Seawitch (2 page)

Henderson, who represented oil interests in Honduras, said: "Why should a man with his extraordinary qualifications, the world's number, one, as we all know, choose to engage himself in—ah—an enterprise of this nature? From his reputation I would hardly have thought that he

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was one to be concerned about the woes of suffering mankind."

"He isn't. Money. Cronkite comes very high. A fresh challenge—the man's a born adventurer. But, basically, it's because he hates Lord Worth's guts."

Henderson said: "Not an uncommon sentiment, it seems. Why?"

"Lord Worth sent his own private Boeing for him to come cap a blazing gusher in the Middle East. By the time Cronkite arrived, Lord Worth's own men had capped it. This, alone, Cronkite regarded as a mortal insult. He then made the mistake of demanding the full fee for his services. Lord Worth has a reputation for notorious Scottish meanness, which, while an insult to the Scots, is more than justified in his case. He refused, and said that he would pay him for his time, no more. Cronkite then compounded his error by taking him to court. With the kind of lawyers Lord Worth can afford, Cronkite never had a chance. Not only did he lose but he had to pay the costs."

"Which wouldn't be low?" Henderson said.

"Medium-high to massive. I don't know. All J know is that Cronkite has done quite a bit of brooding about it ever since."

"Such a man would not have to be sworn to

secrecy?"

"A man can swear a hundred different oaths and break them all. Besides, because of the

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exorbitant fees Cronkite charges, his feelings toward Lord Worth and the fact that he might just have to step outside the law, his silence is

ensured."

It was the turn of another of those grouped round the table to raise his eyebrows. "Outside the law? We cannot risk being involved—"

" 'Might,' I said. For us, the element of risk does not exist."

"May we see this man?" Benson nodded, rose, went to a door and admitted Cronkite.

Cronkite was a Texan. In height, build and cragginess of features he bore a remarkable resemblance to John Wayne. Unlike Wayne, he never smiled. His face was of a peculiarly yellow complexion, typical of those who have had an overdose of antimalarial tablets, which was just what had happened to Cronkite. Mepacrine does not make for a peaches-and-cream complexion— not that Cronkite's had ever remotely resembled that. He was newly returned from Indonesia, where he had inevitably maintained his 100 per

cent record.

"Mr. Cronkite,** Benson said. "Mr. Cronkite,

this is—"

Cronkite was brusque. In a gravelly voice he said: "I don't want to know their names."

In spite of the abruptness of his tone, several of the oilmen round the table almost beamed.

Sea witch

Here was a man of discretion, a man after their own hearts.

Cronkite went on: "All I understand from Mr. Benson is that I am required to attend to a matter involving Lord Worth and the Seawitch, Mr. Benson has given me a pretty full briefing. I know the background. I would like, first of all, to hear any suggestions you gentlemen may have to offer." Cronkite sat down, lit what proved to be a very foul-smelling cigar, and waited expectantly.

He kept silent during the following half-hour discussion. For ten of the world's top businessmen, they proved to be an extraordinarily inept, not to say inane, lot. They talked in an ever-narrowing series of concentric circles.

Henderson said: "First of all, there must be no violence used. Is that agreed?"

Everybody nodded agreement. Each of them was a pillar of business respectability who could not afford to have his reputation besmirched in any way. No one appeared to notice that, except for lifting a hand to his cigar and puffing out increasingly vile clouds of smoke, Cronkite did not move throughout the discussion. He also remained totally silent.

After agreeing that there should be no violence, the meeting of ten agreed on nothing.

Finally Patinos spoke up. "Why don't you— one of you four Americans, I mean—approach

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your Congress to pass an emergency law banning offshore drilling in extraterritorial waters?"

Benson looked at him with something akin to pity. "I am afraid, sir, that you do not quite understand the relations between the American majors and Congress. On the few occasions we have met with them—something to do with too much profits and too little tax—I'm afraid we have treated them in so—ah—cavalier a fashion that nothing would give them greater pleasure than to refuse any request we might make."

