Hungry as the Sea

the cabin, perhaps Nick's age or a little older, for there were silver

strands in his beard and his face was lined and beaten by sun and wind

and time.

Hi, Nick, he boomed. I won't pretend we've never heard of you.

Sam has given us all cauliflower ears You cut that out, Tom Parker/

Samantha stopped him sharply, and there was a ripple of laughter, a

relaxation of tension and a casual round of greetings.

Hi, Nick, I'm Sally-Anne. A pretty girl with china-blue eyes behind

wire-framed spectacles put a heavy tumbler of wine into his hand.

We are short of glasses, guess you and Sam will have to share She slid

up along the bench and gave them a few inches of space and Samantha

perched in Nicholas lap. The wine was a rough fighting red, and it

galloped, booted and spurred across his palate but Samantha sipped her

share with the same relish as if it had been a S 3 ChAteau Lafitte, and

she nuzzled Nicholas ear and whispered: Tom is prof of the Biology

Department, he's a honey.

After you - he's my most favourite man in the world. A woman came

through from the galley, carrying a huge platter piled high with bright

pink shrimps and a bowl of molten butter. There was a roar of applause

for her as she placed the dishes in the centre of the table, and they

fell upon the food with unashamed gusto, The woman was tall with dark

hair in braids and a strong capable face, lean and supple in tight

breeches, but she was older than the other women and she paused beside

Tom Parker and draped one arm across his shoulders in a comfortable

gesture of long-established affection.

That's Antoinette, his wife. The woman heard her name and smiled across

at them, and with dark gentle eyes she studied Nicholas and then nodded

and made the continental O of thumb and forefinger at Samantha, before

slipping back into the galley.

The food did not inhibit the talk, the lively contentious flow of

discussion that swung swiftly from banter to deadly back again, bright

trained informed minds seriousness and clicking and cannoning off each

other with the crispness of ivory billiard balls, while at the same time

buttery fingers ripped the whiskered heads off the shrimps, delving for

the crescent of sweet white flesh, then leaving greasy fingerprints on

the wine tumblers.

As each of them spoke, Samantha whispered their names and credentials.

Hank Petersen, he's doing a PhD on the blue-fill tuna - spawning and a

trace of its migratory routes.

He's the one running the tagging tomorrow.

That's Michelle Rand, she's on loan from UCLA, and she's porpoises and

whales. Then suddenly they were all discussing indignantly a rogue

tanker captain who the week before had scrubbed his tanks n the middle

of the Florida straits and left a thirty-mile slick down the Gulf

Stream, He had done it under cover of night, and changed course as soon

as he was into the Atlantic proper.

We finger-printed him, Tom Parker like an angry bear, we had him made,

dead in the cross hairs. Nick knew he was talking of the

finger-printing of oil residues, the breakdown of samples of the slick

under gas spectroscopy which could match them exactly to the samples

taken by the Coast Guard from the offender's tanks. The identification

was good enough to bear up in an international court of law. But the

trick is getting the son-of-a-bitch into court. Tom Parker went on. 'He

was fifty miles outside our territorial waters by the time the Coast

Guard got to him, and he's registered in Liberia. We tried to cover

cases like that in the set of proposals I put up to the last maritime

conference. Nick joined the conversation for the first time. He told

them of the difficulties of legislating on an international scale, of

policing and bringing to justice the blatant transgressors; then he

listed for them what had been done so far, what was in process and

finally what he believed still should be done to protect the seas.

He spoke quietly, succinctly, and Samantha noticed again, with a swell

of pride, how all men listened when Nicholas Berg talked. The moment he

paused, they came at him from every direction, using their bright young

minds like scalpels, tearing into him with sharp lancing questions. He

answered them in the same fashion, sharp and hard, armed with total

knowledge of his subject, and he saw the shift in the group attitude,

the blooming of respect, the subtle opening of ranks to admit him, for

he had spoken the correct passwords and they recognized him as one of

their own number, as one of the elite.

At the head of the table, Tom Parker sat and listened, nodding and

frowning, sitting in judgement with his arm around Antoinette's slim

waist and she stood beside him and played idly with a curl of thick wiry

hair on the top of his head.

Tom Parker found fish forty miles offshore where the Gulf Stream was

setting blue and warm and fast into the north.

The birds were working, falling on folded wings down the backdrop of

cumulonimbus storm clouds that bruised the horizon. The birds were

bright, white pinpoints of light as they fell, and they struck the dark

blue water with tiny explosions of white spray, and went deep. Seconds

later they popped to the surface, stretching their necks to force down

another morsel into their distended crops, before launching into flight

again, climbing in steep circles against the sky to join the hunt again.

There were hundreds of them and they swirled and fell like snowflakes.

Anchovy/grunted Tom Parker, and they could see the agitated surface of

the water under the bird flock where the frenzied bait-fish churned.

Could be bonito working under them. No" said Nick. They are blues. You

sure? Tom grinned a challenge.

The way they are bunching and holding the bait-fish, it's tuna, Nick

repeated.

Five bucks? Tom asked, as he swung the wheel over, and Tricky Dicky's

big diesel engine boomed as she went on to the top of her speed.

You're on/ Nick grinned back at him, and at that moment, they both saw a

fish jump clear. It was a brilliant shimmering torpedo, as long as a

man's arm. It went six feet into the air, turned in flight and hit the

water again with a smack they heard clearly above the diesel.

Blues/ said Nick flatly. Shoal blues - they'll go twenty pounds each.

Five bucks/ Tom grunted with disgust. Son of a gun, I don't think I can

afford you, man/ and he delivered a playful punch to the shoulder which

rattled Nick's teeth, then he turned to the open window of the

wheelhouse and bellowed out on to the deck, Okay, kids, they are blues.,

There was a scramble and chatter of excitement as they rushed for lines

and tagging poles. It was Hank's show, he was the blue-fill tunny

expert, he knew as much about their sex habits, their migratory routes

and food chains as any man living but when it came to catching them,

Nick observed drily, he could probably do a better job as a blacksmith.

Tom Parker was no fisherman either. He ran down the shoal, charging

Tricky Dicky through the centre of it, scattering birds and fish in

panic - but by sheer chance one of the gang in the stern hooked in, and

after a great deal of heaving and huffing and shouted encouragement from

his peers, dragged a single luckless baby blue-fill tuna over the rail.

It skittered and jumped around the deck, its tail hammering against the

planking, pursued by a shrieking band of scientists who slid and slipped

in the fish slime, knocked each other down and finally cornered the fish

against the rail. The first three attempts to affix the plastic tag

were unsuccessful, Hank's lunges with the dart pole becoming wilder as

his frustration mounted. He almost succeeded in tagging Samantha's

raised backside as she knelt on the deck trying to cradle the fish in

both arms.

You do this often? Nicholas asked mildly.

First time with this gang/ Tom Parker admitted sheepishly. 'Thought

you'd never guess. By now the triumphant band was solicitously

returning the fish to the sea, the barbed dart of the plastic tag

embedded dangerously near its vitals; and if that didn't eventually kill

it, the rough handling probably would. It had pounded its head on the

deck so heavily that blood oozed from the gill covers, It floated away,

belly up on the stream oblivious of Samantha's anguished cries of: Swim,

fish, get in there and swim! Mind if we try it my way? Nick asked, and

Tom relinquished command without a struggle.

Nicholas picked the four strongest and best coordinated of the young

men, and gave them a quick demonstration and lecture on how to handle

the heavy handlines with the Japanese feather lures, showing them how to

throw the bait, and the recovery with an underhand flick that recoiled

the line between the feet. Then he gave each a station along the

starboard rail, with the second remember of each team ready with a

tagging pole and Hank Petersen on the roof of the wheel-house to record

the fish taken and the numbers of the tags.

They found another shoal within the hour and Nicholas circled up on it,

closing steadily at good trolling speed, helping the feeding tuna bunch

the shoal of frenzied anchovy on the surface, until he could lock Tricky

Dicky's wheel hard down starboard and leave her to describe her own

sedate circles around the shoal. Then he hurried out on to the deck.

The trapped and surrounded fish thrashed the surface until it boiled

like a porridge of molten, flashing silver; through it drove the fast

dark torpedoes of the hungry tuna.

Within minutes Nick had his four fishermen working to the steady rhythm

of throwing the lures into the frothing water, almost instantly striking

back on the line as a tuna snatched the feathers, and then swinging hand

over head, recovering and coiling line fast with minimum effort,

swinging the fish out and up with both hands and then catching its

streamlined body under the left armpit like a quarter back picking up a

long pass, clamping it there firmly, although the cold firm silver

bullet shape juddered and quivered and the tail beat in a blur of

movement. Then he taught them to slip the hook from the jaw, careful

not to damage the vulnerable gills, holding the fish firmly but gently

while the assistant pressed the barbed dart into the thick muscle at the

back of the dorsal fill. When the fish was dropped back over the side,

there were so few after-affects that it almost immediately began feeding

again on the packed masses of tiny anchovies.

Each plastic tag was numbered and imprinted with a request in five

languages to mail it back to University of Miami with details of date

and place of capture, providing a valuable trace of the movements of the

shoals in their annual circumnavigation of the globe. From their

spawning grounds somewhere in the Caribbean they worked the Gulf Stream

north and cast across the Atlantic, then south down and around the Cape

of Good Hope with an occasional foray down the length of the

Mediterranean Sea although now the dangerous pollution of that

landlocked water was changing their habits, From Good Hope east again

south of Australia to take a gigantic swing up and around the Pacific,

running the gauntlet of the Japanese long-liners and the California

tunny men before ducking down under the terrible icy seas of the Horn

and back to their spawning grounds in the Caribbean.

They sat up on the wheelhouse as the Dicky ran home in the sunset,

drinking beer and talking. Nicholas studied them casually and saw that

they possessed so many of the qualities he valued in his fellow humans;

they were intelligent and motivated, they were dedicated and free of

that particular avarice that mars so many others.

Tom Parker crumpled the empty beer can in a huge fist as easily as if it

had been a paper packet, fished two more from the pack beside him and

tossed one across to Nick.

The gesture seemed to have some special significance and Nicholas

saluted him with the can before he drank.

Samantha was snuggled down in luxurious weariness against his shoulder,

and the sunset was a magnificence of purple and hot molten crimson.

Nicholas thought idly how pleasant it would be to spend the rest of his

life doing things like this with people like these.

Tom Parker's office had shelves to the ceiling, and they were sagging

with hundreds of bottled specimens and rows of scientific papers and

publications.

He sat well back in his swivel chair with ankles crossed neatly in the

centre of the cluttered desk.

I ran a check on you, Nicholas. Damned nerve, wasn't it? You have my

apology. Was it an interesting exercise? Nicholas asked mildly.

It wasn't difficult. You have left a trail behind you like a - Tom

sought for a comparison, like a grizzly bear through a honey farm.

Son of a gun, Nicholas, that's a hell of a track record you've got

yourself. I've kept busy/ Nicholas admitted.

Beer? Tom crossed to the refrigerator in the corner that was labelled

Zoological Specimens. DO NOT OPEN. It's too early for me. 'Never too

early, said Tom and pulled the tag on a dewy can of Millers and then

picked up Nicholas statement.

Yes, you have kept busy. Strange, isn't it, that around some men things

just happen. Nicholas did not reply, and Tom went on, We need a man

around here who can do. It's all right thinking it out, then you need

the catalyst to transform thought and intention into action. Tom sucked

at the can and then licked the froth off his mustache. I know what you

have done, I've heard you speak, I've seen you move, and those things

count. But most important of all, I know you care.

I've been watching you carefully, Nick, and you really care, down deep

in your guts, the way we do. It sounds as though you're offering me a

job, Tom. I'm not going to horse around, Nick, I am offering you a job.

He waved a huge paw, like a bunch of broiled pork sausages.

Hell, I know you're a busy man, but I'd like to romance you into an

associate professorship. We'd want a little of your time when it came

to hassling and negotiating up in Washington, we'd call for you when we

needed real muscle to put our case, when we need the right contacts,

somebody with a big reputation to open doors, when we need a man who

knows the practical side of the oceans and the men that use them and

abuse them.

We need a man who is a hard-headed businessman, who knows the economics

of sea trade, who has built and run tankers, who knows that human need

is of paramount importance, but who can balance the human need for

protein and fossil fuels against the greater danger of turning the

oceans into watery deserts. Tom lubricated his throat with beer,

watching shrewdly for some reaction from Nicholas, and when he received

no encouragement, he went on more persuasively. We are specialists,

perhaps we have the specialist's narrow view; God knows, they think of

us as sentimentalists, the lunatic fringe of doom-sayers, long-haired

intellectual hippies. What we need is a man with real clout in the

establishment, - shit, Nicholas, if you walked into a Congressional

committee they'd really jerk out of their geriatric trance and switch on

their hearing-aids. Nicholas was silent still and Tom was becoming

desperate. What can we offer in return? I know you aren't short of

cash, and it would be a lousy twelve thousand a year, but an associate

professorship is a nice title. We start out holding hands with that.

Then we might start going steady, a full professorship - chair of

applied oceanology, or some juicy title like that which we'd think up. I

don't know what else we can offer you, Nick, except perhaps the warm

good feeling in your guts when you're doing a tough job that has to be

done. He stopped again, running out of words, and he wagged his big

shaggy head sadly.

You aren't interested, are you? he asked.

