Hungry as the Sea

battered her - then she turned and picked her way dejectedly along the

edge of the basin, ignoring the occasional whistle or ribald invitation

from the fishermen and crew members of the freighters on their moorings.

Warlock seemed as welcoming as home, rakish and gallant, wearing her new

scars with high panache, already thrusting and impatient at the

restraint of her mooring lines. And then Samantha remembered that

Nicholas Berg was no longer aboard her, and her spirits sagged again.

God! Tim Graham met her at the gangplank. I'm glad you got back. I

didn't know what to do with your gear. What do you mean? Samantha

demanded. Are you throwing me off the ship? Unless you want to come

with us to Rio. He thought about that for a moment, and then he

grinned, Hey, that's not a bad idea, how about it, old girl? Rio in

Carnival time, you and me Don't get carried away, Timothy/ she warned

him.

Why Rio? The Captain Captain Berg? No, David Allen, he's the new

skipper/ and she lost interest.

When are you sailing? Midnight. I'd best go pack up. She left him on

the quarter-deck, and Angel pounced on her as she passed the galley.

,Where have you been? He was in a flutter, all wrists and tossing hair,

I've been beside myself, darling. What is it, Angel It's probably too

late already. What is it? She caught his urgency. Tell me. He's still

in town. Who? But she knew, they spoke of only one person in these

emotional terms.

Don't be dense, luv. Your crumpet. She hated it when he referred to

Nick like that, but now she let him go on.

But he won't be very much longer. His plane leaves at five o'clock, he

is making the local flight to Johannesburg, and connecting there for

London. She stared at him.

Well what are you waiting for? Angel keened. It's almost four o'clock

now, and it will take you at least half an hour to reach the airport.

She did not move. But, Angel/ she almost wrung her hands in anguish,

but what do I do when I get there? Angel shook his head and twinkled

his diamonds in exasperation. Sweet merciful heavens, duckie. Then he

sighed. When I was a boy I had two guinea pigs, and they also refused

to get it on. I think they were retarded, or something. I tried

everything, even hormones, but neither of them survived the shots. Alas,

their love was never consummated Be serious, Angel., You could hold him

down while I give Will a hormone shot I hate you, Angel. She had to

laugh, even in her anxiety.

Dearie, every night for the past month you have tried to set him on fire

with your dulcet silvery voice - and we haven't even passed "GO" and

collected our first $200. I know, Angel. I know. It seems to me,

sweetie, that it's time now to cut out the jawing and to ignite him with

that magic little tinderbox of yours. You mean right there in the

departure lounge of the airport? She clapped her hands with delight,

then struck a lascivious pose. 'I'm Sam - fly me! I Hop, poppet there

is a taxi on the wharf - he's been waiting an hour, with his meter

running. There is no first-class lounge in Cape Town's DF Malan

Airport, so Nicholas sat in the snake-pit, amongst the distraught

mothers and their whining, sticky offspring, the harassed tourists

loaded like camels with souvenirs and the florid-faced commercial

travellers, but he was alone in a multitude; with unconscious deference

they allowed him a little circle of privacy and he used the Louis

Vuitton briefcase on his knee as a desk.

It occurred to him suddenly how dramatically the balance had swung in

the last mere forty days, since he had recognized his wave peaking, but

had almost not been able to find the strength for it.

A shadow passed across his eyes, and the little creased crows foot

appeared between them as he remembered the physical and emotional effort

that it had taken to make the Go decision on Golden Adventurer, and he

shivered slightly in fear of what might have happened if he had not

gone. He would have missed his wave, and there would never have been

another.

With a small firm movement of his head, he pushed that memory of fear

behind him. He had caught his wave, and he was riding high and fast.

Now it seemed that the fates were intent on smothering him with

largesse: the oil-rig for Warlock, Rio to the Bravo Sierra field off

Norway - then a back-to-back tow from the North Sea through Suez to the

to the new South Australian field, would keep Warlock fully employed for

the next six months. That was not all, the threatening dockyard strike

at Construction Navale Atlantique had been smoothed over and the

delivery date for the new tug had come forward by two months - At

midnight the night before, a telephone call from Bach Wackie had

awakened him to let him know Kuwait and Qatar were now also studying the

iceberg-to-water project with a view to commissioning similar schemes;

he would have to build himself another two vessels if they decided to

go.

All I need now is to hear that I have won the football pools, -he

thought, and turned his head, started and caught his breath with a hiss,

as though he had been punched in the ribs.

She stood by the automatic doors, and the wind had caught her hair and

torn it loose from its thick twisted knot so that fine gold tendrils

floated down on to her cheeks - cheeks that were flushed as though she

had run fast, and her chest heaved so that she held one hand upon it,

fingers spread like a star between those fine pointed breasts.

She was poised like a forest animal that has scented the leopard,

fearful, tremulous, but not yet certain in which direction to run. Her

agitation was so apparent that he thrust aside his briefcase and stood

up.

She saw him instantly, and her face lit with an expression of such

unutterable joy, that he was halted in his intention of going towards

her, while she in contrast wheeled and started to run towards him.

She collided with a portly, sweating tourist, nearly flooring him and

shaking loose a rain of carved native curios and anonymous packets which

clattered to the floor around her like Ape fruit.

He snarled angrily, then his expression changed as he looked at her.

Sorry! She stooped swiftly, picked up a packet, thrust it into his

arms, hit him with her smile, and left him beaming bemusedly after her.

However, now she was more restrained, her precipitous rush calmed to

that long-legged thrusting hip-swinging walk of hers, and the smile was

a little uncertain as she pushed vainly at the loose streamers of golden

hair, trying to tuck them up into the twisted rope on top of her head.

I thought I'd missed you. She stopped a little in front of him.

Is something wrong? he asked quickly, still alarmed by her behaviour.

Oh no! she assured him hurriedly. Not any more/ and suddenly she was

awkward and coltish again. I thought/ her voice hushed, it was just

that I thought I'd missed you., And her eyes slid away from him. You

didn't say goodbye.- I thought it was better that way. And now her eyes

flew back to his face, sparking with green fire.

Why? she demanded, and he had no answer to give her.

I didn't want to -How could he say it to her, without making the kind of

statement that would embarrass them both?

Above them, the public address system squawked into life.

South African Airways announces the departure of their Airbus flight 235

to Johannesburg. Will passengers please board at Gate Number Two. She

had run out of time. I'm Sam - Fly Me! Please! she thought, and felt

the urge to giggle, but instead she said: Nicholas, tomorrow you'll be

in London - in midwinter. It's a sobering thought/he agreed, and for

the first time smiled; his smile closed like a fist around her heart and

her legs felt suddenly weak.

Tomorrow or at least the day after, I'll be riding the long sea at Cape

St Francis/ she said. They had spoken of that, on those enchanted

nights. He had told her how he had first ridden the surf at Waikiki

Beach long ago before the sport had become a craze, and it had been part

of their shared experience, part of their love of the sea, drawing them

closer together.

I hope the surf's up for you/ he said. Cape St Francis was three

hundred and fifty miles north of Cape Town, simply another beach and

headland in a shoreline that stretched in unbroken splendour for six

thousand miles, and yet it was unique in all the world. The young and

the young-at-heart came in almost religious pilgrimage to ride the long

sea at Cape St Francis. They came from Hawaii and California, from

Tahiti and Queensland, for there was no other wave quite like it.

At the departure gate, the shuffling queue was shortening, and Nick

stooped to pick up his briefcase, but she reached out and laid her hand

on his biceps, and he froze.

It was the first time she had deliberately touched him, and the shock of

it spread through his body like ripples on a quiet lake. All the

emotions and passions which he had so strenuously denied came tumbling

back upon him, and it seemed that their strength had grown a

hundred-fold while under restraint. He ached for her, with a deep,

yearning wanting ache.

Come with me, Nicholas/ she whispered, and his own throat closed so he

could not answer. He stared at her, and already the ground hostesses at

the gate were peering around irritably for their missing passenger.

She had to convince him and she shook his arm urgently, startled at the

hardness of the muscle under her fingers.

Nicholas, I really want/ she began, intending to finish, you to/but her

tongue played a Freudian trick on her, and she said, I really want you.,

Oh God/ she thought, as she heard herself say it, I sound like a whore/

and in panic she corrected herself.

I really want you to/ and she flushed! the blood came up from her neck,

dark under the peach of her tan so the freckles glowed on her skin like

flakes of gold-dust.

Which one is it? he asked, and then smiled again.

There isn't time to argue. She stamped her foot, feigning impatience,

hiding her confusion, then added, Damn you! for no good reason.

Who is arguing? he asked quietly, and suddenly, like magic, she was in

his arms, trying to burrow herself deeper and deeper into his embrace,

trying to draw all the an smell of him into her lungs, amazed at the

softness and warmth of his mouth and the hard rasp of new beard on his

chin and cheek, making little soft mewing sounds of comfort deep in her

throat as she clung to him.

Passenger Berg. Will passenger Berg please report to the departure

gate/ chanted the public address.

They're calling me/Nicholas murmured.

They can go right to the back of the queue,, she mumbled into his lips.

Sunlight was made for Samantha. She wore it like a cloak that had been

woven especially for her. She wore it in her hair, sparkling like

jewellery, she used it to paint her face and body in lustrous shades of

burnt honey and polished amber, she wore it glowing in golden freckles

on her cheeks and nose.

She moved in sunlight with wondrous grace, barefooted in the white sand,

so that her hips and buttocks roistered brazenly under the thin green

stuff of her bikini, She sprawled in the sunlight like a sleeping cat,

offering her face and her naked belly to it, so he felt that if he laid

his hands against her throat he would feel her purr deep inside her

chest.

She ran in the sunlight, light as a gull in flight, along the hard wet

sand at the water's edge, and he ran beside her, tirelessly, mile after

mile, the two of them alone in a world of green sea and sun and tall

pale hot skies. The beach curved away in both directions to the limit

of the eye, smooth and white as the snows of Antarctica, devoid of human

life or the scars of man's petty endeavours, and she laughed beside him

in the sunlight, holding his hand as they ran together.

They found a deep, clear rock pool in a far and secret place. The

sunlight off the water dappled her body, exploding silently upon it like

the reflections of light from a gigantic diamond, as she cast aside the

two green wisps of her bikini, let down the thick rope of her hair and

stepped into the pool, turning, knee-deep, to look back at him. Her

hair hung almost to her waist, springing and thick and trying to curl in

the salt and wind, it cloaked her shoulders and her breasts peeped

through the thick curtains of it.

Her breasts, untouched by the sun, were rich as cream and tipped in

rose, so big and full and exuberant that he wondered that he had ever

thought her a child; they bounced and swung as she moved, and she pulled

back her shoulders and laughed at him shamelessly when she saw the

direction of his eyes.

She turned back to the pool and her buttocks were white with the pinkish

sheen of a deep-sea pearl, round and tight and deeply divided, and, as

she bent forward to dive, a tiny twist of copper gold curls peeped

briefly and coyly from the wedge where the deep cleft split into her

tanned smooth thighs.

Through the cool water, her body was warm as bread fresh from the oven,

cold and heat together, and when he told her this, she entwined her arms

around his neck, I'm Sam the baked Alaska, eat me! she laughed, and the

droplets clung to her eyelashes like diamond chips in the sunlight.

Even in the presence of others, they walked alone; for them, nobody else

really existed. Among those who had come from all over the world to

ride the long sea at Cape St Francis were many who knew Samantha, from

Florida and California, from Australia and Hawaii, where her field trips

and her preoccupation with the sea and the life of the sea had taken

her.

Hey, Sam! they shouted, dropping their boards in the sand and running

to her, tall muscular men, burned dark as chestnuts in the sun.

She smiled at them vaguely, holding Nicholas hand a little tighter, and

replied to their chatter absentmindedly, drifting away at the first

opportunity.

Who was that! It's terrible, but I can't remember - I'm not even sure

where I met him or when., And it was true, she could concentrate on

nothing but Nicholas, and the others sensed it swiftly and left them

alone.

Nicholas had not been in the sun for over a year, his body was the

colour of old ivory, in sharp contrast to the thick dark body hair which

covered his chest and belly. At the end of that first day in the sun,

the ivory colour had turned to a dull angry red.

You'll suffer/ she told him, but the next morning his body and limbs had

gone the colour of mahogany and she drew back the sheets and marvelled

at it, touching him exploringly with the tip of her fingers.

I'm lucky, I've got a hide like a buffalo/he told her.

Each day he turned darker, until he was the weathered bronze of an

American Indian, and his high cheek-bones heightened the resemblance.

You must have Indian blood, she told him, tracing his nose with her

finger-tip.

I only know two generations back/ he smiled at her.

I've always been terrified to look further than that. She sat over him,

cross-legged in the big bed and touched him, exploring him with her

hands, touching his lips and the lobes of his ears, smoothing the thick

dark curve of his eyebrows, the little black mole on his cheek, and

exclaiming at each new discovery.

She touched him when they walked, reaching for his hand, pressing her

hip against him when they stood, on the beach sitting between his spread

knees and leaning back against his chest, her head tucked into his

shoulder - it was as if she needed constant physical assurance of his

presence.

When they sat astride their boards, waiting far out beyond the

three-mile reef for the set of the wave, she reached across to touch his

shoulder, balancing the board under her like a skilled horsewoman, the

two of them close and spiritually isolated from the loose assembly of

thirty or forty surf -riders strung out along the line of the long set.

This far out, the shore was a low dark green rind, above the shaded

green and limpid blues of the water. In the blue distance, the

mountains were blue on the blue of the sky and above them, the

thunderheads piled dazzling silver, tall and arrogant enough to dwarf

the very earth.

This must be the most beautiful land in the world, she said, moving her

board so that her knee lay against his thigh.

Because you are here, he told her.

Under them, the green water breathed like a living thing, rising and

falling, the swells long and glassy, sliding away towards the land.

Growing impatient, one of the inexperienced riders would move to catch a

bad swell, kneeling on the board and paddling with both hands, coming up

unsteadily on to his feet and then toppling and falling as the water

left him, and the taunts and friendly catcalls of his peers greeted him

as he surfaced, grinning sheepishly, and crawled back on to his board.

Then the ripple of excitement, and a voice calling, A three set! the

boards quickly rearranging themselves, sculled by cupped bare hands,

spacing out for running room, the riders peering back eagerly over their

dark burned shoulders, laughing and kidding each other as the wave set

bumped up on the horizon, still four miles out at sea, but big enough so

that they could count the individual swells that made up the set.

Running at fifty miles an hour, the swells took nearly five minutes,

from the moment when they were sighted, to reach the line, and during

that time Samantha. had a little ritual of preparation, First, she

hoisted the bottom of her bikini which had usually slipped down to

expose a pair of dimples and a little of the deep cleft of her buttocks,

then she tightened her top hamper, pulling open the brassiere of her

costume and cupping each breast in turn, settling it firmly in its

sheath of thin green cloth, grinning at Nick as she did it.

You're not supposed to watch. I know, it's bad for my heart. Then she

plucked out a pair of hairpins and held them in her mouth as she twisted

the wrist-thick plait of hair tighter until it hung down between her

shoulder blades and pinned back the wisps over her ears.

All set? he called, and she nodded and answered, Ride three? The third

wave in the set was traditionally the big one, and they let the first

one swing them high and drop them again into its trough. Half the other

riders were up and away, only their heads still visible above the peak

of the wave, the land obscured by the moving wall of water.

The second wave came through, bigger, more powerful, but swooping up and

over the crest and most of the other riders went on it, two or three

tumbling on the steep front of water, losing their boards, dragged under

as the ankle lines came up taut.

Here we go! exulted Samantha, and three came rustling, green and

peaking, and in the transparent wall of water four big bottle-nosed

porpoises were framed, in perfect motion, racing in the wave, pumping

their flat delta shaped tails and grinning that fixed porpoise grin of

delight.

Oh look! sang Samantha. Just look at them, Nicholas! Then the wave

was upon them and they sculled frantically, weight high on the board,

the heart-stopping moment when it seemed the water would sweep away and

leave them, then suddenly the boards coming alive under them and

starting to run, tipping steeply forward, with the hiss of the waxed

fibre-glass through the water.

Then they were both up and laughing in the sunlight, dancing the

intricate steps that balanced and controlled the boards, lifted high on

the crest, so they could see the sweep of the beach three miles ahead,

and the ranks of other riders on the twin waves that had gone before

them.

One of the porpoises frolicked with them on the racing crest, ducking

under the flying boards, turning on its side to grin up at Samantha, so

she stooped and stretched out a hand to touch him, lost her balance, and

almost fell while the porpoise grinned at her mischievously and flipped

away to rise fill up on her far side.

Now, out on their right hand, the wave was feeling the reef and starting

to curl over on itself, the crest arching for-wards, holding that lovely

shape for long moments, then slowly collapsing.

Go left/ Nick called urgently to her, and they kicked the boards around

and danced up on to the stubby prows, bending at the knees to ride the

hurtling craft, their speed rocketing as they cut across the green face

of the wave, but behind them the arching wave spread rapidly towards

them, faster than they could run before it.

Now at their left shoulders, the water formed a steep vertical wall,

and, glancing at it, Samantha found the porpoise swimming head-high

beside her, his great tail pumping; powerfully, and she was afraid, for

the majesty and strength of that wave belittled her.

Nicholas! she screamed, and the wave fanned out over her head, arcing

across the sky, cutting out the sunlight, and now they flew down a long

perfectly rounded tunnel of roaring water. The sides were smooth as

blown glass, and the light was green and luminous and weird as though

they sped through a deep submarine cavern, only ahead of them was the

perfect round opening at the mouth of the tunnel - while behind her,

close behind her, the tunnel was collapsing in a furious thunder of

murderous white water, and she was as terrified and as exulted as she

had ever been in her life.

He yelled at her, We must beat the curl and his voice was far away and

almost lost in the roar of water, but obediently she went forward on her

board until all her bare toes were curled over the leading edge.

For long moments they held their own, then slowly they began to gain,

and at last they shot out through the open mouth of the tunnel into the

sunlight again, and she laughed wildly, still high on the exultation of

fresh terror.

Then they were past the reef and the wave firmed up, leaving the white

water like lace on the surface far behind.

Let's go. right! Samantha sang out to stay within the good structure

of the wave, and they turned and went back, swinging across the steep

face. The splatter of flung water sparkled on her belly and thighs, and

the plait of her hair stood out behind her head like the tail of an

angry lioness, her arms were extended and her hands held open,

unconsciously making the delicate finger gestures of a Balinese temple

dancer as she balanced; and miraculously the porpoise swam, fill up,

beside her, following like a trained dog.

Then at last, the wave felt the beach and ran berserk, tumbling wildly

upon itself, booming angrily, and churning the sand like gruel, and they

kicked out of the wave, falling back over the crest and dropping into

the sea beside the bobbing boards, laughing and panting at each other

with the excitement and terror and the joy of it.

