Billionaire

15

When Culundis and Elleck arrived at Chateau Lasserre, they were formally introduced, in turn, to Mademoiselle Nicole Varasay, the Viscomte’s current live-in delight; to each other, since they had never met; and to an aperitif comprising a mixture of non-vintage Bollinger champagne and a framboise liqueur. By the end of their first quarter of an hour in the chateau, they had decided that Mademoiselle Varasay was gorgeous, that they did not particularly like each other, and that the drink was lethal.

There are not many people who have a portrait of an ancestor painted by either Boucher, Fragonard or Winterhalter. Viscomte Lasserre had portraits by all three. What made it all the more remarkable was that in his magnificent dining room, they looked about as insignificant as a trio of china flying ducks.

The dining room was 125 feet long; one wall was a series of arches containing leaded-light French windows, which were opened onto a balcony overlooking the seventy-two acre lake. On another wall was a marble fireplace, twelve feet high and fourteen feet wide. Although it was midsummer, a log fire burned cheerily, fanned by a cooling breeze that came in off the lake. The room was only faintly lit, by candles burning in the massive crystal chandelier above the table.

The inlaid rosewood table at which they sat had extension leaves which would take it to ninety feet in length, enabling it to seat seventy-five people in comfort; but tonight there were no leaves in the table, only the two semicircular ends joined together, making a round table that enabled the four diners to sit cozily together, but with ample room. On either side of the Viscomte sat Culundis and Mademoiselle Varasay, and between them sat Elleck. As Elleck had become progressively more sloshed on the champagne cocktail, he had increasingly ogled Mademoiselle Varasay. She wore a shimmering ice-blue gown completely off her shoulders, and only just over the top of her nipples; her sun-tanned bare arms, chest, and almost bare breasts, her stunning face and sensuous mouth were almost more than Elleck could bear, together with the fact she seemed to be taking such an interest in him, an interest that seemed to him to go well beyond the formalities of common courtesy.

Their first course was freshwater crayfish drunk with a ’69 Corton Charlemagne, followed by truffles en croute, drunk with a ’62 Haut Brion, followed by rack of lamb grilled with fine herbs, drunk with a ’47 Latour, followed by a raspberry pavlova, drunk with a Chateau d’Yquem 1959.

As a mouthful of the sweet rich Sauternes slipped down his throat, Elleck suddenly felt a hand feel its way over the front of his trousers, find his fly and, one at a time, undo the buttons; he gulped and looked startled at Mademoiselle Varasay. In her right hand, she was holding her glass; she raised it just a fraction at him, drank from it and put it down. The hand slipped inside his trousers, found the gap in his Marks and Spencer Y-Fronts, prised it apart and began to encircle the only three things in the world that Elleck truly cherished that weren’t in a bank safety deposit box in Switzerland. Squirming with a mixture of dread, embarrassment and sensuous pleasure, he swung his eyes to the Viscomte, who was engaged in conversation with Culundis and had apparently noticed nothing, nor had Culundis. He tried desperately to think of something to say to Mademoiselle Varasay, but could think of nothing. The fingers began a short stroking action.

The Viscomte turned his head and addressed Elleck: ‘I think, Monty, it is time now that we began to talk some business. Both you and Jimmy have come a long way to be here tonight — Jimmy knows why he is here, but you do not.’

The stroking action continued; Elleck shot a desperate sideways glance at Mademoiselle Varasay, but she did not bat an eyelid, and not one portion of her that was above the table was visibly moving in any way that was out of the ordinary. The Viscomte turned to her. ‘My darling, I do not think it would be of interest to you what we have now to discuss. Perhaps you would like to relax in the drawing room, and we will join you shortly?’

‘Oui, mon chéri,’ she replied, gracefully and pleasantly. She stood up from the table and began walking towards the door. The Viscomte did not stand up, so neither did the other two men.

It was not until she was halfway through the doorway that Elleck realized that the fingers that had been inside his Y-Fronts were still busily there.

For a moment he froze; then he tried to remember quite how much of the champagne and the dry white and the clarets and the Sauternes he had drunk, and whether it should have made him this drunk; and then he shot a glance at the Greek on his right. Without turning his head towards him, Culundis grinned and gave him a broad wink.