Nick stirred himself. When do I start? he asked, and as Tom's face

split into a great beaming grin, Nick held out his hand. I think I'll

take that beer now.

The water was cool enough to be invigorating. Nick and Samantha swam so

far out that the land was almost lost in the lowering gloom of dusk, and

then they turned and swam back side by side. The beach was deserted; in

their mood, the lights of the nearest condominiums were no more

intrusive than the stars, the faint sound of music and laughter no more

intrusive than the cry of gulls.

it was the right time to tell her, and he did it in detail beginning

with the offer by the Sheikhs to buy out Ocean Salvage and Towage.

Will you sell," she asked quietly. You won't will you," For seven

million dollars clear? the asked. Do you know how much money that is,"

I can't count that far/ she admitted. But what would you do if you

sold? I cannot imagine you playing bowls or golf for the rest of your

life. Part of the deal is that I run Ocean Salvage for them for two

years, and then I've been offered a part-time assignment which will fill

any spare time I've got left over. What is it? 'Associate Professor at

Miami University. She stopped dead and dragged him around to face her.

You're having me on! she accused.

That's a start only/ he admitted. in two years or so, when I've

finished with Ocean Salvage, there may be a full chair of applied

oceanology. It's not true! she said, and took him by the arms, shaking

him with surprising strength.

Tom, wants me to ram-rod the applied aspects of the environmental

research. I'll trouble-shoot with legislators and the maritime

conference, a sort of hired gun for the Green-Peacers Oh Nicholas,

Nicholas" Sweet Christ! he accused. You're crying again. I can't help

it. She was in his arms still wet and cold and gritty with beach sand.

She clung to him, quivering with joy. Do you know what this means,

Nicholas?

You don't, do you? You just don't realize what this means. Tell me/he

invited. What does it mean? What it means is that, in future, we can

do everything together, not just munch food and go boom in bed - but

everything, work and play and, and live together like a man and woman

should! She sounded stunned and frightened by the magnitude of the

vision.

The prospect daunts me not at all/he murmured gently, and lifted her

chin. They washed off the salt and the sand, crowding together into the

thick, perfumed steam of the shower cubicle and afterwards they lay

together on the patchwork quilt in the darkness with the sound of the

sea as background music to the plans and dreams they wove together.

Every time they both descended to the very frontiers of sleep, one of

them would think of something vitally important and prod the other awake

to say it.

I've got to be in London on Tuesday. Don't spoil it all, now/she

murmured sleepily.

And then we're launching Sea Witch on the 7th April. I'm not listening/

she whispered. I've got my fingers in my ears. Will you launch her - I

mean break the bottle of bubbly and bless her? I've just taken my

fingers out again. Jules would love it. Nicholas, I cannot spend my

life commuting across the Atlantic, not even for you. I've got work to

do. Peter will be there, I'll work that as a bribe. 'That's unfair

pressure, she protested.

Will you come?

You know I will, you sexy bastard. I wouldn't miss it for all the

world. She moved across the quilt and found his ear with her lips. I

am honoured. Both of you are sea witches/ Nick told her.

And you are my warlock. Sea witch and warlock/he chuckled. 'Together we

will work miracles. Look, I know it's terribly forward of me, but

seeing that we are both wide awake, and it's only two o'clock in the

morning I would be super ultra-grateful if you could work one of your

little miracles for me right now., It will be a great pleasure/ Nick

told her.

Nicholas was early, he saw as he came out of the American Consulate and

glanced at his Rolex, so he moderated his pace across the Place de la

Concorde, despite the gentle misty rain that settled in minute droplets

on the shoulders of his trench coat, Lazarus was at the rendezvous ahead

of him, standing under one of the statues in the corner of the square

closest to the French Naval headquarters.

He was heavily muffled against the cold, dressed all in sombre blue with

a long cashmere scarf wound around his throat and a dark blue hat pulled

down so low as to conceal the pale smooth bulge of his forehead, Let's

find a warm place/Nick suggested, without greeting the little man.

No, said Lazarus, looking up at him through the thick distorting lenses

of his spectacles. Let us walk. And he led the way through the

underpass on to the promenade above the embankment of the Seine, and set

off in the direction of the Petit Palais.

In the middle of such an inclement afternoon they were the only

strollers, and they walked in silence three or four hundred yards while

Lazarus satisfied himself absolutely of this, and while he adjusted his

mincing little steps to Nick's stride. It was like taking

Toulouse-Lautrec for a stroll, Nick smiled to himself . Even when

Lazarus began speaking, he kept glancing back over his shoulder, and

once when two bearded Algerian students in combat jackets overtook them,

he let them get well ahead before he went on.

You know there will be nothing in writing? he piped.

I have a recorder in my pocket, Nick assured him.

Very well, you are entitled to that. Thank you, murmured Nick dryly.

Lazarus paused, it was almost as though a new reel was being fitted into

the computer, and when he began talking again, his voice had a different

timbre, a monotonous almost electronic tone, as though he was indeed an

automaton.

First, there was a recital of share movements in the thirty-three

companies which make up the Christy Marine complex, every movement in

the previous eighteen months.

The little man reeled them off steadily, as though he were actually

reading from the share registers of the companies. He must have had

access, Nicholas realized, to achieve such accuracy. He had the date,

the number of the shares, the transferor and transferee, even the

transfer of shares in Ocean Salvage and Towage to Nicholas himself, and

the reciprocal transfer of Christy Marine stock, was faithfully

detailed, confirming the accuracy of Lazarus other information. It was

all an impressive exhibition of total knowledge and total recall, but

much too complicated for Nicholas to make any sense of it. He would

have to study it carefully. All that he would hazard was that somebody

was putting up a smoke-screen.

Lazarus stopped on the corner of the Champs Elyses and the rue de la

Boetie. Nicholas glanced down at him and saw his shapeless blob of a

nose was an unhealthy purplish pink in the cold, and that his breathing

had coarsened and laboured with the exertion of walking. Nick realized

suddenly that the little man was probably asthmatic, and as if to

confirm this, he took a little silver and turquoise pill-box from his

pocket and slipped a single pink capsule into his mouth before leading

Nicholas into the foyer of a movie house and buying two tickets.

It was a porno movie, a French version of Deep Throat entitled Gorge

Profonde. The print was scratched and the French dubbing was out of

synchronization. The cinema was almost empty, so they found two seats

in isolation at the rear of the stalls.

Lazarus stared unblinkingly at the screen, as he began the second part

of his report. This was a detailed breakdown of cash movements within

the Christy Marine Group, and Nick was again amazed at the man's

penetration.

He drew a verbal picture of the assemblage of enormous sums of money,

marshalled and channelled into orderly flows by a master tactician. The

genius of Duncan Alexander was as clearly identifiable as that

flourishing signature with the flamboyant A and X which Nicholas had

seen him dash off with studied panache. Then suddenly the cash-flow was

not so steady and untroubled, there were eddies and breaks, little gaps

and inconsistencies that nagged at Nicholas like the false chimes of a

broken clock.

Lazarus finished this section of his report with a brief summation of

the Group's cash and credit position as at a date four days previously

and Nicholas realized that the doubts were justified. Duncan had run the

Group out along a knife-edge.

Nicholas sat hunched down in the threadbare velvet seat, both hands

thrust into the pockets of his trenchcoat, watching the incredible feats

of Miss Lovelace on the screen, without really seeing them, while beside

him Lazar-us took an aerosol can from his pocket, screwed a nozzle on to

it and noisily sprayed a fine mist down his own throat. It seemed to

relieve him almost immediately.

Insurance and marine underwriting of vessels owned by the Christy Marine

Group of companies. He began again with names and figures and dates,

and Nicholas picked up his own trend. Duncan was using hi aptive

company, London and European Insurance and Banking, to lead the risk on

all his vessels, and then he was reinsuring in the marketplace,

spreading part of the risk, but carrying a whacking deductible himself,

the principle of self-insurance that Nicholas had opposed so vigorously,

and which had rebounded so seriously upon Duncan's head with the salvage

of Golden Adventurer.

The last of the vessels in Lazarus recital was Golden Dawn, and Nicholas

shifted restlessly in his seat at the mention of the name, and almost

immediately he realized that something strange was taking place.

Christy Marine did not apply for a Lloyd's survey of this vessel.

Nicholas knew that already. But she has been rated first class by the

continental surveyors. It was a much easier rating to obtain, and

consequently less acceptable than the prestigious at Lloyd's.

Lazarus went on, lowering his voice slightly as another patron entered

the almost deserted cinema and took a seat two rows in front of them.

,And insurance has been effected outside Lloyd's. The risk was led by

London and European Insurance. Again, Duncan was self-insuring,

Nicholas noted grimly, but not all of it. And further lines were

written by - Lazarus listed the other companies which carried a part of

the risk, with whom Duncan had re-insured. But it was all too thin, too

nebulous. Again, only careful study of the figures would enable

Nicholas to analyse what Duncan was doing, how much was real insurance

and how much was bluff to convince his financiers that the risk was

truly covered, and their investment protected, Some of the names of the

re-insurers were familiar, they had been on the list of transferees who

had taken stock positions in Christy Marine.

Is Duncan buying insurance with capital? Nicholas pondered. Was he

buying at desperate prices. He must have cover, of course. Without

insurance the finance houses, the banks and st'tutons which had loaned

the money to Christy Marine to build the monstrous tanker would dig in

against Duncan. His own shareholders would raise such hell - No, Duncan

Alexander had to have cover, even if it was paper only, without

substance, a mere incestuous circle, a snake eating itself tail first.

Oh, but the trail was so cleverly confused, so carefully swept and tied

up, only Nicholas knowledge of Christy Marine made him suspicious, and

might take a team of investigators years to unravel the tortured

tapestry of deceit. In the first it had occurred to Nicholas that the

easiest way to stop Duncan Alexander was to leak his freshly gleaned

suspicions to Duncan's major creditors, to those who had financed the

building of Golden Dawn, But he realized that this was not enough.

There were no hard facts, it was all inference and innuendo.

By the time the facts could be exhumed and laid out in all their

putrefaction for autopsy, Golden Dawn would be on the high seas,

carrying a million tons of crude. Duncan might have won sufficient time

to make his profit and sell out to some completely uncontrollable Greek

or Chinaman, as he had boasted he would do. It would not be so simple

to stop Duncan Alexander, it was folly to have believed that for one

moment. Even if his creditors were made aware of the flimsy insurance

cover over Golden Dawn, were they too deeply in already? Would they not

then accept the risks, spreading them where they could, and simply twist

the financial rope a little tighter around Duncan's throat. No, it was

not the way to stop him, Duncan had to be forced to remodify the giant

tanker's hull, forced to make her an acceptable moral risk, forced to

accept the standard Nicholas had originally stipulated for the vessel.

Lazar-us had finished the insurance portion of his report and he stood

up abruptly, just as Miss Lovelace was about to attempt the impossible.

With relief, Nick followed him down the aisle and into the chill of a

Parisian evening, and they breathed the fumes that the teeming city

exhaled as Lazarus led him back eastwards through the Arrondissement

with those little dancing steps, while he recited the details of the

charters of all Christy Marine's vessels, the charterer, the rates, the

dates of expiry of contract; and Nicholas recognized most of them,

contracts that he himself had negotiated, or those that had been renewed

on expiry with minor alterations to the terms. He was relying on the

recorder in his pocket, listening only with the surface layer of his

mind, pondering all he had heard so far from this extraordinary little

man - so that when it came he almost did not realize what he was

hearing.

n 10th January Christy Marine entered a contract of carriage with Orient

Amex. The tenure is ten years. The vessel to be employed is the Golden

Dawn, The rate is 10 cents US per hundred ton miles with a minimum

annual guaranteed usage Of 75,000 nautical miles. Nicholas registered

the trigger word Golden Dawn and then he assimilated it all.

The price, ten cents per hundred miles, that was wrong, high, much too

high, ridiculously high in this depressed market. Then the name, Orient

Amex - what was there about it that jarred his memory?

He stopped dead, and a following pedestrian bumped him, Nicholas

shouldered him aside thoughtlessly and stood thinking, ransacking his

mind for buried items of information. Lazarus had stopped also and was

waiting patiently, and now Nicholas laid a hand on the little man's

shoulder.

I need a drink. He drew him into a brasserie which was thick with steam

from the coffee machine and the smoke of Caporal and Disque Bleu, and

sat him at a tiny table by the window overlooking the sidewalk.

Primly, Lazarus asked for a Vittel water and sipped it with an air of

virtue, while Nicholas poured soda into his whisky.

Orient Amex/ Nicholas asked, as soon as the waiter had left. Tell me

about it. That is outside my original terms of reference/ Lazarus

demurred delicately.

Charge me for it/ Nicholas invited, and Lazarus paused as the computer

reels clicked in his mind, then he began to speak.

Orient Amex is an American-registered company, with an capital of

twenty-five million shares at a par value of ten dollars - Lazarus

recited the dry statistics.

The company is presently undertaking substantial dryland exploration in

Western Australia and Ethiopia, and offshore exploration within the

territorial waters of Norway and Chile. It has erected a refinery at

Galveston in Texas to operate under the new atomic catalyst cracking

process, first employed at its pilot plant on the same site.

The plant is projected for initial operation in June this year, and full

production in five years. It was all vaguely familiar to Nicholas, the

names, the process of cracking the low-value high-carbon molecules,

breaking up the carbon atoms and reassembling them in volatile

low-carbon molecules of high value.

