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  ‘I thought it was something you’d want to know right away,’ said Englehart, in apology.

  ‘What is it?’ said the man.

  ‘Important,’ assured Englehart.

  Moreton looked uncertainly around the crowded building and Englehart said, ‘My car’s right outside.’

  The two men hurried towards it. Englehart negotiated his way out of the forecourt and set out aimlessly around the capital. ‘We got a message from our man in the Saudi oil ministry,’ he announced bluntly.

  Moreton twisted around to look across the vehicle. ‘What?’ he demanded.

  ‘Collington is offering the Saudis a commodity deal, gold for oil.’

  ‘Son of a bitch!’ exclaimed the Treasury Secretary.

  ‘Is that bad?’ asked Englehart.

  Moreton had his head bowed against his chest. ‘The majority of our oil supply comes from there,’ he said simply. ‘If there’s a cutback, there’ll be an industrial panic. And if there’s an industrial panic, the dollar goes down the tube. Just like knocking down dominoes.’

  The analogy had been used before, remembered Englehart; Vietnam had been a disaster, too. ‘I thought the South African government controlled the gold.’

  ‘They couldn’t risk a direct approach, could they?’ said Moreton. ‘Collington is obviously an emissary.’

  ‘He’s certainly big enough,’ reflected Englehart.

  ‘It would be a complicated set-up,’ said Moreton. ‘Lots of sideways movement before it got to one place from another …’ He looked across the car again. ‘You’re right,’ he agreed. ‘Collington’s got the organisation for a set-up like that.’

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Englehart.

  ‘We’re going to screw it up, that’s what we’re going to do,’ declared Moreton.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Marius Metzinger and Jan Wassenaar calculated their share disposal with the care that R.L. Bains had shown, six months earlier, when he set out to corner the silver market, although their operation was miniscule by comparison and stood no risk of exposure.

  There were three farmhouse meetings, to consider the effect upon every portfolio they held of the coup they intended against Collington. The multi-national spread of SAGOMI was vast, from a fast-food chain in the Middle West of America to a ball-bearing factory in Marseilles to a pasta-manufacturing plant in Naples, and the first conference was solely concerned with the elimination of those companies likely to be unaffected.

  And it was at that first meeting that they decided it was going to be easier than they had expected. Both agreed the drop and rise was going to be brief, reflecting nothing more than automatic nervousness from outside investors at the uncertainty of a boardroom battle, and that if there was any movement in the peripheral holdings it would be too small to provide a profit and could therefore be ignored.

  That narrowed the operation considerably and made it completely manageable. The chief shifts would obviously be in SAGOMI, the parent company. Metzinger had 40,000 shares and Wassenaar 37,500 and on the day of their initial discussion, the value of each share stood at R4-50. There would be matching selling throughout their mining division and here their ownership was more widely spread, through diamonds to copper to uranium and gold. The share value was equally varied, at the lowest R3-75, up to a gold high of R50. Once more Metzinger was slightly ahead in ownership, with a total of 57,000 shares to Wassenaar’s 46,500.

  The second meeting was the most important because it was there that they calculated the risk involved against the profit expectation. Metzinger started out proposing the figures that had been mentioned when the idea first came to them, selling at four points below valuation and buying back in when the drop reached ten, giving them a six point profit per share when the prices stabilised. Wassenaar invoked his lawyer’s caution, arguing that the six points between four and ten was too wide a gap, leaving them too vulnerable if the panic was not as great as they anticipated and the fall didn’t reach ten points.

  Greed had begun to infect Metzinger and he was reluctant to abandon the position, and it took several hours of concentrated argument for the lawyer to convince him. They finally agreed upon a compromise, raising the selling figure to two points below valuation and buying back in at seven. On a profit margin of five points, they each stood to make a profit of well over a million Rand.