One of the others, known simply as "Mr. A," said: "How about an approach to that international legal ombudsman, The Hague? After all, this is an international matter."

Henderson shook his head. "Forget it. The dilatoriness of that august body is so legendary that   all   present  would   be   long   retired—or worse—before a decision is made. The decision would just as likely be negative anyway." "United Nations?" Mr. A said. "That talk-shop!"  Benson  obviously had a low and not uncommon view of the UN. "They haven't even got the power to order New York to install a new parking meter outside their front

door."

The next revolutionary idea came from one

of the Americans.

"Why shouldn't we all agree, for an unspecified time—let's see how it goes—to lower our

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price below that of North Hudson? In that case no one would want to buy their oil."

This proposal was met with stunned disbelief.

Corral spoke in a kind voice. "Not only would that lead to vast losses to the major oil companies, but would almost certainly and immediately lead Lord Worth to lower his prices fractionally below their new ones. The man has sufficient working capital to keep him going for a hundred years at a loss—-in the unlikely event, that is, of his running at a loss at all."

A lengthy silence followed. Cronkite was not quite as immobile as he had been; The granitic expression on his face remained unchanged, but the fingers of his nonsmoking hand had begun to drum gently on the armrest of his chair. For Cronkite, this was equivalent to throwing a fit of hysterics.

It was during this period that all thoughts of maintaining high, gentlemanly and ethical standards against drilling hi international waters were forgotten by the ten.

"Why not," Mr. A said, "buy him out?" In fairness it has to be said that Mr. A did not appreciate just how wealthy Lord Worth was and that, immensely wealthy though he, Mr. A, was, Lord Worth could have bought him out lock, stock and barrel. "The Seawitch rights, I mean. A hundred million dollars. Let's be generous, two hundred million dollars. Why not?"

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Corral looked depressed. 'The answer to "Why not?' is easy. By the latest reckoning, Lord Worth is one of the world's five richest men, and even two hundred million dollars would be pennies as far as he was concerned."

Now Mr. A looked depressed.

Benson said: "Sure he'd sell."

Mr. A visibly brightened.

"For two reasons only. In the first place he'd make a quick and splendid profit. In the second place, for less than half the selling price, he could build another Seawitch, anchor it a couple of miles away from the present Seawitch—there are no leasehold rights in extraterritorial waters— and start sending oil ashore at his same old

price."

A temporarily deflated Mr. A slumped back

in his armchair.

"A partnership, then,*' Mr. B said. His tone was that of a man in a state of quiet despair.

"Out of the question." Henderson was very positive. "Like all very rich men, Lord Worth is a born loner. He wouldn't have a combined partnership with the King of Saudi Arabia and the Shah of Iran, even if it were offered him free."

In the gloom of baffled and exhausted silence thoroughly bored and hitherto near-wordless, John Cronkite rose.

He said without preamble: "My personal fee will be one million dollars. I will require ten million dollars for operating expenses. Every

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cent of this will be accounted for and any unspent balance returned. I demand a completely free hand and no interference from any of you. If I do encounter interference I'll retain the balance of the expenses and abandon the mission. I refuse to disclose what my plans are—or will be when I have made them. Finally, I would prefer to have no further contact with any of you, now or at any time."

The assurance and confidence of the man were astonishing. Agreement among the mightily relieved ten was immediate and total. The ten million dollars—a trifling sum to those accustomed to spending as much in bribes every month or so—would be delivered within twenty-four— at the most, forty-eight—hours to a Cuban numbered account in Miami, the only place in the United States where Swiss-type numbered accounts were permitted. For tax-evasion purposes, the money of course would not come from any of their respective countries: instead, ironically enough, from their bulging offshore funds.