The company operates producing wells in Texas, and in the Santa Barbara

offshore field, in Southern Nigeria, and has proven crude reserves in

the El Barras field of Kuwait, which will be utilized by the new

cracking plant in Galveston. Good God/ Nicholas stared at him. The El

Barras field but it's cadmium-contaminated it's been condemned by The El

Barras field is a high cadmium field, naturally enriched with the

catalyst necessary for the new process. What are the cadmium elements?

Nicholas demanded.

The western area of the El Barras field has sampled at 2,000 parts per

million, and the north and eastern anticline have sampled as high as

42,000 parts per million. Lazarus recited the figures pedantically. The

American and Nigerian crudes will be blended with the El Barras crudes

during the revolutionary cracking process. It is projected that the

yield of low-carbon volatiles will be increased from 40% % by this

process, making it five to eight times more to 85 profitable, and

extending the life of the world's known resenies of crude petroleum by

between ten and fifteen years. As he listened, Nicholas had a vivid

mental image of the stylus in Samantha's laboratory recording the death

throes of a cadmium-poisoned clam, Lazarus was talking on

dispassionately. During the cracking process, the cadmium sulphide will

be reduced to its pure metallic, non-toxic form, and will be a valuable

by-product, reducing the costs of refining. Nicholas shook his head in

disbelief, and he spoke aloud.

Duncan is going to do it. Across two oceans a million tons at a time,

in that vulnerable jerry-built monster of his, Duncan is going to do

what no other ship-owner has ever dared to do - he's going to carry the

cad-rich crudes of El Barras! From the balcony windows of his suite in

the Ritz, Nicholas could look out across the Place Vendome at the column

in the centre of the square with its spiral has-relief made from the

Russian and Austrian guns and commemorating the little Corsicans feats

of arms against those two nations. While he studied the column and

waited for his connection, he did a quick calculation and realized that

it would be three o'clock in the morning on the eastern seaboard of

North America. At least he would find her at home.

Then he smiled to himself. If she wasn't at home, he'd want to know the

reason why.

The telephone rang and he picked it up without turning away from the

window.

There was a confused mumbling and Nicholas asked, Who is this? 'It's Sam

Silver - what's the time? Who is it? Good God/ it's three o'clock.

What do you want?

Tell that other guy to put his pants on and go home.

Nicholas! There was a joyous squeal, followed immediately by a crash

and clatter that made Nicholas wince and lift the receiver well away

from his ear.

Oh damn it to hell, I've knocked the table over. Nicholas, are you

there? Speak to me, for God's sake! I love you. Say that again,

please. Where are you?

Paris. I love you. Oh/her tone drooped miserably. You sound so close.

I thought -'Then she rallied gamely. I love you too - how's himself? On

the dole. j Who is she? Welfare He Dole is unemployment insurance - w

sought the American equivalent. I mean he is temporarily unemployed.

Great. Keep him that way. Did I tell you I love you, I forget? Wake

up. Shake yourself. I've got something to tell you. I'm awake - well,

almost anyway. Samantha, what would happen if somebody dumped a million

tons Of 40,000 parts concentration of cadmium sulphide in an emulsion of

aromatic Arabian crude into the Gulf Stream, say thirty nautical miles

off Key West? That's a freaky question, Nicholas. For three in the

morning, that's a bomber. What would happen? he insisted.

The crude would act as a transporting medium/ she was struggling to

project a scenario through her sleepiness, it would spread out on the

surface to a thickness of quarter of an inch or so, so you'd end up with

a slick of a few thousand miles long and four or five hundred wide, and

it would keep going. What would be the results? It would wipe out most

of the marine life on the Bahamas and on the eastern seaboard of the

States, no, correct that - it would wipe out all marine life, that

includes the spawning grounds of the tuna, the freshwater eels and the

sperm whale, and it would contaminate - she was coming fully awake now,

and a stirring horror altered her tone -'You're macabre, Nicholas, what

a sick thing to think about, especially at three in the morning. Human

life? the asked.

Yes, there would be heavy loss, she said. As sulphide, it would be

readily absorbed and in that concentration it would be poisonous on

contact, fishermen, vacationers, anybody who walked on a contaminated

beach. She was truly beginning to realize the enormity of it. A large

part of the population of the cities on the east coast - Nicholas, it

could amount to hundreds of thousands of human beings, and if it was

carried beyond America on the Gulf Stream, the Newfoundland Banks,

Iceland, the North Sea, it would poison the cod fisheries, it would kill

everything, man, fish, bird and animal. Then the tail of the Gulf

Stream twists around the British Isles and the north continent of Europe

- but why are you asking me this, what kind of crazy guessing game is

this, Nicholas? Christy Marine has signed a ten-year contract to carry

one million ton loads of crude from the El Barras field on the South

Arabian Gulf to the Orient Amex refinery in Galveston. The El Barras

crude has a cadmium sulphide constituent of between 2,000 and 40,000

parts per million. Now there was trembling outrage in her voice as she

whispered, A million tons! That's some sort of genocide, Nicholas,

there has probably never been a more deadly cargo in the history of

seafaring. In a few weeks time Golden Dawn will run down her and when

she does, the seeds of ways at St Nazaite catastrophe will be sewn upon

the oceans., Her route from the Arabian Gulf takes her around Good Hope.

One of the most dangerous seas in the world, the home of the

hundred-year wave/ Nicholas agreed.

Then across the southern Atlantic and into the bottle-neck of the Guff

Stream between Key West and Cuba, into the Devil's Triangle, the

breeding ground of the hurricanes You can't let them do it, Nicholas,

she said quietly.

You just have to stop them. It won't be easy, but I'll be working hard

on it this side, there are a dozen tricks I am going to try, but you

have to take over on your side, he told her. Samantha, you go get Tom

Parker. Get him out of bed, if necessary. He has, to hit Washington

with the news, hit all the media - television, radio and the press. A

confrontation with Orient Amex, challenge them to make a statement.

Samantha picked up the line he was taking.

We'll get the Green-Peacers to picket the Orient Amex refinery in

Galveston, the one which will process the cadmium crudes. We'll have

every environmental agency in the country at work - we'll raise a stink

like that of a million corpses/ she promised.

Fine, he said. You do all that, but don't forget to get your chubby

little backside across here for the launching of Sea Witch. 'Chubby

obese, or chubby nice? she demanded.

Chubby beautiful/ he grinned. And I'll have room service ready to send

up the food, in a front-end loader. Nicholas sat over the telephone for

the rest of the day, 4 having his meals brought up to the suite, while

he worked systematically down the long list of names he had drawn up

with the help of the tape-recording of Lazarus report.

The list began with all those who it seemed had loaned capital to

Christy Marine for the construction of Golden Dawn, and then went on to

those who had written lines of insurance on the hull, and on the

pollution cover for the tanker.

Nicholas dared not be too specific in the summation he gave to each of

them, he did not want to give Duncan Alexander an opportunity to throw

out a smoke-screen of libel actions against him. But in each case,

Nicholas spoke to the top men, mostly men he knew well enough to use

their Christian names, and he said just enough to show that he knew the

exact amount of their involvement with Christy Marine, to suggest they

re-examine the whole project, especially with regard to Golden Dawn's

underwriting and to her contract of carriage with Orient Amex.

In the quiet intervals between each telephone call, or while a name was

tracked down by a secretary, Nicholas sat over the Place Vendome and

carefully re-examined himself and his reasons for what he was doing.

It is so very easy for a man to attribute to himself the most noble

motives. The sea had given Nicholas a wonderful life, and had rewarded

him in wealth, reputation and achievement, Now it was time to repay part

of that debt, to use some of that wealth to protect and guard the

oceans, the way a prudent farmer cherishes his soil. It was a fine

thought, but when he looked below its shining surface, he saw the shape

and movement of less savoury creatures, like the shadows of shark and

barracuda in the depths.

There was pride. Golden Dawn had been his creation, work, was going to

be the culmination of a laurel crown on his career. But it had been

taken from him, and bastardized - and when it failed, when the whole

marvelous concept collapsed in disaster and misery, Nicholas Berg's name

would still be on it. The world would remember then that the whole

grandiose design had originated with him.

There was pride, and then there was hatred. Duncan Alexander had taken

his woman and child. Duncan Alexander had wrested his very life from

him. Duncan Alexander was the enemy, and by Nicholas rules, he must be

fought with the same single-mindedness, with the same ruthlessness, as

he did everything in his life.

Nicholas poured himself another cup of coffee and lit a cheroot;

brooding alone in the magnificence of his suite, he asked himself the

question:

If it had been another man in another ship who was going to transport

the El Barras crudes - would I have opposed him so bitterly? The

question needed no formal reply. Duncan Alexander was the enemy.

Nicholas picked up the telephone, and placed the call he had been

delaying. He did not need to look in the red calf -bound notebook for

the number of the house in Eaton Square.

Mrs. Chantelle Alexander, please. I am sorry, sir. Mrs. Alexander is at

Cap Ferrat. Of course/ he muttered. Thank you. Do you want the

number? That's all right, I have it. He had lost track of time. He

dialled again, this time down to the Mediterranean coast.

This is the residence of Mrs. Alexander. Her son Peter Berg speaking.

Nicholas felt the rush of emotion through his blood, so that it burned

his cheeks and stung his eyes.

Hello, my boy. Even in his own ears his voice sounded stilted, perhaps

pompous.

Rather/ undisguised delight. Dad, how are you - sir?

Did you get my letters? No, I didn't, where did you send them?

"The flat - in Queen's Gate. I haven't been back there for/ Nicholas

thought, for nearly a month. I got your cards, Dad, the one from

Bermuda and the one from Florida. I just wrote to tell you -'and there

was a recital of schoolboy triumphs and disasters.

That's tremendous, Peter. I'm really proud. Nicholas imagined the face

of his son as he listened, and his heart was squeezed - by guilt, that

he could do so little, could give him so little of his time, squeezed by

longing for what he had lost. For it was only at times such as these

that he could admit how much he missed his son.

That's great, Peter -'The boy was trying to tell it all at the same

time, gabbling out the news he had stored so carefully, flitting from

subject to subject, as one thing reminded him of another. Then, of

course, the inevitable question: When can I come to you, Dad?

"I'll have to arrange that with your mother, Peter. But it will be

soon. I promise you that. Let's get away from that, Nick thought,

desperately. How is Apache? Have you raced her yet these holidays?

"Oh yes, Mother let me have a new set of Terylene sails, in red and

yellow. I raced her yesterday. Apache had not actually been placed

first in the event, but Nicholas gained the impression that the blame

lay not on her skipper but rather on the vagaries of the wind, the

unsporting behaviour of the other competitors who bumped when they had

the weather gauge, and finally the starter who had wanted to disqualify

Apache for beating the gun. But, Peter went on, I'm racing again on

Saturday morning Peter, where is your mother? She's down at the

boathouse. Can you put this call through there? I must speak to her,

Peter. Of course. The disappointment in the child's voice was almost

completely disguised. Hey, Dad. You promised, didn't you. It will be

soon? I promised. Cheerio, sir. There was a clicking and humming on

the line and then suddenly her voice, with its marvelous timbre and

serenity.

C'es t Ch an telle Alexander qui parle.

C'est Nicholas ici. Oh, my dear. How good to hear your voice.

How are you? Are you alone? No, I have friends lunching with me.

The Contessa is here with his new boyfriend, a matador no less! The

"Contessa was an outrageously camp and wealthy homosexual who danced at

Chantelle's court. Nicholas could imagine the scene on the wide paved

terrace, screened from the cliffs above by the sighing pines and the

rococo pink boathouse with its turrets and rusty-coloured tiles.

There would be gay and brilliant company under the colourful umbrellas.

Pierre and Mimi sailed across from Cannes for the day. Pierre was the

son of the largest manufacturer of civil and military jet aircraft in

Europe. And Robert Below the terrace was the private jetty and small

beautifully equipped yacht basin. Her visitors would have moored their

craft there, the bare masts nodding lazily against the sky and the small

Mediterranean-blue wavelets lapping the stone jetty. Nicholas could

hear the laughter and the tinkle of glasses in the background, and he

cut short the recital of the guest list.

Is Duncan there? No, he's still in London - he won't be out until next

week. I have news. Can you get up to Paris? It's impossible, Nicky.

Strange how the pet name did not jar from her. I must be at Monte Carlo

tomorrow, I'm helping Grace with the Spring Charity It's important,

Chantelle. Then there's Peter. I don't like to leave him. Can't you

come here? There is a direct flight at nine tomorrow. I'll get rid of

the house guests so we can talk in private.

"All right, will you book me a He thought quickly, then, suite at the

Negresco?

Don't be silly, Nicky. We've thirteen perfectly good bedrooms here - we

are both civilized people and Peter would love to see you, you know

that. The Cote d'Azur was revelling in a freakish burst of early spring

weather when Nicholas came down the boarding ladder at Nice Airport, and

Peter was waiting for him at the boundary fence, hopping up and down and

waving both hands above his head like a semaphore signaller. But when

Nicholas came through the gate he regained his composure and shook hands

formally.

It's jolly good to see you, Dad. I swear you've grown six inches! said

Nicholas, and on impulse stooped and hugged the child.

For a moment they clung to each other, and it was Peter who pulled away

first.

Both of them were embarrassed by that display of affection for a moment,

then quite deliberately Nicholas placed his hand on Peter's shoulder and

squeezed.

