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  The consciousness developed during the expansion of SAGOMI and had been honed into a rare expertise by the time he attempted to discover why Russia was buying gold.

  It took a week of double-checking and cross-referencing to complete the assessment, after his return from Italy. And there were, surprisingly, long periods when Geoffrey Wall was making an enquiry for him, when Collington had nothing to do except go over what had happened in Rome and conclude what a disaster it had been. They had made love, that night, and every night afterwards and in the afternoon before he left. They had done all the tourist things that she’d wanted, like drinking in Harry’s Bar on the Via Veneto and throwing coins into the Trevi Fountain. They had taken a horse-drawn carnage ride at night to the Coliseum and the Victor Emmanuel monument and she had pretended to forget. But she hadn’t, any more than he had. The memory had lain between them like a barrier, his embarrassment caused not so much by his momentary ineffectiveness in bed but by the thought of how close he had come to weeping.

  He had actually been glad when it was time for him to leave, just as he was glad when Wall assembled the final piece of information and he was able to concentrate fully upon creating a picture and put the episode from his mind.

  There was a small conference table in his office suite, and he displayed everything there, instructing his secretaries to hold all his calls and even locking the doors against any interruption.

  Lloyd’s of London had provided all the information necessary about the global movements of shipping. There was a lot of material, a tile nearly an inch thick, but Wall had attached a summary and initially that was sufficient for Collington. He smiled, feeling the first stir of satisfaction at being proved right. He had insisted that the enquiry extend back a year and was glad, because the first three months provided the comparison. During that period there was hardly any movement of grain ships that could be logically traced between Soviet and American ports. The concentration had built up immediately afterwards, lists of ships and company charters, with routings to the Soviet Union’s cold and warm water ports from America’s East and Gulf coasts. Wall had been as efficient as Collington had anticipated, providing not merely the names of the vessels but their carrying capacity, so it was a matter of simple if somewhat lengthy arithmetic to compute, with an accuracy margin of a few thousand bushels, precisely how much grain Russia had imported from the United States over the previous nine months.

  Collington turned away from Wall’s report to a separate collection of documents he had ordered from SAGOMI’s agricultural analyst. The information here was much more easily assimilated: a collection of figures and graphs showing the United States grain exports to Russia over the preceding years. During 1978 and 1979, 17,000,000 metric tonnes had been shipped. During 1980 it should have been 26,000,000, but Washington had embargoed sales at 9,000,000 because of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan.

  Collington frowned, going back to the figures he had computed from Wall’s report. Believing he had miscalculated, he set them out again, sitting back and whistling through his teeth in astonishment at the results. In nine months, the Soviet Union had taken 37,000,000 metric tonnes.

  He scribbled the figure on to the jotting pad from which he intended to prepare his report to the board, going back to the agricultural glossary, wanting confirmation of the conversion. A metric tonne was equivalent to 2205 lb, making a metric tonne of soya beans equivalent to 37 bushels, which was the same as wheat, but with corn coming out slightly higher at 39 bushels.

  Collington pushed aside the second report, progressing to the one he had requested from America. It was divided again, to prevent those who had prepared it establishing any sort of link that might have led to gossip. The division – like the reports themselves – had been easy because the metal commodity markets of New York were quite separate from the grain commodity markets which were headquartered in Chicago. It was to the Chicago file to which Collington turned first, wanting a final confirmation of the grain shipments before moving on. It was detailed as Collington had insisted it should be, breaking down the sales into soya bean, corn and wheat, in bushels, against the identifiable purchasers.

  Collington converted the figures back into tonnes, to make the sum easy. The United States government agencies had purchased a total of 45,000,000 metric tonnes and were committed, in future contracts on crops not yet harvested, to buy a further 35,000,000.

  The metal file was the largest of them all, because Collington had extended the enquiry not just to America but to the markets throughout the world and then added a separate enquiry to their own mining divisions, to obtain three year figures of global gold production and sales. It was, however, upon America that he concentrated first. The figures increased as he went from country to country.

  Because it was his business to be aware of such things, Collington had known of the United States government decision to make monthly, open-market gold sales, but he re-read the account from their mining analyst and then concentrated upon the additional material that had been provided. There was even a photostat of an article in Fortune magazine, quoting at length the United States Treasury Secretary, Henry Moreton, hinting at a bad miscalculation of America’s gold reserves, and a graph alongside recording the increased strength of the dollar.

  Collington returned to the list of figures he had made, setting out the gold purchases throughout the previous three years. He checked his figures, as he had done with the grain shipments, then sat back in his chair, shaking his head. There had to be a margin for error, but at five tonnes that would be over-generous. And even building that into the stocks necessary for the United States to maintain their sales at the levels currently operating without seriously weakening their gold holdings, there hadn’t been a miscalculation.

  A mystery, determined Collington. And as such it would have remained, but for a conversation with a diamond merchant in Israel and the awareness of the cargo of a crashed Russian transporter in Amsterdam. Which made it perfectly understandable. Two countries had come to quite an ordinary commodities agreement, one to bolster its currency, the other to avert famine. Ordinary, that is, except for the fact that the Soviet Union had entered the contract with insufficient resources to meet its terms/ and was now involved in an incredible bluff, having to buy secretly upon the open market not just to avert starvation but to retain its international credibility.