  The practical operation of the coup was entrusted to Wassenaar because of his expertise in company law, and when they debated the method at their third gathering, they discovered again that it was going to be easier than they had expected. SAGOMI was quoted on the London and New York exchanges, as well as in South Africa, enabling them to spread the sell orders thinly enough to avoid the slightest suspicion. The mining shares were more centralised and therefore more difficult, but at Wassenaar’s suggestion Metzinger agreed that the instructions should be placed through a Zurich broker, taking any focus away from themselves as local shareholders.

  It was late when they finished and Wassenaar sat back in the chair in Metzinger’s study, physically aching from the effort of concentration.

  ‘There’s nothing we haven’t anticipated,’ he said confidently.

  ‘Just one thing,’ corrected Metzinger. ‘Janet Simpson.’

  Wassenaar frowned. He had half expected Metzinger to raise it.

  ‘She gave us her absolute support the last time,’ reminded Metzinger. ‘I think she should be allowed to benefit, like we are.’

  ‘It spreads the knowledge beyond us two,’ protested Wassenaar. ‘What we are doing is technically a conspiracy … an illegal act.’

  ‘She needn’t know,’ argued Metzinger. ‘You’re a lawyer. Couldn’t she entrust certain portfolios to you, with power of attorney?’

  Wassenaar stared down into his lap, considering the suggestion. ‘It’s possible,’ he said doubtfully.

  ‘Then she could be included?’

  ‘Would she do it, without asking any questions?’

  ‘If I suggested it,’ said Metzinger, confidently. ‘She trusts me implicitly.’

  ‘What are her holdings?’ asked Wassenaar, guessing that the other man would have briefed himself.

  ‘Twenty thousand in SAGOMI,’ said Metzinger, at once. ‘Thirty thousand spread elsewhere, throughout the mining companies. They could be absorbed without any curiosity.’

  Metzinger was right, conceded Wassenaar. And Janet Simpson had allied herself to them when it mattered. ‘I suppose we should,’ he said.

  Metzinger, who had been expecting a more protracted argument, smiled quickly at his success. ‘You’ll arrange all the documentation then, authorising you to act on her behalf?’

  ‘I’d hardly entrust it to anyone else, would I?’ demanded the lawyer.

  ‘How long will it take to set up?’

  ‘It’s a completely straightforward situation,’ said Wassenaar. ‘I would expect to have all the orders placed within a week. A fortnight at the outside …’ He hesitated. ‘For the scheme to work, they will have to be automatic sell and buy orders,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be a worrying time.’

  ‘Big prizes aren’t won by small men,’ said Metzinger.

  ‘Collington isn’t called “Tiny” for nothing,’ reminded the lawyer.

  ‘It began as a joke,’ said Metzinger. ‘And that’s how it’s going to end.’

  The need for power and prestige affects people in different ways. Some men have the intellectual capaċity to grow and expand with it, but in others the desire to succeed becomes distorted, so that they are unbalanced by the craving. The doubt about Henry Moreton’s reasoning came abruptly to Englehart while he was in the Treasury Secretary’s office and stayed with him, a worrying, nagging doubt. And a pointless one, he conceded. Because there was not a damned thing he could do to challenge the instructions. The CIA had a presidential order to accord Henry Moreton carte blanche in everything he wanted. And until that was rescinded from the White House, the man could call any shot he liked. En
glehart had seen it before and knew bloody well that his ass would be in the nearest sling if he attempted to raise doubts through the Executive or even with the Director himself. And with five years to go before retirement to the clapboard bungalow at Cape Cod, Englehart had no intention of bucking the system.

  ‘It’s time to teach people lessons,’ said Moreton. ‘Don’t you think?’

  He had taken to walking magisterially around the office as he spoke and there was frequently a patronising tone in his voice, Englehart recognised. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean,’ he said cautiously.

  ‘I mean that Hassan has got to be shown where his loyalties lie and that industrialist has got to learn that even as big as he is, he can still get his fingers burned.’ Moreton finally sat behind his desk. ‘That’s what I mean,’ he said again.

  ‘How?’ said Englehart, nervously.