Where is the car? He kept his hand on the child's shoulder as they

crossed the airport foyer, and as Peter became more accustomed to this

unusual gesture of affection, so he pressed closer to his father, and

seemed to swell with pride.

Characteristically, Nicholas wondered what had changed about him that

made it easier for him to act naturally towards those he loved.

The answer was obvious, it was Samantha Silver who had taught him to let

go.

Let go, Nicholas-'He could almost hear her voice now.

The chauffeur was new, a silent unobtrusive man, and there were only the

two of them in the back seat of the Rolls on the drive back through

Nice, and along the coast road.

Mother has gone across to the Palace. She won't be back until dinner

time. Yes, she told me. We've got the day to ourselves, Nicholas

grinned, as the chauffeur turned in through the electric gates and white

columns that guarded the entrance to the estate. What are we going to

do? They swam and they played tennis and took Peter's Arrowhead-class

yacht Apache on a long reach up the coast as far as Menton and then

raced back, gull-winged and spinnaker set on the wind with the spray

kicking up over the bows and flicking into their faces. They laughed a

lot and they talked even more, and while Nicholas changed for dinner, he

found himself caught up in the almost postcoital melancholy of too much

happiness - happiness that was transitory and soon must end. He tried

to push the sadness aside, but it persisted as he dressed in a white

silk roll-neck and double-breasted blazer and went down to the terrace

room.

Peter was there before him, early as a child on Christmas morning, his

hair still wet and slicked down from the shower and his face glowing

pinkly from the sun and happiness.

Can I pour you a drink, Dad? I he asked eagerly, already hovering over

the silver drinks tray.

Leave a little in the bottle/ Nicholas cautioned him not wanting to deny

him the pleasure of performing this grown-up service, but with a healthy

respect for the elephantine tots that Peter dispensed in a sense of

misplaced generosity.

He tasted the drink cautiously, gasped, and added more soda, 'That's

fine/ he said, Peter looked proud, and at that moment Chantelle came

down the wide staircase into the room.

Nicholas found it impossible not to stare. Was it possible she had

grown more lovely since their last meeting or had she merely taken

special pains this evening?

She was dressed in ivory silk, woven gossamer fine, so it floated about

her body as she moved, and as she crossed the last ruddy glow of the

dying day that came in from the french windows of the terrace, the light

struck through the sheer material and put the dainty line of her legs

into momentary silhouette. Closer to him, he saw the silk was

embroidered with the same thread, ivory on ivory, 4 marvelous

understatement of elegance, and under it the shadowy outline of her

breasts, those fine shapely breasts that he remembered so well, and the

faint dusky rose suggestion of her nipples. He looked away quickly and

she smiled.

Nicky/ she said, I'm so sorry to have left you alone.

Peter and I have had a high old time! he said.

She had emphasized the shape and size of her eyes, and the planes of the

bone structure of her cheeks and Jawline, with a subtlety that made it

appear she wore no make-up, and her hair had a springing electrical fire

to it, a rich glowing sable cloud about the small head.

The honeyed ivory of her skin had tanned to the velvety texture of a

cream-coloured rose petal across her bare shoulders and arms.

He had forgotten how relaxed and gracious she could be, and this

magnificent building filled with its treasures standing in its pine

forest high above the darkening ocean and the fairy-lights of the coast

was her natural setting. She filled the huge room with a special glow

and gaiety, and she and Peter shared an impish sense of fun that had

them all laughing at the old well-remembered jokes, Nicholas could not

sustain his resentment, could not bring himself to dwell on her betrayal

in this environment, so the laughter was easy and the warmth

un-contrived.

When they went through to the small informal dining-room, they sat at

the table as they had done so often before; they seemed to be

transported back in time to those happy almost forgotten years.

There were moments which might have jarred, but Chantelle's instinct was

so certain that she could skirt delicately around these.

She treated Nicholas as an honoured guest, not as the master of the

house; instead she made Peter the host. Peter darling, will you carve

for us? and the boy's pride and importance was almost overwhelming,

although the bird looked as though it had been caught in a

combine-harvester by the time he had finished with it.

Chantelle served food and wine, a chicken stuffed in Creole style and a

petit Chablis, that had no special associations from the past; and the

choice of music was Peter's.

Music to develop ulcers by/ as Nicholas remarked aside, to Chantelle.

Peter fought a valiant rearguard action to delay the passage of time,

but finally resigned himself when Nicholas told him, I'll come and see

you up to bed. He waited while Peter cleaned his teeth with an

impressive vigour that might have continued beyond midnight if Nicholas

had not protested mildly. When at last he was installed between the

sheets, Nicholas stooped over him and the boy wrapped both arms around

his neck with a quiet desperation.

I'm so happy/he whispered against Nicholas neck and when they kissed he

crushed Nicholas lips painfully with his mouth , Wouldn't it be fabulous

if we could be like this always? he asked.

"If you didn't have to go away again, Dad? Chantelle had changed the

wild music to the muted haunting melodies of Liszt, and as he came back

into the room she was pouring cognac into a thin crystal balloon.

Did he settle down? she asked, and then answered herself immediately.

He's exhausted, although he doesn't know it.

She brought him the cognac and then turned away and went out through the

doors on to the terrace. He followed her out, and they stood at the

stone balustrade side by side.

The air was clear but chill.

It's beautiful/ she said. The moon paved a wide silver path across the

surface of the sea. I always thought that the highway to my dreams.,

Duncan, he said. Let's talk about Duncan Alexander/ and she shivered

slightly, folding her arms across her breasts and grasping her own naked

shoulders, What do you want to know? in what terms did you give him

control of your shares? As an agent, my personal agent.

With full discretion? She nodded, and he asked next, Did you have an

escape clause? In what circumstances can you reclaim control?

The dissolution of marriage,, she said, and then shook her head.

"But I think I knew that no court would uphold the agreement if I wanted

to change it. It's too Victorian.

Anytime I want to I could simply apply to have the appointment of Duncan

as my agent set aside. Yes, I think you're right/Nicholas agreed. But

it might take a year or more, unless you could prove malafides, unless

you could prove he deliberately betrayed the trust of agency. Can I

prove that, Nicky? She turned to him now, lifting her face to him. Has

he betrayed that trust? I don't know yet, Nicholas told her cautiously,

and she cut in.

I've made a terrible fool of myself, haven't I? He kept silent, and she

went on tremulously, I know there is no way I can apologize to you for

what I did. There is no way that I can make it up to you, but believe

me, Nicholas please believe me when I tell you, I have never regretted

anything so much in all my life. It's past, Chantelle. It's over.

There is no profit in looking back. I don't think there is another man

in the world who would do what you are doing now, who would repay deceit

and betrayal with help and comfort. I just wanted to say that. She was

standing very close to him now, and in the cool night he could feel the

warmth of her flesh across the inches that separated them, and her

perfume had a subtlety altered fragrance on that creamy skin. She

always wore perfume so well, the same way she wore her clothes.

It's getting cold/ he said brusquely, took her elbow and steered her

back into the light, out of that dangerous intimacy. We still have a

great deal to discuss. He paced the thick forest-green carpet, quickly

establishing a beat as regular as that of a sentry, ten paces from the

glass doors, passing in front of where she sat in the centre of the wide

velvet couch, turning just before he reached the headless marble statue

of a Greek athlete from antiquity that guarded the double oaken doors

into the lobby, and then back in front of her again. As he paced, he

told her in carefully prepared sequence all that he had learned from

Lazarus.

She sat like a bird on the point of flight, turning her head to watch

him, those huge dark eyes seeming to swell larger as she listened.

It was not necessary to explain it to her in layman's language, she was

Arthur Christy's daughter, she understood when he told her how he

suspected that Duncan Alexander had been forced to self -insure the hull

of Golden Dawn and how he had used Christy stock to buy re-insurance,

stock that he had probably already pledged to finance construction of

the vessel.

Nicholas reconstructed the whole inverted pyramid of Duncan Alexander's

machinations for her to examine, and almost immediately she saw how

vulnerable, how unstable it was.

Are you certain of all this? she whispered, and her face was drained of

all its lustrous rose tints.

He shook his head. I've reconstructed the Tyrannosaurus from a jawbone/

he admitted frankly. The shape of it might be a little different, but

one thing I am certain of is that it's a big and dangerous beast. Duncan

could destroy Christy Marine/ she whispered again. Completely! She

looked around slowly, at the house - at the room and its treasures, the

symbols of her life - He has risked everything that's mine, and Peter's.

Nicholas did not reply, but he stopped in front of her and watched her

carefully as she absorbed the enormity of it all.

He saw outrage turn slowly to confusion, to fear and finally to terror.

He had never seen her even afraid before - but now, faced with the

prospect of being stripped naked of the armour which had always

protected her, she was like a lost animal, he could even see that

flutter of her heart under the pale swelling flesh of her bosom, and she

shivered again.

Could he lose everything, Nicholas? He couldn't, could he? She wanted

assurance, but he could not give it to her, all he could give her was

pity. Pity was the one emotion, probably the only one, she had never

aroused in him, not once in all the years he had known her.

What can I do, Nicholas? she pleaded. Please help me.

Oh God, what must I do? You can stop Duncan launching Golden Dawn -

until the hull and propulsion has been modified, until it has been

properly surveyed and underwritten - and until you have taken full

control of Christy Marine out of his hands again. And his voice was

gentle, filled with his compassion as he told her.

That's enough for one day, Chantelle. If we go on now, we will be

chasing our tails. Tonight you know what could happen, tomorrow we will

discuss how we can prevent it. Have you a Valium? She shook her head.

I've never used drugs to hide from things, he knew, that she had never

lacked true courage. How much longer can you stay?

I have a seat on the eleven o'clock plane. I have tonight we'll have

time be back in London by tomorrow morning. The guest suite opened on

to the second-floor balcony which ran along the entire front of the

building overlooking the sea and the private harbour. The five main

bedrooms all opened on to this balcony, an arrangement from fifty years

previously when internal security against kidnapping and forcible entry

had been of no importance Nicholas determined to speak to Chantelle

about that in the morning. Peter was an obvious target for extortion,

and he felt the goose bumps of horror rise on his arms as he imagined

his son in the hands of those degenerate monsters who were everywhere

allowed to strike and destroy with impunity. There was a price to pay

these days for being rich and successful. The smell of it attracted the

hyenas and vultures. Peter must be better protected, he decided.

In the sitting-room, there was a well-stocked liquor cabinet concealed

behind mirrors, nothing so obvious and resoundingly middle-class as a

private bar. The daily papers, in English, French and German were set

out on the television table, France Soir, The Times, Allgemeine Zeitung,

with even an airmail version of the New York Times.

Nicholas flipped open The Times and glanced quickly at the closing

prices. Christy Marine common stock was at 532P, up on yesterday's

prices. The market had not sniffed corruption - yet.

He pulled off his silk roll-neck, and even though he had bathed three

hours previously, the tension had left his skin feeling itchy and

unclean. The bathroom had been lavishly redecorated in green onyx

panels and the fittings were eighteen-carat gold, in the shape of

dolphins. Steaming water gushed from their gaping mouths at a touch.

It could have been vulgar, but Chantelle's unerring touch steered it

into Persian opulence instead.

He showered, turning the setting high so that the stinging needles of

water scalded away his fatigue and the feeling of being unclean.

There were half a dozen thick white terry toweling robes in the

glass-fronted warming cupboard, and he selected one and went through

into the bedroom, belting it around his naked waist. In his briefcase

there was a draft of the agreement of sale of Ocean Salvage and Towage

to the Sheikhs. James Teacher and his gang of bright young lawyers had

read it, and made a thick sheaf of notes. Nicholas must study these

before tomorrow evening when he met them in London.

He took the papers from his case and carried them through into the

sitting-room, glancing at the top page before dropping them carelessly

on to the low coffee table while he went to pour himself a small whisky,

heavily diluted, He brought the drink back with him and sprawled into

the deep leather armchair, picked up the papers and began to work.

He became aware of her perfume first, and felt his blood quicken

uncontrollably at the fragrance, and the papers rustled in his hand.

Slowly he lifted his head. She had come in utter silence on small bare

feet. She had removed all her jewellery and had let down her hair

brushing it out on to her shoulders. It made her seem younger, more

vulnerable, and the gown she wore was cuffed and collared in fine soft

lace.

She moved slowly towards his chair, timorous and for once uncertain, the

eyes huge and dark and haunted, and when he rose from the armchair, she

stopped and one hand went to her throat.

Nicholas/ she whispered, I'm so afraid, and so alone. She moved a step

closer, and saw his eyes shift, his lips harden, and she stopped

instantly.

Please/ she pleaded softly, don't send me away, Nicky.

Not tonight, not yet. I'm afraid to be alone - please. He knew then

that this had been going to happen, he had hidden the certainty of it

from himself all that evening, but now it was upon him, and he could do

nothing to avoid it. it was as though he had lost the will to resist,

he stood mesmerized, his resolve softening and melting like wax in the

candle flame of her beauty, of the passions which she commanded so

skilfully, and his thoughts lost coherence, began to tumble and swirl

like storm surf breaking on rock.

She recognized the exact instant when it happened to him, and she came

forward silently, with small gliding footsteps, not making the mistake

of speaking again and pressed her face to his bare chest framed in the

collar of his robe. The thick curling hair was springing over hard flat

muscle, and she flared her nostrils at the clean virile animal smell of

his skin.