Samantha was a sea-creature with a huge appetite for the fruits of the

sea, cracking open the crayfish legs in her fingers and sucking the

white sticks of flesh into her mouth with a noisy sensuality, while her

lips were polished with butter sauce, not taking her eyes from his face

as she ate.

Samantha in the candlelight gulping those huge Knysna oysters, and then

slurping the juice out of the shells.

You're talking with your mouth full. It's just that I've still got so

much to tell you, she explained.

Samantha was laughter, laughter in fifty different tones and

intensities, from the sleepy morning chortle when she awoke and found

him beside her, to the wild laughter yelled from the crest of a racing

wave.

Samantha was loving. With a face of thundering innocence and the

virginal, guileless green eyes of a child, she combined hands and a

mouth whose wiles and wicked cunning left Nick stunned and disbelieving.

The reason I ran away without a word was that I did not want to have

your ravishment and violation on my conscience/ he shook his head at her

disbelievingly.

I wrote my PhD thesis in those subjects/ she told him blithely, using

her forefinger to twist spit-curls in his sweat-dampened chest hairs.

And what's more, buster, that was just the introductory offer - now we

sign you up for a full course of treatment. Her delight in his body was

endless, she must touch and examine every inch of it, exclaiming and

revelling in it without a trace of self-consciousness, holding his hand

in her lap and bending her head studiously over it, tracing the lines of

his palm with her fingernail.

You are going to meet a beautiful wanton blonde, give her fifteen babies

and live to be a hundred and fifty. She touched the little chiselled

lines around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth with the tip of

her tongue, leaving cool damp smears of saliva on his skin.

I always wanted a real craggy man all for myself., Then, when her

examination became more intimate and clinical and he demurred, she told

him severely, Hold still, this is a private thing between me and

himself. Then a little later.

Oh wow! He's real poison! Poison? the demanded, his manhood

denigrated.

Poison, she sighed. Because he just slays me! in fairness, she offered

herself for his touch and scrutiny, guiding his hands, displaying

herself eagerly.

Look, touch, it's yours - all yours/ wanting his approval, not able to

give him sufficient to satisfy her own need to give. Do you like it,

Nicholas? Is this good for you? Is there anything else you want,

Nicholas, anything at all that I can give you? And when he told her how

beautiful she was, when he told her how much he wanted her, when he

touched and marvelled over the gifts she brought to him, she glowed and

stretched and purred like a great golden cat so that when he learned

that the Zodiacal sign of her birthday was Leo, he was not at all

surprised.

Samantha was loving in the early slippery grey-pearl light of dawn, soft

sleepy loving, with small gasps and murmurs and chuckles of deep

contentment.

Samantha was loving in the sunlight, spread like a beautiful starfish in

the fierce reflected sunlight of the sculptured dunes. The sand coated

her body like crystals of sugar, and their cries rose together, high and

ecstatic as those of the curious seagulls that floated above them on

motionless white wings.

Samantha was loving in the green cool water, their two heads bobbing

beyond the first line of breakers, his toes only just touching the sandy

bottom and she twined about him like sea kelp about a submerged rock,

clutching both their swim suits in one hand and gurgling merrily.

What's good enough for a lady blue whale is good enough for Samantha

Silver! There blows Moby Dick! And Samantha was loving in the night,

with her hair brushed out carefully and spread over him, lustrous and

fragrant, a canopy of gold in the lamplight, and she kneeling astride

him in almost religious awe, like a temple maid making the sacrifice.

But more than anything else, Samantha was vibrant, bursting life - and

youth eternal.

Through her, Nicholas recaptured those emotions which he had believed

long atrophied by cynicism and the pragmatism of living. He shared her

childlike delight in the small wonders of nature, the flight of a gull,

the presence of the porpoise, the discovery of the perfect translucent

fan of papery nautilus shell washed up on the white sand with the rare

tentacled creature still alive within the convoluted interior.

and He shared her outrage when even those renio lonely beaches were

invaded by an oil slick, tank washings from a VLCC out on the Agulhas

current, and the filthy clinging globules of spilled crude oil stuck to

the soles of their feet, smeared the rocks and smothered the carcasses

of the jackass penguins they found at the water's edge, Samantha was

life itself, just to touch the warmth of her and to drink the sound of

her laughter was to be rejuvenated. To walk beside her was to feel

vital and strong.

Strong enough f or the long days in the sea and sun, strong enough to

dance to the loud wild music half the night, and then strong enough to

lift her when she faltered and carry her down to their bungalow above

the beach, she in his arms like a sleepy child, her skin tingling with

the memory of the sun, her muscles aching deliciously with fatigue, and

her belly crammed with rich food.

Oh Nicholas, Nicholas - I'm so happy I want to cry. Then Larry Fry

arrived; he arrived on a cloud of indignation, red-faced and accusing as

a cuckolded husband.

Two weeks/ he blared. London and Bermuda and St Nazaire have been

driving me mad for two weeks! And he brandished a sheath of telex

flimsies that looked like the galley proofs for the Encyclopaedia

Britannica.

Nobody knew what had happened to you. You just disappeared. He ordered

a large gin and tonic from the white jacketed bar-tender and sank

wearily on to the stool beside Nick. You nearly cost me my job, Mr.

Berg, and that's the truth. You'd have thought I'd bumped you off

personally and dumped your body in the bay. I had to hire a private

detective to check every hotel register in the country. He took a long,

soothing draught of the gin.

At that moment, Samantha drifted into the cocktail lounge. She wore a

loose, floating dress the same green as her eyes, and a respectful hush

fell on the pre-luncheon drinkers as they watched her cross the room.

Larry Fry forgot his indignation and gaped at her, his bald scorched

head growing shining under a thin film of perspiration.

Godstrewth/ he Muttered. I'd rather feel that, than feel sick. And then

his admiration turned to consternation when she came directly to

Nicholas, laid her hand on his shoulder and in full view of the entire

room kissed him lingeringly on the mouth.

There was a soft collective sigh from the watchers and Larry Fry knocked

over his gin.

We must go now, today/ Samantha decided. We mustn't stay even another

hour, Nicholas, or we will spoil it. It was perfect, but now we must

go. Nicholas understood. Like him she had the compulsion to keep

moving forward. Within the hour, he had chartered a twin-engined

Beechcraft Baron. It picked them up at the little earth strip near the

hotel and put them down at Johannesburg's Jan Smuts Airport an hour

before the departure of the UTA flight for Paris.

I always rode in the back of the bus before/ said Samantha, as she

looked around the first-class cabin appraisingly.

Is it true that up this end you can eat and drink as much as you like,

for free? Yes. Then Nick added hastily, But you don't have to take

that as a personal challenge. Nicholas had come to stand in awe of

Samantha's appetites.

They stayed overnight at the Georges V in Paris and caught the

midmorning TAT flight down to Nantes, the nearest airfield to the

shipyards at St Nazaire, and Jules Levoisin was there to meet them at

the ChAteau Bougon field.

Nicholas! he shouted joyfully, and stood on tiptoe to buss both his

cheeks, enveloping him in a fragrant cloud of eau de Cologne and pomade.

You are a pirate Nicholas, you stole that ship from under my nose. I

hate you. He held Nicholas at arm's length. I warned you not to take

the oh, didn't I? You did, Jules, you did. So why do you make a fool

of me? he demanded, and twirled his moustaches. He was wearing

expensive cashmere and an Yves St Laurent necktie; ashore, Jules was

always the dandy.

Jules, I am going to buy lunch for you at La Rotisserie, Nicholas

promised.

I forgive you/ said Jules, it was one of his favourite eating-places -

but at that moment Jules became aware that Nicholas was not travelling

alone.

He stood back, took one long look at Samantha and it seemed that

tricolors unfurled around him and brass bands burst into the opening

bars of La Marseillaise'. For if dalliance was the national sport,

Jules Levoisin considered himself veteran champion of all France.

He bowed over her hand, and tickled the back of it with his still black

mustache. Then he told Nicholas, She is too good for you, mon petit, I

am going to take her away from you. The same way you did Golden

Adventurer? Nick asked innocently.

Jules had his ancient Citroen in the car park. it was lovingly waxed

and fitted with shiny gewgaws and dangling mascots. He handed Samantha

into the front seat as though it was a Rolls Camargue.

He's beautiful/ she whispered, as he scampered around to the driver's

door.

Jules could not devote attention to both the road ahead and to Samantha,

so he concentrated solely upon her, without deviating from the Citron's

top speed, only occasionally turning to shout, Cochon! at another driver

or jerk his fist at them with the second finger pointed stiffly upwards

in ribald salutation.

Jules great-grandfather charged with the Emperor's cavalry at Quatre

Bras/Nick explained. He is a man without fear. You will enjoy La

Rotisserie, Jules told Samantha. I can only afford to eat there when I

find somebody rich who wishes a favour of me. How do you know I want a

favour? Nick asked from the back seat, clinging to the door-handle.

Three telegrams, a telephone call from Bermuda another from

Johannesburg/ Jules chuckled fruitily and winked at Samantha. You think

I believe Nicholas Berg wants to discuss old times? You think I believe

he feels so deeply for his old friend, who taught him everything he

knows? A man who treated him like a son, and whom he blatantly robbed -

Jules sped across the Loire bridge and plunged into that tangled web of

narrow one-way streets and teeming traffic which is Nantes, a way opened

for him miraculously.

In the Place Briand, he handed Samantha gallantly from the Citron, and

in the restaurant he puffed out his cheeks and made little anxious

clucking and tut-tutting noises, as Nicholas discussed the wine list

with the sommelier but he nodded reluctant approval when they settled on

a Chablis Moutonne and a Chambertin-Clos-de-&ze, then he applied himself

with equal gusto to the food, the wine and Samantha, 'You can tell a

woman who is made for life and love, by the way she eats/ and when

Samantha made wide lascivious eyes at him over her trout, Nicholas

expected him to crow like a cockerel.

Only when the cognac was in front of them, and both he and Nick had lit

cheroots, did he demand abruptly: So, now, Nicholas, I am in a good

mood. Ask me. I need a Master for my new tug/ said Nick, and Jules

veiled his face behind a thick blue curtain of cigar smoke.

They fenced like masters of opoee all the way from Nantes to St Nazaire.

Those ships you build, Nicholas, a-re not tugs. They are fancy toys,

floating bordellos - all those gimmicks and gadgets Those gimmicks and

gadgets enabled me to deal with Christy Marine while you still hadn't

realized that I was within a thousand miles. Jules blew out his cheeks

and muttered to himself Twenty-two thousand horsepower, c'est ridicule!

They are over-powered I needed every single one of those horses when I

pulled Golden Adventurer off Cape Alarm. 'Nicholas, do not keep

reminding me of that shameful episode. He turned to Samantha. I am

hungry, ma petite, and in the next village there is a patisserie, he

sighed and kissed his bunched fingers, you will adore the pastry, Try

me/ she invited, and Jules had found a soul mate.

Those fancy propellers - variable pitch - ouf! Jules spoke through a

mouthful of pastry, and there was whipped cream on his mustache.

I can make twenty-five knots and then slam Warlock into reverse thrust

and stop her within her own length. Jules changed pace, and attacked

from a new direction.

You'll never find full employment for two big expensive ships like that.

I'm -going to need four, not two, Nick contradicted him.

We are going to catch icebergs, and Jules forgot to chew, as he listened

intently for the next ten minutes. One of the beauties of the iceberg

scheme is that all my ships will be operating right on the tanker lanes,

the busiest shipping lanes in all the oceans Jules shook his head in

admiration, you Nicholas/ move too fast for me. I am an old man,

old-fashioned You're not old, Samantha told him firmly. You're only just

in your prime. And Jules threw up both hands theatrically.

Now you have a pretty girl heaping flattery on my bowed grey head/ he

looked at Nicholas; is no trick too deceitful for you? It was snowing

the next morning, a slow sparse sprinkling from a grey woollen sky, when

they drove into St Nazaire from the little seaside resort of La Baule

twenty-five kilometres up the Atlantic coast.

Jules had a small flat in one of the apartment blocks. It was a

convenient arrangement, for La Mouette, his command, was owned by a

Breton company and St Nazaire was her home port. It was a mere

twenty-minute drive before they made out the elegant arch of the

suspension bridge which crosses the estuarine mouth of the Loire River

at St Nazaire.

Jules drove through the narrow streets of that area of the docks just

below the bridge which comprises the sprawling ship-building yard of

Construction Navale Atlantique, one of the three largest ship-building

companies in Europe, The slipways for the larger vessels, the bulk

carriers and naval craft, faced directly on to the wide smooth reach of

the river; but the ways for the small vessels backed on to the inner

harbour.

So Jules parked the Citron at the security gates nearest the inner

harbour, and they walked through to where Charles Gras was waiting for

them in his offices overlooking the inner basin.

Nicholas, it is good to see you again. Gras was one of Atlantique's top

engineers, a tall stooped man with a pale ut he face and lank black hair

that fell to his eyebrows, he had the sharp foxy Parisian features and

quick bright eyes that belied the morose unsmiling manner.

He and Nicholas had known each other many years, and they used the

familiar tu form of address.

Charles Gras changed to heavily accented English when he was introduced

to Samantha, and back to French when he asked Nicholas, If I know you,

you will want to go directly to see your ship now, n'est-ce pas? Sea

Witch stood high on her ways, and although she was an identical twin to

Warlock, she seemed almost twice her size with her underwater hull

exposed. Despite the fact that the superstructure was incomplete and

she was painted in the drab oxide red of marine primer, yet it was

impossible to disguise the symmetrically functional beauty of her lines.

Jules puffed, and muttered Bordello and made remarks about 'Admiral Berg

and his battleship', but he could not hide the gleam in his eye as he

strutted about the uncompleted navigation bridge, or listened intently

as Charles Gras explained the electronic equipment and the other

refinements that made the ship so fast, efficient and manoeuvrable.

Nick realized that the two experts should be left alone now to convince

each other; it was clear that although this was their first meeting the

two of them had established immediate rapport.

Come. Nick quietly took Samantha's arm and they stepped carefully

around the scaffolding and loose equipment, picking their way through

groups of workmen to the upper deck.

The snow had stopped, but a razor of a wind snickered in from the

Atlantic. They found a sheltered corner, and Samantha pressed close to

Nick, snuggling into the circle of his arm.

High on her ways, Sea Witch gave them a sweeping view, through the

forest of construction cranes, over the roofs of the warehouses and

offices to the river slipways where the keels of the truly big hulls

were laid down.

You spoke about Golden Dawn, Nick said. There she is. It took some

moments for Samantha to realize she was looking at a ship.

My God, she breathed. It's so big. They don't come bigger/he agreed.

The structure of steel was almost a mile and a half long, three city

blocks, and the hull was as tall as a five-storey building, while the

navigation tower was another hundred feet higher than that.

Samantha shook her head. It's beyond belief. It looks like - like a

city! It's terrifying to think of that thing afloat. That is only the

main hull, the tank pods have been constructed in Japan. The last I

heard is that they are under tow direct to the Persian Gulf. Nick stared

solemnly across the ship, blinking his eyes against the stinging wind.

I must have been out of my mind/ he whispered, to dream up a monster

like that. But there was a touch of defiant pride in his tone.

It's so big - beyond imagination/ she encouraged him to talk about it.

How big is it? It's not a single vessel/he explained. 'No harbour in

the world could take a ship that size, it could not even approach the

continental United States, for that matter, there just is not enough

water to float it. Yes? She loved to listen to him expound his vision,

she loved to hear the force and power of his convictions.

What you're seeing is the carrying platform, the accommodation and the

main power source. He held her closer.

On to that, we attach the four tank pods, each one of them capable of

carrying a quarter of a million tons of crude oil, each tank almost as

large as the biggest ship afloat. He was still explaining the concept

while they sat at lunch, and Charles Gras and Jules Levoisin listened as

avidly as she did.

A single rigid hull of those dimensions would crack and break up in

heavy seas, he took the cruet set and used it to demonstrate, but the

four individual pods have been designed so that they can move

independently of each other. This gives them the ability to ride and

absorb the movement of heavy seas. It is the most important principle

of ship construction, a hull must ride the water - not try to oppose it.

Across the table, Charles Gras nodded lugubrious agreement.

The tank pods hive on to the main hull, and are carried I upon it like

remora on the body of a shark, not using their own propulsion systems,

but relying on the multiple boilers and quadruple screws of the main

hull to carry them across the oceans. He pushed the cruet set around

the table and they all watched it with fascination. Then, when it

reaches the continental shelf opposite the shore discharge site, the

main hull anchors, forty or fifty, even a hundred miles offshore,

detaches one or two or all of its pod tanks, and they make those last

few miles under their own propulsion. In protected water and in chosen

weather conditions, their propulsion systems will handle them safely.

Then the empty pod ballasts itself and returns to hook on to the main

hull. As he spoke, Nicholas detached the salt cellar from the cruet and

docked it against Samantha's plate. The two Frenchmen were silent,

staring at the silver salt cellar, but Samantha watched Nick's face. It

was burned dark by the sun now, lean and handsome, and he seemed charged

and vital, like a thoroughbred horse in peak of training, and she was

proud of him, proud of the force of his personality that made other men

listen when he spoke, proud of the imagination and the courage it took

to conceive and then put into operation a project of this magnitude.

Even though it were no longer his - yet his had been the vision.

Now Nicholas was talking again. Civilization is addicted to liquid

fossil fuels. Without them, it would be forced into withdrawal trauma

too horrible to contemplate. If then we have to use crude, let's pipe

it out of the earth, transport and ship it with all possible precautions

to protect ourselves from its side effects Nicholas/ Charles Gras

interrupted him abruptly.

When last did you inspect the drawings of Golden Dawn, Nick paused,

taken in full stride and a little off balance.

He frowned as he cast back I walked out of Christy Marine just over a

year ago. And the darkness of those days settled upon him, making his

eyes bleak.

A year ago we had not even been awarded the contract for the

construction of Golden Dawn. Charles Gras twisted the stem of his wine

glass between his fingers, and thrust out his bottom lip. The ship you

have just described to us is very different from the ship we are

building out there. In what way, Charles? Nick's concern was

immediate, a father hearing of radical surgery upon his first-born.

The concept is the same. The mother vessel and the four tank pods, but

- Charles shrugged, that eloquent Gallic gesture, it would be easier to

show it to you.

Immediately after lunch. D'accord/ Jules Levoisin nodded. But on the

condition that it does not interfere with the further enjoyment of this

fine meal. He nudged Nicholas you eat with a scowl on your face, mon

vieux, you will grow yourself ulcers like a bunch of Loire grapes.

Standing beneath the bulk of Golden Dawn, she seemed to reach up into

that low grey snow-sky, like a mighty alp of steel. The men working on

the giddy heights of her scaffolding were small as insects, and quite

unbelievably, as Samantha stared up at them, a little torn streamer of

wet grey cloud, coming up the Loire basin from the sea, blew over the

ship, obscuring the top of her navigation bridge for a few moments.

