The Adventurers (35 page)

As they stood together in the shower after the last game he had said, "You could be one of the greatest polo players in the world if you didn't do all your training in bed."

Dax had merely laughed. He was still too shy in the presence of Hitchcock, despite having played all season with him, to protest.

The snow began to fall as the taxi crossed Boylston Street, and the cabdriver turned. "Here it comes, the first real storm of winter."

Dax grunted in answer. From now until it was gone Fat Cat would leave the house only for the most dire of emergencies. This man who had faced death and survived so many dangers was more frightened of tiny flakes of snow than of anything else. The white blanket of hell, he called them.

Dax pulled his coat tightly around his throat as he paid the cabby. He didn't much care for snow either. He looked up at the building where he and James Hadley were to have lunch. Americans were strange people. They held business meetings at lunchtime when they should be relaxing and enjoying their meals.

"Dad's been wanting to meet you for a long time," Jim, Jr., had said on the phone. "He thought it might be a nice idea if you could meet him at the Club tomorrow for lunch."

Dax didn't have to ask which club. There was only one for the important people of Boston and to lunch anywhere else would have been sacrilegious.

A gray-uniformed flunky met him at the door and took his coat. "Mr. Xenos?"

Dax nodded.

"Mr. Hadley is already at his table. Please follow me." He led Dax past the bar, already crowded with men having a pre luncheon drink, into a large dining room.

As he walked through the busy room, Dax recognized many of the locally important men. Former governor, now mayor again, Jim Curley sat at a large table in the dead center of the room, where people could always drop over for a word with him. As usual there was a priest at the table. Idly Dax wondered which one this was, nothing less than a bishop or a cardinal, probably. At another table he recognized another politician, James "Honey Fitz" Fitzgerald, together with one of Boston's leading business lights, Joseph Kennedy.

Then they were at the table and Jim, Jr., was getting to his feet. "Dax, I'd like you to meet my father."

"My pleasure," Dax said, his hand reaching out automatically.

But it wasn't at the senior Hadley he was staring. The other man at the table was Marcel Campion.

CHAPTER 23

"Well, I have to get back to the office," James Hadley said, getting to his feet. He gestured with his hand. "No, don't get up. There's no reason for you to rush off, Dax. I'm sure you and Mr. Campion have many things to talk about besides the business we discussed."

Young Jim also rose. "I have a class, so I've got to run along too."

A silence fell between them after the others had gone. Dax looked at Marcel. He had changed. No longer did he seem the ordinary little clerk that Dax remembered. There was something about him that was more positive and self-assured. Perhaps it was the carefully British tailored suit, but it seemed more to be in Marcel's eyes. They mirrored the confident look of a man who knew what he wanted and how to get it.

Marcel was the first to speak. "It's been a long time, Dax, almost two years."

"Yes."

"What do you think of him?" Marcel asked, with a gesture indicating he meant their host.

"He's everything I heard he was and more," Dax answered sincerely.

Marcel slipped into French and Dax followed automatically.

"You know what he said?" Marcel leaned forward confidentially. "That their Mayor Curley could have been President of the United States, only he came thirty years too soon. Someday he claims they will have a Catholic as President."

"I can't believe it."

"En verite," Marcel continued. "I think that is what he plans for his eldest son."

"Jim?"

Marcel nodded. "The man plans ahead many years. Even now he is entrenching himself deeply in the Democratic party. That is why he is so insistent on the boy entering politics."

Dax stared at Marcel thoughtfully. After the other things he had heard at this luncheon he could believe almost anything. "How did you come to him?"

"It was simple. He had ships for sale, and I wanted them."

"But how did you get interested in the ships? I thought you went to Macao to run the casino."

"I did. But it wasn't long before I found out that ships were available."

"How was it that you were able to get them when the De Coynes couldn't?"

"De Coyne is a fool," Marcel said emphatically. "He leaves everything to that English cousin, whose only purpose seems to be to hinder the growth of any line that threatens his own. It is my belief that he joined the deal only to sabotage it."

Marcel leaned toward Dax, his voice lowering. "When I learned this I remembered the need your father expressed for ships. I borrowed money from some Chinese friends and so was able to get twenty. Then I looked about for more, and there was Hadley with fifty to sell. Naturally I went to him.

But that one is no fool either. He guessed my intentions immediately. My impression is that by then he had regretted his hasty decision to join the British in a boycott of your country."

"You mean he regretted the loss of money."

"In the end it is the same thing. Anyway, he was willing to sell me the ships, but only under the condition that his company would remain their worldwide freight agents. Before I could undertake such a thing I realized immediately that I would have to get a firm commitment from Corteguay. Without that I should have no use for the ships."