He was still resisting, standing stiffly with his hands hanging at his

sides. Oh, she knew him so well. The terrible conflict he must suffer

before he could be made to act against that iron code of his own. Oh,

she knew him, knew that he was as sexual and physical and animal as she

was herself, that he was the only man who had ever been able to match

her appetites. She knew the defences he had erected about himself, the

fortressing of his passions, the controls and repressions, but she knew

so well how to subvert these elaborate defences, she knew exactly what

to do and what to say, how to move and touch. As she began now, she

found the deliberate act of breaking down his resistance excited her so

swiftly that it was pain almost, agony almost, and required all her own

control not to advance too swiftly for him, to control the shaking of

her legs and the pumping of her lungs, to play still the hurt and

bewildered and frightened child, using his kindness, the sense of

chivalry which would not allow him to send her away, in such obvious

distress.

Oh God, how her body churned, her stomach cramped with the strength of

her wanting, her breasts felt swollen and so - sensitive that the

contact of silk and lace was almost too painfully abrasive to bear.

Oh, Nicky, please - Just for a moment. just once, hold me.

Please, I cannot go on alone. just for a moment, please.

She felt him lift his hands, felt the fingers on her shoulders, and the

terrible pain of wanting was too much to bear, she could not control it

- she cried out, it was a soft little whimper, but the force of it shook

her body, and immediately she felt his reaction, Her timing had been

immaculate, her natural womanly cunning had guided her.

His fingers on her shoulders had been gentle and kindly, but now they

hooked cruelly into her flesh.

His back arched involuntarily, his breath drummed from his chest under

her ear, a single agonized exhalation like that of a boxer taking a

heavy body punch. She felt his every muscle come taught, and she knew

again the frightening power, the delirious giddy power she could still

wield.

Then, at last, joyously, almost fearfully, she experienced the great

lordly lift and thrust of his loins - as though the whole world had

moved and shifted about her.

She cried out again, fiercely, for now she could slip the hounds she had

held so short upon the leash, she could let denied, them run and hunt

again. They had been too long but now there was no longer need for care

and restraint.

She knew exactly how to hunt him beyond the frontiers of reason, to

course him like a flying stag, and his fingers tangled frantically in

the foaming lace at her throat as he tried to free her tight swollen

breasts. She cried out a third time, and with a single movement jerked

open the fastening at his waist, exposing the full hard lean length of

his body, and her hands were as frantic as his.

,oh, sweet God, you're so hard and strong - oh sweet God, I've missed

you so. There was time later for all the refinements and nuances of

love, but now her need was too cruel and demanding to be denied another

moment. it had to happen this instant before she died of the lack.

Nicholas rose slowly towards the surface of sleep, aware of a brooding

sense of regret. just before he reached consciousness, a dream image

formed in his sleep-starved brain, he relived a moment from the distant

past. A fragment of time, recaptured so vividly as to seem whole and

perfect.

Long ago he had picked a deep-sea trumpet shell at five fathoms from the

oceanic wall of the coral reef beyond the Anse Baudoin lagoon of Praslin

Island, it was the size of a ripe coconut and once again he found

himself holding the shell in both cupped hands gazing into the narrow

oval opening, around which the weed-furred and barnacle-encrusted

exterior changed dramatically, flaring into the pouting lips and

exposing the inner mother-of-pearl surfaces that were slippery to the

touch, a glossy satin sheen, pale translucent pink, folded and

convoluted upon them selves, shading darker into fleshy crimsons and

wine purples as the passage narrowed and sank away into the mysterious

lustrous depths of the shell.

Then abruptly, the dream image changed in his mind.

The projected opening in the trumpet shell expanded, articulating on

jaw-hinges and he was gaping into the deep and terrible maw of some

great predatory sea-creature, lined with multiple rows of serrated

triangular teeth, - shark!

like, terrifying, so he cried out In half-sleep, startling him self

awake, and he rolled quickly on to his side and raised himself on one

elbow. Her perfume still lingered on his skin, mingled with the smell

of his own sweat, but the bed beside him was empty, though warm and

redolent with the memory of her body.

Across the room, the early sun struck a long sliver of light through a

narrow chink in the curtains. It looked like a blade, a golden blade.

It reminded him instantly of Samantha Silver. He saw her again wearing

sunlight like a cloak, barefoot in the sand - and it seemed that the

blade of sunlight was being driven up slowly under his ribs.

He swung his feet off the wide bed and padded softly across to the gold

and onyx bathroom. There was a dull ache of sleeplessness and remorse

behind his eyes and as he ran hot water from the dolphin's mouth into

the basin, he looked at himself in the mirror although the steam slowly

clouded the image of his own face. There were dark smears below his

eyes and his features were gaunt, harsh angles of bone beneath drawn

skin.

You bastard/ he whispered at the shadowy face in the mirror.

"You bloody bastard. They were waiting breakfast for him, in the

sunlight on the terrace under the gaily coloured umbrellas. Peter had

preserved the mood of the previous evening, and he ran laughing to meet

Nicholas.

Dad, hey Dad. He seized Nicholas, hand and led him to the table.

Chantelle wore a long loose housegown, and her hair was down on her

shoulders, so soft that it stirred like spun silk in even that whisper

of breeze. It was calculated, Chantelle did nothing by chance; the

intimately elegant attire and the loose fall of her hair set the mood of

domesticity - and Nicholas found himself resisting it fiercely.

Peter sensed his father's change of mood with an intuitive understanding

beyond his years, and his dismay was a palpable thing, the hurt and

reproach in his eyes as he looked at Nicholas; and then the chatter died

on his lips and he bent his head studiously over his plate and ate in

silence.

Nicholas deliberately refused the festival array of food, took only a

cup of coffee, and lit a cheroot, without asking Chantelle's permission,

knowing how she would resent that. He waited in silence and as soon as

Peter had eaten he said: I'd like to speak to your mother, Peter. The

boy stood up obediently.

Will I see you before you leave, sir? Yes. Nicholas felt his heart

wrung again. Of course. We could sail again? I'm sorry, my boy. We

won't have time. Not today. Very well, sir. Peter walked to the end

of the terrace, very erect and dignified, then suddenly he began to run,

taking the steps down two at a time, and he fled into the pine forest

beyond the boathouse as though pursued, feet flying and arms pumping

wildly.

He needs you, Nicky/said Chantelle softly.

You should have thought about that two years ago. She poured fresh

coffee into his cup. Both of us have been stupid - all right, worse

than that. We've been wicked. I have had my Duncan, and you have had

that American child. Don't make me angry now/ he warned her softly.

You've done enough for one day. It's as simple as this, Nicholas. I

love you, I have always loved you - God, since I was a gawky

school-girl/ she had never been that, but Nicholas let it pass, 'since I

saw you that first day on the bridge of old Golden Eagle, the dashing

ship's captain -I Chantelle. All we have to discuss is Golden Dawn and

Christy Marine. No, Nicholas. We were born for each other, Daddy saw

that immediately, we both knew it at the same time - it was only a

madness, a crazy whim that made me doubt it for a moment.

"Stop it, Chantelle. Duncan was a stupid mistake. But it's unimportant

No, it's not unimportant. It changed everything. It can never be the

same again, besides - I Besides, what? Nicky, what were you going to

say? Besides, I am building myself another life now.

With another very different person. Oh God, Nicky, you aren't serious?

I She laughed then, genuine amusement, clapping her hands delightedly.

My dear, she's young enough to be your daughter. It's the forty

syndrome, the Lolita complex. Then she saw his real anger, and she was

quick, retrieving the situation neatly, aware that she had carried it

too far.

I'm sorry, Nicky. I should never have said that. She paused, and then

went on. I will say she's a pretty little thing, and I'm sure she's

sweet - Peter liked her. She damned Samantha with light condescension,

and then dismissed her as though she were merely a childlike prank of

Nicholas', a light and passing folly of no real significance.

I understand, Nicholas, truly I do. However, when you are ready, as you

will be soon, then Peter and I and Christy Marine are waiting for you

still. This is your world, Nicholas. She made a gesture which embraced

it all. This is your world, you will never really leave it.

"You are wrong, Chantelle. No. She shook her head. I am very seldom

wrong, and on this I cannot be wrong. Last night proved that, it is

still there - every bit of it. But let's discuss the other thing now,

Golden Dawn and Christy Marine. Chantelle Alexander lifted her face to

the sky and watched the big silver bird fly, It climbed nose high,

glinting in the sunlight, twin trails of dark unconsumed fuel spinning

out behind it as the engines howled under the full thrust.

With the wind in this quarter, the extended centreline of the main Nice

runway brought it out over Cap Ferrat.

Beside Chantelle, only an inch or two shorter than she was, Peter stood

and watched it also and she took his arm, tucking her small dainty hand

into the crook of his elbow.

He stayed such a short time/ Peter said, and overhead the big airbus

turned steeply on to its crosswind leg.

We will have him with us again soon, Chantelle promised, and then she

went on. Where were you, Peter? We hunted all over when it was time

for Daddy to go? I was in the forest, he said evasively.

He had heard them calling, but Peter was hidden in the secret place, the

smuggler's cleft in the yellow rock of the cliff; he would have killed

himself rather than let Nicholas Berg see him weeping.

Wouldn't it be lovely if it was like the old times again?

Chantelle asked softly, and the boy stirred beside her, but unable to

take his gaze from the aircraft, Just the three of us again? Without

Uncle Duncan? he asked incredulously, and high above them the aircraft,

with a last twinkle of sunlight, dove deeply into the banks of cumulus

cloud that buttressed the northern sky. Peter turned at last to face

her.

Without Uncle Duncan? he demanded again. But that's impossible., Not

if you help me, darling. She took his face in her cupped hands. You

will help me, won't you? she asked, and he nodded once, a sharply

incisive gesture of assent; she leaned forward and kissed him tenderly

on the forehead, That's my man, she whispered.

Mr. Alexander is not available. May I take a message? This is Mrs.

Alexander. Tell my husband that it's urgent.

Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Alexander./ The secretary's voice changed

instantly, cool caution becoming effusive servility. I didn't recognize

your voice. The line is dreadful, Mr. Alexander will speak to you

directly., Chantelle waited, staring impatiently from the study windows.

The weather had changed in the middle of the morning with the cold front

sweeping down off the mountains, and now icy wind and rain battered at

the windows.

Chantelle, my dear/ the rich glossy voice that had once so dazzled her,

is this my call to you? It's mine, Duncan. I must speak to you

urgently., Good, he agreed with her. I wanted to speak to you also.

Things are happening swiftly here. It's necessary for you to come up to

St Nazaire next Tuesday, instead of my joining you at Cap Ferrat. Duncan

But he went on over her protest, his voice as full of self-confidence,

as ebullient as she had not heard it in over a year.

I have been able to save almost four weeks on Golden Dawn.

Duncan, listen to me. We will be able to launch on Tuesday. it will be

a makeshift ceremony, I'm afraid, at such short notice. He was

inordinately proud of his own achievement. It annoyed her to hear him.

What I have arranged is that the pod tanks will be delivered direct to

the Gulf from the Japanese yards.

They are towing them in their ballast with four American tugs. I will

launch the hull here, with workmen still aboard her, and they will

finish her off at sea during the passage around Good Hope, in time for

her to take on her tanks and cargo at El Barras. We'll save nearly

seven and a half million Duncan! Chantelle cried again, and this time

some thing in her tone stopped him.

What is it? This can't wait until Tuesday, I want to see you right

away. That's impossible, he laughed, lightly, confidently.

It's only five days. Five days is too long. Tell me now, he invited.

What is it All right, she said deliberately, and the vicious streak of

Persian cruelty was in her voice. I want a divorce, Duncan, and I want

control of my shares in Christy Marine again.

There was a long, hissing crackling silence on the line, and she waited,

the way the cat waits for the first movement of the crippled mouse.

This is very sudden. His voice had changed completely, it was bleak and

flat, lacking any timbre or resonance.

We both know it is not/ she contradicted him.

You have no grounds. There was a thin edge of fear now.

"Divorce isn't quite as easy as that, Chantelle. How is this for

grounds, Duncan? she asked, and there was a spiteful sting in her voice

now. If you aren't here by noon tomorrow, then my auditors will be in

Leadenhall Street and there will be an urgent order before the courts.

She did not have to go on, he spoke across her and there was a note of

panic in his voice. She had never heard it before. He said, You are

right. We do have to talk right away., Then he was silent again,

collecting himself, and his voice was once more calm and careful when he

went on, I can charter a Falcon and be at Nice before midday.

Will that do? I'll have the car meet you she said, and broke the

connection with one finger. She held the bar down for a second, then

lifted her finger.

I want to place an international call/ she said in her fluent rippling

French when the operator answered. I do not know the number, but it is

person to person. Doctor Samantha Silver at the University of Miami.

There is a delay of more than two hours, madame.

Tattendrai, she said, and replaced the receiver.

The Bank of the East is in Curzon Street, almost opposite the White

Elephant Club. It has a narrow frontage of bronze and marble and glass,

and Nicholas had been there, with his lawyers, since ten o'clock that

morning. He was learning at first hand the leisurely age-old ritual of

oriental bargaining.

He was selling Ocean Salvage, plus two years of his future labour - and

even for seven million dollars he was beginning to wonder if it was

worth it - and it was not a certain seven million either. The words

tripped lightly, the figures seemed to have no substance in this

setting. The only constant was the figure of the Prince himself, seated

on the low couch, in a Savile Row suit but with the fine white cotton

and gold-corded headdress framing his dark handsome features with

theatrical dash.