She reaches up to the clouds/ said Nick beside her, and the pride was in

his voice as he turned back to Charles Gras. She looks good? It was a

question, not a statement.

She looks like the ship I planned Come, Nicholas. The little party

picked its way through the chaos of the yard. The squeal of power

cranes and the rumble of heavy steel transporters, the electric hissing

crackle of the huge automatic running welders combined with the roaring

gunfire barrage of the rivetters into a cacophony that numbed the

senses. The scaffolding and hoist systems formed an almost impenetrable

forest about the mountainous hull, and steel and concrete were

glistening wet and rimmed with thin clear ice.

It was a long walk through the crowded yard, almost twenty minutes

merely to round the tankers stern - and suddenly Nicholas stopped so

abruptly that Samantha collided with him and might have fallen on the

icy concrete, but he caught her arm and held her as he stared up at the

bulbous stern.

It formed a great overhanging roof like that of a medieval cathedral, so

that Nick's head was flung back, and the grip on her arm tightened so

fiercely that she protested. He seemed not to hear, but went on staring

upwards.

Yes, Charles Gras nodded, and the lank black hair flopped like against

his forehead. That is one difference from the ship you designed. The

propeller was in lustrous ferro-bronze, six-bladed, each shaped with the

beauty and symmetry of a butterfly's wing, but so enormous as to make

the comparison laughable. It was so big that not even the bulk of

Golden Dawn's own hull could dwarf it, each separate blade was longer

and broader than the full wingspan of a jumbo et airliner, a gargantuan

sculpture in gleaming metal.

One! whispered Nick. One only. Yes, Charles Gras agreed, 'Not four -

but one propeller only. Also, Nicholas, it is fixed pitch. They were

all silent as they rode up in the cage of the hoist. The hoist ran up

the outside of the hull to the level of the main deck, and though the

wind searched for them remorselessly through the open mesh of the cage,

it was not the cold that kept them silent.

The engine compartment was an echoing cavern, harshly lit by the

overhead floodlights, and they stood high on one of the overhead steel

catwalks looking down fifty feet on to the boiler and condensers of the

main engine.

Nick stared down for almost five minutes. He asked no questions, made

no but at last he turned to Charles Gras and nodded once curtly.

All right. I've seen enough, he said, and the engineer led them to the

elevator station. Again they rode upwards.

it was like being in a modern office block - the polished chrome and

wood panelling of the elevator, the carpeted passageways high in the

navigation tower along which Charles Gras led them to the Master's suite

and unlocked the carved mahogany doorway with a key from his watch

chain, Jules Levoisin looked slowly about the suite and shook his head

wonderingly. Ah, this is the way to live/ he breathed. 'Nicholas, I

absolutely insist that the Master's quarters of Sea Witch be decorated

like this. Nick did not smile, but crossed to the view windows that

looked for-ward along the tanker's main deck to her round blunt unlovely

prow a mile and a quarter away. He stood with his hands clasped behind

his back, legs apart, chin thrust out angrily and nobody else spoke

while Charles Gras opened the elaborate bar and poured cognac into the

crystal brandy balloons. He carried a glass to Nick who turned away

from the window.

Thank you, Charles, I need something to warm the chill in my guts. Nick

sipped the cognac and rolled it on his tongue as he looked slowly around

the opulent cabin.

It occupied almost half the width of the navigation bridge, and was

large enough to house a diplomatic reception. Duncan Alexander had

picked a good decorator to do the job, and without the view from the

window it might have been an elegant Fifth Avenue New York apartment, or

one of those penthouses high on the cliffs above Monte Carlo,

overlooking the harbour.

Slowly Nick crossed the thick green carpet, woven with the house device,

the entwined letters C and M for Christy Marine, and he stopped before

the Degas in its place of honour above the marble fireplace.

He remembered Chantelle's bubbling joy at the purchase of that painting.

It was one of Degas ballet pieces, soft, almost luminous light on the

limbs of the dancers, and, remembering the unfailing delight that

Chantelle had taken in it during the years, he was amazed that she had

allowed it to be used on board one of the company ships, and that it was

left here virtually unguarded and vulnerable. That painting was worth a

quarter of a million pounds.

He leaned closer to it, and only then did he realize how clever a copy

of the original it was. He shook his head in dismissal, The owners were

advised that the sea air may damage the original/ Charles Gras shrugged,

and spread his hands deprecatingly, 'and not many people would know the

difference. That was typical of Duncan Alexander, Nicholas thought

savagely. It could only be his idea, the sharp accountant's brain. The

conviction that it was possible to fool all of the people all of the

time.

Everybody knew that Chantelle owned that work, therefore nobody would

doubt its authenticity. That's the way Duncan Alexander would reason

it. It could not be Chantelle's idea. She had never been one to accept

anything that was sham or dross; it was a measure of the power that he

exerted over her, for her to go along with this cheap little fraud.

Nicholas indicated the forgery with his glass and spoke directly to

Charles Gras.

This is a cheat/ he spoke quietly, his anger contained and controlled,

but it is harmless. Now he turned away from it and, with a wider

gesture that embraced the whole ship, went on, But this other cheat,

this enormous fraud/ he paused to control the metallic edge that had

entered his tone, going on quietly again, this is a vicious, murderous

gamble he is taking. He has bastardized the entire concept of the

scheme. One propeller instead of four - it cannot manoeuvre a hull of

these dimensions with safety in any hazardous situation, it cannot

deliver sufficient thrust to avoid collision, to fight her off a lee

shore, to handle heavy seas. Nick stopped, and his voice dropped even

lower, yet somehow it was more compelling. This ship cannot, by all

moral and natural laws, be operated on a single boiler.

My design called for eight separate boilers and condensers, the standard

set for the old White Star and Cunard Lines.

But Duncan Alexander has installed a single boiler system.

There is no back-up, no fail-safe - a few gallons of sea water in the

system could disable this monster., Nicholas stopped suddenly as a new

thought struck him.

Charles/ his voice sharper still, the pod tanks, the design of the pod

tanks. He hasn't altered that, has he? He hasn't cut the corners

there? Tell me, old friend, they are still self -propelled, are they

not? Charles Gras brought the Courvoisier bottle to where Nicholas

stood, and when Nick would have refused the addition to his glass,

Charles told him sorrowfully, Come, Nicholas, you will need it for what

I have to tell you now. As he poured, he said, The pod tankers, their

design has been altered also. He drew a breath to tell it with a rush.

They no longer have their own propulsion units. They are now only dumb

barges that must be docked and undocked from the main hull and

manoeuvred only by attendant tugs. Nicholas stared at him, his lips

blanched to thin white lines. No. I do not believe it. Not even

Duncan - Duncan Alexander has saved forty-two million dollars by

re-designing Golden Dawn and equipping her with only a single boiler and

propeller. Charles Gras shrugged again.

And forty-two million dollars is a lot of money. There was a pale gleam

of wintry sunlight that flickered through the low grey cloud and lit the

fields not far from the River Thames with that incredible vivid shade of

Engis green.

Samantha and Nicholas stood in a thin line of miserably cold parents and

watched the pile of struggling boys across the field in their coloured

jerseys; the light blue and black of Eton, the black and white of St

Paul's, were so muddied as to be barely distinguishable.

What are they doing? Samantha demanded, holding the collar of her coat

around her ears.

It's called a scrum Nick told her. That's how they decide which team

gets the ball. Wow. There must be an easier way. There was a flurry

of sudden movement and the slippery egg-shaped ball flew back in a lazy

curve that was snapped up by a boy in the Etonian colours. He started

to run.

It's Peter, isn't it? cried Samantha.

Go it, Peter boy! Nick -roared, and the child ran with the ball

clutched to his chest and his head thrown back.

He ran strongly with the reaching coordinated stride of an older boy,

swerving round a knot of his opponents, leaving them floundering in the

churned mud, and angling across the lush thick grass towards the

white-painted goal line, trying to reach the corner before a taller more

powerfully built lad who was pounding across the field to intercept him.

Samantha began to leap up and down on the same spot, shrieking wildly,

completely uncertain of what was happening, but wild with excitement

that infected Nicholas.

The two runners converged at an angle which would bring them to the

white line at the same moment, at a point directly in front of where

Nick and Samantha stood.

Nick saw the contortion of his son's face, and realized that this was a

total effort. He felt a physical constriction of his own chest as he

watched the boy drive himself to his utmost limits, the sinews standing

out in his throat, his lips drawn back in a frozen rictus of endeavour

that exposed the teeth clenched in his jaw.

From infancy, Peter Berg had brought to any task that faced him the same

complete focus of all his capabilities.

Like his grandfather, old Arthur Christy, and his own father, he would

be one of life's winners. Nick knew this instinctively, as he watched

him run. He had inherited the intelligence, the comeliness and the

charisma, but he bolstered all that with this unquenchable desire to

succeed in all he did. The single-minded determination to focus all his

talents on the immediate project. Nick felt the pressure in his chest

swell. The boy was all right, more than all right, and pride threatened

to choke him.

Sheer force of will had driven Peter Berg a pace ahead of his bigger,

longer-legged adversary, and now he leaned forward with the ball held in

both hands, arms fully extended, reaching for the line to make the

touch-down.

He was ten feet from where Nick stood, a mere instant from success, but

he was unbalanced, and the St Paul's boy dived at him, crashing into the

side of his chest, the impact jarring and brutal, hurling Peter out of

the field of play with the ball spinning from his hands and bouncing

away loosely, while Peter smashed into the earth on both knees, then

rolled forward head over heels, and sprawled face down on the soggy

turf.

It's a touch-down! Samantha was still leaping up and down.

No/ said Nick. No, it isn't. Peter Berg dragged himself upright. His

cheek was streaked with chocolate mud and both his knees were running

blood, the skin smeared open by the coarse grass.

He did not glance down at his injuries, and he shrugged away the St Paul

boy's patronizing hand, holding himself erect against the pain as he

limped back on to the field. He did not look at his father, and the

moisture that filled his eyes and threatened to flood over the thick

dark lashes were not tears of pain, but of humiliation and failure, With

an overwhelming feeling of kinship, Nick knew that for his son those

feelings were harder to bear than any physical agony.

When the game ended he came to Nicholas, all bloodied and mud-smeared,

and shook hands solemnly.

I am so glad you came, sir, he said. I wish you could have watched us

win. Nick wanted to say: It doesn't matter, Peter, it's only a game.

But he did not. To Peter Berg, it mattered very deeply, so Nicholas

nodded agreement and then he introduced Samantha.

Again Peter shook hands solemnly and startled her by calling her, 'M'am.

But when she told him, Hi, Pete. A great game, you deserved to slam

them/ he smiled, that sudden dazzling irresistible flash that reminded

her so of Nicholas that she felt her heart squeezed. Then when the boy

hurried away to shower and change, she took Nick's arm.

He's a beautiful boy, but does he always call you "sir"? haven't seen

him in three months, It takes us both a little while to relax. Three

months is a long time It's all tied up by the lawyers. Access and

visiting-rights what's good for the child, not what's good for the

parents.

Today was a special concession from Chantelle, but I still have to

deliver him to her at five o'clock. Not five past five, five o'clock.

They went to the Cockpit teashop and Peter startled Samantha again by

pulling out her chair and seating her formally. While they waited for

the best muffins in Britain to be brought to the table, Nicholas and

Peter engaged each other in conversation that was stiff with

selfconsciousness.

Your mother sent me a copy of your report, Peter, I cannot tell you how

delighted I was, I had hoped to do better, sir. There are still three

others ahead of me. And Samantha ached for them. Peter Berg was twelve

years of age. She wished he could just throw his arms around Nicholas

neck and say, Daddy, I love you, I for the love was transparent, even

through the veneer of publicschool manners. It shone behind the thick

dark lashes that fringed the boy's golden brown eyes, and glowed on the

cheeks still as creamy and smooth as a girl's.

She wanted desperately to help them both, and on inspiration she

launched into an account of Warlock's salvage of Golden Adventurer, a

tale with emphasis on the derring do of Warlock's Master, not forgetting

his rescue of Samantha Silver from the icy seas of Antarctica.

Peter's eyes grew enormous as he listened, never leaving her face except

to demand of Nicholas, Is that true, Dad? And when the story was told,

he was silent for a long moment before announcing, I'm going to be a tug

captain when I'm big. Then he showed Samantha how to spread strawberry

jam on her muffins in the correct way, and chewing together heartily

with cream on their lips the two of them became fast friends, and

Nicholas joined their chatter more easily, smiling his thanks to

Samantha and reaching under the table to squeeze her hand.

He had to end it at last. Listen, Peter, if we are to make Lynwood by

five -'and the boy sobered instantly.

Dad, couldn't you telephone Mother? She might just let me spend the

weekend in London with you., I already tried that. Nick shook his head.

It didn't work,, and Peter stood up, his feeling choked by an expression

of stoic resignation.

From the back of Nick's Mercedes 450 Coupe the boy leaned forward into

the space between the two bucket seats, and the three of them were very

close in the snug interior of the speeding car, their laughter that of

old friends.

It was almost dark when Nicholas turned in through Lynwood's stone

gateway, and he glanced at the luminous dial of his Rolex. We'll just

make it. The drive climbed the hill in a series of broad even curves

through the carefully tended woods, and the three-storied Georgian

country house on the crest was ablaze with light in every window.

Nick never came here without that strange hollow feeling in the bottom

of his stomach. Once this had been his home, every room, every acre of

the grounds had its memories, and now, as he parked under the white

colummed portico, they came crowding back.

I have finished the model Spitfire you sent me for Christmas, Dad. Peter

was playing desperately for time now.

Won't you come up and see it? I don't think so - Nicholas began, and

Peter blurted out before he could finish.

It's all right, Uncle Duncan won't be here. He always comes down late

from London on Friday nights, and his Rolls isn't in the garage yet.

Then, in a tone that tore at Nick like thorns, Please.. . won't see you

again until Easter. Go/ said Samantha. I'll wait here. And Peter

turned on her, You come too, Sam, please. Samantha felt herself

infected by that fatal curiosity, the desire to see, to know more of

Nick's past life; she knew he was going to demur further, but she

forestalled him, slipping quickly out of the Mercedes.

Okay, Pete, let's go. Nick must follow them up the broad steps to the

double oaken doors, and he felt himself carried along on a tide of

events over which he had no control. It was a sensation that he never

relished.

In the entrance hall Samantha looked around her quickly, feeling herself

overcome by awe. It was so grand, there was no other word to describe

the house. The stair way reached up the full height of the three

storeys, and the broad staircase was in white marble with a marble

balustrade, while on each side of the hall, glass doors opened on to

long reception rooms. But she did not have a chance to look further,

for Peter seized her hand and raced her up the staircase, while Nick

followed them up to Peter's room at a more sedate pace.

The Spitfire had place of honour on the shelf above Peter's bed. He

brought it down proudly, and they examined it with suitable expressions

of admiration. Peter responded to their praise like a flower to the

sun.

When at last they descended the staircase, the sadness and restraint of

parting was on them all, but they were stopped in the centre of the hall

by the voice from the drawing-room door on the left.

Peter, darling. A woman stood in the open doorway, and she was even

more beautiful than the photograph that Samantha had seen of her.

Dutifully Peter crossed to her. Good evening, Mother. She stooped over

him, cupping his face in her hands, and she kissed him tenderly, then

she straightened, holding his hand so he was ranged at her side, a

subtle drawing of boundaries.

Nicholas, she tilted her head, you look marvelous so brown and fit.

Chantelle Alexander was only a few inches taller than her son, but she

seemed to fill and light the huge house with a shimmering presence, the

way a single beautiful bird can light a dim forest.

Her hair was dark and soft and glowing, and her son an the huge dark

sloe eyes were a legacy from the beautiful Persian noblewoman that old

Arthur Christy had married for her fortune, and come to love with an

obsessive passion.

She was dainty. Her tiny, narrow feet peeped from below the long, dark

green silk skirt, and the exquisite little hand that held Peter's was

emphasized by a single deep throbbing green emerald the size of a ripe

acorn.

Now she turned her head on the long graceful neck, and her eyes took the

slightly oriental slant of a modern-day Nefertiti as she looked at

Samantha.

For seconds only, the two women studied each other, and Samantha's chin

came up firmly as she looked into those deep dark gazelle eyes, touched

with all the mystery and intrigue of the East. They understood each

other instantly. It was an intuitive flash, like a discharge of static

electricity, then Chantelle smiled, and when she Smiled the impossible

happened - she became more beautiful than before.

May I present Dr. Silver? Nick began, but Peter tugged at his mother's

hand.

I asked Sam to see my model. She's a marine biologist, and she's a

professor at Miami University - Not yet, Pete/ Samantha corrected him,

but give me time. Good evening, Dr. Silver. It seems you have made a

conquest. Chantelle let the statement hang ambiguously as she turned

back to Nick. I was waiting for you, Nicholas, and I'm so glad to have

a chance to speak to you. She glanced again at Samantha. I do hope you

will excuse us for a few minutes, Dr. Silver. It is a matter of some

urgency.

Peter will be delighted to entertain you. As a biologist, you will find

his guinea pigs of interest, I'm sure. The commands were given so

graciously, by a lady in such control of her situation, that Peter went

to take Samantha's hand and lead her away.

It was one of the customs of Lynwood that all serious discussion took

place in the study. Chantelle led the way, and went immediately to the

false-fronted bookcase that concealed the liquor cabinet, and commenced

the ritual of preparing a drink for Nicholas. He wanted to stop her. It

was something from long ago, recalling too much that was painful, but

instead, he watched the delicate but precise movements of her hands

pouring exactly the correct measure of Chivas Royal Salute into the

crystal glass, adding the soda and the single cube of ice.

What a pretty young girl, Nicholas. He said nothing. On the ornate

Louis Quatorze desk was a silver-framed photograph of Duncan Alexander

and Chantelle together, and he looked away and moved to the fireplace,

standing with his back to the blaze as he had done on a thousand other

evenings.

Chantelle brought the glass to him, and stood close, looking up at him -

and her fragrance touched a deep nostalgic chord. He had first bought

Calkhe for her on a spring morning in Paris; with an effort he forced

the memory aside.

What did you want to speak to me about, is it Peter? No. Peter is

doing as well as we can hope for, in the circumstances, He still resents

Duncan - but she shrugged, and moved away. He had almost forgotten how

narrow was her waist, he would still be able to span it with both hands.

It's hard to explain, but it's Christy Marine, Nicholas. I desperately

need the advise of someone I can trust., You can trust me? he asked.

Isn't it strange? I would still trust you with my life., She came back

to him, standing disconcertingly close, enveloping him with her scent

and heady beauty. He sipped at the whisky to distract himself.