The butler arrived with coffee and a bottle of dust-coated Hine. While the Viscomte’s attention was momentarily distracted by him, Elleck plunged his hand below the table and tried to pull Culundis’s hand away. It was like trying to grip an iron rod. Culundis turned to him, leaned over, and spoke softly. ‘Relax — doesn’t it feel good?’

‘Get it out,’ hissed Elleck.

‘You’re gorgeous — let’s get together later, eh?’

Elleck, on one of the few occasions in his life, was stumped for words. Lasserre waited while the butler set the coffee cups, poured the coffee, set the huge brandy punts that had been a wedding gift to one of Lasserre’s ancestors from Louis XIV, poured the Hine and discreetly departed. Culundis continued his groping, despite the fact that since Elleck had discovered the true identity of the groper, there was considerably less inside the Y-Fronts for the fingers to grope at.

‘Monty,’ said Lasserre, ‘for many years you have handled the commodity investments of my personal portfolio, and the portfolio of the Lasserre group of companies. On many occasions when we have met, we have joked about what we call “the big one,” no?’ Elleck nodded.

‘Now, I am not complaining at the way you have handled my money — not at all. You have consistently beaten the market average indicators by good margins, but still “the big one” has not come.’

The butler returned with a box of Bolivars. Culundis took one, so did Elleck, and then the Viscomte selected one; while his attention was again distracted, Elleck shot Culundis a vicious look. Culundis responded by blowing him a kiss. The butler departed. The men lit their cigars in turn with a wooden taper, which was passed around.

Lasserre continued: ‘I have decided not to wait any longer for “the big one.” I have decided to make “the big one” happen.’

Elleck shot Culundis an exasperated look; the expression on the Greek arms dealer’s face was that butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Elleck looked at Lasserre with as quizzical an expression as he could muster under the circumstances.

‘Just over two weeks ago,’ said Lasserre, ‘you were convinced that “the big one” had arrived: the raid on Osirak. But the advance time you gave me was short, so very short, and you made a limit on the amount of gold you would buy for me. I had no time to go to anyone else, either. Result? We made a small profit — a nice profit indeed — about one hundred thousand dollars. Not bad for one afternoon — but hardly what I would call the “big one” that I have waited ten years for. I alone can raise from my bank, on the security of my shares in Lasserre Group, in this chateau and estate, probably £50 million; putting that into gold futures at a ten per cent margin, I could buy two and a half million ounces of gold. If some act were to happen that could push the price of gold up say fifty, or maybe one hundred — or panic it even higher — then I could make a profit worth talking about. Even a rise of $50 an ounce, that would make me £125 million profit. That’s what I would call the “big one.” Wouldn’t you, Monty?’

Elleck nodded. He was finding it damned hard to concentrate.

‘Even my disgustingly rich friend, Jimmy Culundis, would have to admit to being impressed with a profit of that size, wouldn’t you, Jimmy?’

‘I’d call it big, Claude.’ He grinned. He plucked his hand from Elleck’s trousers and began to attack furiously an itch behind his left ear.

Elleck immediately dropped his hands under the table, and did up his flies as fast as he could before Culundis could have a chance to launch his second wave. ‘And how do you propose to make this “big one” happen, Claude?’

‘There are two things above all others that can make the price of gold rise,’ Lasserre said: ‘A shortage, or the threat of war. Correct, Monty?’

Elleck nodded. ‘Basically, yes. When there is the threat of war — or actual war — paper money can become completely worthless. That has happened many times, most recently in Vietnam. When the Chinese took over there, they nationalized the banks and stated that the banks would not redeem any bank-notes. The stuff became meaningless paper literally overnight. When there is political uncertainty, people become nervous of paper; if you are fleeing and you are in the middle of the wilderness desperate for food and shelter, in a country that is being overrun by an enemy, there aren’t many people who are going to be interested in your 100 franc notes. Offer them a piece of gold, and it becomes a different matter — they know that somewhere in the world — someone is always going to give them value for it — and gold is the most popular of any metal. Because of its high value, you can carry in your pocket more than enough to live comfortably on for a very long time indeed.’