Beyond him moved a shadowy, ever-changing backtime that ground of

unctuous whispering figures. Every time Nicholas believed that a point

had been definitely agreed, another rose-pink or acid-yellow Rolls-Royce

with Arabic script number-plates would deposit three or four more

dark-featured Arabs at the front doors and they would hurry through to

kiss the Prince on his forehead, on the bridge of his nose and on the

back of his hand, and the hushed discussion would begin all over again

with the newcomers picking up at the point they had been an hour

previously.

James Teacher showed no impatience, and he smiled and nodded and went

through the ritual like an Arab born, sipping the little thimbles of

treacly coffee and watching patiently for the interminable whisperings

to be translated into English before making a measured counter proposal.

We are doing fine, Mr. Berg, he assured Nicholas quietly.

A few more days.

Nicholas had a headache from the strong coffee and he found it difficult

to concentrate.

He kept worrying about Samantha, For four days he had tried to contact

her. He had to get out for a while and he excused himself to the

Prince, and went down to the Enquiries Desk in the Bank's entrance hall

and the girl told him, I'm sorry, sir, there there is no reply to either

of those numbers.

There must be, Nicholas told her. One number was Samantha's shack at

Key Biscayne and the other was her private number in her laboratory.

She shook her head. I've tried every hour.

Can you send a cable for me? Of course, sir.

She gave him a pad of forms and he wrote out the message. Please phone

me urgently, reverse charges to, He gave the Queens Gate flat and James

Teacher's rooms, then thought with the pen poised, trying to find the

words to express his concern, but there were none. I love you he wrote.

I really do.

Since Nicholas's midnight call to tell her of the carriage of cad-rich

crude petroleum, Samantha Silver had been caught up in a kaleidoscope

whirl of time and events.

After a series of meetings with the leaders of the Green-Peacers, and

other conservation bodies in an effort to publicize and oppose this new

threat to the oceans, she and Tom Parker had flown to Washington and met

with a deputy director of the Environmental Protection Agency and with

two young senators who spearheaded the conservation lobby but their

efforts to go further had been frustrated by the granite walls of big

oil interest. Even usually cooperative sources had been wary of

condemning or speaking out against Orient Amex's new carbon-cracking

technology. As one thirty-year-old Democrat senator had pointed out,

It's tough to try and take a shot at something that's going to increase

the fossil fuel yield by fifty percent.

That's not what we are shooting at, Samantha had flared, bitter with

fatigue and frustration. It's this irresponsible method of carrying the

cad-rich through sensitive and highly vulnerable seaways we are trying

to prevent. But when she presented the scenario she had worked out,

picturing the effects on the North Atlantic deluged with a million tons

of toxic crude, she saw the disbelief in the man's eyes and the

condescending smile of the sane for the slightly demented.

,oh God, why is common sense the hardest thing in the world to sell? she

had lamented.

She and Tom had gone on to meet the leaders of Green-Peace in the north,

and in the west, and they had given advice and promises of support. The

Californian Chapter counselled physical intervention as a last resort,

as some of their members had successfully interposed small craft between

the Russian whalers and the breeding minkes they were hunting in the

Californian Gulf In Galveston, they met the young Texans who would

picket the Orient Amex refinery as soon as they were certain the

ultra-tanker had entered the Gulf of Mexico.

However, none of their efforts were successful in provoking

confrontation with Orient Arnex. The big oil company simply ignored

invitations to debate the charges on radio or television, and

stone-walled questions from the media.

it's hard to stir up interest in a one-sided argument, Samantha found.

They managed one local Texas television show, but without controversy to

give it zip, the producer cut Samantha's time down to forty-five

seconds, and then tried to date her for dinner.

The energy crisis, oil tankers and oil pollution were joyless subjects.

Nobody had ever heard of cadmium pollution, the Cape of Good Hope was

half a world away, million tons was a meaningless figure, impossible to

visualize, and it was all rather a bore.

The media let it drop flat on its face.

We're just going to have to smoke those fat cats at Orient Amex out into

the open/ Tom Parker growled angrily, and kick their arses blue for

them. The only way we are going to do that is through Green-Peace. They

had landed back at Miami International, exhausted and disappointed, but

not yet despondent. Like the man said/ Samantha muttered grimly, as she

threaded her gaudy van back into the city traffic flow, we have only

just begun to fight. She had only a few hours to clean herself up and

stretch out on the patchwork quilt before she had to dress again and

race back to the airport. The Australian had already passed through

customs and was looking lost and dejected in the terminal lobby.

Hi, I'm Sam Silver. She pushed away fatigue, and hoisted that brilliant

golden smile like a flag.

His name was Mr. Dennis O'Connor and he was top man in his field, doing

fascinating and important work on the reef populations of Eastern

Australian waters, and he had come a long way to talk to her and see her

experiments.

I didn't expect you to be so young. She had signed her correspondence

Doctor Silver and he gave the standard reaction to her. Samantha was

just tired and angry enough not to take it.

And I'm a woman. You didn't expect that either/ she agreed.

It's a crying bastard, isn't it? But then, I bet some of your best

friends are young females. He was a dinky-die Aussie, and he loved it.

He burst into an appreciative grin, and as they shook hands, he said,

You are not going to believe this, but I like you just the way you are.

He was tall and lean, sunburned and just a little grizzled at the

temples, and within minutes they were friends, and the respect with

which he viewed her work confirmed that.

The Australian had brought with him, in an oxygenated container.

container, five thousand live specimens of E Digitalis the common

Australian water snail, for inclusion in Samantha's experimentation. He

had selected these animals for their abundance and their importance in

the ecology of the Australian inshore waters, and the two of them were

soon so absorbed in the application of Samantha's techniques to this new

creature that when her assistant stuck her head through and yelled,

"Hey, Sam, there's a call for you/ she shouted back, Take a message.

if they're lucky I'll call them back. It's international, person to

person! and Samantha's pulse raced; instantly forgotten was the host of

Spiral-coned sea snails.

Nicholas! she shouted happily, spilled half a pint of sea water down

the Australian's trouser leg and ran wildly to the small cubicle at the

end of the laboratory.

She was breathless with excitement as she snatched up the receiver and

she pressed one hand against her heart to stop it thumping.

Is that Doctor Silver? Yes! It's me. Then correcting her grammar, It

is she! Go ahead, please/ said the operator, and there was a click and

pulse on the line as it came alive.

Nicholas! she exulted. Darling Nicholas, is that you? No., The voice

was very clear and serene, as though the speaker stood beside her, and

it was familiar, disconcertIngly so, and for no good reason Samantha

felt her heart shrink with dread.

This is Chantelle Alexander, Peter's mother. We have met briefly. Yes.

Samantha's voice was now small, and still breathless.

I thought it would be kind to tell you in person, before you hear from

other sources - that Nicholas and I have decided to re-marry.

Samantha sat down jerkily on the office stool.

Are you there? Chantelle asked after a moment.

I don't believe you, whispered Samantha.

I'm sorry, Chantelle told her gently. But there is Peter, you see, and

we have rediscovered each other - discovered that we had never stopped

loving each other. Nicholas wouldn't - her voice broke, and she could

not go on.

You must understand and forgive him, my dear/ Chantelle explained. After

our divorce he was hurt and lonely.

I'm sure he did not mean to take advantage of you. But, but - we were

supposed to, we were going to I know. Please believe me, this has not

been easy for any of us. For all our sakes - We had planned a whole

life together. Samantha shook her head wildly, and a thick skein of

golden hair came loose and flopped into her face, she pushed it back

with a combing gesture. I don't believe it, why didn't Nicholas tell me

himself? I won't believe it until he tells me.

Chantelle's voice was compassionate, gentle. I so wanted not to make it

ugly for you, my child, but now what can I do but tell you that Nicholas

spent last night in my house, in my bed, in my arms, where he truly

belongs. It was almost miraculous, a physical thing, but sitting

hunched on the hard round stool Samantha Silver felt her youth fall away

from her, sloughed off like a glittering reptilian skin. She was left

with the sensation of timelessness, possessed of all the suffering and

sorrow of every woman who had lived before. She felt very old and wise

and sad, and she lifted her fingers and touched her own not dried cheek,

mildly surprised to feel that the skin was and withered like that of

some ancient crone.

,I have already made the arrangements for a divorce from my present

husband, and Nicholas will resume his position at the head of Christy

Marine. it was true, Samantha knew then that it was true.

There was no question, no doubt, and slowly she replaced the receiver of

the telephone, and sat staring blankly at the bare wall of the cubicle.

She did not cry, she felt as though she would never cry, nor laugh,

again in her life.

Chantelle Alexander studied her husband carefully, trying to stand

outside herself, and to see him dispassionately.

She found it easier now that the giddy insanity had burned away.

He was a handsome man, tall and lean, with those carefully groomed

metallic waves of coppery hair. Even the wrist that he shot from the

crisp white cuff of his sleeve was covered with those fine gleaming

hairs. She knew so well that even his lean chest was covered with thick

golden curls, crisp and curly as fresh lettuce leaves. She had never

been attracted by smooth hairless men.

,May I smoke? he asked, and she inclined her head.

His voice had also attracted her from the first, deep and resonant, but

with those high-bred accents, the gentle softening of the vowel sounds,

the lazy drawling of consonthings that ants. The voice and the

patrician manner were 1 she had been trained to appreciate - and yet,

under the mannered cultivated exterior was the flash of exciting

wickedness, that showed in the wolfish white gleam of smile, and the

sharp glittering grey steel of his gaze, He lit the custom-made

cigarette with the gold lighter she had given him - her very first gift,

the night they had become lovers, Even now, the memory of was piquant,

and for a moment she felt the soft melting warmth in her lower belly and

she stirred restlessly in her chair, There had been reason, and good

reason for that madness, and even now it was over, she would never

regret it, It had been a period in her life which she had not been able

to deny herself. The grand sweeping illicit passion, the last flush of

her youth, the final careless autumn that preceded middle age. Another

ordinary woman might have had to content herself with sweaty sordid

gropings and grapplings in anonymous hotel bedrooms, but not Chantelle

Christy. Her world was shaped by her own whims and desires, and, as she

had told Nicholas, whatever she desired was hers to take. Long ago, her

father had taught her that there were special rules for Chantelle

Christy, and the rules were those she made herself.

It had been marvelous, she shivered slightly at the lingering sensuality

of those early days, but now it was over.

During the past months she had been carefully comparing the two men. Her

decision had not been lightly made.

She had watched Nicholas retrieve his life from the gulf of disaster. On

his own, stripped naked of all but that invisible indefinable mantle of

strength and determination, he had fought his way back out of the gulf.

Strength and power had always moved her, but she had over the years

grown accustomed to Nicholas. Familiarity had staled their relationship

for her. But now her interlude with Duncan had freshened her view of

him, and he had for her all the novel appeal of a new lover - yet with

the proven values and qualities of long intimate acquaintance.

Duncan Alexander was finished, Nicholas Berg was the future.

But, no, she would never regret this interlude in her life.

It had been a time of rejuvenation, she would not even regret Nicholas

involvement with the pretty American child. Later, it would add a

certain perverse spice to her own sexuality, she thought, and felt the

shiver run down her thighs and the soft secret stirring of her flesh,

like the opening of a petalled rosebud. Duncan had taught her many

things, bizarre little tricks of arousal, made more poignant by being

forbidden and wicked. Unfortunately Duncan relied almost entirely on

the tricks, and not all of them had worked for her - the corners of her

mouth turned down with distaste as she remembered; perhaps it was just

that which had begun the curdling process.

No, Duncan Alexander had not been able to match her raw, elemental

sexuality and soaring abandon. Only one man had ever been able to do

that. Duncan had served a purpose, but now it was over. It might have

dragged on a little longer, but Duncan Alexander had endangered Christy

Marine. Never had she thought of that possibility; Christy Marine was a

fact of her life, as vast and immutable as the heavens, but now the

foundations of heaven were being shaken. His sexual attraction had

staled, she might have forgiven him that, but not the other.

She became aware of Duncan's discomfort. He twisted sideways in his

chair, crossing and uncrossing his long legs, and he rolled the

cigarette between his fingers, studying the rising spiral of blue smoke

to avoid the level, expressionless gaze of her dark fathomless eyes.

She had been staring at him, but seeing the other man, Now, with an

effort, she focused her attention on him.

Thank you for coming so promptly, she said, It did seem rather urgent.

He smiled for the first time, glossy and urbane - but with fear down

there in the cool grey eyes, and his tension was betrayed by the

clenched sinew in the point of his jaw.

Looking closely, as she had not done for many months, she saw how he was

fined down. The long tapered fingers were bony, and never still. There

were new harder lines to his mouth, and a frown to the set of his eyes.

The skin at the corners cracked like oil paint into hundreds of fine

wrinkles that the deep brown snow-tan hid from a casual glance. Now he

returned her scrutiny directly.

From what you told me yesterday She lifted her hand to stop him.

"That can wait. I merely wanted to impress you with the seriousness of

what is happening. What is really of prime importance now is what you

have done with control of my shares and those of the Trust. His hands

went very still. What does that mean? I want auditors, my appointed

auditors, sent in I He shrugged. All this will take time, Chantelle,

and I'm not certain that I'm ready to relinquish control. He was very

cool, very casual now and the fear was gone.

She felt a stir of relief, perhaps the horror story that Nicholas had

told her was untrue, perhaps the danger was imaginary only..