Even though I have no right to ask you, Nicholas, still I know you won't

refuse me, will you? She wove spells, he could feel the mesh falling

like gossamer around him.

I always was a sucker, wasn't I? Now she touched his arm. No,

Nicholas, please don't be bitter. She held his gaze directly.

How can I help you? Her touch on his arm disturbed him, and, sensing

this, she increased the pressure of her fingers for a moment, then

lifted her hand and glanced at the slim white gold Piaget on her wrist.

Duncan will be home soon - and what I have to tell you is long and

complicated. Can we meet in London early next week? Chantelle/he

began.

Nicky, please. Nicky, she was the only one who ever called him that. it

was too familiar, too intimate.

When? You are meeting Duncan on Tuesday morning to discuss the

arbitration of Golden Adventurer. Yes. Will you call me at Eaton

Square when you finish? I'll wait by the telephone. Chantelle 'Nicky,

I have nobody else to turn to. He had never been able to refuse her -

which was part of the reason he had lost her, he thought wryly.

There was no engine noise, just the low rush of air past the body of the

Mercedes.

Damn these seats, they weren't made for lovers, Samantha said.

We'll be home in an hour. I don't know if I can wait that long,

Samantha whispered huskily. I want to be closer to you. And they were

silent again, until they slowed for the weekend traffic through

Hammersmith.

Peter is a knockout. if only I were ten years old, I'd cash in my

dolls. My guess is he would swop his Spitfire., How much longer?

"Another half hour. Nicholas, I feel threatened, her voice had a sudden

panicky edge to it. I have this terrible foreboding That's nonsense.

It's been too good - for too long. James Teacher was the head of Salmon

Peters and Teacher, the lawyers that Nick had retained for Ocean

Salvage. He was a man with a formidable reputation in the City, a

leading expert on maritime law - and a tough bargainer.

He was florid and bald, and so short that his feet did not touch the

floorboards of the Bentley when he sat on the back seat.

He and Nick had discussed in detail where this preliminary meeting with

Christy Marine should be held, and at last they had agreed to go to the

mountain, but James Teacher had insisted on arriving in his

chocolate-coloured Bentley, rather than a cab.

Smoked salmon, Mr. Berg, not fish and chips - that's what we are after.

Christy House was one of those conservative smoke stained stone

buildings fronted on to Leadenhall Street, the centre of Britain's

shipping industry. Almost directly opposite was Trafalgar House, and a

hundred yard's further was Lloyd's of London. The doorman crossed the

pavement to open Nicholas door.

Good to see you again, Mr. Berg sir!

Hello, Alfred. You taking good care of the shop?

Indeed, sir. The following cab, containing James Teacher's two juniors

and their bulky briefcases, pulled up behind the Bentley and they

assembled on the pavement like a party of raiding Vikings before the

gates of a medieval city. The three lawyers settled their bowler hats

firmly and then moved forward determinedly in spearhead formation.

In the lobby, the doorman passed them on to a senior clerk who was

waiting by the desk.

Good morning, Mr. Berg. You are looking very well, sir. They rode up

at a sedate pace in the elevator with its antique steel concertina

doors. Nicholas had never brought himself to exchange them for those

swift modern boxes.

And the clerk ushered them out on to the top-floor landings Will you

follow me, please, gentlemen? There was an antechamber that opened on

to the board room, a large room, panelled and hung with a single

portrait of old Arthur Christy on the entrance wall - fit jaw and sharp

black eyes under beetling white eyebrows.

A log fire burned in the open grate, and there was sherry and Madeira in

crystal decanters on the central table another one of the old min's

little traditions - that both James Teacher and Nick refused curtly.

They waited quietly, standing facing the door into the Chairman's suite.

They waited for exactly four minutes before the door was thrown open and

Duncan Alexander stepped through it.

His eyes flicked across the room and settled instantly on Nick, locking

with his, like the horns of two great bull buffalo, and the room was

very still.

The lawyers around Nick seemed to shrink back and the men behind Duncan

Alexander waited, not yet following him into the antechamber, but all of

them watched and waited avidly; this meeting would be the gossip of the

City for weeks to come - It was a classic confrontation, and they wanted

to miss not a moment of it.

Duncan Alexander was a strikingly good-looking man, very tall, two

inches taller than Nick, but slim as a dancer, and he carried his body

with a dancer's control. His face also was narrow, with the long

lantern jaw of a young Lincoln, already chiselled by life around the

eyes and at the corners of the mouth.

His hair dense and a metallic blond; though he wore it fashionably long

over the ears, yet it was so carefully groomed that each gleaming wave

seemed to have been sculptured.

His skin was smooth and tanned darker than his hair, sun lamp or skiing

at Chantelle's lodge at Gstaad perhaps, and now when he smiled his teeth

were dazzlingly white, perfect large teeth in the wide friendly mouth -

but the eyes did not smile though they crinkled at the corners.

Duncan Alexander watched from behind the handsome face like a sniper in

ambush.

Nicholas/ he said, without moving forward or offering a hand.

Duncan/ said Nick quietly, not answering the smile, and Duncan Alexander

adjusted the hang of his lapel. His clothes were beautifully cut, and

the cloth was the finest, softest wool, but there were foppish little

touches: the hacking slits in the tails of the jacket, the

double-flapped pockets, and the waistcoat in plum-coloured velvet, Now

he touched the buttons with his fingertips, another little distracting

gesture, the only evidence of any discomfort.

Nicholas stared at him steadily, trying to measure him dispassionately,

and now for the first time he began to see how it might have happened.

There was a sense of excitement about the man, a wicked air of danger,

the fascination of the leopard - or some other powerful predator. Nick

could understand the almost irresistible attraction he had for women,

especially for a spoiled and bored lady, a matron of thirteen years who

believed there was still excitement and adventure in life that she was

missing.

Duncan had done his cobra dance, and Chantelle had watched like a

mesmerized bird of paradise - until she had toppled from the branch - or

that's how Nicholas liked to think it had happened. He was wiser now,

much wiser and more cynical.

Before we begin! Nick knew that anger was seething to his still

surface, must soon bubble through unless he could give it release, I

should like five minutes in private. Of course. Duncan inclined his

head, and there was a hurried scampering as his minions cleared the

doorway into the Chairman's suite. Come through. Duncan stood aside,

and Nick walked through. The offices had been completely redecorated,

and Nick blinked with surprise, white carpets and furniture in chrome

and perspex, stark abstract geometrical art in solid primary colours on

the walls; the ceiling had been lowered by an egg design in chrome steel

and free-swivelling studio spotlights gave selected light patterns on

wall and ceiling.

It was no improvement, Nick decided.

I was in St Nazaire last week. Nicholas turned in the centre of the

wide snowy floor and faced Duncan Alexander as he closed the door.

Yes, I know. I went over Golden Dawn. Duncan Alexander snapped open a

gold cigarette case and offered it to Nick, then when he shook his head

in refusal, selected one himself. They were special blend, custom-made

for him by Benson and Hedges.

Charles Gras exceeded his authority, Duncan nodded.

Visitors are not allowed on Golden Dawn. I am not surprised you are

ashamed of that death-trap you are building. But you do surprise me,

Nicholas. Duncan showed his teeth again. It was your design. 'You know

it was not. You took the idea, and bastardized it. Duncan, you cannot

sent! Nick sought for the word, that monster on to the open sea. Not

with one propulsion unit, and a single screw. The risk is too

appalling. I tell you this for no good reason, except perhaps that this

was once your office/ Duncan made a gesture that embraced the room, and

because it amuses me to point out to you the faults in your original

planning. The concept was sound, but your soured the cream by adding

those preposterous, shall we call them Bergean, touches. Five separate

propulsion units, and a forest of boilers. It wasn't viable, Nicholas.

It was good, the figures were right., The whole tanker market has

changed since you left Christy Marine. I had to re-work it. You should

have dropped the whole concept if the cost structure changed. 'Oh no,

Nicholas, I restructured. My way, even in these hard times, I will

recover capital in a year, and with a five.

year life on the hull there is two hundred million dollars profit in it.

I was going to build a ship that would last for thirty years/ Nick told

him. Something of which we could be proud - I Pride is an expensive

commodity. We aren't building dynasties any more, we are in the game of

selling tanker space. Duncan's tone was patronizing, that impeccable

accent drawn out, emphasizing the difference in their backgrounds. I'm

aiming at a five-year life, two hundred million profit, and then we sell

the hull to the Greeks or Japs. It's a one-time thing. You always were

a smash-and-grab artist, Nick agreed.

But it isn't like dealing in commodities. Ships aren't wheat and bacon,

and the oceans aren't the orderly market floors. I disagree, I'm

afraid. The principles are the same - one buys, one sells. Ships are

living things, the ocean is a battleground of all the elements. 'Come,

Nicholas, you don't really believe that romantic nonsense. Duncan drew a

gold Hunter from his waist pocket, and snapped open the lid to read the

dial another of his affectations which irritated Nicholas. Those are

very expensive gentlemen waiting next door. You will be risking human

life, the men who sail her. Seamen are well paid - You will be taking a

monstrous risk with the life of the oceans. Wherever she goes Golden

Dawn will be a potential - For God's sake, Nicholas, two hundred million

dollars is worth some kind of risk. All right/ Nick nodded. Let's

forget the environment, and the human life, and consider the important

aspects the money. Duncan sighed, and wagged that fine head, smiling as

at a recalcitrant child.

I have considered the money - in detail. You will not get an Al rating

at Lloyd's. You will not get insurance on that hull - unless you

underwrite yourself, the same way you did with Golden Adventurer, and if

you think that's wise, just wait until I've finished with my salvage

claim. Duncan Alexander's smile twisted slowly, and blood darkened his

cheeks under the snow-tan. I do not need a Lloyd's rating, though I am

sure I could get one if I wanted it. I have arranged continental and

oriental underwriters.

She will be fully insured. Against pollution claims, also? If you

burst that bag of crude on the continental shelf of America, or Europe,

2 so they'll hit you for half a billion dollars. Nobody would

underwrite that. Golden Dawn is registered in Venezuela, and she has no

sister ships for the authorities to seize, like they did with the Torrey

Canyon. To whom will they address the pollution bill? A defunct South

American Company? No, Nicholas, Christy Marine will not be paying any

pollution bills. I cannot believe it, even of you. Nick stared at him.

You are cold-bloodedly talking about the possibility - no, the

probability - of dumping a million tons of crude oil into the sea. 'Your

moral indignation is touching. It really is. However, Nicholas, may I

remind you that this is family and house business - and you are no

longer either family or house. I fought you every time you cut a

corner/ Nick reminded him. I tried to teach you that cheap is always

expensive in the long run. You taught me? For the first time Duncan

taunted him openly. What could you ever teach me about ships or money,

and he rolled his tongue gloating around the next words, or women? Nick

made the first movement of lunging at him, but he caught himself, and

forced himself to unclench his fists at his sides. The blood sang in

his ears.

I'm going to fight you he said quietly. I'm going to fight you from

here to the maritime conference, and beyond. He made the decision in

that moment, he hadn't realized he was going to do it until then.

A maritime conference has never taken less than five years to reach a

decision restricting one of its members. By that time Golden Dawn will

belong to some Japanese, Hong-Kong-based company - and Christy Marine

will have banked two hundred million. I'll have the oil ports closed to

you By whom? Oil-thirsty governments, with lobbies of the big oil

companies? Duncan laughed lightly, he had replaced the urbane mask. You

really are out of your depth again. We have bumped heads a dozen times

before, Nicholas - and I'm still on my feet. I'm not about to fold up

to your fine threats now. After that, there was no hope that the

meeting in the panelled board room would lead to conciliation. The

atmosphere crackled and smouldered with the antagonism of the two

leading characters, so that they seemed to be the only persons on the

stage.

They sat opposite each other, separated by the glossy surface of the

rosewood table top, and their gazes seldom disengaged. They leaned

forward in their chairs, and when they smiled at each other, it was like

the silent snarl of two old dog wolves circling with hackles erect.

It took an enormous effort of self-control for Nicholas to force back

his anger far enough to be able to think clearly, and to allow his

intuition to pick up the gut-impressions, the subtle hints of the

thinking and planning that were taking place across the table behind

Duncan Alexander's handsome mask of a face.

It was half an hour before he was convinced that something other than

personal rivalry and antagonism was motivating the man before him.

His counter offer was too low to have any hope of being accepted, so low

that it became clear that he did not want to settle. Duncan Alexander

wanted to go to arbitration - and yet there was nothing he could gain by

that. It must be obvious to everyone at the table, beyond any doubt

whatsoever, that Nicholas claim was worth four million dollars. Nicholas

would have settled for four, even in his anger he would have gone for

four - risking that an arbitration board might have awarded six, and

knowing the delay and costs of going to litigation might amount to

another million. He would have settled.

Duncan Alexander was offering two and a half. It was a frivolous offer.

Duncan was going through the motions only. There was no serious attempt

at finding a settlement.

He didn't want to come to terms, and it seemed to Nicholas that by

refusing to settle he was gaining nothing, and risking a great deal. He

was a big enough boy to know that you never, but never, go to litigation

if there is another way out. It was a rule that Nicholas had graven on

his heart in letters of fire. Litigation makes only lawyers fat, Why

was Duncan baulking, what was he to gain by this obstruction? Nicholas

crushed down the temptation to stand up and walk out of the room with an

exclamation of disgust. Instead, he lit another cheroot and leaned

forward again, staring into Duncan Alexander's steely grey eyes, trying

to fathom him, needling, probing for the soft rotten spot - and thinking

hard.

What had Duncan Alexander to gain from not settling now? Why did he not

try with a low, but realistic offer what was he to gain?

Then quite suddenly he knew what it was. Chantelle's enigmatic appeal

for help and advice flashed back to him, and he knew what it was. Duncan

Alexander wanted time.

It was as simple as that. Duncan Alexander needed time.

All right. Satisfied at last, Nicholas leaned back in the deep

leather-padded chair, and veiled his eyes. We are still a hundred miles

apart. There will be only one meeting ground. That's in the upper room

at Lloyd's. It's set down for the 27th. A-re we at least agreed on

that date? Of course, Duncan leaned back also and Nicholas saw the

shift of his eyes, the little jump of nerves in the point of his

clenched jaws, the tightening of the long pianist's fingers that lay

before him on the leather-bound blotter.

Of course/ Duncan repeated, and began to stand up, a gesture of

dismissal. He lied beautifully; had Nicholas not known he would lie, he

might have missed the little telltale signs.

In the ancient lift, James Teacher was jubilant, rubbing his little fat

hands together. We'll give him a go! Nicholas glanced at him sourly.

Win, lose or draw, James Teacher would still draw his fee, and Duncan

Alexander's refusal to settle had quadrupled that fee. There was

something almost obscene about the little lawyer's exultation.

They are going to duck/ Nick said grimly, and James Teacher sobered

slightly.

Before noon tomorrow, Christy Marine will have lodged for postponement

of hearing, Nick prophesied. You'll have to use Warlock with full power

on both to pull them before the arbitration board. 'Yes, you're

right/James Teacher nodded. They had me puzzled, I sensed something -

I'm not paying you to be puzzled/Nick's voice was low and hard. I'm

paying you to out-guess and out-jump them.

I want them at the hearing on the 27th, get them there, Mr. Teacher. He

did not have to voice the threat, and in a moment, the exultation on

James Teacher's rotund features had changed to apprehension and deep

concern.

The drawing-room in Eaton Square was decorated in cream and pale gold,

cleverly designed as a frame for the single exquisite work of art which

it contained, the original of the group of Degas ballet-dancers whose

copy hung in Golden Dawn's stateroom, It was the room's centre-piece;

cunningly lit by a hidden spotlight, it glowed like a precious jewel.

Even the flowers on the ivory grand piano were cream and white roses and

carnations, whose pale ethereal blossoms put the painting into stronger

contrast.

The only other flash of brightness was worn by Chantelle, she had the

oriental knack of carrying vivid colour without it seeming gaudy. She

wore a flaming Pucci that could not pale her beauty, and as she rose

from the huge shaggy white sofa and came to Nicholas, he felt the soft

warm melting sensation in his stomach spreading slowly through his body

like a draught of some powerful aphrodisiac. He knew he would never be

immune to her.

Dear Nicky, I knew I could rely upon you., She took his hand and looked

up at him, and still holding his hand she led him to the sofa, and then

she settled beside him, like a bright, lovely bird alighting. She drew

her legs up under her, her calves and ankles flashed like carved and

polished ivory before she tucked the brilliant skirt around them, and

lifted the Wedgwood porcelain teapot.

Orange pekoe/ she smiled at him, No lemon and no sugar. He had to smile

back at her. You never forget/ and he took the cup.

I told you that you looked well/ she said, slowly and unselfconsciously

studying him. And you really do, Nicholas. When you came down to

Lynwood for Peters birthday in June I was so worried about you. You

looked terribly ill and tired - but now, she tilted her head critically,

you look absolutely marvelous.

Now he should tell her that she was beautiful as ever, he thought

grimly, and then they would start talking about Peter and their old

mutual friends.

What did you want to talk to me about? he asked quietly, and there was

a passing shadow of hurt in her dark eyes.

Nicholas, you can be so remote, so - she hesitated, seeking the correct

word, so detached., Recently someone called me an ice-cold Pommy

bastard, the agreed, but she shook her head.

No. I know you are not, but if only The three most dangerous and

inflammatory phrases in the English language, he stopped her. 'They are

"you always" and "you never" and only". Chantelle, I came here to help

you with a problem. Let's discuss that - only. She stood up quickly,

and he knew her well enough to recognize the fury in the snapping dark

eyes and the quick dancing steps that carried her to the mantelpiece,

and she stood looking up at the Degas with her small fists clenched at

her sides.

Are you sleeping with that child? she asked, and now the fury was raw

in her voice.

Nicholas stood up from the sofa.

Goodbye, Chantelle. She turned and flew to him, taking his arm.

Oh, Nicholas, that was unforgivable, I don't know what possessed me.

Please don't go. And when he tried to dislodge her hand. I beg you,

for the first time ever, I beg you, Nicholas. Please don't go. He was

still stiff with anger when he sank back on the sofa, and they were

silent for nearly a minute while she regained her composure, This is all

going so terribly badly, I didn't want this to happen. All right, let's

get on to safer ground. Nicholas, she started, you and Daddy created

Christy Marine. If anything, it was more yours than his. The great

days were the last ten years when you were Chairman, all the tremendous

achievements of those years He made a gesture of denial and impatience,

but she went on softly.

Too much of your life is locked up in Christy Marine, you are still

deeply involved, Nicholas. There are only two things I am involved with

now/ he told her harshly, Ocean Salvage and Nicholas Berg. We both know

that is not true/ she whispered. You are a special type of man. She

sighed. It took me so long to recognize that. I thought all men were

like you. I believed strength and nobility of mind were common goods on

the market -'she shrugged. Some people learn the hard way, and she

smiled, but it was an uncertain, twisted little smile.