Lasserre nodded; Culundis blew large smoke rings, stuck his nose inside his brandy punt, and took several large sniffs.

‘It would take a great deal of gold being bought to create a shortage, would it not?’

‘An average of 1,500 tons of gold is mined each year, of which an average of 1,200 tons is used for jewellery, electronics, dentistry, decorative purposes, official coins and medals, medallions and commemorative fake coins. The balance — 300 tons — ends up in banks, in the International Monetary Fund and in the hands of private speculators. Those 300 tons have a market value of approximately $4,800 million.’

‘I have just calculated,’ interrupted Lasserre, ‘that on margin, I could buy $1,000 million worth of gold — that is one quarter of the world’s annual supply. My friend, Jimmy, also has approximately £50 million he could lay his hands on — which is $100 million — as ten per cent margin that could also buy $1,000 million of gold — are you saying that between us we could buy nearly half the new speculative gold coming into the market this year?’

Elleck shook his head. ‘No. You are not the only people who trade on margin in gold — many people do — so you have to multiply the value of the gold by ten — to $48,000 million. To this you must add all the rest of the year’s production — because that is also traded on the open market before it is sold — worth $192,000 million — multiplied by ten, because of margin trading — to make ten billion, nine hundred and twenty thousand million dollars; to this you must add the surplus gold since time began — probably 30,000 tons — worth on margin forty billion, eight hundred thousand million dollars, much of which is traded every year; your lousy little $2,000 million wouldn’t even fill the petty cash tin in those terms. No offence, you understand?’

Lasserre and Culundis both nodded. They understood; being rich was all a matter of relativity. They might be big fishes in a small pond, but out in the ocean, the whales wouldn’t even contemplate putting them in the peanut bowl. ‘Monty,’ said Culundis, ‘if the amount is so insignificant, why, when you knew about Osirak in advance, did you limit the amount the Viscomte could invest to only $1 million?’

Elleck squirmed slightly in his seat. ‘There were two reasons, actually — both of them connected. You see, I had to be very careful of this inside knowledge. I didn’t want to let on to anyone that I had the knowledge that I possessed, so I did the buying myself, very quietly, through a few chums; so I had to limit it to a small amount in order to avoid looking suspicious. Of course, time played a big part — I only had the tip-off a week before; if I had known earlier, I could have bought a great deal more, spreading it further — but I have to be very careful. I don’t normally do any dealing directly myself — but I didn’t want my brokers getting involved and maybe getting suspicious. I, er, at the end — when I knew things were quietening down — I did give some pretty clear sell instructions — but I think I managed to convey the impression that that was just the judgement of an old and wise man, rather than the result of my knowledge.’

Culundis nodded; he didn’t look too impressed. Elleck looked away from him with a distasteful expression.

‘So, Monty,’ said Lasserre, ‘if you’d had more time you could have placed much more?’

‘Sure.’

Lasserre nodded thoughtfully, and re-lit his cigar. ‘If we wish to make a killing on the gold market, we can forget trying to create a shortage, correct?’

‘You’ll have to win a lot more races with those nags of yours before you’ll have the cash to create a gold shortage, Claude.’

‘So the other option we have is to create the threat of war?’

Elleck’s shiny forehead rose upwards to meet his shiny bald pate, which sank downwards; where the two joined became a furrowed tangle of creases. He looked at Culundis, then back at Lasserre. ‘That’s about it,’ he said, and grinned, taking a long draw on his cigar and leaning back in his chair.

‘Then that’s what we shall do,’ said Lasserre.

Elleck jolted upright and leaned for an instant on the arm of his chair, before discovering that his chair didn’t have any arms; somehow, by clutching onto a leg, he managed to prevent himself from falling completely onto the floor, and dropped his cigar in the process. He leaned over to pick it up, and shouted out in pain; his finger and thumb had picked it up by the lighted end by mistake. He looked quizzically at his host.