Christy Marine was so big, so invulnerable. Not just at the moment,

anyway.

You'd have to prove to me that doing so was in the best interest of the

company and of the Trust., I don't have to prove anything, to anyone,

she said flatly.

This time you do. You have appointed me No court of law would uphold

that agreement. Perhaps not, Chantelle, but do you want to drag all

this through the courts - at a time like this, I'm not afraid, Duncan.

She stood up quickly, light on her feet as a dancer. the lovely legs in

loose black silk trousers, soft flat shoes making her seem still

smaller, a slim gold chain emphasizing the narrowness of the tiny waist.

You know I'm afraid of nothing. She stood over him, and pointed the

accuser's finger. The nails tipped in scarlet, the colour of fresh

arterial blood. You should be the one to fear. And precisely what is

it you are accusing me of? And she told him, reeling off swiftly the

lists of guarantees made by the Trust, the transfer of shares and the

issues of new shares and guarantees within the Christy Marine group of

subsidiaries, she listed the known layering of underwriting cover on

Golden Dawn that Nicholas had unearthed.

,When my auditors have finished, Duncan darling, not only will the

courts return control of Christy Marine to me, but they will probably

sentence you to five years at hard labour. They take this sort of thing

rather seriously, you know. He smiled. He actually smiled! She felt

her fury seething to the surface and the set of her eyes altered, colour

tinted the smooth pale olive of her cheeks.

You dare to grin at me/ she hissed. I will break you for that.

"No/ he shook his head. No, you won't. Are you denying -'she snapped,

but he cut her off with a raised hand, and a shake of that handsome

arrogant head.

I am denying nothing, my love. On the contrary, I am going to admit it

- and more, much more. He flicked the cigarette away, and it hissed

sharply in the lapping blue wavelets of the yacht basin. While she

stared at him, struck speechless, he let the silence play out like a

skilled actor as he selected and lit another cigarette from the gold

case.

For some weeks now I have been fully aware that somebody was prying very

deeply into my affairs and those of the company. He blew a long blue

feather of cigarette smoke, and cocked one eyebrow at her, a cynical

mocking gesture which increased her fury, but left her feeling suddenly

afraid and uncertain. It didn't take long to establish that the trace

was coming from a little man in Monte Carlo who makes a living at

financial and industrial espionage.

Lazarus is good, excellent, the very best. I have used him myself, in

fact it was I who introduced him to Nicholas Berg. He chuckled then,

shaking his head indulgently.

The silly things we do sometimes. The connection was immediate.

Berg and Lazarus. I have run my own check on that even what they have

come up with and estimate Lazarus could not have uncovered more than

twenty-five percent of the answers. He leaned forward and suddenly his

voice snapped with a new authority. You see, Chantelle dear, I am

probably one of the best in the world myself.

They could never have traced it all. You are not denying then - She

heard the faltering tone in her own voice, and hated herself for it. He

brushed her aside contemptuously.

Be quiet, you silly little woman, and listen to me. I am going to tell

you just how deeply you are in - I am going to explain to you, in terms

that even you can understand, why you will not send in your auditors,

why you will not fire me, and why you will do exactly what I tell you to

do. He paused and stared into her eyes, a direct trial of strength

which she could not meet. She was confused and uncertain, for once not

in control of her own destiny. She dropped her eyes, and he nodded with

satisfaction.

Very well. Now listen. I have put it all - everything that is Christy

Marine - it is all riding on Golden Dawn. Chantelle felt the earth turn

giddily under her feet and the sudden roaring rush of blood in her ears.

She stepped back and the stone parapet caught the back of her knees.

She sat down heavily.

What are you talking about? she whispered. And he told her, in

substantial detail, from the beginning, how it had worked out. From the

laying of Golden Dawn's keel in the times of vast tanker tonnage demand.

My calculations were based on demand for tanker space two years ago, and

on construction costs of that time. The energy crisis and collapse in

demand for tankers had come with the vicious rise in inflation, bloating

the costs of construction of Golden Dawn by more than double.

Duncan had countered by altering the design of the gigantic tanker. He

had reduced the four propulsion units to one, he had cut down the steel

structuring of the hull reinforcement by twenty percent, he had done

away with elaborate safety functions and fail-safe systems designed by

Nicholas Berg, and he had cut it too fine. He had forfeited the Al

Lloyd's rating, the mark of approval from the inspectors of that

venerable body; without the insurance backing of that huge underwriting

market, he had been forced to look elsewhere to find the cover to

satisfy his financiers. The premiums had been crippling. He had to

pledge Christy Marine stock, the Trust stock.

Then the spiralling cost of production had overtaken him again and he

needed money and more money, He had taken it where he could find it, at

rates of interest that were demanded, and used more Christy stock as

collateral.

Then the insurance cover had been insufficient to cover the huge

increase in the cost of the ultra-tanker's hull.

When luck runs out - Duncan shrugged eloquently, and went on, I had to

pledge more Christy stock, all of it.

It's all at risk, Chantelle, every single piece of paper, even the

shares we retrieved from your Nicholas - and even that wasn't enough.

I have had to write cover through front companies, cover that is

worthless. Then, Duncan smiled again, relaxed and unruffled, almost as

though he was enjoying himself, then, there was that awful fiasco when

Golden Adventurer went up on the ice, and I had to find six million

dollars to pay the salvage award. That was the last of it, I went out

for everything then, all of it. The Trust, the whole of Christy Marine.

I'll break you/ she whispered. I'll smash you. I swear before God -

You don't understand, do you? He shook his head sorrowfully, as though

at an obtuse child. You cannot break me, without breaking Christy

Marine and yourself. You are in it, Chantelle, much much deeper than I

am. You have everything every penny, this house, that emerald on your

finger, the future of your brat - all of it is riding on Golden Dawn..

No. She closed her eyes very tightly, and there was no colour in her

cheeks now.

Yes. I'm afraid it's yes/ he contradicted. I didn't plan it that way.

I saw a profit of 200 millions in it, but we have been caught up in

circumstances, I'm afraid./ They were both silent, and Chantelle swayed

slightly as the full enormity of it overwhelmed her.

If you whistle up your hounds now, if you call in your axemen, there

will be plenty for them to work on/ he laughed again, buckets of dung

for us all to wallow in.

And my backers will line up to cancel out, Golden Dawn will never run

down her ways - she is not fully covered, as I explained to you.

It all hangs on a single thread, Chantelle. If the launching of Golden

Dawn is delayed now, delayed by a month - no, by a week even, it will

all come tumbling down., I'm going to be sick/ she whispered thickly.

No, you are not. He stood up and crossed quickly to her. Coldly he

slapped her face, two hard open-handed back and forth blows, that

snapped her head from side to side, leaving the livid marks of his

fingers on her pale cheeks. it was the first time ever that a man had

struck her, but she could not find the indignation to protest. She

merely stared at him.

Pull yourself together/ he snarled at her, and gripped her shoulders

fiercely, shaking her as he went on. Listen to me. I have told you the

worst that can happen Now, I will tell you the best. If we stand

together now, if you obey me implicitly, without question, I will pull

off one of the greatest financial coups of the century for you. All it

needs is one successful voyage by Golden Dawn and we are home free - a

single voyage, a few short weeks, and I will have doubled your fortune.

She was staring at him, sickened and shaken to the core of her

existence. I have signed an agreement of charter with Orient Amex, that

will pull us out from under a single voyage, and the day Golden Dawn

anchors in Galveston roads and sends in her tank pods to discharge, I

will have a dozen buyers for her. He stepped back, and straightened the

lapels of his jacket. They are going to remember my name. In future

when they talk of tankers, they are going to talk of Duncan Alexander. I

hate you/ she said softly. I truly hate you.

"That is not important. He waved it away. When it is over, I can

afford to walk away - and you can afford to let me go. But not a moment

before. How much will you make from this, if it succeeds? she asked,

and she was recovering, her voice firmer.

A great deal. A very great deal of money - but my real reward will be

in reputation and achievement. After this, I will be a man who can

write his own ticket. For once, you will be able to stand comparison

with Nicholas Berg. Is that it? She saw she had scored immediately,

and she pressed harder, trying to wound and destroy.

But you and I both know it is not true. Golden Dawn was Nicholas

inspiration and he would not have had to descend to the cheat and sham

My dear Chantelle - /You will never be, could never be the man Nicholas

is. Damn you. Suddenly he was shaking with anger, and she was

screaming at him.

You're a cheat and a liar. For all your airs, you're still a cheap

little barrow-boy at heart. You're small and shoddy I've beaten

Nicholas Berg every time I've met him. No, you haven't, Duncan, It was

I who beat him for you!

I took you, For a while, she sneered. Just for a short fling, Duncan

dear. But when he wanted me he took me right back again. What do you

mean by that he demanded.

The night before last, Nicholas was here, and he loved me in a way you

never could. I'm going back to him, and I'll tell the world why., You

bitch., He is so strong, Duncan. Strong where you are weak., And you

are a whore. He half turned away, and then paused.

Just be at St Nazaire on Tuesday. But she could see he was hurt, at

last she had cut through the carapace and touched raw quick nerves.

He loved me four times in one night. Duncan, magnificent soaring love.

Did you ever do that? I want you at St Nazaire , smiling at the

creditors on Tuesday. Even if you succeed with Golden Dawn, within six

months Nicholas will have your job, But until then you'll do exactly

what I say. Duncan braced himself, a visible effort, and began to walk

away.

You are going to be the loser, Duncan Alexander, she screamed after him,

her voice cracking shrilly with frustration and outrage. I will see to

that - I swear it to you., He subdued the urge to run, and crossed the

terrace, holding himself carefully erect, and the storm of her hatred

and frustration burst a-round him.

Go into the streets where you belong, into the gutter where I found you,

she screamed, and he went up the stone staircase and out of her sight.

Now he could hurry, but he found his legs were trembling under him, his

breath was ragged and broken, and there was a tight knot of anger and

jealousy turning his guts into a ball.

The bastard, he spoke aloud. That bastard Berg. Tom? Tom Parker?

That's right, who is this, please? His voice was so clear and strong,

although the Atlantic Ocean separated them.

It's Nicholas, Nicholas Berg. you? the big voice boomed with genuine

pleasure. Nick, how are you? God, I'm glad you called. I've been

trying to reach you. I've got good news. The best. Nicholas felt a

quick lift of relief.

Samantha? No, damn it/ Tom laughed. It's the job. Your Job.

It went up before the Board of Governors of the University yesterday.

I had to sell it to them hard - I'll tell you that for free - but they

okayed it. You're on, Nick, isn't that ?) great It's terrific, Tom.

"You're on the Biology faculty as an associate, it's the thin end of the

wedge, Nicholas. We'll have you a chair by the end of next year, you

wait and see. I'm delighted. Christ, you don't sound it, Tom roared.

What's bugging you, boy? Tom what the hell has happened to Samantha?

And Nicholas sensed the mood change, the silence lasted a beat too long,

and then Tom's tone was guileless.

She went off on a field trip - down the Keys, didn't she tell you? Down

the Keys? Nicholas voice rose with his anger and frustration. Damn it,

Tom. She was supposed to be here in France.

She promised to come over for the launching of my new vessel. I've been

trying to get in touch with her for a week now. She left Sunday, said

Tom.

What is she playing at? That's a question she might want to ask you

sometime. What does that mean, Tom? Well, before she took off, she

came up here and had a good weep with Antoinette - you know, my wife.

She plays den mother for every hysterical female within fifty miles, she

does. Now it was Nicholas turn to be silent, while the coldness settled

on his chest, the coldness of formless dread.

What was the trouble? Good God, Nick, you don't expect me to follow the

intimate details of the love life. Can I speak to Antoinette? She

isn't here, Nick. She went up to Orlando for a meeting. She won't be

back until the weekend. The silence again.

All that heavy breathing's costing you a fortune, Nicholas.

You're paying for this call. I don't know what got into Sam. But he

did. Nicholas knew - and the guilt was strong upon him.

Listen, Nick. A word to the wise. Get your ass across here, boy. just

as soon as you can. That girl needs talking to, badly.

That is, if you care about it, I care about it, Nicholas said quickly,

But hell, I am launching a tug in two days time. I've got sea trials,

and a meeting in London. Tom's voice had an air of finality. A man's

got to do what he's got to do. Tom, I'll be across there as soon as I

possibly can. I believe it, If you see her, tell her that for me, will

you? I'll tell her. Thanks, Tom.

The governors will want to meet you, Nicholas. Come as soon as you can.

It's a promise. Nicholas cradled the receiver, and stood staring out of

the windows of the site office. The view across the inner harbour was

completely blocked by the towering hull of his tug. She stood tall on

her ways. Her hull already wore its final coat of glistening white and

the wide flaring bows bore the name Sea Witch and below that the port of

registration, Bermuda'.

She was beautiful, magnificent, but now Nicholas did not even see her.

He was overwhelmed by a sense of imminent loss, the cold premonition of

onrushing disaster, Until that moment when he faced the prospect of

losing her, he had not truly known how large a part that lovely golden

girl had come to play in his existence, and in his plans for the future

There was no way that Samantha could have learned of that single night

of weakness, the betrayal that still left Nicholas sickened with guilt -

there must be something else that had come between them. He bunched his

right fist and slammed it against the sill of the window. The skin on

his knuckles smeared, but he did not feel the pain, only the bitter

frustration of being tied down here in St Nazaire, weighed down by his

responsibilities, he should have been free to follow the jack-o'-lantern

of happiness.