He said nothing for a moment, thinking of all that was revealed by those

words, then he replied.

If you believe that, then tell me what is worrying you. Nicholas,

something is terribly wrong with Christy Marine. There is something

happening there that I don't understand. Tell me. She turned her head

away for a moment, and then looked back at him. Her eyes seemed to

change shape and colour, growing darker and sadder. It is so difficult

not to be disloyal, so difficult to find expression for vague doubts and

fears/ she stopped and bit her lower lip softly. Nicholas, I have

transferred my shares Christy Marine to Duncan as my nominee, with

voting rights. Nicholas felt the shock of it Jump down his nerves and

string them tight. He shifted restlessly on the sofa and stared at her,

and she nodded.

I know it was madness. The madness of those crazy days a year ago. I

would have given him anything he asked for. He felt the premonition

that she had not yet told him all and he waited while she rose and went

to the window, looked out guiltily and then turned back to him.

May I get you a drink? He glanced at his Rolex. The sun over the

yard-arm, what about Duncan? These days he is never home before eight

or nine. She went to the decanter on the silver tray and poured the

whisky with her back to him, and now her voice was so low that he barely

caught the words.

A year ago I resigned as executrix of the Trust. He did not answer, it

was what he had been waiting for, he had known there was something else.

The Trust that old Arthur Christy had set up was the backbone and sinews

of Christy Marine. One million voting shares administered by three

executors, a banker, a lawyer and a member of the Christy family.

Chantelle turned and brought the drink to him.

Did you hear what I said? she asked, and he nodded and sipped the drink

before he asked, The other executors? Pickstone of Lloyd's and Rollo

still? She shook her head and again bit her lip, No, it's not Lloyd's

any more, it's Cyril Forbes. Who is he? Nick demanded.

He is the head of London and European. But that's Duncan's own bank,

Nick protested.

It's still a registered bank. And Rollo? Rollo had a heart attack six

months ago. He resigned, and Duncan put in another younger man. You

don't know him. My God, three men and each of them is Duncan Alexander

- he has had a free hand with Christy Marine for over a year, Chantelle,

there is no check on him. I know/ she whispered. 'It was a madness. I

just cannot explain it. It's the oldest madness in the world. Nick

pitied her then; for the first time , he realized and accepted that she

had been under a compulsion, driven by forces over which she had no

control, and he pitied her.

I am so afraid, Nicholas. I'm afraid to find out what I have done. Deep

down I know there is something terribly wrong, but I'm afraid of the

truth,, All right, tell me everything. There isn't anything else. If

you lie to me, I cannot help you/ he pointed out gently.

I have tried to follow the new structuring of the company, it's all so

complicated, Nicholas, London and European is the new holding company,

and - and - her voice trailed off. It just goes round and round in

circles, and I cannot pry too deep or ask too many questions., 'Why not?

he demanded.

You don't know Duncan. I am beginning to/ he answered her grimly. But,

Chantelle, you have every right to ask and get answers. Let me get you

another drink. She jumped up lightly.

I haven't finished this one. The ice has melted, I know you don't like

that. She took the glass and emptied the diluted spirit, refilled it

and brought it back to him.

All right/ he said. What else? Suddenly she was weeping. Smiling at

him wistfully and weeping. There was no sobbing or sniffing, the tears

merely welled up slowly as oil or blood from the huge dark eyes, broke

from the thick, arched lashes and rolled softly down her cheeks. Yet

she still smiled.

The madness is over, Nicholas. it didn't last very long but it was a

holocaust while it did. He comes home at nine o'clock now/Nicholas

said.

Yes, he comes home at nine o'clock. He took the linen handkerchief from

his inner pocket and handed it to her.

Thank you. She dabbed away the tears, still smiling softly.

What must I do, Nicholas? call in a team of auditors,, he began, but

she shook her head and cut him short You don't know Duncan , she

repeated.

There is nothing he could do. He could do anything, she contradicted

him. He is capable of anything. I am afraid, Nicholas, terribly

afraid, not only for myself, but for Peter also. Nicholas sat erect

then.

Peter. Do you mean you are afraid of something physical? I don't know,

Nicholas. I'm so confused and alone. You are the only person in the

world I can trust. He could no longer remain seated. He stood up and

began to pace about the room, frowning heavily, looking down at the

glass in his hand and swirling the ice so that it tinkled softly.

All right/ he said at last. I will do what I can. The first thing is

to find out just how much substance there is to your fears. How will you

do that? It's best you don't know, yet. He drained his glass and she

stood up, quick with alarm You aren't going, are you?/ 'There is nothing

else to discuss now. I will contact you when or if I learn anything.

I'll see you down. in the hall she dismissed the uniformed West Indian

maid with a shake of her head, and fetched Nicholas top coat from the

closet herself.

Shall I send for the car? You'll not get a cab at five o'clock. 'I'll

walk/he said.

Nicholas, I cannot tell you how grateful I am. I had forgotten how safe

and secure it is to be with you. Now she was standing very close to

him, her head lifted, and her lips were soft and glossy and ripe, her

eyes still flooded and bright. He knew he should leave immediately. I

know it's going to be all right now. She placed one of those dainty

ivory hands on his lapel, adjusting it unnecessarily with that

proprietary feminine gesture, and she moistened her lips.

We are all fools, Nicholas, every one of us. We all complicate our

lives - when it's so easy to be happy. The trick is to recognize

happiness when you stumble on it, I suppose. I'm sorry, Nicholas.

That's the first time I've ever apologized to you. It's a day of many

first times, isn't it? But I am truly sorry for everything I have ever

done to hurt you. I wish with all my heart that it were possible to

wipe it all out and begin again. Unfortunately, it doesn't work that

way. With a major effort of will he broke the spell, and stepped back.

In another moment he would have stooped to those soft red lips.

I'll call you if I learn anything/ he said, as he buttoned the top of

his coat and opened the front door.

Nicholas stepped out furiously with the cold striking colour into his

cheeks, but her presence kept pace with him and his blood raced not from

physical exertion alone.

He knew then, beyond all doubt, that he was not a man who could switch

love on and off at will.

You old-fashioned thing. Samantha's words came back to him clearly -

and she was right, of course. He was cursed by a constancy of loyalty

and emotion that restricted his freedom of action. He was breaking one

of his own rules now, he was no longer moving ahead. He was circling

back.

He had loved Chantelle Christy to the limits of his soul, and had

devoted almost half of his life to Christy Marine.

He realized then that those things could never change, not for him, not

for Nicholas Berg, prisoner of his own conscience.

Suddenly he found himself opposite the Kensington Natural History Museum

in the Cromwell Road, and swiftly he crossed to the main gates - but it

was a quarter to six and they were closed already. Samantha would not

have been in the public rooms anyway, but in those labyrinthine vaults

below the great stone building. in a few short days, she had made half

a dozen cronies among the museum staff. He felt a stab of jealousy,

that she was with other human beings, revelling in their companionship,

delighting in the pleasures of the mind - had probably forgotten he

existed.

Then suddenly the unfairness of it occurred to him, how his emotions of

a minute previously had been stirring and boiling with the memories of

another woman. Only then did he realize that it was possible to be in

love with two different people, in two entirely different ways, at

exactly the same time.

Troubled, torn by conflicting loves, conflicting loyalties, he turned

away from the barred iron gates of the museum Nicholas apartment was on

the fifth floor of one of those renovated and redecorated buildings in

Queen's Gate.

it looked as though a party of gypsies were passing through. He had not

hung the paintings, nor had he arranged his books on the shelves. The

paintings were stacked against the wall in the hallway, and his books

were pyramided at unlikely spots around the lounge floor, the carpet

still rolled and pushed aside, two chairs facing the television set, and

another two drawn up to the dining-room table.

it was an eating and sleeping place, sustaining the bare minima of

existence; in two years he had probably slept here on sixty nights, few

of them consecutive. It was impersonal, it contained no memories, no

warmth.

He poured a whisky and carried it through into the bedroom , slipping

the knot of his tie and shrugging out of his jacket. Here it was

different, for evidence of Samantha's presence was everywhere. Though

she had remade the bed that morning before leaving, still she had left a

pair of shoes abandoned at the foot of it, a booby trap to break the

ankles of the unwary; her simple jewellery was strewn on the bedside

table, together with a book, Noel Mostert's Supership, opened face down

and in dire danger of a broken spine; the cupboard door was open and his

suits had been bunched up in one corner to give hanging space to her

slacks and dresses; two very erotic and transparent pairs of panties

hung over the bath to dry; her talcum powder still dusted the tiled

floor and her special fragrance pervaded the entire apartment.

He missed her with a physical ache in the chest, so that when the front

door banged and she arrived like a high wind, shouting for him,

"Nicholas, it's me" as though it could possibly have been anyone else,

her hair tangled and wild with the wind and high colour under the golden

tan of her cheeks, he almost ran to her and seized her with a suppressed

violence.

Wow/ she whispered huskily. Who is a hungry baby, then. And they

tumbled on to the bed clinging to each other with a need that was almost

desperation.

Afterwards they did not turn the light on in the room that had gone dark

except for the dim light of the street lamps filtered by the curtains

and reflected off the ceiling.

What was that all about? she asked, then snuggled against his chest,

not that I'm complaining, mind you. I've had a hell of a day.

I needed you, badly. You saw Duncan Alexander? I saw Duncan. Did you

settle? No. There was never really any chance. I'm hungry/ she said.

Your loving always makes me hungry. So he put on his pants and went

down to the Italian restaurant at the corner for pizzas. They ate them

in bed with a white Chianti from whisky tumblers, and when she was

finished, she sighed and said: Nicholas, I have to go home. You can't

go/ he protested instantly.

I have work to do - also. But/ he felt a physical nausea at the thought

of losing her, but you can't go before the hearing. Why not? It would

be the worst possible luck, you are my fortune. A sort of good-luck

charm? She pulled a face. Is that all I'm good for? You are good for

many things. May I demonstrate one of them? 'Oh, yes please. An hour

later Nick went for more pizzas.

You have to stay until the 27th/he said with his mouth full.

Darling Nicholas, I just don't know You can ring them, tell them your

aunt died, that you are getting married. Even if I were getting

married, it wouldn't lessen the importance of my work. I think you know

that is something I will never give up. Yes, I do know, but it's only a

couple of days more. All right, I'll call Tom Parker tomorrow. Then

she grinned at him. Don't look like that. I'll be just across the

Atlantic, we'll be virtually next-door neighbours. 'Call him now. It's

lunchtime in Florida. She spoke for twenty minutes, wheedling and

charming, while the blood-curdling transatlantic rumblings on the

receiver slowly muted to reluctant and resigned mutterings.

You're going to get me into trouble one of these days, Nicholas Berg/she

told him primly as she hung up.

Now there is a happy thought/Nick agreed, and she hit him with her

pillow.

The telephone rang at two minutes past nine the next morning. They were

in the bath together and Nicholas swore and went through naked and

steaming and dripping suds.

Mr. Berg? James Teacher's voice was sharp and businesslike. You were

right, Christy Marine petitioned for postponement of hearing late

yesterday afternoon. How long? Nicholas snapped.

Ninety days. The bastard/grunted Nick. What grounds? They want time

to prepare their submission. Block them/Nick instructed.

I have a meeting with the Secretary at eleven. I'm going to ask for an

immediate preliminary hearing to set down and confirm the return date.

Get him before the arbitrators/ said Nick.

We'll get him. Samantha welcomed him back to the tub by drawing her

knees up under her chin. Her hair was piled on top of her head, but

damp wisps hung down her neck and on to her cheeks. She looked pink and

dewy as a little girl.

Careful where you put your toes, sir/ she cautioned him, and he felt the

tension along his nerves easing. She had that effect on him.

I'll buy you lunch at Les A if you can tear yourself away from your

microscope and fishy-smelling specimens for an hour or two. Les

Ambassadeurs? I've heard about it! For lunch there I'd walk across

London on freshly amputated stumps. That won't be necessary, but you

will have to charm a tribe of wild desert Sheikhs. I understand they

are very sympathetic towards blondes. Are you going to sell me into a

harem - sounds fun, I've always fancied myself in baggy, transparent

bloomers. You, I'm not selling - icebergs, I am. I'll pick you up at

the front gate of the museum at one o'clock sharp. She went with

laughter and a great clatter and banging of doors and Nicholas settled

at the telephone.

I'd like to speak to Sir Richard personally, it's Nicholas Berg. Sir

Richard was at Lloyd's, an old and good friend.

Then he called and spoke to Charles Gras There were no new delays or

threats to Sea Witch's completion date.

I am sorry for any trouble you had with Alexander. Cq the fait rien,

Nicholas. Good luck at the hearing. I will be watching the Lloyd's

List. Nicholas felt a sense of relief. Charles Gras had risked his

career to show him Golden Dawn. it could have been serious.

Then Nick spoke for nearly half an hour to Bernard Wackie of Bach Wackie

in Bermuda. Warlock had reported on the telex two hours previously; she

was making good passage with her oil-rig tow, would drop off at Bravo 11

on schedule and pick up her next tow as soon as she had anchored.

David Allen is a good youngster, Bernard told Nick.

But have you got Levoisin for Sea Witch? Jules is playing the prima

donna, he has not said yes, but he'll come. You'll have a good team,

then. What's the latest date for Sea Witch? End March. The sooner the

better, I've got contacts to keep both tugs running hard until the

iceberg project matures. I'm having lunch with the Sheikhs today. I

know. There's a lot of interest. I've got a good feeling.

There is something big brewing, but they are a cagey bunch. The

inscrutable smile on the face of the sphiinx when do we see you? 'I'll

come across just as soon as I've got Duncan Alexander into the

arbitration court - end of the month, hopefully. We've got a lot to

talk about, Nicholas. Nick hesitated for the time it took to smoke the

first cheroot of the day before he called Monte Carlo - for the call

would cost him at least fifty thousand dollars, probably closer to

seventy-five, The best is always the cheapest, he reminded himself,

picked up the receiver and spoke to a secretary in Monte Carlo, giving

his name, While he waited for the connection he thought how his life was

complicating itself once more. Very soon Bach Wackie would not be

enough, there would have to be a London branch of Ocean Salvage,

offices, secretaries, files, accounts, and then a New York branch, a

branch in Saudi, the whole cycle again. He thought suddenly of

Samantha, uncluttered and simple happiness, life without its wearisome

trappings - then the connection was made and he heard the thin, high,

almost feminine voice.

Mr. Berg - Claud Lazarus. No other greeting, no expressions of pleasure

at the renewal of contact. Nick imagined him sitting at his desk in the

suite high above the harbour, like a human foetus - preserved in

spirits, bottled on the museum shelf. The huge bald domed head, the

soft putty-coloured rudimentary features, the nose hardly large enough

to support the thick spectacles. The eyes distorted and startled by the

lens, changing shape like those of a fish in an aquarium as the light

moved. The body underdeveloped, as that of a foetus , narrow shoulders,

seemingly tapering away to the bowed question mark of a body.

Mr. Lazarus. Are you in a position to undertake an indepth study for

me? It was the euphemism for financial and industrial espionage; Claud

Lazarus network was not limited by frontiers or continents, it spanned

the globe with delicately probing tentacles.

Of course/ he piped softly.

I want the financial structuring, the lines of control and management,

the names of the nominees and their principals, the location and

inter-relationship of all the elements of the Christy Marine Group and

London European Insurance and Banking Co. Group, with particular

reference to any changes in structure during the previous fourteen

months. Do you have that? This is being recorded, Mr. Berg. 'Of

course. Further, I want the country of registration, the insurers and

underwriters of all bottoms traceable to their holdings. Please

continue. I want an accurate estimate of the reserves of London and

European Insurance in relations to their potential liability., Continue.

I am particularly interested in the vessel Golden Dawn presently

building at the yards of Construction Navale Atlantique at St Nazaire. I

want to know if she has been chartered or has contracted with any oil

company for carriage of crude and, if so, on what routes and at what

rates. Yes? Lazarus squeaked softly.

Time is of the essence - and, as always, so is discretion. You need not

have mentioned that, Mr. Berg. My contact, when you are ready to pass

information, is Back Wacky in Bermuda. I will keep you informed of

progress. Thank you, Mr. Lazarus. Good day, Mr. Berg. It was

refreshing not to have to pretend to be the bosom comrade of somebody

who supplied essentials but nonetheless revolted him, Nick thought, and

comforting to know he had the best man in the world for the job.

He looked at his watch. It was lunchtime, and he felt the quick lift of

his spirits at the thought of being with Samantha.

Lime Street is a narrow alleyway, with tall buildings down each side of

it, which opens off Leadenhall Street. A few yards from the junction,

on the left hand side as you leave the street of shipping, is the

covered entrance to Lloyd's of London.

Nicholas stepped out of James Teacher's Bentley and took Samantha on his

arm. He paused a moment, with a feeling of certain reverence, As a

seaman, the history of this remarkable institution touched him

intimately. Not that the building itself was particularly old or

venerable. Nothing now remained of the original coffee house, except

some of the traditions: the caller who intoned the brokers names like

the offertory in the temple of some exotic religion, the stalls in which

the underwriters conducted their business and the name and uniform of

the institution's servants, the waiters with brass buttons and red

collar tabs.

Rather it was the tradition of concern that was enshrined here, the

concern for ships and for all men who went down to the sea in those

ships and did their business in great waters.

Perhaps later, Nicholas would find time to take Samantha through the

Nelson rooms and show her the displays of memorabilia associated with

the greatest of Britain's sailors, the plate and letters and awards.

Certainly he would have her as lunch guest in the big dining-room, at

the table set aside specifically for visiting sea captains.

But now there were more important considerations to demand all his

attention. He had come to hear the verdict given on his future - within

a few hours he would know just how high and how fast the wave of his

fortune had carried him.

Come/ he said to Samantha, and led her up the short flight of steps into

the lobby, where there was a waiter alerted to receive them.

We will be using the Committee Room today, sir. The earlier submissions

by both parties had been heard in one of the smaller offices, leading

off the high gallery above the vast floor of the exchange with its rows

of underwriters stalls. However, due to the extraordinary nature of

this action, the Committee of Lloyd's had made a unique decision - to

have their arbitrators give their findings and make their award in

surroundings more in keeping with the importance of the occasion.

They rode up in silence, all of them too tense to make the effort of

small-talk. and the waiter led them down the wide corridor, past the

Chairman's suite of offices and through the double doors into the

grandeur of the room designed by Adam for Bowood House, the country home

of the Marquess of Lansdowne. It had been taken to pieces, panel by

panel, floor, ceiling, fireplace and plaster mouldings, transported to

London and re-erected in its entirety with such care and attention that

when Lord Lansdowne inspected it, he found that the floorboards squeaked

in exactly the same places as they had before.