  ‘I was scheduled anyway to go to Paris, for a meeting of the International Monetary Fund,’ disclosed Moreton. ‘OPEC are meeting at the same time in Vienna.’

  ‘Hassan will be there, representing Saudi Arabia,’ said Englehart.

  ‘He’s agreed to meet me,’ said Moreton. ‘I had confirmation this morning from the embassy here. Crafty bastard seems set on playing all the ends against the middle.’

  ‘There’s no way you can let him know what we’ve learned,’ said Englehart, immediately regretting the remark when he saw Moreton’s expression.

  ‘I’ve no intention of letting him know what we’ve learned,’ said the Treasury Secretary. ‘I’m going to convince Hassan where his best markets remain. And that he shouldn’t risk a transfer to any other customer offering any other sort of commodity.’

  ‘A risk, in gold?’ queried Englehart, trying to score back off the other man.

  ‘In the supply,’ qualified Moreton.

  ‘How can that be uncertain?’

  ‘Because we’re going to show it to be,’ said Moreton simply.

  Englehart sat silent, unable to ask the question, and Moreton smiled at him across the desk. ‘How much increase has there been in guerrilla activity in South Africa, since the blacks took over Mozambique and Zimbabwe?’

  ‘Quite a lot,’ conceded the CIA man.

  ‘Quite a lot,’ echoed Moreton. ‘They’ve bombed the oil-from-coal plants and they’ve sabotaged rail links and they’ve fomented protest uprisings not just by the blacks, but by the coloureds as well.’

  ‘You’re going to speculate that the gold mines are an obvious target?’ asked Englehart.

  ‘I’m going to suggest the possibility,’ said Moreton. ‘And you’re going to see that it happens.’

  ‘Me!’

  ‘How long have you had people there, watching Collington?’

  ‘About a month.’

  ‘So they’re well established?’

  Englehart nodded.

  ‘How much infiltration … manœuvrable infiltration, do we have in the protest groups?’

  ‘Some,’ allowed Englehart.

  ‘Enough, if they were properly guided by your people, to hit the mines?’

  ‘I’d guess they’re well guarded.’

  ‘The Sasol plants at Secuna and Sasolberg were well guarded, too. They got those,’ snapped Moreton, irritated with the man’s objections.

  ‘There had probably been months of planning.’

  ‘Are you telling me we couldn’t do better than a bunch of guys living in huts, in the bush!’

  Englehart pinched the bridge of his nose, using his hand to conceal any reaction to Moreton’s dismissal of guerrillas who probably had degrees from Moscow University equivalent to the man’s own.

  ‘What I am saying is that the scope of covert activities has been greatly curtailed since Chile and the mistakes that were made backing some of the regimes in the Caribbean.’

  ‘Are you telling me what Administration policy is?’ demanded Moreton.

  ‘I’m advising caution,’ said Englehart.

  ‘And I’m saying that I want an attack on the gold mines controlled by Collington. I want it done so that Hassan will get the point. You understand that?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Englehart.

  ‘And I don’t want any foul-ups. This isn’t going to become an embarrassment, like Chile and the Bay of Pigs. It’s to look Communist planned, like everything else. That’s why I want you there personally, on top of everything.’

  Englehart’s stomach churned in turmoil. ‘It’s not usual for a section head to go out into the field.’

  ‘What we’re doing isn’t usual,’ rejected Moreton. ‘We’re trying to protect a major source of energy supply to the United States of America. Do you want the authority of the Director on this?’

  It wouldn’t be much protection, but it would be something, thought Englehart. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I do.’

  ‘Don’t you go cold on me over this,’ said Moreton threateningly.

  ‘I will do my job,’ said Englehart, refusing to be frightened.

  ‘Then make sure you do it well,’ said Moreton. ‘This is an annoying interference and I’m going to get it removed.’

  This time it took longer for the confirmation of Moreton’s influence to register. It was three hours after he got back to Langley before the co-operation instruction came from Bradley Cowles’ office. The demand to go operational again and be involved in field work frightened Englehart more than the thought of losing a pension and the cottage on the Cape, and so he placed a formal request for an interview with the Director. It was refused.