  Collington stood up from the table, stretching to relieve the cramp of concentration in his body. So what? he thought. SAGOMI owned maybe 2,000,000 acres of farmland, but there was little he could do to intrude into the arrangement for the company’s benefit. And gold sales were government controlled, removing any opportunity for advantage from the Soviet difficulty. The only benefit would be political and that would be gained by the South African government, once he’d reported back to the board and Metzinger had in turn gone back to his cabinet informant.

  The satisfaction had hardened as he had fitted the pieces together; it had been the return of an old feeling, like the pleasure he had known when he was working quite alone in Israel. Now it seeped away, leaving him dispirited and empty. He had proved to himself that he was as good as he had ever been. But there had been scant need for such proof, because it was not in his business life that he suffered self doubt.

  He felt cheated.

  Collington resealed the files with their pink binding tape, unlocked the door, released his calls and slouched bade to his desk chair, waiting for his private secretary to take dictation for the report. A damp squib, he decided. Energising, while it lasted; but a damp squib, nevertheless. So what was he going to do about Hannah and Ann?

  Igor Struve grew increasingly nostalgic about the era of Stalin. He conveniently forgot the paranoia and the purges. His recollection was of firmness, of a man strong enough to lead Russia through any crisis. Not that he regarded the crop failure as a crisis, because like most of the government éαlite he was quite unaffected by it. In Stalin’s day, they wouldn’t have gone runnin
g, cap in hand, to America; they’d have imposed rationing and demanded sacrifice and mourned the few who had died. But now the leadership was weak. That’s why upstarts like Leonov got promoted beyond their station, allowed access to the offices of the minister himself. Struve was determined not to be victim of the difficulties that had arisen. The scheme would undoubtedly fail and there would be an enquiry and a search for scapegoats. And Struve had never been a scapegoat in his life. He had no responsibility for anything that had happened, he calculated, apart from providing the money. So the resolve was easy.

  All he had to do was limit that, so he could later claim the foresight in anticipating the disaster and refusing to waste more where too much had already been ridiculously expended. And others would be blamed. It was a decision he had reached before the interview with Leonov.

  Leonov had expected to meet Struve alone, but when he entered the office he saw that Vladimir Orlov was already there. Leonov greeted the official from the mining control as an equal and bent his head, in proper deference, towards Struve. The Finance Minister did not respond.

  ‘What about the crash?’ he demanded, at once.

  ‘There’s no indication of the gold having been discovered.’

  ‘But you’re not sure?’

  ‘No.’

  Struve turned to the other man. ‘What about the mines?’

  ‘Siberia is closed now, for five months,’ said Orlov. ‘It’s going to take three months, at least, to repair the damage to Zod and pump out the water from the workings where the dam was breached. That brings our output there down to three tonnes, if we’re lucky.’

  ‘What about Muruntau?’ persisted the minister. ‘That produced eighty tonnes last year.’

  ‘We’ve imported camp labour from the Potma prisons,’ said Orlov. ‘But it doesn’t matter how many men you have: you can’t replace a machine. And it’s the machinery that’s failing. We won’t be able to replant for four months. We can’t hope to resume even average output in under six.’

  ‘So we continue as before,’ said Struve, nodding dismissively to conclude the meeting. Except that he would gradually withdraw: this would be the last direct encounter.

  ‘In my report, I made a request,’ said Leonov, not rising as Orlov had done.

  ‘For more money,’ said Struve.

  ‘Insufficient is being allowed,’ protested Leonov. ‘With the money available at the moment, we can’t withstand a ten per cent price fluctuation. And there is a shortfall in the Ukraine to compensate for.’

  ‘There hasn’t been more than a three per cent swing over the last three months,’ argued Struve.

  ‘There must be a greater allowance for instability. And for the Ukraine.’

  ‘I have allowed you two increases since this arrangement was made,’ said Struve. ‘The foreign currency available to us is not limitless: what you are allowed at the moment is greater than that being allocated to any other foreign investment.’

  Slowly, anxious not to antagonise the man, Leonov said: ‘The deal concluded with the United States of America has the full backing of the Politburo. It is at risk because of shortage of money.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ said Struve, outraged.

  ‘It is a simple explanation of the facts,’ said Leonov.

  ‘You will be allowed no more money.’

  ‘May I ask if my request has gone forward to be considered by the Politburo?’

  ‘No, young man. You may not!’ said Struve.

  Chapter Tweleve

  Because a balance had to be maintained in every aspect of the company’s work, Metzinger’s office suite in the SAGOMI building matched Collington’s. The only difference was that it did not adjoin the main boardroom, but it still had to be approached through two separate rooms, each containing secretaries. The arrangement guaranteed complete privacy, when necessary, and Metzinger decided it was particularly useful after the meeting at which Collington had reported on his enquiry.