At the long table, under the massive glittering pyramids of the three

chandeliers, the two arbitrators were already seated. Both of them were

master mariners, selected for their deep knowledge and experience of the

sea, and their faces were toughened and leathery from the effects of sea

and salt water. They talked quietly together, without acknowledging in

any way the rows of quietly attentive faces in the rows of chairs facing

them - until the minute hand of the antique clock on the Adam fireplace

touched its zenith. Then the President of the court looked across at

the waiter who obediently closed the double doors and stood to attention

before them.

This Arbitration Court has been set up under the Committee of Lloyd's

and empowered to receive evidence in the matter between the Christy

Marine Steamship Co. Ltd.

and the Ocean Salvage and Towage Co. Ltd. This Court finds common

ground in the following areas Firstly, a contract of salvage under

Lloyd's Open Form "No cure no pay" for the recovery of the passenger

liner Golden Adventurer, a ship of .22,000 tons gross burden and

registered at Southampton, exists between the parties.

Secondly, that the Master of the Golden Adventurer while steaming on a

south-westerly heading during the night of December 16th at or near 72

16 south and 32 12 west - The President let no dramatics intrude on his

assembly of the facts. He recounted it all in the driest possible

terms, succeeding in making Golden Adventurer's plight and the desperate

endeavours of her rescuers sound boring. indeed, his colleague seemed

to descend into a condition of coma at the telling of it. His eyes

slowly closed, and his head sagged gently sideways, his lips vibrating

slightly at each breath - a volume not quite sufficient to make it a

snore.

It took nearly an hour, with the occasional consultation of the ship's

log books and a loose volume of hand-written and typed notes, before the

President was satisfied that he had recounted all the facts, and now he

rocked back in his chair and hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat. His

expression became decisive, and while he surveyed the crowded room, his

colleague stirred, opened his eyes, took out a white linen handkerchief

and blew two sharp blasts, one for each nostril, like the herald angel

sounding the crack of doom.

There was a stir of reawakened interest, they all recognized the moment

of decision, and for the first time Duncan Alexinder and Nicholas Berg

looked directly at each other over the heads of the lawyers and company

men. Neither of them changed expression, no smile nor scowl, but

something implacable and clearly understood passed between them. They

did not unlock their gaze, until the President began to speak again.

Taking into consideration the foregoing, this Court is of the firm

opinion that a fair and good salvage of the vessel was effected by the

salvors, and that therefore, they are entitled to salvage awards

commensurate with the services rendered to the owners and underwriters.

Nicholas felt Samantha's fingers groping for his. He took her hand, and

it was slim and cold and dry; he interlocked their fingers and laid

their hands upon his upper thigh.

This Court, in arriving at the value of the salvor's services, has taken

into consideration, firstly, the situation and conditions existing on

the site of operations. We have heard evidence that much of the work

was carried out in extreme weather conditions. Temperatures of thirty

degrees below freezing, wind forces exceeding twelve on the Beaufort

scale, and extreme icing.

We have also considered that the vessel Golden Adventurer was no longer

under command. That she had been abandoned by her passengers, her crew

and her Master. She was aground on a remote and hostile coast.

We have further noted that the salvors undertook a voyage of many

thousands of miles, without any guarantee of recompense, but merely in

order to be in a position to offer assistance, should that have become

necessary. Nicholas glanced across the aisle at Duncan Alexander.

He sat at ease, as though he were in his box at Ascot. His suit was of

sombre gunmetal grey, but on him it seemed flamboyant and the I Zingari

tie as rakish as any of Cardin's fantasies.

Duncan turned that fine leonine head and looked directly at Nicholas

again. This time Nicholas saw the deep angry glow in his eyes as when a

vagrant breeze fans the coals of an open fire. Then Duncan turned his

face back towards the President, and he balanced his thrusting square

chin on the clenched, carefully manicured fingers of his right fist,

Furthermore, we have taken into consideration the transportation of the

survivors from the site of the striking, to the nearest port of succour,

Cape Town in the Republic of South Africa. The President was summing up

strongly in favour of Ocean Salvage. It was a dangerous sign; so often

a judge about to deliver an unfavourable decision prefaced it by

building a strong case for the loser and then tearing it down again.

Nicholas steeled himself, anything below three million dollars would not

be sufficient to keep Ocean Salvage alive.

That was the barest minimum he needed to keep Warlock afloat, and to put

Sea Witch on the water for the first time. He felt the spasm of his

stomach muscles as he contemplated his commitments - even with three

million he would be at the mercy of the Sheikhs, unable to manoeuvre, a

slave to any conditions they wished to set.

He would not be off his knees even.

Nicholas squeezed Samantha's hand for luck, and she pressed her shoulder

against his.

Four million dollars would give him a fighting chance, a slim margin of

choice - but he would still be fighting hard, pressed on all sides. Yet

he would have settled for four million, if Duncan Alexander had made the

offer. Perhaps Duncan had been wise after all, perhaps he might yet see

Nicholas broken at a single stroke.

Three. Nicholas held the figure in his head. Let it be three, at least

let it be three. This Court has considered the written reports of the

Globe Engineering Co., the contractors charged with the repairing and

refurbishing of Golden Adventurer, together with those of two

independent marine engineering experts commissioned separately by the

owners and the salvors to report on the condition of the vessel. We have

also had the benefit of a survey carried out by a senior inspector of

Lloyd's of London. From all of this, it seems apparent that the vessel

sustained remarkably light damage. There was no loss of equipment, the

salvors recovering even the main anchors and chains - Strange how that

impressed a salvage court. We took her off, anchors and all, Nick

thought, with a stir of pride.

Prompt anti-corrosion precautions by the salvors resulted in minimal

damage to the main engines and ancillary equipment - It went on and on.

Why cannot he come to it now? I cannot wait much longer, Nicholas

thought.

This Court has heard expert opinion and readily accepts that the

residual value of the Golden Adventurer's hull, as delivered to the

contractors in Cape Town can be fairly set at twenty-six million US

dollars or fifteen million, three hundred thousand pounds sterling, and

consideration of the foregoing, we are further of the firm opinion that

the salvors are entitled to an award of twenty percent of the residual

hull value - For long cold seconds Nicholas doubted his hearing, and

then he felt the flush of exultation burning on his cheeks.

In addition, it was necessary to compute the value of the passage

provided to the survivors of the vessel - It was six - six million

dollars! He was clear and running free as a wild albatross sweeping

across the oceans on wide pinions.

Nicholas turned his head and looked at Duncan Alexander, and he smiled.

He had never felt so strong and vital and alive in his life before. He

felt like a giant, immortal, and at his side was the vibrant young body

pressing to him, endowing him with eternal youth.

Across the aisle, Duncan Alexander tossed his head, a gesture of

dismissal and turned to speak briefly with his counsel who sat beside

him. He did not look at Nicholas, however, and there was a waxen cast

to his skin now as though it had a fine sheen of perspiration laid upon

it, and the blood had drained away beneath the tan.

Anyway, another few days and you'd probably have started to find me a

boring dolly bird, or one of us would have had a heart attack. Samantha

smiled at him, a pathetic, lopsided little grin, nothing like her usual

brilliant golden flashing smile. I like to quit while I'm still ahead.

They sat close on the couch in the Pan Am Clipper Lounge at Heathrow.

Nicholas was shocked by the extent of his own desolation. It felt as

though he were about to be deprived of the vital forces of life itself,

he felt the youth and strength draining away as he looked at her and

knew that in a few minutes she would be gone.

Samantha, he said. Stay here with me. Nicholas/ she whispered huskily,

I have to go, my darling. It's not for very long but I have to go. Why?

he demanded.

Because it's my life. ,make me your life. She touched his cheek, as

she countered his offer.

I have a better idea, give up Warlock and Sea Witch forget your icebergs

and come with me. You know I cannot do that. No/ she agreed, you could

not, and I would not want you to. But, Nicholas, my love, no more can I

give up my life. All right, then, marry me/he said.

Why, Nicholas? So I don't lose my lucky charm, so that you'd damn well

have to do what I tell you. And she laughed delightedly and snuggled

against his chest. It doesn't work like that any more, my fine

Victorian gentleman. There is only one good reason for marrying,

Nicholas, and that's to have babies. Do you want to give me a baby?

What a splendid idea. So that I can warm the bottles and wash the

nappies while you go off to the ends of the oceans - and we'll have

lunch together once a month? She shook her head. We might have a baby

together one day - but not now, there is still too much to do, there is

still too much life to live. Dammit. He shook his head. I don't like

to let you run around loose. Next thing you'll take off with some

twenty-five year-old oaf, bulging with muscles and, You have given me a

taste for vintage wine, she laughed in denial. Come as soon as you can,

Nicholas. As soon as you have done your work here, come to Florida and

I'll show you my life. The hostess crossed the lounge towards them, a

pretty smiling girl in the neat blue Pan Am uniform.

Dr. Silver? They are calling Flight 432 now. They stood and looked at

each other, awkward as strangers.

Come soon/ she said, and then she stood on tiptoe and placed her arms

around his shoulders. Come as soon as you can. Nicholas had protested

vigorously as soon as James Teacher advanced the proposition.

I don't want to speak to him, Mr. Teacher. The only thing I want from

Duncan Alexander is his cheque for six million dollars, preferably

guaranteed by a reputable bank - and I want it before the 10th of next

month. The lawyer had wheedled and lolled Nicholas along.

Think of the pleasure of watching his face - indulge yourself, Mr. Berg,

gloat on him a little. I will obtain no pleasure by watching his face,

off hand I can think of a thousand faces I'd rather watch. But in the

end Nicholas had agreed, stipulating only that this time the meeting

should be at a place of Nicholas choice, an unsubtle reminder of whose

hand now held the whip.

James Teacher's rooms were in one of those picturesque.

stone buildings in the Inns of Court covered with ivy, surrounded by

small velvety lawns, bisected with paved walkways that connected the

numerous blocks, the entire complex reeking with history and tradition

and totally devoid of modern comforts. Its austerity was calculated to

instil confidence in the clients.

Teacher's rooms were on the third floor. There was no elevator and the

stairs were narrow, steep and dangerous.

Duncan Alexander arrived slightly out of breath and flushed under his

tan. Teacher's clerk surveyed him discouragingly from his cubicle.

Mr. who! he asked, cupping his hand to one ear. The clerk was a man as

old, grey and picturesque as the building. He even affected a black

alpaca suit, shiny and greenish with age, together with a butterfly

collar and a black string tie like that last worn by Neville Chamberlain

as he promised peace in our time.

Mr. who? and Duncan Alexander flushed deeper. He was not accustomed to

having to repeat his name.

Do you have an appointment, Mr. Alexander? the clerk inquired frostily,

and laboriously consulted his diary before at last waving Duncan

Alexander through into the spartan waiting-room.

Nicholas kept him there exactly eight minutes, twice as long as he

himself had waited in the board room of Christy Marine, and he stood by

the small electric fire in the fireplace, not answering Duncan's

brilliant smile as he entered.

James Teacher sat at his desk under the windows, out of the direct line

of confrontation, like the umpire at Wimbledon, and Duncan Alexander

barely glanced at him.

Congratulations, Nicholas/ Duncan shook that magnificent head and the

smile faded to a rueful grin. You turned one up for the books, you

truly did. Thank you, Duncan. However, I must warn you that today I

have an impossible schedule to meet, I can give you only ten minutes.

Nicholas glanced at his watch.

Fortunately I can imagine only one thing that you and I have to discuss.

The tenth of next month, either a transfer to the Bermuda account of

Ocean Salvage, or a guaranteed draft by registered airmail to Bach

Wackie. Duncan held up his hand in mock protest. Come now, Nicholas -

the salvage money will be there, on the due date set by the Court.,

That's fine/ Nicholas told him, still smiling. I have no taste for

another brawl in the debtors court. I wanted to remind you of something

that old Arthur Christy once said - Ah! of course, our mutual

father-in-law. Nicholas said softly, and Duncan pretended not to hear;

instead he went on unruffled.

He said, with Berg and Alexander I have put together one of the finest

teams in the world of shipping. The old man was getting senile towards

the end. Nicholas had still not smiled.

He was right, of course. We just never got into step. My God,

Nicholas, can you imagine if we had been working together, instead of

against each other. You the best salt and steel man in the business,

and I I'm touched, Duncan, deeply touched by this new and gratifying

esteem in which I find myself held. You rubbed my nose in it, Nicholas.

Just as you said you would. And I'm the kind of man who learns by his

mistakes, turning disaster to triumph is a trick of mine. 'Play your

trick now, Nicholas invited. Let's see you turn six million dollars

into a flock of butterflies., Six million dollars and Ocean Salvage

would buy you back into Christy Marine. We'd be on equal terms., The

surprise did not show on Nicholas, face, not a flicker of an eyelid, not

even a tightening of the lips, but his mind raced to get ahead of the

man.

Together we would be unstoppable. We would build Christy Marine into a

giant that controlled the oceans, we'd diversify out into ocean oil

exploration, chemical containers. The man had immense presence and

charm, he was almost - but not quite - irresistible, his enthusiasm

brimming and overflowing, his fire flaring and spreading to light the

dingy room, and Nicholas studied him carefully, learning more about him

every second.

Good God, Nicholas, you are the type of man who can conceive of a

venture like the Golden Dawn or salvage a giant tanker in a sub-zero

gale, and I am the man who can put together a billion dollars on a wink

and whistle.

Nothing could stand before us, there would be no frontiers we could not

cross. He paused now and returned Nicholas scrutiny as boldly, studying

the effect of his words. Nicholas lit the cheroot he was holding, but

his eyes watched shrewdly through the fine blue veil of smoke.

I understand what you are thinking, Duncan went on, his voice dropping

confidentially. I know that you are stretched out, I know that you need

those six big M's to keep Ocean Salvage floating. Christy Marine will

guarantee Ocean Salvage outstandings, that's a minor detail. The

important thing is us together, like old Arthur Christy saw it, Berg and

Alexander. Nicholas took the cheroot from his mouth and inspected the

tip briefly before he looked back at him.

Tell me, Duncan, the asked mildly, in this great sharing you envisage,

do we put our women into the kitty also? Duncan's mouth tightened, and

the flesh wrinkled at the corners of his eyes.

Nicholas/ he began, but Nicholas silenced him with a gesture.

You said that I need that six million badly, and you were right. I need

three million of it for Ocean Salvage and the other three to stop you

running that monster you have built. Even if I don't get it, I will

still use it to stop you. I'll slap a garnishee order on you by ten

minutes past nine on the morning of the eleventh. I told you I would

fight you and Golden Dawn. The warning still stands. You are being

petty/ Duncan said. I never expected to see you join the lunatic

fringe. There are many things you do not know about me, Duncan. But,

by God, you are going to learn - the hard way. Chantelle had chosen San

Lorenzo in Beauchamp Place when Nicholas had refused to go again to

Eaton Square, He had learned that it was dangerous to be alone with her,

but San Lorenzo was also a bad choice of meeting-ground.

It carried too many memories from the golden days. It had been a family

ritual, Sunday lunch whenever they were in town. Chantelle, Peter and

Nicholas laughing together at the corner table, Mara had given them the

corner table again.

Will you have the osso bucco? Chantelle asked, peeping at him over the

top of her menu.

Nicholas always had the osso bucco, and Peter always had the lasagne, it

was part of the ritual, I'm going to have a sole. Nicholas turned to the

waiter who was hovering solicitously. And we'll drink the house wine.

Always the wine had been a Sancerre; Nicholas was deliberately

down-grading the occasion by ordering the carafe.

It's good. Chantelle sipped it and then set the glass aside. I spoke

to Peter last night, he is in the san with flu, but he will be up today,

and he sent you his love., Thank you/ he spoke stiffly, stilted by the

curious glances from some of the other tables where they had been

recognized. The scandal would fly around London like the plague.

I want to take Peter to Bermuda with me for part of the Easter holidays/

Nicholas told her.

I shall miss him - he's such a delight. before Nicholas waited for the

main course to be served he asked bluntly, What did you want to speak to

me about? Chantelle leaned towards him, and her perfume was light and

subtle and evocative.

Did you find out anything, Nicholas? No/he thought to himself. 'That's

not what she wants. it was the Persian in her blood, the love of

secrecy, the intrigue. There was something else here.

I have learned nothing/ he said. If I had, I would have called you. His

eyes bored into hers, green and hard and searching. That is not what

you wanted/he told her flatly She smiled and dropped her eyes from his.

No/ she admitted, it wasn't. she had surprising breasts, they seemed

small, but really they were too big for her dainty body. It was only

their perfect proportions and the springy elasticity of the creamy flesh

that created the illusion. She wore a flimsy silk blouse with a low

lacey front, which exposed the deep cleft between them. Nicholas knew

them so well, and he found himself staring at them now.

She looked up suddenly and caught his eyes, and the huge eyes slanted

with a sly heart-stopping sexuality. Her lips pouted softly and she

moistened them with the tip of her tongue.

Nick felt himself sway in his seat, it was a tell-tale mannerism of

hers. That set of lips and movement of tongue were the heralds of her

arousal, and instantly he felt the response of his own body, too

powerful to deny, although he tried desperately.

What was it-" He did not hear the husk in his voice, but she did and

recognized it as readily as he had the flicker Of her tongue. She

reached across the table and took his wrist, and she felt the leap of

his pulse under her fingers.

Duncan wants you to come back into Christy Marine/ she said. And so

Duncan sent you to me. And when she nodded, he asked, 'Why does he want

me back? God knows what pains the two of you took to get rid of me. And

he gently pulled his wrist from her fingers and dropped both hands into

his lap.

I don't know why Duncan wants it. He says that he needs your expertise.

She shrugged, and her breasts moved under the silk. He felt the tense

ache of his groin, it confused his thinking. It isn't the true reason,

I'm sure of that.

But he wants you. Did he ask you to tell me that? Of course not. She

fiddled with the stem of her glass; her fingers were long and perfectly

tapered, the painted nails set upon them with the brilliance of

butterflies wings. It was to come from me alone., Why do you think he

wants me? There are two possibilities that I can imagine. She surprised

him sometimes with her almost masculine appraisal. That was what made

her lapse so amazing; as he listened to her now, Nicholas wondered again

how she could ever have let control of Christy Marine pass to Dun - can

Alexander - then he remembered what a wild and passionate creature she

could be. The first possibility is that Christy Marine owes you six

million dollars, and he has thought up some scheme to avoid having to

pay you Out, Yes, Nicholas nodded. And the other possibility?

There are strange and exciting rumours in the City about you and Ocean

Salvage - they say that you are on the brink of something big. Something

in Saudi Arabia.

Perhaps Duncan wants a share of that, Nicholas blinked. The iceberg

project was something between the Sheikhs and himself, then he

remembered that others knew. Bernard Wackie in Bermuda, Samantha

Silver, James Teacher - there had been a leak somewhere then.