‘You see, Monty,’ said Lasserre, ‘Osirak was no good. It was all over — poof! — so quickly. They fly out of the sky, blow up the power station — and then they are gone again, and that was that. Lots of noise in the press for a few days, and then all over. The world is used to acts of terrorism, and that was just one more — although on a fairly large scale. And you know — how many people care about Iraq? Iraq doesn’t mean anything to most people. No. What is needed is something that will matter to the whole world — something that will threaten the peace of the whole world — bring it right to the very brink of war. Right to the very brink. That is what is needed. That is what will push up the price of gold, but really push it up. Right, Monty?’

Elleck felt a chill listening to the Viscomte’s words. There was something about this whole evening — this extraordinary chateau, the bent Greek, the sincerity with which the Viscomte was talking. All his life, Elleck had taken steps to ensure that he only played in the ‘A’ team. Well here he was, as usual playing in the ‘A’ team, and he decided that tonight he might have been distinctly more at ease had he been playing in something lower down the league. ‘And how do you propose going about bringing the world to the brink of war, Claude?’

Lasserre picked his brandy punt up gently in the palm of his right hand; he stared down into the gold liquid for several moments, lifted the punt to his lips, took a small sip, held the brandy in his mouth for some moments, and then swallowed. He looked across at Elleck. ‘We have already started,’ he said.

There was a silence that lasted for nearly a full minute. The Viscomte passed it by lowering his nose into his punt and inhaling the fumes of the elderly brandy several times, slowly and deeply. Culundis passed it by examining first the end of his cigar which had half an inch of ash on; secondly, the end of his cigar which had half an inch of damp slobber; and then the space in between. Elleck passed it without removing his eyes from a point, on one of the open French windows, that was about six inches to the left of the Viscomte’s face; about halfway through the minute, he rolled his cigar over, once, in the ashtray. He had absolutely no doubt that the Viscomte meant what he said, and from what he knew of the Viscomte’s attitude to life and to people, he knew that the Viscomte was cold enough and ruthless enough to carry it out. From his short acquaintance with Jimmy Culundis, and from what he had read about him on the many occasions his name had appeared in the world press in the past, he had little doubt that Culundis had come from a similar mould. He tried to consider the significance of what the Viscomte had said, but he found he was unable to concentrate his mind. ‘What do you mean?’ he said finally, ‘you have started?’

‘What do you consider to be the most important commodity that could affect world peace at the present time, Monty?’ said Lasserre.

‘There is only one,’ said Elleck. ‘Oil.’

Lasserre nodded. ‘If someone were to threaten overnight to shut off half the Western World’s oil supply, what do you imagine would happen?’

‘I imagine the Western World would resist strenuously.’

Again Lasserre nodded. ‘Right.’

‘But to turn off half the world’s oil supply,’ said Elleck, ‘you would have to attack about six different countries all at once.’

Lasserre shook his head. ‘That is not correct, Monty; there is an easier way. At the present time, over half the Western World’s oil supplies are shipped in tankers down the Persian Gulf. There is one particularly narrow point in the Gulf — a mere twenty-seven miles wide — called the Strait of Hormuz. Block that, and nothing can get in or out of the Gulf.’

‘I’m sure you are right — in theory,’ said Elleck. ‘But in practice, if any one blocks the Gulf, the West will have it unblocked within hours. And how on earth could anyone block a stretch of water twenty-seven miles wide? A couple of hundred yards is one thing — but twenty-seven miles is quite another.’

Lasserre again shook his head. ‘You do not listen, Monty. I said, “threaten to block,” not actually “block.” ’

‘I don’t see there is much difference. If someone is going to threaten to block it, they must show they have the ability to carry out that threat.’

‘Correct.’

‘So how could anyone show they could block the Strait of Hormuz and keep it blocked?’