  Metzinger was conscious that he was about to embark upon the most dangerous enterprise he had ever contemplated in forty years of business life and he was feeling a numbing lightheadedness: like drunkenness, he supposed. But drunkenness risked lack of control and Metzinger was confident he wasn’t going to lose that. Which was why he had only invited Jan Wassenaar back to the office, excluding de Villiers from what he was going to propose. De Villiers was a clerk, nothing more; certainly he didn’t possess the courage to take the risks that Metzinger was going to put to the Afrikaner sitting opposite. Wassenaar was clearly depressed: an understandable attitude for a businessman who had just left a board meeting at which it had become clear that there was no company benefit from what was happening with the gold purchases. How long, wondered Metzinger, would it take him to relieve that depression?

  ‘Collington did well,’ said Wassenaar in begrudging admiration.

  ‘We have the organisation to provide the material,’ said Metzinger.

  ‘But he remembered Israel,’ insisted Wassenaar. ‘That was necessary. And he still had to interpret it.’

  ‘He’s a clever man,’ conceded Metzinger, guiding the conversation. ‘But maybe not clever enough.’

  Wassenaar frowned at the remark, but instead of querying it said: ‘When are you meeting Knoetze?’

  ‘I’m not sure that I’m going to meet him, not yet,’ said the deputy chairman quietly. Wassenaar’s frown had deepened and he was concentrating fully on Metzinger. ‘There’s rarely been a discussion between us when you haven’t spoken about our need for an advantage in this,’ Metzinger reminded.

  ‘But there isn’t one,’ said Wassenaar. ‘We’ve just spent two hours deciding that.’

  ‘Certainly not for the company,’ agreed Metzinger.

  ‘What then?’ demanded the lawyer.

  ‘There are two ways to alter the directorships upon the controlling board,’ said Metzinger. ‘The first is through the holding of ‘A’ shares in Witwatersrand. But precisely because that created an unacceptable control, there was built in the safeguard that whether they possessed ‘A’ shares or not, directors could be voted from the board if there were a sufficiently strong no-confidence vote from the shareholders.’

  Wassenaar moved impatiently in his chair. ‘I know the situation as well as you do,’ he said. ‘How can there be a no-confidence vote in this board? Every company we control is scheduled this year to distribute the highest dividend in its history … in some cases it’s twenty-five per cent. We’re one of the most successful multinationals in the world. And a no-confidence vote is against a board, not individuals.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Metzinger quickly. ‘If a director could be proved to have been working independently of the board, and against its interest and those of the company, then the vote could be personal.’

  Wassenaar moved forward in his seat, intent upon what Metzinger was saying.

  ‘We have an advantage,’ said Metzinger. ‘One that we haven’t had the forethought to recognise. I came forward with some information that could only have come from one source. Collington checked it and found it to be accurate. So now he believes.”

  ‘Believes what?’ said Wassenaar.

  ‘That there is a direct link between me and the government. He believes it but there’s no way he can check it. He’s entirely dependent upon my word.’

  A smile appeared on Wassenaar’s face. ‘So if you went back and told him the matter wasn’t closed, he’d think you were passing on the views of the Cabinet?’

  ‘But more importantly,’ completed Metzinger, ‘being asked to do something with unofficial government support.’

  Wassenaar shook his head, professionally doubtful. ‘It’s an appalling risk,’ he said. ‘To achieve a no-confidence vote, whatever we did would have to be shown, against Collington, to have affected the companies adversely. That sort of manipulation is blatantly criminal. And the conspiracy could be proved. We’d have to make the approach at a board meeting. We could go into closed session,
certainly, but at any shareholders’ meeting it would be our word against the directors supporting Collington.’

  ‘I wasn’t envisaging any boardroom discussion,’ said Metzinger.

  ‘I am as anxious as anyone for the control of SAGOMI to be vested in the proper hands,’ said Wassenaar, sensing Metzinger’s irritation. ‘But I don’t think that we should allow that ambition to override sensible caution.’

  ‘Simpson’s shares give us nothing, in any practical sense,’ said Metzinger. ‘It would be a great pity not to take advantage of an opportunity.’

  ‘We’d have to be careful,’ warned Wassenaar. ‘Incredibly careful.’

  ‘I intend to be.’

  ‘What about Knoetze?’

  ‘I’ll say enquiries look hopeful, but there’s nothing positive yet.’

  ‘You’re in a good pivotal position,’ conceded Wassenaar.

  ‘Are you with me?’ said Metzinger, demanding a commitment.

  Wassenaar hesitated. ‘If we overthrew Collington, you’d be chairman,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who’d be deputy?’

  ‘You would.’

  ‘I’m with you.’

  Collington had hurriedly bought the Gucci handbag while Ann was in another part of the store, trying on shoes, and he felt the vaguest twinge of conscience, giving it to Hannah. Knowing his wife’s simplicity of taste he had ruled against one with the familiar green and red motif, so that the only ostentation was the G of the clasp.

  She was by the pool, wearing a patterned one-piece costume, her hair held back with a matching bandana. She took the gift, smiled and said, ‘Your taste is improving.’