And you? What are your reasons? I have two reasons, Nicholas/ she

answered. I want control back from Duncan. I want the voting rights in

my shares, and I want my rightful place on the Trust. I didn't know

what I was doing, it was madness when I made Duncan my nominee. I want

it back now, and I want you to get it for me. Nicholas smiled, a bitter

wintry smile. You're hiring yourself a gunman, just the way they do in

the Western serials. Duncan and I alone on the deserted street, spurs

clinking. The smile turned to a chuckle, but he was thinking hard,

watching her - was she lying? It was almost impossible to tell, she was

so mysterious and unfathomable. Then he saw tears well in the depths of

those huge eyes, and he stopped laughing. Were the tears genuine, or

all part of the intrigue?

You said you had two reasons. And now his voice was gentler. She did

not answer immediately, but he could see her agitation, the rapid rise

and fall of those lovely breasts under the silk, then she caught her

breath with a little hiss of decision and she spoke so softly that he

barely caught the words.

I want you back. That's the other reason, Nicholas. And he stared at

her while she went on. It was all part of the madness. I didn't

realize what I was doing. But the madness is over now. Sweet merciful

God, you'll never know how much I've missed you. You'll never know how

I've suffered. She stopped and fluttered one small hand.

I'll make it up to you, Nicholas, I swear it to you. But Peter and I

need you, we both need you desperately. He could not answer for a

moment, she had taken him if by surprise and he felt his whole life

shaken again and the separate parts of it tumbled like dice from the cup

of chance.

There is no road back, Chantelle. We can only go forward. I always get

what I want, Nicholas, you know that/ she warned him.

Not this time, Chantelle. He shook his head, but he knew her words

would wear away at him.

Duncan Alexander slumped on the luxurious calf-hide seat of the Rolls,

and he spoke into the telephone extension that connected him directly

with his office in Leadenhall Street.

Were you able to reach Kurt Streicher? he asked.

I'm sorry, Mr. Alexander. His office was unable to contact him. He is

in Africa on a hunting safari. They did not know when to expect him

back in Geneva., Thank you, Myrtle. Duncan's smile was completely

lacking in humour. Streicher was suddenly one of the world's most

industrious sportsmen - last week he had been skiing and was out of

contact, this week he was in Africa slaughtering elephant, perhaps next

week he would be chasing polar bears in the Arctic. And by then, it

would be too late, of course.

Streicher was not alone. Since the salvage award on Golden Adventurer,

so many of his financial contacts had become elusive, veritable

will-o'-the-wisps skipping ahead of him with their cheque books firmly

buttoned into their pockets.

I shall not be back at the office again today, he told his secretary.

Please have my pending tray sent round to Eaton Square. I will work on

it tonight, and do you think you could get in an hour earlier tomorrow

morning? Of course, Mr. Alexander. He replaced the handset and glanced

out of the window.

The Rolls was passing Regent's Park, heading in the direction of St

John's Wood; three times in the last six months he had taken this route,

and suddenly Duncan felt that hot scalding lump deep under his ribs, He

straightened up in his seat but the pain persisted, and he sighed and

opened the rosewood liquor cabinet, spilled a spoonful of the powder

into a glass and topped it with soda-water.

He considered the turbid draught with distaste, then drank it at a gulp.

It left an after-taste of peppermint on his tongue, but the relief was

almost immediate. He felt the acid burn subside, and he belched softly.

He did not need a doctor to tell him that it was a duodenal ulcer,

probably a whole bunch of them - or was that the correct collective

noun, a tribe of ulcers, a convocation? He smiled again, and carefully

combed his brazen waves of hair, watching himself in the mirror.

The strain did not show on his face, he was sure of that.

The facade was intact, devoid of cracks. He had always had the

strength, the courage to ride with his decisions. This had been a hard

ride, however, the hardest of his life.

He closed his eyes briefly, and saw Golden Dawn standing on her ways.

Like a mountain. The vision gave him strength, he felt it rising deep

within him, welling up to fill his soul.

They thought of him only as a money-man, a paper man.

There was no salt in his blood nor steel in his guts - that was what

they said of him in the City. When he had ousted Berg from Christy

Marine, they had shied off, watching him shrewdly, standing aside and

waiting for him to show his guts, forcing him to live upon the fat of

Christy Marine, devouring himself like a camel in the desert, running

him thin.

The bastards, he thought, but it was without rancour.

They had done merely what he would have done, they had played by the

hard rules which Duncan knew and respected, and by those same rules,

once he had shown his guts to be of steel, they would ply him with

largesse. This was the testing time. It was so close now, two months

still to live through - yet those sixty days seemed as daunting as the

hard year through which he had lived already.

The stranding of Golden Adventurer had been a disaster.

Her hull value had formed part of the collateral on which he had

borrowed; the cash she generated with her luxury cruises was budgeted

carefully to carry him through the dangerous times before Golden Dawn

was launched. Now all that had altered drastically. The flow of cash

had been switched off, and he had to find six million in real hard money

- and find it before the 10th of the month. Today was the 6th, and time

was running through his fingers like quicksilver.

If only he had been able to stall Berg. He felt a corrosive welling up

of hatred again; if only he had been able to stall him. The bogus offer

of partnership might have held him just long enough, but Berg had

brushed it aside contemptuously. Duncan had been forced to scurry about

in undignified haste, trying to pull together the money.

Kurt Streicher was not the only one suddenly unavailable, it was strange

how they could smell it on a man, he had the same gift of detecting

vulnerability or weakness in others so he understood how it worked. It

was almost as though the silver blotches showed on his hands and face

and he walked the city pavements chanting the old leper's cry, Unclean,

Beware, Unclean. With so much at stake, it was a piddling amount, six

million for two months, the insignificance of it was an insult, and he

felt the tension in his belly muscles again and the rising hot acid

sting of his digestive juices. He forced himself to relax, glancing

again from the window to find that the Rolls was turning into the

cul-de-sac of yellow-face brick apartments piled upon each other like

hen-coops, angular and unimaginatively lower middle class.

He squared his shoulders and watched himself in the mirror, practising

the smile. It was only six million, and for only two months, he

reminded himself, as the Rolls slid to a halt before one of the

anonymous buildings.

Duncan nodded to his chauffeur as he held the door open and handed

Duncan the pigskin briefcase.

Thank you, Edward. I should not be very long. Duncan took the case and

he crossed the pavement with the long, confident stride of an athlete,

his shoulders thrown back, wearing his top coat like an opera cloak, the

sleeves empty and the tails swirling about his legs, and even in the

grey overcast of a March afternoon, his head shone like a beacon fire.

The man who opened the door to him seemed only half Duncan's height,

despite the tall black Homburg hat that he wore squarely over his ears.

Mr. Alexander, shalom, shalom. His beard was so dense and bushy black

that it covered the starched white collar and white tie, regulation

dress of the strict Hasidic Jew.

Even though you come to me last, you still bring honour on my house/and

his eyes twinkled, a mischievous sparkling black under thick brows.

That is because you have a heart of stone and blood like iced water,

said Duncan, and the man laughed delightedly, as though he had been paid

the highest compliment.

Come, he said, taking Duncan's arm. Come in, let us drink a little tea

together and let us talk. He led Duncan down the narrow corridor, and

halfway they collided with two boys wearing yamulka on their curly heads

coming at speed in the opposite direction.

Ruffians/ cried the man, stooping to embrace them briefly and then send

them on their way with a fond slap on their backsides. Still beaming

and shaking the ringlets that dangled out from under the black Homburg,

he ushered Duncan into a small crowded bedroom that had been converted

to an office. A tall old-fashioned pigeon-holed desk filled one wall

and against the other stood an overstuffed horse-hair sofa on which were

piled ledgers and box files.

The man swept the books aside, making room for Duncan. Be seated, he

ordered, and stood aside while a jolly little woman his size brought in

the teatray.

I saw the award court's arbitration on Golden Adventurer in Lloyd's

List/ the Jew said when they were alone.

Nicholas Berg is an amazing man, a hard act to follow - I think that is

the expression. He pondered, watching the sudden bloom of anger on

Duncan's cheeks and the murderous expression in the pale eyes.

Duncan controlled his anger with an effort, but each time that somebody

spoke that way of Nicholas Berg, he found it more difficult. There was

always the comparison, the snide remarks, and Duncan wanted to stand up

and leave this cluttered little room and the veiled taunts, but he knew

he could not afford to, nor could he speak just yet for his anger was

very close to the surface. They sat in silence for what seemed a long

time.

How much? The man broke the silence at last, and Duncan could not bring

himself to name the figure for it was too closely related to the subject

that had just infuriated him, is not a large amount, and for a short

period - sixty days only. How much?

Six million, Duncan said. Dollars. Six million is not an impossibly

large amount of money, when you have it - but it is a great fortune when

you do not. The man tugged at the thick black bush of his beard.

And sixty days can be an eternity. I have a charter for Golden Dawn/

Duncan said softly.

A ten-year charter. He slipped the nine-carat gold catches on the slim,

finely grained pigskin briefcase and brought out a batch of Xeroxed

sheets. As you see, it is signed by both parties already. Ten years?

asked the man, watching the papers in Duncan's hand.

Ten years, at ten cents a hundred ton miles and a guaranteed minimum

annual Of 7 5,000 miles. The hand on the man's thick black beard

stilled. Golden Dawn has a burden of a million tons - that will gross a

minimum of seventy-five million dollars a year. With an effort he

managed to disguise his awe, and the hand resumed its gentle tugging at

the beard. Who is the charterer? The thick eyebrows formed two thick

black question marks.

Orient Amex, said Duncan, and handed him the Xeroxed papers.

The El Barras field. The man's eyebrows stayed up as he read swiftly.

You are a brave man, Mr. Alexander. But I never once doubted that. He

read on in silence for another minute, shaking his head slowly so that

the ringlets danced on his cheeks. The El Barras field. He folded the

papers and looked up at Duncan. I think Christy Marine may have found a

worthy successor to Nicholas Berg - perhaps the shoes are even a little

small, maybe they will begin to pinch your toes soon, Mr. Alexander. He

squirmed down in his chair thinking furiously, and Duncan watched him,

hiding his trepidation behind a remotely amused halfsmile.

What about the environmentalists, Mr. Alexander? The new American

Administration, this man Carter is very conscious of environmental

dangers., The lunatic fringe/ said Duncan. There is too much invested

already. Orient Amex have nearly a billion in the new cadmium cracking

plants at Galveston, and three of the other oil giants are in it. Let

them fuss, we'll still carry in the new cad-rich crudes. Duncan spoke

with the force of complete conviction.

There is too much at stake, the potential profits are too large and the

opposition is too weak. The whole world is sick of the doom-merchants,

the woolly-headed sentimentalists/ he dismissed them with a short abrupt

gesture.

Man has already adjusted to a little oil on the beaches, a little smoke

in the air, a few less fish in the sea or birds in the sky, and he will

go on adjusting. The man nodded, listening avidly. Yes! he nodded.

You are a brave man. The world needs men like you. The important thing

is a cadmium catalyst cracking system which breaks down the high carbon

atoms of crude and gives back a 80% yield in low carbon instead of the

40% we hope for now. go % yield, double-double profits, double

efficiency - and double danger. The man smiled behind his beard.

There is danger in taking a bath. You might slip and crack your skull,

and we haven't invested a billion dollars in bathing. Cadmium in

concentrations of 100 parts to the million is more poisonous than

cyanide or arsenic; the cad-rich crudes of the EIL Barras field are

concentrated 2000 parts to the million. That's what makes them so

valuable, Duncan nodded, To enrich crude artificially with cadmium would

make the whole cracking process hopelessly uneconomic. We've turned

what appeared to be a hopelessly contaminated oilfield into one of the

most brilliant advances in oil refining. I hope you have not

underestimated the resistance to the transportation of Duncan cut him

short. There will be no publicity. The loading and unloading of the

crude will be conducted with the utmost discretion, and the world will

not know the difference. just another ultra-tanker moving across the

oceans with nothing to suggest that she is carrying cadrich. But, just

suppose the news did leak? Duncan shrugged. The world is conditioned

to accept anything, from DDT to Concorde, nobody really cares any more.

Come hell and high water, we'll carry the El Barras oil. Nobody is

strong enough to stop us. Duncan gathered his papers and went on

softly, I need six million dollars for sixty days - and I need it by

noon tomorrow. You are a brave man! the man repeated softly. But you

are finely stretched out. Already my brothers and I have made a

considerable investment in your courage. To be blunt Mr. Alexander,

Christy Marine has exhausted its collateral. Even Golden Dawn is pawned

down to her last rivet - and the charter for Orient Amex does not change

that. Duncan took another sheaf of papers, bound in a brown folder, and

the man lifted an eyebrow in question.

My personal assets, Duncan explained, and the man skimmed swiftly

through the typed lists.

Paper values, Mr. Alexander. Actual values are 5o'/'O of those you

list, and that is not six million dollars of collateral. He handed the

folder back to Duncan. They will do for a start, but we'll need more

than that. What more is there? Share options, stock options in Christy

Marine. If we are to share risk, then we must have a share of the

winnings. Do you want my soul also? Duncan demanded harshly, and the

man laughed.

We'll take a slice of that as well, the agreed amiably.

It was two hours later that Duncan sank wearily into the leather-work of

the Rolls. The muscles in his thighs trembled as though he had run a

long way and there was a nerve in the corner of his eye that jumped as

though a cricket was trapped beneath the skin. He had made the gamble,

everything - Christy Marine, his personal fortune, his very soul. It

was all at risk now.

Eaton Square, sir? the chauffeur asked.

No! Duncan told him. He knew what he needed now to smooth away the

grinding, destroying tension that wracked his body, but he needed it

quickly without fuss and, like the peppermint-tasting powder, like a

medicine.

The Senator Club in Frith Street, he told the chauffeur.

Duncan lay face down on the massage table in the small green-curtained

cubicle. He was naked, except for the towel, and his body was smooth

and lean. The girl worked up his spine with strong skilled fingers,

finding the little knots of tension in the sleek muscle and unravelling

them.

Do you want the soft massage, sir? she asked.

Yes, he said and rolled on to his back. She lifted away the towel from

around his waist. She was a pretty blonde girl in a short green tunic

with the golden laurel leaf club insignia on the pocket, and her manner

was brisk and business like.

Do you want any extras, sir? Her tone was neutral, and she began to

unbutton the green tunic automatically.

No/ Duncan said, No extras, and closed his eyes, surrendering himself

completely to the touch of her expert fingers.

He thought of Chantelle, feeling the sneaking guilt of the moment, but

it was so seldom these days that he had the energy for her smouldering

demanding Persian passions. He did not have the strength for her, he

was drained and weary, and all he wanted was the release, swift and

simple. In two months time it would be different, he would have the

strength and energy to pick the world up in his bare hands and shake it

like a toy.

His mind was separated from his body, and odd disconnected images

flitted across the red darkness of his closed eyelids. He thought again

how long it had been since last he and Chantelle had made love together,

and he wondered what the world would say if they knew of it.

Nicholas Berg left a big empty place in his bed also, they would say.

The hell with them, Duncan thought, but without the energy for real

anger.

The hell with all of them., And he gave himself up to the explosion of

light that burst against his eyelids and the dark, but too fleeting,

peace that followed it.

Nicholas lay back in the rather tatty old brown leather armchair which

was one of James Teacher's concessions to create comfort and he stared

at the cheap hunting prints on the faded wallpaper through a thin fug of

cheroot smoke, Teacher could have afforded a decent Gaugin or a Turner,

but such vulgar display was frowned on in the Inns of Court. It might

lead prospective clients to ponder the amount of the fees that they were

to be charged.

James Teacher replaced the telephone and stood up behind his desk.

It did not make much difference to his height.

Well, I think we have covered all the entrances to the warren, he

announced cheerfully, and he began to tick off the items on his fingers.

The sheriff of the South African supreme court will serve notice of

attachment on the hull of Golden Adventurer at noon local time tomorrow.

Our French correspondent will do the same on Golden Dawn - He spoke for

three minutes more, and, listening to him, Nicholas reluctantly admitted

to himself that he earned the greater proportion of his enormous fees.

Well, there it is, Mr. Berg. If your hunch is correct It's not a hunch,

Mr. Teacher. It's a certainty. Duncan Alexander has his backside

pinched in the doorway. He's been rushing round the City like a

demented man looking for money. My God, he even tried to stall me with

that incredible offer of a partnership. No, Mr. Teacher, it's not a

hunch. Christy Marine is going to default. I cannot understand that,

Six millions is peanuts/ said James Teacher. At least it's peanuts to a

company like Christy Marine, one of the healthiest shipping owners. It

was, a year ago/ Nicholas agreed grimly. But since then, Alexander has

had a clear run, no checks, it's not a public company, he administers

the shares in the Trust. He drew on his cheroot. I'm going to use this

to force a full investigation of the company's affairs. I'm going to

have Alexander under the microscope and we'll have a close look at all

his pimples and warts. Teacher chuckled and picked up the telephone at

the first ring, Teacher/ he chuckled, and then laughed out loud,

nodding, Yes, and Yes! again. He hung up and turned to Nicholas, his

face bright red with mirth, fat and round as the setting sun.

I have a disappointment for you, Mr. Berg. He guffawed.

An hour ago a transfer was made to the credit of Ocean Salvage in

Bermuda by Christy Marine. How much? Every penny, Mr. Berg. In full

and final payment. Six million and some odd dollars in the legal

currency of the United States of America. Nicholas stared at him,

uncertain as to which of his emotions prevailed - relief at having the

money, or disappointment at being prevented from tearing Duncan

Alexander to shreds.

He's a high roller and very fast on his feet/ said Teacher.

It wouldn't pay to underestimate a man like Duncan Alexander. No, it

would not/ Nicholas agreed quietly, knowing that he had done so more

than once and each time it had cost him dearly.

I wonder if your clerk could find out from British Airways when the next

flight leaves for Bermuda? You are leaving so soon? Will it be in

order to mark my brief and send it direct to Bach Wackie in Bermuda?

Teacher asked delicately.

Bernard Wackie in person was waiting for Nicholas beyond the customs

barrier. He was tall and lean and alert, burned by the sun dark as a

stick of chew tobacco, and dressed in open-neck shirt and cotton

trousers.

Nicholas, it's good to see you. His handshake was hard and dry and

cool. He was under sixty and over forty, it was impossible to get

nearer to his age, I'm taking you directly to the office, there is too

much to discuss. I don't want to waste time. And he took Nicholas arm

and hurried him through burning sunlight into the shivery cold of the

Rolls air-conditioning.

The car was too big for the island's narrow winding roads. Here

ownership of automobiles was restricted to one per family unit, but

Bernard made the most of his rights.

He was one of those men whose combination of energy and brilliance made

it impossible for him to live in England and to subject himself to the

punitive taxes of envy.