Dax looked at him. "I don't know how el Presidente would feel about doing business with an American."

"Your president is a practical man," Marcel said. "By now he must realize he can expect no more from De Coyne."

"But there is still the five million dollars that was paid for the franchise," Dax pointed out, "and it runs for twenty years."

Marcel took a thin cigar from his pocket and lit it. The clouds of blue smoke rose slowly around him as he stared at Dax. He did not speak until the cigar was glowing evenly. "Don't make the same mistake that your father did," he said quietly. "Your president is not a man of integrity like your father. Do you know what happened to that five million dollars? Do you really think it went into the treasury of your country?"

Dax did not answer.

"I can tell out what happened to it. It is in a bank account in Switzerland in el Presidente's own name."

Dax was shocked. If Marcel knew, then surely his father must also have known. "Did my father..."

"Your father knew."

"Then why didn't he—"

Marcel didn't let him finish the question. "What could he have done? Forsake his post? That would not have helped Corteguay. And getting more ships would have. So he kept his mouth shut, though in a way I think it hastened his death."

Dax shook his head. He felt a tightening in his throat His poor father. If he had only known! But then, what could he have done? Nothing.

Marcel took advantage of his continued silence. "Why else do you think we are willing to pay another five million for a franchise? Because we are sure el Presidente will accept it. Dax, it is time for you to grow up and become a realist. If the deal is made, you will be taken care of most handsomely. It is time for you to begin to think about yourself. Unless you also intend to bankrupt yourself paying the bills of thieves."

"I don't know," Dax said hesitantly. "It's hard for me to believe—"

Again Marcel interrupted. "What is hard to believe? Can't you see that is exactly why your president sent you here? Just for something like this, to make it easier for the United States to return to Corteguay? Don't you think he already is aware that he has received all the aid he can get from Europe?"

Dax was silent.

"If I were not so positive would I offer to become a citizen of Corteguay?"

Dax stared at Marcel. "You mean you would live in Corteguay and give up your French nationality?"

Marcel laughed. "Who said anything about living in Corteguay? I merely said I would become a citizen." He glanced around the room, which was almost empty now. "I like the United States, especially New York. That's where the business is and that's where I intend to live."

Later that night, as el Presidente's voice crackled metallically over the long-distance wires, Dax knew that whether Marcel had told him the truth or not did not matter. The only objection to the proposition that el Presidente offered was that he thought the amount to be paid, really an indemnity to Corteguay for the misery caused by the boycott, should be ten million dollars instead of five. And when he finally put down the receiver he knew that his job here was done. It was time for him to return home.

Dax looked around the table. Robert and Caroline, Jim and Jeremy Hadley and two of their sisters. It was good of them to give this little dinner for him at the Ritz Carlton on his last night in the States. He felt a wry grin twist his lips. What would people say, he wondered, if they knew that Dax Xenos, the modern Casanova, sat alone, the odd man at a dinner celebrating his leaving them.

The coffee came and Jim cleared his throat, looking around at the others. They nodded and he got to his feet. An expectant silence fell' across the table.

"Dax," Jim said in his easy voice, the hint of a Boston accent scarcely noticeable. "We, your friends, though we regret that you must leave us, respect the fact that you feel you can serve your own country best by going home.

"But we did not want you to go without some small remembrance of us, something that would always remind you, no matter how far away you might be, that you are still with us, still one of us. So, bearing in mind that once a Harvard man always a Harvard man, we decided that the small memento we give you will always serve that purpose."

With unexpectedly clumsy fingers Dax opened the small leather box. The gold ring and the crimson stone flashed up at him. Dax recognized it immediately; it was his class ring, class of '39. He looked around at them, aware of the trouble they must have gone to to have it made. Ordinarily such a ring would not be available to any of them until their final year. And that was still more than two years away.

Quickly he slipped the ring on his finger. It was a perfect fit. He looked around at them. "Thank you," he said simply, "I shall always wear it. And I shall always remember."

Then Caroline was at his side and when he rose to kiss her cheek, much to his surprise he saw that she was crying, f

He stood at the rail with Fat Cat as the mountains of Corteguay, behind the city of Curatu, appeared through the mists of the morning.

"Home!" Fat Cat said excitedly, his hand suddenly on Dax's shoulders. "Look, Dax, home!"

The mountains loomed larger as they looked, the motion of the ship steady beneath them. Now they could see the green, the beautiful dark green of winter, which was really summer in Corteguay.

Suddenly Dax heard his father's voice in his ear, just as if he were standing beside him. "For when you return you will no longer be a boy. You will be a man."

Dax felt his eyes blur and the tears begin to roll down his cheeks. "Yes,, Father," he whispered.

But what neither of them had known was that growing up would prove to be such a painful and lonely process.