Chapter 2

JLoRD Worth was tall, lean and erect. His complexion was the mahogany hue of the playboy millionaire who spends his life in the sun: Lord Worth seldom worked less than sixteen hours a day. His abundant hair and mustache were snow-white. According to his mood and expression and to the eye of the beholder, he could have been a biblical patriarch, a better-class Roman senator, or a gentlemanly seventeenth-century pirate—except for the fact, of course, that none of those ever, far less habitually, wore lightweight Alpaca suits of the same color as Lord Worth's hair.

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He looked and was every inch an aristocrat. Unlike the many Americans who bore the Christian names of Duke or Earl, Lord Worth really was a lord, the fifteenth in succession of a highly distinguished family of Scottish peers of the realm. The fact that their distinction had lain mainly in the fields of assassination, endless clan warfare, the stealing of women and cattle, and the selling of their fellow peers down the river was beside the point: the earlier Scottish peers didn't go in too much for the more cultural activities. The blue blood that had run in their veins ran in Lord Worth's. As ruthless, predatory, acquisitive and courageous as any of his ancestors, Lord Worth simply went about his business with a degree of refinement and sophistication that would have lain several light-years beyond their understanding.

He had reversed the trend of Canadians coming to Britain, making their fortunes and eventually being elevated to the peerage: he had already been a peer, and an extremely wealthy one, before emigrating to Canada. His emigration, which had been discreet and precipitous, had not been entirely voluntary. He had made a fortune hi real estate in London before the Internal Revenue had become embarrassingly interested in his activities. Fortunately for him, whatever charges might have been laid at his door were not extraditable.

He had spent several years in Canada, invest-

Alistatr MacLean

ing his millions in the North Hudson Oil Company and proving himself to be even more able-in the oil business than he had been in real estate. His tankers and refineries spanned the globe before he had decided that the climate was too cold for him and moved south to Florida. His splendid mansion was the envy of the many millionaires—of a lesser financial breed, admittedly—who almost literally jostled for elbow-room in the Fort Lauderdale area.

The dining room in that mansion was something to behold. Monks, by the very nature of their calling, are supposed to be devoid of all earthly lusts, but no monk, past or present, could ever have gazed on the gleaming magnificence of that splendid oaken refectory table without turning pale chartreuse with envy. The chairs, inevitably, were Louis XIV. The splendidly embroidered silken carpet, with a pile deep enough for a fair-sized mouse to take cover in, would have been judged by an expert to come from Damascus and to have cost a fortune: the expert would have been right on both counts. The heavy drapes and embroidered silken walls were of the same pale gray, the latter being enhanced by a series of original impressionist paintings, no less than three by Matisse and the same number by Renoir. Lord Worth was no dilettante and was clearly trying to make amends for his ancestors* shortcomings in cultural fields.

It was in those suitably princely surroundings

Seawiteh

that Lord Worth was at the moment taking -his ease, reveling in his second brandy and the two beings whom—after money—he loved most in the world: his two daughters, Marina and Me-linda, who had been so named by their now divorced Spanish mother. Both were young, both were beautiful, and could have been mistaken for twins, which they weren't: they were easily distinguishable by the fact that while Marina's hair was black as a raven's, Melinda's was pure titian.

There were two other guests at the table. Many a local millionaire would have given a fair slice of his ill-gotten gains for the privilege and honor of sitting at Lord Worth's table. Few were invited, and then but seldom. Those two young men, comparatively as poor as church mice, had the unique privilege, without invitation, of coming and going as they pleased, which was pretty often.

They were Mitchell and Roomer, two pleasant men in their early thirties for whom Lord Worth had a strong, if concealed, admiration and whom he held in something close to awe—inasmuch as they were the only two completely honest men he had ever met. Not that Lord Worth had ever stepped on the wrong side of the law, although he frequently had a clear view of what happened on the other side: it was simply that he was not hi the habit of dealing with honest men. They had both been two highly efficient police

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sergeants, only they had been too efficient, much given to arresting the wrong people, such as crooked politicians and equally crooked wealthy businessmen who had previously labored under the misapprehension that they were above the law. They were fired, not to put too fine a point on it, for their total incorruptibility.