Lasserre looked at Culundis. Culundis drew hard on his cigar, puffed out his cheeks, then spat out the mouthful of smoke before speaking. ‘Nuclear explosives are not limited purely to massively powerful bombs for destroying land targets; a recent development has been the nuclear mine. There is no conventional mine in existence powerful enough to sink a large oil tanker — there are plenty that could make an ugly hole in one, but none that would destroy one. One small nuclear mine — say, twenty kiloton — would turn a supertanker into a mass of metal splinters, most of them no longer than a cigarette lighter flint; in addition, it would destroy any other shipping within a three-mile radius, and send out a tidal wave that would capsize any boat, of any size, within a ten-mile radius. Four tankers an hour go out through the Strait of Hormuz and four an hour come in; that’s eight tankers in an hour. The shipping channels are four miles wide each way, with a two-mile gap — that’s a ten-mile area. At any given time of any day or night, there would always be at least four tankers within capsize range of a twenty-kiloton nuclear mine.’ Culundis stuck his cigar back in his mouth and drew hard on it.

‘So all that any one,’ said Elleck, ‘who wishes to block the Strait of Hormuz has to do is nip down to his local supermarket, buy a boatload of nuclear mines and announce to the world that he is going to chuck them overboard in the Strait of Hormuz?’

‘No,’ said the Greek, ‘not anyone. Only those with access to nuclear mines.’

‘And who has access to nuclear mines?’

‘As far as I know, only three people can get their hands on a worthwhile quantity without any questions being asked: the Chairman of the Soviet Union, the President of the United States, and myself.’

‘I’ll remember to give you a call next time I need some,’ said Elleck.

Culundis blew him a kiss. ‘It will be no problem — just let me know the quantity and send me your cheque.’

Elleck looked down at the table, then out through the French windows at the dark blue, balmy warm night. ‘So how, with your unlimited supply of nuclear mines, which you will threaten to throw into the Strait of Hormuz, do you actually bring the world to the brink of war?’

‘In your line of work, it must be very important you keep up with the news, eh?’

Elleck nodded.

The Greek continued. ‘Some years ago, you may remember a small disturbance in the Middle East — in the United Arab Emirates? One of the Emirates, Umm Al Amnah, broke away and became once more independent. All the world said the Libyans were behind this revolution — with, of course, the Russians behind them. Well, it wasn’t the Libyans. I know — because I supplied the men and the weapons to Umm Al Amnah, and the Libyans were not involved. No outsider was; this was purely an internal situation. The old Emir Quozzohok fell out with the Government of the UAE just after oil was discovered in Amnah. He and the Government had never got on too well, and he was damned if they were going to have any benefits from his oil. This coup, of course, greatly upset the UAE and alienated Quozzohok from the governments of the Western World — they didn’t want to lose their valuable friendship with the UAE, so they had to spurn Amnah. The Libyans and the Russians courted Quozzohok, but he didn’t want to know.

‘The reason the West thought Libya was behind that revolution was very simple: I don’t like to have anything traced to me. So all the contracts with the mercenaries, all the purchases of weapons and ammunition and all other related purchases were made in the name of a company, Eurocorps, the origins of which can easily be traced, first to a Liechtenstein holding company and secondly to a Panamanian Company with nominee directors, and only one share issued. That share is owned by Sahqd-As-Sah, a Libyan arms wholesaling company. Right now, to assist them with certain internal problems, soldiers, weapons and ammunition are arriving at Umm Al Amnah every day. To anyone taking the trouble to find out who is behind them, the answer is easily found: Libya.’ Culundis smiled.

‘Although, of course, it is actually you,’ said Elleck.

‘Of course,’ smiled the Greek.

‘So you have set up Libya, in the opinion of the world, as being Umm Al Amnah’s supporter — whether Amnah likes it or not?’

‘In a nutshell, yes. Libya isn’t going to deny it — it’s good publicity for them. Poor exploited little Amnah — it all fits into Gaddafi’s Islamic revolution activities very neatly.’

Elleck slowly nodded his head. ‘I’m following you. So Amnah is going to threaten to mine the Strait, with Libya as fairy godmother and Russia as the golden coach?’

‘No,’ said Culundis. ‘We are further than that. One month ago, something happened that was kept well out of the world’s press: an Oman Navy patrol boat picked up, in the Strait, a fishing dhow that was drifting with a dead crew on board. Also on board were eight twenty-kiloton nuclear mines, all with six-hour timer devices which would automatically prime themselves six hours after immersion in the water. They were utterly sophisticated devices that could not be reversed by a minesweeper. They had sonar detonators primed to go off as soon as any ship got within one hundred yards; if one of those had been dumped into the sea, the Lord only knows how it could ever have been got out again.’

