘
Nicholas Berg is an amazing man, a hard act to follow - I think that is
the expression.
’
He pondered, watching the sudden bloom of anger on
Duncan's cheeks and the murderous expression in the pale eyes.

Duncan controlled his anger with an effort, but each time that somebody
spoke that way of Nicholas Berg, he found it more difficult. There was
always the comparison, the snide remarks, and Duncan wanted to stand up
and leave this cluttered little room and the veiled taunts, but he knew
he could not afford to, nor could he speak just yet for his anger was
very close to the surface. They sat in silence for what seemed a long
time.

‘
How much?
’
The man broke the silence at last, and Duncan could not bring
himself to name the figure for it was too closely related to the subject
that had just infuriated him.

‘It
is not a large amount, and for a short
period - sixty days only.
’

‘
How much?
’

‘
Six million,
’
Duncan said.
‘
Dollars.
’

‘
Six million is not an impossibly
large amount of money, when you have it - but it is a great fortune when
you do not.
’
The man tugged at the thick black bush of his beard.
‘
And sixty days can be an eternity.
’

‘
I have a charter for Golden Dawn
,’
Duncan said softly.
‘
A ten-year charter.
’
He slipped the nine-carat gold catches on the slim,
finely grained pigskin briefcase and brought out a batch of Xeroxed
sheets.
‘
As you see, it is signed by both parties already.
’

‘
Ten years?
’
asked the man, watching the papers in Duncan's hand.

‘
Ten years, at ten cents a hundred ton miles and a guaranteed minimum
annual
o
f
7
5,000 miles.
’

The hand on the man's thick black beard
stilled.
‘
Golden Dawn has a burden of a million tons - that will gross a
minimum of seventy-five million dollars a year.
’
With an effort he
managed to disguise his awe, and the hand resumed its gentle tugging at
the beard.
‘
Who is the charterer?
’
The thick eyebrows formed two thick
black question marks.

‘
Orient Amex,
’
said Duncan, and handed him the Xeroxed papers.

‘
The El Barras field.
’
The man's eyebrows stayed up as he read swiftly.
‘
You are a brave man, Mr. Alexander. But I never once doubted that.
’
He
read on in silence for another minute, shaking his head slowly so that
the ringlets danced on his cheeks.
‘
The El Barras field.
’
He folded the
papers and looked up at Duncan.
‘
I think Christy Marine may have found a
worthy successor to Nicholas Berg - perhaps the shoes are even a little
small, maybe they will begin to pinch your toes soon, Mr. Alexander.
’
He
squirmed down in his chair thinking furiously, and Duncan watched him,
hiding his trepidation behind a remotely amused half
-
smile.

‘
What about the environmentalists, Mr. Alexander? The new American
Administration, this man Carter is very conscious of environmental
dangers.
’

‘
The lunatic fringe
,’
said Duncan.
‘
There is too much invested
already. Orient Amex have nearly a billion in the new cadmium cracking
plants at Galveston, and three of the other oil giants are in it. Let
them fuss, we'll still carry in the new cad-rich crudes.
’

Duncan spoke
with the force of complete conviction.
‘
There is too much at stake, the potential profits are too large and the
opposition is too weak. The whole world is sick of the doom-merchants,
the woolly-headed sentimentalists
,’
he dismissed them with a short abrupt
gesture.
‘m
an has already adjusted to a little oil on the beaches, a little smoke
in the air, a few less fish in the sea or birds in the sky, and he will
go on adjusting.
’

The man nodded, listening avidly.
‘
Yes!
’
he nodded.
‘
You are a brave man. The world needs men like you.
’

‘
The important thing
is a cadmium catalyst cracking system which breaks down the high carbon
atoms of crude and gives back a 80% yield in low carbon instead of the
40% we hope for now.
90
% yield, double-double profits, double
efficiency
–
‘

‘-
and double danger.
’
The man smiled behind his beard.

‘
There is danger in taking a bath. You might slip and crack your skull,
and we haven't invested a billion dollars in bathing.
’

‘
Cadmium in
concentrations of 100 parts to the million is more poisonous than
cyanide or arsenic; the cad-rich crudes of the E
l
Barras field are
concentrated 2000 parts to the million.
’

‘
That's what makes them so
valuable,
’
Duncan nodded,
‘
To enrich crude artificially with cadmium would
make the whole cracking process hopelessly uneconomic. We've turned
what appeared to be a hopelessly contaminated oilfield into one of the
most brilliant advances in oil refining.
’

‘
I hope you have not
underestimated the resistance to the transportation of
-
‘

Duncan cut him
short.
‘
There will be no publicity. The loading and unloading of the
crude will be conducted with the utmost discretion, and the world will
not know the difference.
J
ust another ultra-tanker moving across the
oceans with nothing to suggest that she is carrying cad
-
rich.
’

‘
But, just
suppose the news did leak?
’

Duncan shrugged.
‘
The world is conditioned
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 5
0
%
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.