It's hard to be a winner, in a society dedicated to the glorification of

the losers/ he had told Nicholas, and had moved his whole operation to

this taxless haven.

To a lesser man it would have been suicide, but Bernard had taken over

the top floor of the Bank of Bermuda building, with a magnificent view

across Hamilton Harbour, and had fitted out with a marine operations

room and a communications system the equal of NATO Command.

From where he offered a service so efficient, so personally involved, so

orientated to every single facet of ship ownership and operation, that

not only had his old clients followed him, but others had come flocking.

No taxes, Nicholas/ he smiled, And look at the view. The picturesque

buildings of Hamilton town were painted in candy colours, strawberries

and limes, plum and lemon and across the bay the cedar trees stood tall

in the sunlight, and the yachts from the pink-painted clubhouse spread

multicoloured sails across green waters. It's better than London in

winter, isn't it?

The same temperature/ said Nicholas, and glanced up at the

air-conditioning.

I'm a hot-blooded man/ Bernard explained, and when his tall nubile

secretary entered to his ring, bearing the Ocean Salvage files like a

high priestess carrying the sacrament, Bernard fell into an awed

silence, concentrating all his attention on her pneumatic bosoms; they

bounced and strained against the laws of gravity as though filled with

helium.

She flashed a dazzling, painted smile at Nicholas as she placed the

files on Bernard's desk, and then she left with her perfectly rounded

buttocks under the tightly tailored skirt, swinging and dancing to a

distant music. She can type too/ Bernard assured Nick with a sigh, and

shook his head as if to clear it, He opened the top file.

Right/he began. The deposit from Christy Marine The money had come in,

and only just in time. The next instalment on Sea Witch was already

forty-eight hours overdue and Atlantique were becoming highly agitated.

Son of a gun/ said Bernard. You would not think six million was an easy

sum of money to get rid of, would you? You don't even have to try/ Nick

agreed. It just spends itself. Then with a scowl, What's this? They've

invoked the escalation clause again, another 3 + 106 % 'Sea Witch's

builders had included a clause that related the contract price to the

index cost of steel and the Union labour rates. They had avoided the

threatened dockyard strike by capitulating to Union demands, and now the

figures came back to Nicholas. They were big fat ugly figures. The

clause was a festering canker to Nicholas draining his strength and

money.

They worked on through the afternoon, paying, paying and paying. Bunkers

and the other running costs of Warlock, interest and capital repayments

on the debts of Ocean Salvage, lawyers fees, agents fees, the six

million whittled away. One of the few payments that gave Nicholas any

pleasure was the 121/2% salvage money to the crew of Warlock. David

Allen's share was almost thirty thousand dollars, Beauty Baker another

twenty-five thousand - Nick included a note with that cheque, Have a

Bundaberg on me! Is that all the payments? Nicholas asked at last.

Isn't it enough," It's enough. Nick felt groggy with jet-lag and from

juggling with figures. What's next? Good news, next. Bernard picked up

the second file. I think I've squared Esso. They hate you, they have

threatened never to use your tugs again, but they are not going to sue.

Nicholas had breached contract when he deserted the Esso tow and ran

south for Golden Adventurer; the breach of contract suit had been

hanging since then, It was a relief to have it aside. Bernard Wackie

was worth every penny of his hire. Okay. Next? It went on for another

six unbroken hours, piled on top of the jet-lag that Nicholas had

accumulated across the Atlantic.

You okay? Bernard asked at last. Nicholas nodded though his eyes felt

like hard-boiled eggs, and his chin was dark and raspy with beard.

You want something to eat? Bernard asked, and then Nick shook his head

and realized that it was dark outside.

Drink? You'll need one for what comes next., Scotch/ Nicholas agreed,

and the secretary brought the tray through, and poured the drinks in

another respectful hush.

That will be all, Mr. Wackie? For now, honey, Bernard watched her go,

and then saluted Nicholas with his glass.

I give you the Golden Prince! And when Nicholas scowled, he went on

swiftly, No, Nicholas, I'm not shafting you. It's for real. You've done

it again, The Sheikhs are fixing to make you an offer. They want to buy

you out, take over the whole show, liabilities, everything. of course,

they'll want you to run it for them - two years, while you train one of

their own men. A hell of a salary/ he went on crisply, and Nicholas

stared at him.

How much? Two hundred grand, plus 21/2% profits. Not the salary,

Nicholas told him. How much are they offering for the company? They

are Arabs, the first offer is just to stir the pot a little. How much?

Nicholas asked impatiently.

The sum of five was delicately mentioned. What do you think they'll go

to? Seven, seven and half - eight, perhaps. Through the fuzz of

fatigue, far off like a lantern in the window on a winter's night,

Nicholas saw the vision of a new life, a life such as Samantha had shown

him. A life uncluttered, uncomplicated, shorn of all but joy and

purpose.

Eight million dollars clear? Nicholas voice was husky, and he tried to

wipe away the fatigue from his stinging eyelids with thumb and

forefinger, Maybe only seven, Bernard demurred, but I'd try for eight.

I'll have another drink, Nicholas said.

That's a splendid idea, Bernard agreed, and rang for his secretary with

an anticipatory sparkle in his eyes.

Samantha wore her hair in twin braids down her back, and hacked-off

denim pants which left her long brown legs bare and exposed a pale

sliver of tight round buttock at each step as she walked away. She had

sandals on her feet and sun-glasses pushed up on top of her head.

I thought you were never coming/she challenged Nick as he stepped

through the barrier at Miami International, He dropped his bag and

fielded her rush against his chest.

She clung to him and he had forgotten the clean, sun-drenched smell of

her hair.

She was trembling with a suppressed eagerness like a puppy, and it was

only when a small quivering sob shook her shoulders that he realized she

was weeping.

Hey now! He lifted her chin, and her eyes were flooded.

She snuffled once loudly.

What's the trouble, little one? I'm just so happy, Samantha told him,

and deeply Nicholas envied the ability to live so near the surface. To

be able to cry with joy seemed to him at that moment to be the supreme

human accomplishment, He kissed her and she tasted salty with tears.

With surprise he felt a choke deep in his own throat.

The jaded airport crowds had to open and trickle around the two of them

like water around a rock, and they were oblivious to it all.

Even when they came out of the building into the Florida sunlight, she

had both arms around his waist, hampering his stride, as she led him to

her vehicle.

Good God! exclaimed Nicholas, and he shied when he saw it. It was a

Chevy van, but its paintwork had been restyled. What's that? 'It's a

masterpiece, she laughed. Isn't it? It was rainbowed, in layers of

vibrant colour and panels of fantastic landscapes and seascapes.

You did that? Nick asked, and he took his dark glasses . from his

breast pocket, and inspected the seagulls and palm trees and flowers

through them.

It's not that bad, she protested. I was bored and depressed without

you. I needed something to brighten my life.

One of the panels depicted the translucent green of a curling wave, and

on the face of the wave a pair of human figures on Hawaii boards and a

graceful dolphin shape flew in formation together. Nick leaned closer

and barely recognized the male figure as himself each detail of the

features had been rendered with loving attention, and he came out of it

looking something between Clark Gable and Superman - only a little more

glamorous.

From memory/ she said proudly.

It's tremendous/ he told her. But I've got bigger biceps, and I'm more

beautiful. Despite the wild choice of colour and the romantic style, he

realized she had real talent.

You don't expect me to ride in that - what if one of my creditors saw

me! Get your mind out of its stiff collar and blue suit, mister.

You have just signed on for the voyage to never-never land by way of the

moon. Before she started the engine she looked at him seriously out of

those great shining green eyes.

How long, Nicholas? she asked. How long have we got together this

time? Ten days/ he told her. Sorry, but I must be back in London by

the 25th. There is a big one coming up, the big one. I'll tell you

about it. No. She covered her ears with both hands. I don't want to

hear about it, not yet. She drove the Chevy with careless unforced

skill, very fast and efficiently, acknowledging the homage of other male

drivers with a grin and a shake of her braids.

When she slipped off highway 9 5 and parked in the lot of a supermarket,

Nicholas raised an eyebrow.

Food/ she explained, and then with a lascivious roll of her eyes, 'I

reckon to get mighty hungry later. She chose steaks, a bag full of

groceries and a jug of California Riesling, and would not let him pay.

"In this town, you are my guest. Then she paid the toll and took the

Rickenbacker causeway across the water to Virginia Key.

That's the marine division of the University of Miami and that's my lab

at the top of the jetty, just beyond that white fishing boat - see it?

The low buildings were crowded into a corner of the island, between the

sea-quarium and the wharves and jetties of the University's town lie the

harbour.

We aren't stopping/ Nicholas observed, Are you kidding? she laughed at

him, I don't need a controlled scientific environment for the experiment

I am about to conduct. And with no diminution of speed, the Chevy flew

across the long bridge between Virginia Key and Key Biscayne, and three

miles on she turned off sharply left on a narrow dirt track that twisted

through a lush tropical maritime forest of banyan and palmetta and palm,

and ended at a clapboard shack just above the water.

I live close to the shop/ Samantha explained, as she clattered up on to

the screened porch, her arms full of groceries.

This is yours? Nicholas asked. He could just make out the tops of big

blocks of condominiums on each side; they were incompletely screened by

the palms.

Pa left it to me. He bought it the year I was born/ Samantha explained

proudly. My ground stretches from there to there. A few hundred yards,

but Nicholas realized the value of it. Everybody in the world wants to

live on the water, and those condominiums were pressing in closely.

It must be worth a million. There is no price on it, she said firmly.

That's what I tell those awful sweaty little men with their big cigars.

Pa left it to me and it's not for sale. She had the door open now,

bumping it with her denim-clad backside.

Don't just stand there, Nicholas/ she implored him.

We've only got ten days. He followed her into the kitchen as she dumped

her load into the sink, and whirled back to him.

Welcome by my house, Nicholas/ and then as she slid her arms around his

waist, jerked his shirt tails out of his belt and slid her hands up his

bare back, You'll never know just how welcome. Come, let me show you

around this is the living-room. It had spartan furniture, with Indian

rugs and pottery, and Samantha's chopped-off denims were discarded in

the centre of the floor along with Nicholas shirt.

,And this - surprise! surprise - is the bed-room. She dragged him by

one hand, and under the short tee-shirt her bottom reminded him of a

chipmunk with its cheeks stuffed with nuts, chewing vigorously.

The tiny bedroom overlooked the beach. The sea breeze fluffed out the

curtains and the sound of the low surf breathed like a sleeping giant, a

deep regular hiss and sigh that filled the air around them.

The bed was too big for the room, all ornate antique brass, with a

cloudy soft mattress and an old-fashioned patchwork quilt in a hundred

coloured and patterned squares.

I don't think I could have lived another day without you/ she said, and

unwound the thick plaits of her hair.

You came like the cavalry, in the very nick of time. He reached up and

took the golden tresses of hair, winding them thickly around his wrist,

twining them in his fingers, and he pulled her gently down beside him.

Suddenly Nick's life was uncluttered and simple again.

Suddenly he was young and utterly carefree again. The petty strivings,

the subterfuge, the lies and the cheating did not exist in this little

universe that encompassed a tiny wooden shack on the edge of the ocean,

and a huge brass bed that clanged and rattled and banged and squeaked

wholesale, the completely abandoned happiness that was the special

miracle called Samantha Silver.

Samantha's laboratory was a square room, built on piles over the water,

and the soft hum of the electric pumps blended with the slap of the

wavelets below and the burble and blurp of the tanks.

This is my kingdom/ she told him. And these are my subjects. There were

almost a hundred tanks, like the small glass-sided aquaria for goldfish,

and suspended over each of them was a complicated arrangement of coils

and bottles and electric wiring.

Nick sauntered across to the nearest of the tanks and peered into it. It

contained a single large salt-water clam; the animal was feeding with

the double shells agape, the pink soft flesh and frilly gills rippling

and undulating in the gentle flow of pumped and filtered sea water. To

each half of the shell, thin copper wires were attached with blobs of

polyurethane cement.

Samantha came to stand beside him, touching, and he asked her/What's

happening? She touched a switch and immediately the cylindrical scroll

above the tank began to revolve slowly and a stylus, after a few

preliminary jerks and quivers, began to trace out a regular pattern on

the paper scroll, a trough and double peak, the second a fraction lower

than the first, and then the trough again.

She said, He's wired and bugged. You're a member of the CIA/he accused.

And she laughed. His heart-beat. I'm passing an electric impulse

through the heart - the heart is only a millimetre across - but each

spasm changes the resistance and moves the stylus. She studied the

curve for a moment. This fellow is one very healthy cheerful Spisula

solidissima. Is that his name? Nick asked. I thought he was a clam.

One of fifteen thousand bivalves who use that common generic/ she

corrected I had to pick an egghead/ said Nicholas ruefully. But what's

so interesting about his heart? It's the closest and cheapest thing to

a pollution metre that we have discovered so far - or rather, she

corrected herself without false modesty, that I have discovered. She

took his hand and led him down the long rows of tanks. They are

sensitive, incredibly sensitive to any contamination of their

environment, and the heart-beat will register almost immediately any

foreign element or chemical, organic or otherwise, in such low

concentrate that it would take a highly trained specialist with a

spectroscope to detect otherwise. Nicholas felt his mild attention

changing and growing into real interest as Samantha began to prepare

samples of common pollutants on the single bench against the fore-wall

of the cluttered little laboratory.

Here/ she held up one test tube, aromatic carbons, the more poisonous

elements of crude petroleum - and here" she indicated the next tube,

mercury in a concentration of 100 parts to the million. Did you see the

photographs of the human vegetables and the Japanese children with the

flesh falling off their bones at Kiojo? That was mercury.

Lovely stuff. She picked up another tube. PCB, a by-product of the

electrical industry, the Hudson River is thick with it. And these,

tetrahydrofurane, cyclohexane, methylbenzene - all industrial

by-products but don't let the fancy names throw you. One day they will

come back to haunt us , in newspaper headlines, as THF or CMB - one day

there will be other human cabbages and babies born without arms or legs.

She touched the other tubes. Arsenic, old-fashioned Agatha Christie

vintage poison. And then here is the real living and breathing bastard

daddy of them all - this is cadmium; as a sulphide so it's easily

absorbed. In 100 parts to the million it's as lethal as a neutron

bomb., While he watched, she carried the tray of tubes across to the

tanks and set the ECG monitors running. Each began to record the normal

double-peaked heart-beat of a healthy clam.

Now, she said, watch this. Under controlled conditions, she began to

drip the weak poisoned solutions into the reticulated water systems, a

different solution to each of the tanks.

These concentrations are so low that the animals will not even be aware

of trauma, they will continue to feed and breed without any but

long-term indications of systemic poisoning. Samantha was a different

person, a cool quick-thinking professional. Even the white dust-coat

that she had slipped over her tee-shirt altered her image and she had

aged twenty years in poise and authority as she passed back and forth

along the row of tanks.

There/ she said, with grim satisfaction as the stylus on one recording

drum made a slightly double beat at its peak and then just delectably

flattened the second peak.

Typical aromatic carbon reaction. The distorted heart-beat was repeated

endlessly on the slowly turning drum, and she passed on to the next

tank.

See the pulse in the trough, see the fractional speeding up of the heart

spasm" That's cadmium in ten parts to the million, at 100 parts it will

kill all sea life, at five hundred it will kill man slowly, at seven

hundred parts in air or solution it will kill him very quickly indeed.

Nicholas interest became total fascination, as he helped Samantha record

the experiments and control the flow and concentration in the tanks.

Slowly they the dosage of each substance and the moving stylus

dispassionately recorded the increasing distress and the final

convulsions and spasmodic throes that preceded death.

Nicholas voiced the tickle of horror and revulsion he felt at watching

the process of degeneration.

It's macabre. Yes . She stood back from the tanks. Death always is.

But these organisms have such rudimentary nervous systems that they

don't experience pain as we know it. She shuddered slightly herself and

went on. But imagine an entire ocean poisoned like one of these tanks,

imagine the incredible agonies of tens of millions of sea birds, of the

mammals, seals and porpoises and whales. Then think of what would

happen to man himself - Samantha shrugged off her white dust-coat.

Now I'm hungry, she announced, and then looking up at the fibreglass

panels in the roof, No wonder! It's dark already! While they cleaned

and tidied the laboratory, and made a last check of the pumps and

running equipment, Samantha told him, In five hours we have tested over

a hundred and fifty samples of contaminated water and got accurate

indications of nearly fifty dangerous substances - at a probable cost of

fifty cents a sample. She switched out the lights. To do the same with

a gas spectroscope would have cost almost ten thousand dollars and taken

a highly specialized team two weeks of hard work. It's a hell of a

trick/ Nicholas told her. You're a clever lady - I'm impressed, I

really am. At the psychedelic Chevy van she stopped him, and in the

light of the street lamp looked up at him guiltily.

Do you mind if I show you off, Nicholas? What does that mean? he asked

suspiciously.

The gang are eating shrimps tonight, Then they'll sleep over on the boat

and have the first shot at fish tagging tomorrow - but we don't have to

go. We could just get some more steaks and another jug of wine. But he

could see she really wanted to go.

She was fifty -five foot, an old purse-seiner with the ungainly

wheelhouse forward looking like a sentry box or an old-fashioned pit

latrine. Even with her coat of new paint, she had an old-fashioned

look.

She was tied up at the end of the University jetty, and as they walked

out to her, so they could hear the voices and the laughter coming up

from below decks.

Tricky Dicky/Nicholas read her name on the high ugly rounded stern.

But we love her/ Samantha said, and led him across the narrow, rickety

gangplank. She belongs to the University.

She's only one of our four research vessels. The others are all fancy

modern ships, two-hundred-footers, but the Dicky is our boat for short

field trips to the gulf or down the Keys, and she's also the faculty

clubhouse. The main cabin was monastically furnished, bare planking and

hard benches, a single long table, but it was as crowded as a

fashionable discotheque, packed solid with sunburned young people, girls

and boys all in faded jeans and tee-shirts, impossible to judge sexes by

clothing or by the length of their sun-tortured and wind-tangled hair.

The air was thick with the rich smell of broiling gulf shrimps and

molten butter, and there were gallon jugs of California wine on the

table.

Hey! Samantha shouted above the uproar of voices raised in heated

dispute and jovial repartee. This is Nicholas. A comparative silence

descended on the gathering, and they looked him over with the curious

veiled group hostility of any tribe for an interloper, an intruder in a

closed and carefully guarded group. Nick returned the scrutiny calmly,

met each pair of eyes, while realizing that despite the affected

informality of their dress and some of the wildly unkempt hairstyles and

the impressive profusion of beards, they were an elite group. There was

not a face that was not intelligent, not a pair of eyes that was not

alert and quick, and there was that special feeling of pride and self

confidence in all of them.

At the head of the table sat a big impressive figure, the oldest man in