‘Whose mines were they and how did they come to be on the dhow?’

‘The mines were Russian-made, for all intents and purposes. The dhow’s registration certificate showed its home port as being Al Suttoh. Al Suttoh is the chief port of Umm Al Amnah.’

‘And who was behind it?’ asked Elleck.

‘As far as the Western World believes, the Libyans,’ Culundis smiled.

‘And what does the Western World believe the Libyans have to gain by blocking the Gulf?’

‘In political terms,’ said Culundis, ‘that’s a good question. No one can be sure — but in economic terms it is very clear. Libya’s chief ports are on the Mediterranean. She is the only major oil-producing Arab country that does not need the Persian Gulf. If the Gulf was blocked for a considerable period of time, Libya would be in a position to ask just whatever the hell she liked for her oil.’

‘That’s a pretty good reason for Libya to block the Gulf,’ said Elleck.

Culundis nodded in agreement.

‘But you’re implying it wasn’t Libya who put those mines on that dhow?’

‘Correct, Monty. The mines were not, in fact, Russian-made at all — although they were made to look that way. They were actually made in France, by Lasserre Industriele. I arranged for them to be put onto the dhow.’

Elleck thought for some moments. ‘How come you were careless enough to let the Royal Omani Navy capture the dhow?’

‘Not careless,’ said Culundis very slowly, ‘careful!’

‘Careful?’

‘It was deliberate. Do not forget, Monty Elleck, we have been talking about a threat to block the Gulf — not an actual blockade. You yourself have said that a threat is useless unless you can show you have the ability to carry it out. Well, let me tell you something: Oman, because it actually occupies the land one side of the Strait of Hormuz, and because of its position at the base of the Gulf, is strategically one of the most important countries of the world. It is friendly to the West, but the Russians constantly are trying to infiltrate it, trying to erode the Government’s support by propaganda to the population. Oman is one of the most heavily-surveilled countries in the world; not merely because of its position as a watch post on the Gulf, but because of its strategically important position for the Americans and for NATO. There are more intelligence agents crawling around the sand dunes and rock caves of Oman than there are almost anywhere else in the world. There is not an intelligence agency in the world who did not hear about those nuclear mines being found aboard that dhow. You might not have read one word in the newspapers — because it was deliberately kept out — but I’ll tell you something: every government in the world right now knows those mines were on that dhow. They don’t know for sure why they were there — they can only speculate. But they know that they exist; they know that they were there; and if someone were to tell them that there were another thirty dhows out there, carrying a further 400 mines between them, you know what they’d think, Monty Elleck?’

Elleck slowly nodded his head.

‘Damned right, Monty Elleck. They’d bloody believe it.’

Elleck pulled another flat cedar taper from the silver box on the table, stuck one end of the taper in a candle flame, then held the burning taper to his cigar, puffed hard three times, then shook out the taper. ‘Couldn’t the mines be swept? There must be a way?’

‘Impossible. You cannot get near them without them exploding.’

‘Couldn’t they be detonated by remote control?’

The Greek shook his head. ‘Imagine 400 all within a few square miles. If one goes, there is a good chance it will set off others — perhaps even all the others; the result of nuclear mines detonating in that stretch of water is almost impossible to conceive. It would alter the entire floor of the Gulf — the Gulf isn’t that deep, and there would be a very real danger that a force of explosion of that size could raise up the entire bottom — making it impassable to all shipping for months and possibly years. It would create tidal waves up and down the Gulf that would wash away towns and villages, destroy the harbours — such a force of water that would break supertankers into little pieces.’

‘There must be some way to make these mines safe,’ said Elleck. ‘If your bluff was called and you had to put 400 mines in the Gulf, and then your demands were met, how would you make them safe? Or would you leave them? Umm Al Amnah has a coast on the Gulf — surely it would suffer as much as anyone if these mines did go off?’