  Janet Simpson was pleased at the way her relationship with Hannah was progressing. The girl had tried hard the night of the dinner, even arranging the cosmetic attendance of her separated husband, and at the meetings that followed had shown no resentment at the possibility of Janet becoming her stepmother. Janet was glad Marius had agreed to her being the one to tell Hannah about the wedding. That was the way it should be, woman to woman. Explained properly, Hannah would understand the need for two lonely people to get together, just as Janet understood how impossible it was for someone with Hannah’s background to remain with someone like Collington. Janet hadn’t pried about the marriage break-up, but Marius hadn’t any doubts that it was all over. Play-acting, he called the trial separation. And Janet decided he was right. Certainly at their last meeting, just before Collington went to London, Hannah’s feelings against him seemed to have hardened: there had even been an occasion when Janet had thought she was on the point of weeping openly, which had surprised her.

  The car pulled into the forecourt of the building where Jan Wassenaar had his lawyer’s practice and Janet checked the time from the dashboard clock, over the chauffeur’s shoulder. There was still an hour to go before her luncheon appointment with Hannah.

  It was thoughtful of Marius to have Wassenaar examine the mine and parent company portfolios, to see what improvements could be made in the holdings. But then it was typical; he loved her, after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Collington had allowed two weeks to elapse after the suspension of the gold sale, wanting the approach to come to him from the Saudi embassy in London. When it didn’t, he had Wall make contact. Another two weeks passed and still there was no response. Collington tried to curb his frustration, recognising that Hassan was at last behaving as he had expected him to after their initial meeting, delaying to improve his bargaining position, and that it was therefore illogical to become affected by it. There was speculation of an oil price adjustment at the forthcoming OPEC meeting in Vienna and it would have been impossible anyway for them to have discussed an arrangement in detail. Having made himself face that reality Collington extended his objectivity to accept that it wasn’t Hassan’s delay that was of immediate concern to him.

  Collington had wanted to call Hannah a number of times. Once he’d even lifted the telephone and stood uncertainly for several moments with it growling in his hand before replacing it, conscious that he would have nothing to say when Hannah answered. This wa
sn’t a business deal, with each of them attempting some miniscule psychological superiority. He knew he didn’t have a position: the approach had to come from her because she was the one who had to make the decision.

  It was six weeks precisely from the day of his return from London when Hannah’s call came.

  ‘I thought it was time we met,’ she declared bluntly.

  ‘When?’

  ‘What are you doing now?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. He supposed she had the right to make him run, if she wanted.

  ‘Why not tonight then?’

  Was her voice as expressionless as before? Collington couldn’t be sure. ‘If you’d like me to come,’ he agreed.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d like you to.’

  There had definitely been a softening that time, Collington decided in retrospect. The daytime traffic had lessened and most of the lights were in his favour, so he made good time to Parks-town. She was waiting for him in the room in which they had played bridge, the night of the dinner with Metzinger. Had she chosen it because it was the place where he’d blurted his affair with Ann?

  She was dressed less severely than when they had last met, in a long-skirted cocktail dress, but she didn’t come forward to greet him when he entered the room.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for your call,’ he said.

  ‘It wasn’t easy to make.’

  ‘I still want to come back,’ he said. ‘Nothing’s changed.’

  ‘There can’t have been many times when you’ve said sorry,’ Hannah reflected.

  ‘Do you want me to say it again?’

  She didn’t answer him directly. ‘You hurt me, James,’ she said. ‘Do you know what I felt like, aware that there’s been another woman? Inadequate. Like there was something missing’

  Collington considered the words, wanting to say nothing that would annoy her. ‘It wasn’t that,’ he said. ‘Never that.’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Maybe not,’ she said. ‘But that’s how it made me feel.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Don’t be naïve, James. You’ve never really believed I wouldn’t take you back.’