‘There is a way to make them safe. These mines have been fitted with a detonating system that is primed automatically by six hours’ immersion in water. They can be defused only by a coded radio signal. The eight mines we put in the dhow which was captured had no such defusing system. We did not want anyone else to learn about the detonating system — I am sure you can understand?’

‘Naturally,’ said Elleck. He was pushing his mind forward, trying to anticipate what was at the end of all this, and he was finding it difficult; there were too many options.

‘What,’ said Elleck, ‘did Sheik Quozzohok, Emir of Amnah, have to say about all this?’

‘He never knew about it. It was felt in the Oman that it would be better to keep quiet — and keep watching Amnah to try and find out more about what might be going on. Amnah has no intelligence agents in Oman — nor anywhere else — for that matter,’ said Lasserre. ‘Now we come to the key part. Our aim is to push up the price of gold and, to do this, we need a major international conflict, preferably lasting several days, and worsening each day. You will probably not know yet, but the Sheik Quozzohok has abdicated, and the new Emir is his son, Abr Qu’Ih Missh.’

‘Very interesting,’ said Elleck. ‘He happens to be one of my company’s major private clients.’

‘Indeed?’ said Lasserre. ‘This is a complete coincidence, I can assure you. Now this man Missh is sitting on a very rocky seat — and I understand he is totally dependent on Jimmy Culundis for his personal security, and the security of his government. He will go along with anything that Jimmy instructs him, because he has no option.’ Lasserre turned to Culundis. ‘I am correct?’

‘We’ve got him by the balls.’

Elleck looked at Culundis and decided that if it had only been his balls that he had got him by, then the Sheik had got off very lightly.

‘Now,’ said Lasserre, ‘what we are proposing to do is as follows: Amnah is being watched very closely indeed by many intelligence networks; any information that is let out will immediately be passed onto the governments of the world. We intend to let it slip out that Umm Al Amnah, supported by Libya, is planning to mine the Persian Gulf, and will not remove the mines until Israel agrees to relinquish all the territories it has gained since the Six Day War in 1967.’

Elleck frowned. Israel was an obsession with him; he had poured hundreds of thousands of pounds into charities supporting the country, although he did admit secretly, to himself, that the reason was probably as much, if not more, his desire to keep his clients happy and to cultivate new clients as any particular passionate desire to help the homeland of his race.

‘Israel,’ said Lasserre, ‘will then, we hope, launch straight into war against Libya and Umm Al Amnah. Within a very short space of time, one half of the world will be supporting one side or the other, whilst the other half will be trying to pull them apart. Whatever the eventual outcome may be, for a period of time the price of gold must surely go through the roof?’

‘Israel has suffered a lot of criticism in the past for striking too quickly. Begin only pushed Israel into the first Osirak raid because he felt it would gain him votes in the forthcoming election. The second raid was also similarly inspired — two days before an election. Without those elections immediately in front, I am not sure Israel would have attacked on either occasion. So how can you be so sure this time?’ said Elleck.

Lasserre got up from his chair, left the dining room, and came back a few moments later holding an RCA video-cassette in his hand. He put it on the table in front of Elleck. ‘I have a little home movie; if you like, after dinner we can see it. It is a tape of an Israeli, General Isser Ephraim, who is the Head of the Mossad — the Israelis’ overseas Intelligence Agency. He is one of the most powerful men in Israel, and a man whose advice, on military matters, is almost invariably acted upon. Wouldn’t you agree, Jimmy?’

Culundis nodded. ‘He is more powerful than the Israeli Minister of Defence. What he says, goes.’

Lasserre continued. ‘This tape was made at the Tel Aviv morgue. It would seem that General Isser Ephraim has an unusual pastime: he likes making love to dead boys.’

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sound of an English commodity broking tycoon choking on vintage brandy.

‘Isser Ephraim?’ said Elleck.

‘Yes,’ said Lasserre. ‘Would you like to see the tape?’

‘No,’ said Elleck. ‘I would not. That man is a friend of mine, a very old friend. I cannot believe this.’

‘If you look at the tape, you will believe it. The keeper of the morgue said he had been coming there for ten years. Dead Arab boys. The keeper is paid a large sum to telephone him and let him know whenever they have a new one in.’

‘He must be lying,’ said Elleck.

‘We sent Ephraim a copy of the tape, asked him to come to a meeting at L’Hermitage Hotel in La Baule. He does not know who we are, and we intend to keep it that way. With a man like Ephraim, that is the most sensible. The Mossad is not known for its inefficiency — we do not wish to have a surprise visit from any of Ephraim’s friends in the middle of the night. The report that I have had back from my courier is that Ephraim made no attempt to deny his activities. He is desperate that the news of this hideous perversion does not leak out — it would of course destroy his career, quite apart from putting him in a mental institution, at best, or a jail, at worst, for very many years.’

Elleck shook his head. ‘Ephraim is a friend, a good friend of mine.’

‘You seem to have a lot of friends in high places,’ said Lasserre. ‘You must be very selective.’

‘What do you mean by that, Claude?’ Elleck’s face flushed.

‘You know what I mean, Monty; don’t get on your high horse. You and Jimmy — you both came from nothing. You have made your ways up in the world, you have succeeded; but you have not done this by cultivating the friendships of only those people that you really like. You don’t have the time in life to do that when you are ambitious. No — the friends you have and the friends Jimmy has are only there because they are useful to you.’

‘That is a very arrogant statement,’ said Elleck, almost petulantly.

‘Arrogant, Monty, yes, but true.’

‘And the same doesn’t apply to you?’

‘Of course — if I had friends. I don’t particularly like to have just “friends.” I like to work always; I like to have employees and colleagues. Sure, I become friendly with colleagues — I am friendly with you and friendly with Jimmy — but if we did not do business — would we see each other? I doubt it very much. You do business with Ephraim, do you not? You must do — he must be your source of information on Osirak. If he was not helpful, would you still see him?’

‘He saved my life in Auschwitz in the war.’

‘The war was a long time ago, Monty. If you haven’t paid him back by now, then you probably aren’t going to.’

Elleck went red; he knew he had never paid Ephraim back and, equally, he knew he never would. He’d even ripped him off on the advance information he had on Osirak; he could have given him a cheque for half a million dollars and not felt the pinch, such was the profit he had made on the two Osirak attacks, but it wasn’t in his nature to give a penny away that he didn’t absolutely have to. He remained silent.

Lasserre helped himself to some more brandy, then passed the bottle to Culundis.

‘So if I have got this correct,’ said Elleck, ‘you intend to leak to the world that there is a Libya-Amnah plot to fill the Persian Gulf full of nuclear mines, and leave them there until the Israelis agree to withdraw from Sinai and all other occupied territories?’

Lasserre and Culundis both nodded.

‘You will then instruct General Ephraim that he is to persuade the Government of Israel to launch military offensives against both Libya and Amnah, which you expect will lead to a major international conflict, possibly bringing the world to the brink of war?’

Again the Viscomte and the Greek nodded.

‘And your reason for doing all of this is so that it will push the price of gold, of which, by then, you will have plentiful amounts, up through the roof?’

Further nodding.

‘And my role in this, presumably, is to arrange the buying and the selling of the gold?’

‘I knew you would agree, Monty,’ said Lasserre.

Later that night, Elleck took care to lock his bedroom door after he had entered it; a short while after he had climbed into bed and switched off the light, there was a soft knocking on the door. He wondered whether it was Nicole or Culundis, and debated whether to open it or not. He didn’t want to miss out on a night with the gorgeous French girl, but on the other hand he didn’t fancy putting up another fight against the Greek’s advances. The gentle knocking came again, and Elleck decided it was definitely a female’s knock. He knew also, because he was a gambling man, that he must open that door. He went over to it. ‘Who is it?’ he whispered loudly. The reply was further soft knocking. Terrified of being overheard by his host down the corridor, he opened up the door. Two arms hugged him around the chest, and pushed him backwards inside the door.

‘Oh, you wonderful, beautiful creature, I knew you would be waiting for me.’

Elleck pushed with all his might to try and stop the slow, steady, propulsion of himself, by the Greek, towards the massive bed.