The loudspeaker above his head gave a preliminary squawk, and then

crackled out the message, Monsieur Berg. Will Monsieur attend upon the

bridge? it was a welcome distraction., and Nicholas hurried out into

the spring sunshine. Looking upwards, he could see Jules Levoisin on

the wing of the bridge. His portly figure foreshortened against the

open sky, like a small pugnacious rooster, he stood facing the

electronics engineer who was responsible for the installation of Sea

Witch's communications system, and Jules cries of Sacro bleu and Merdel

and Imbocile carried clearly above the cacophony of shipyard noises.

Nicholas started to run as he saw the engineer's arms begin to wave and

his strident Gallic cries blended with those of Sea Witch's new Master.

It was only the third time that Jules Levoisin had become hysterical

that day, however it was not yet noon. As the hour of launching came

steadily closer, so the little Frenchman's nerves played him tricks, he

was behaving like a prima ballerina awaiting the opening curtain. Unless

Nicholas reached the bridge within the next few minutes, he would need

either a new Master or a new electronics engineer.

Ten minutes later, Nicholas had a cheroot in each of their mouths.

The atmosphere was still tense but no longer explosive, and gently Nick

took the engineer by the elbow, placed his other arm around Jules

Levoisin's shoulders and led them both back into the wheelhouse.

The bridge installation was complete, and Jules Levoisin was accepting

delivery of the special equipment from the contractors, a negotiation

every bit as traumatic as the Treaty of Versailles.

I myself authorized the modification of the MK IV transponder/ Nicholas

explained patiently. We had trouble with the same unit on Warlock. I

should have told you, Jules. You should have, agreed the little Master

huffily.

But you were perceptive to notice the change from the specification/

Nicholas soothed him, and Jules puffed out his chest a little and rolled

the cheroot in his mouth.

I may be an old dog, but I know all the new tricks. He removed the

cheroot and smugly blew a perfect smoke ring.

When Nicholas at last left them chatting amiably over the massed array

of sophisticated equipment that lined the navigation area at the back of

the bridge, they were paging him from the site office.

What is it? he asked, as he came through the door.

It's a lady/ the foreman indicated the telephone lying on the littered

desk below the window.

Samantha, Nick thought, and snatched up the receiver.

Nicky. He felt the shock of quick guilt at the voice.

Chantelle, where are you? In La Baule. The fashionable resort town

just up the Atlantic coast was a better setting for Chantelle Alexander

than the grubby port with its sprawling dockyards.

"Staying at the Castille. God, it's too awful. I'd forgotten how awful

it was. They had stayed there together, once long ago, in a different

life it seemed now.

But the restaurant is still quite cute, Nicholas. Have lunch with me. I

must speak to you. I can't leave here. He would not walk into the trap

again.

It's important. I must see you. He could hear that husky tone in her

voice, imagine clearly the sensuous droop of the eyelids over those bold

Persian eyes. For an hour, only an hour. You can spare that.

Despite himself, he felt the pull of temptation, the dull ache of it at

the base of his belly - and he was angry at her for the power she could

still exert over him.

If it's important, then come here/ he said brusquely, and she sighed at

his intransigence.

All right, Nicholas. How will I find you? The Rolls was parked

opposite the dockyard gates and Nicholas crossed the road and stepped

through the door that the chauffeur held open for him.

Chantelle lifted her face to him. Her hair was cloudy dark and shot

with light like a bolt of silk, her lips the colour of ripe fruit, moist

and slightly parted. He ignored the invitation and touched her cheek

with his lips before settling into the corner opposite her.

She made a little moue, and slanted her eyes at him in amusement.

"How chaste we are, Nicky. Nicholas touched the button on the control

console and the glass soundproof partition slid up noiselessly between

them and the chauffeur.

Did you send in the auditors? he asked.

You look tired, darling, and harassed. Have you blown the whistle on

Duncan? he avoided the distraction. The work on Golden Dawn is still

going ahead. The arc lights were burning over her all night and the

talk in the yards is that she is being launched at noon tomorrow, almost

a month ahead of schedule. What happened, Chantelle?

"There is a little bistro at Mindin, it's just across the bridge DAmn

it, Chantelle. I haven't time to fool around. But the Rolls was

already gliding swiftly through the narrow streets. of the port,

between the high warehouse buildings.

It will take five minutes, and the Lobster Armoricaine is the local

speciality - not to be confused with Lobster Arnoricaine. They do it in

a cream sauce, it's superb/ she chatted archly, and the Rolls turned out

on to the quay.

Across the narrow waters of the inner harbour humped the ugly

camouflaged mounds of the Nazi submarine pens, armoured concrete so

thick as to resist the bombs of the R.A.F. and the efforts of all

demolition experts over the Years since then.

Peter asked me to give you his love. He has got his junior team

colours. I'm so proud. Nicholas thrust his hands deep into his jacket

pockets and slumped down resignedly against the soft leather seat.

I am delighted to hear it, he said.

And they were silent then until the chauffeur checked the Rolls at the

toll barrier to pay before accelerating out on to the ramp of the St

Nazaire bridge. The great span of the bridge rose in a regal curve,

three hundred feet above the waters of the Loire River, The river was

almost three miles wide here, and from the highest point of the bridge

there was an aerial view over the dockyards of the town.

There were half a dozen vessels building along the banks of the broad

muddy river, a mighty forest of steel scaffolding, tall gantries and

half-assembled hulls, but all of it insignificant under the mountainous

bulk of Golden Dawn. Without her pod tanks, she had an incomplete

gutted appearance, as though the Eiffel Tower had toppled over and

somebody had built a modernistic apartment block at one end.

It seemed impossible that such a structure was capable of floating.

God, she was ugly, Nick thought.

They are still working on her/ he said. One of the gantries was moving

ponderously along the length of the ship like an arthritic dinosaur, and

at fifty paces the brilliant blue electric fires of the welding torches

flickered; while upon the grotesquely riven hull crawled human figures

reduced to antlike insignificance by the sheer size of the vessel.

They are still working, he repeated it as an accusation.

Nicholas, nothing in this life is simple Did you spell it out for

Duncan? except for people like you. You didn't confront Duncan, did

you? he accused bitterly, It's easy for you to be strong. It's one of

the things that first attracted me. And Nicholas almost laughed aloud.

It was ludicrous to talk of strength, after his many displays of

weakness with this very woman.

Did you call Duncan's cards? he insisted, but she put him off with a

smile.

Let's wait until we have a glass of wine Now/ he snapped. Tell me right

now. Chantelle, I haven't time for games. Yes, I spoke to him, she

nodded. I called him down to Cap Ferrat, and I accused him - of what

You suspected. He denied it? if he denies it, I now have further proof

No, Nicholas. He didn't deny a thing. He told me that I knew only the

half of it. Her voice rose sharply, and suddenly it all spilled out in

a torrent of tortured words. Her composure was eroded swiftly away as

she relived the enormity of her predicament.

He's gambled with my fortune, Nicholas. He's risked the family share of

Christy Marine, the Trust shares, my shares, it's all at risk. And he

gloated as he told me, he truly gloried in his betrayal. We've got him

now. Nicholas had straightened slowly in his seat as he listened.

His voice was grimly satisfied and he nodded. That's it. We will stop

the Golden Dawn, like that -the hammered his bunched fist into the palm

of the other hand with a sharp crack. We will get an urgent order

before the courts. Nicholas stopped suddenly and stared at her.

Chantelle was shaking her head slowly from side to side. Her eyes

slowly filled, making them huge and glistening, a single tear spilled

over the lid and clung in the thick dark lashes like a drop of morning

dew.

The Rolls had stopped now outside the tiny bistro. It was on the river

front, with a view across the water to the dockyards. To the west the

river debauched into the open sea and in the east the beautiful arch of

the bridge across the pale blue spring sky.

The chauffeur held open the door and Chantelle was gone with her swift

birdlike grace, leaving Nicholas no choice but to follow her.

The proprietor came through from his kitchen and fussed over Chantelle,

seating her at the window and lingering to discuss the menu.

Oh, let's drink the Muscadet, Nicholas. She had always had the most

amazing powers of recovery, and now the tears were gone and she was

brittle and gay and beautiful, smiling at him over the rim of her glass.

The sunlight through the leaded window panes danced in the cool golden

wine and rippled on the smoky dark fall of her hair.

Here's to us, Nicholas darling. We are the last of the great.

It was a toast from long ago, from the other life, and it irritated him

now but he drank it silently and then set down the glass.

Chantelle, when and how are you going to stop Duncan? Don't spoil the

meal, darling. In about thirty seconds I'm going to start becoming very

angry., She studied him for a moment, and saw that it was true.

All right then/ she agreed reluctantly.

When are you going to stop him? I'm not, darling. He stared at her.

What did you say? he asked quietly.

I'm going to do everything in my power to help him launch and sail the

Golden Dawn. You don't understand, Chantelle. You're talking about

risking a million tons of the most deadly poison Don't be silly, Nicky.

Keep that heroic talk for the newspapers. I don't care if Duncan dumps

a million tons of cadmium in the water supply of greater London just as

long as he pulls the Trust and me out of the fire. There is still time

to make the modifications to Golden Dawn.

"No, there isn't. You don't understand, darling. Duncan has put us so

deeply into it that a delay of a few days even would bring us down. He

has stripped the cupboard bare, Nicky. There no money for

modifications, no time for anything, except to get Golden Dawn under

way., There is always a way and a means. Yes, and the way is to fill

Golden Dawn's pod tanks with crude. He's frightened you by Yes/ she

agreed, I am frightened. I have never been so frightened in my life,

Nicky. I could lose everything - I am terrified. I could lose it all.

She shivered with the horror of it. I would kill myself if that

happened. I am still going to stop Duncan. No, Nicky. Please leave

it, for my sake - for Peter's sake, it's Peter's inheritance that we are

talking about. Let Golden Dawn make one voyage, just one voyage and I

will be safe, It's the risk to an ocean, to God alone knows how many

human lives, we are talking about.

Don't shout, Nicky. People are looking. Let them look. I'm going to

stop that monster, No, Nicholas. Without me, you cannot do a thing. You

best believe it. Darling, I promise you, after her first voyage we will

sell Golden Dawn. We'll be safe then, and I can rid myself of Duncan.

It will be you and I again, Nicky. A few short weeks, that's all. It

took all his self-control to prevent his anger showing.

He clenched his fists on the starched white tablecloth, but his voice

was cool and even.

Just one more question, Chantelle. When did you phone Samantha Silver?

She looked puzzled for a moment as though she was trying to put a face

to a name. Samantha, oh, your little friend, Why should I want to

telephone her? And then her expression changed.

"Oh, Nicky, you don't really believe I'd do that? You don't really

believe I would tell anybody about it, about that wonderful. - Now she

was stricken, again those huge eyes brimmed and she reached across and

stroked the fine black hairs on the back of Nicholas big square hand.

"You don't think that of me! I'm not that much of a bitch, I don't have

to cheat to get the things I want. I don't have to inflict unnecessary

hurt on people. No/ Nicholas agreed quietly. You'd not murder more

than a million or poison more than a single ocean at a time, would you?

He pushed back his chair.

Sit down, Nicky. Eat your lobster. Suddenly I'm not hungry. He

stripped two one-hundred-franc notes from his money clip and dropped

them beside his plate.

I forbid you to leave/she hissed angrily. You are humiliating me,

Nicholas. I'll send your car back, he said, and walked out into the

sunlight. He found with surprise that he was trembling, and that his

jaws were clenched so tightly that his teeth ached.

The wind turned during the night, and the morning was cold with drifts

of low, grey, fast-flying cloud that threatened rain. Nicholas pulled

up his collar against the wind and the tails of his coat flogged about

his legs, for he was exposed on the highest point of the arched bridge

of St Nazaire.

Thousands of others had braved the wind, and the guardrail was lined two

and three deep, all the way across the curve of the northern span. The

traffic had backed up and half a dozen gendarmes were trying to get it

moving again; their whistles shrilled plaintively. Faintly the sound of

a band floated up to them, rising and falling in volume as the wind

caught it, and even with the naked eye Nicholas could make out the

wreaths of gaily coloured bunting which fluttered on the high cumbersome

stern tower of Golden Dawn, He glanced at his wristwatch, and saw it was

a few minutes before noon. A helicopter clattered noisily under the

grey belly of cloud, and hovered about the yards of Construction Navale

Atlantique on the gleaming silver coin of its rotor.

Nicholas lifted the binoculars and the eyepieces were painfully cold

against his skin. Through the lens, he could almost make out individual

features among the small gathering on the rostrum under the tanker's

stern.

The platform was decorated with a tricolor and a Union Jack, and as he

watched the band fell silent and lowered their instruments.

Speech time, Nicholas murmured, and now he could make out Duncan

Alexander, his bared head catching one of the fleeting rays of sun, a

glimmer of coppery gold as he looked up at the towering stern of Golden

Dawn.

His bulk almost obscured the tiny feminine figure beside him.

Chantelle wore that particular shade of malachite green which she so

dearly loved. There was confused activity around Chantelle, half a

dozen gentlemen assisting in the ceremony she had performed so very

often.

Chantelle had broken the champagne on almost all of Christy Marine's

fleet; the first time had been when she was Arthur Christy's

fourteen-year-old darling - it was another of the company's many

traditions.

Nicholas blinked, believing for an instant that his eyes had tricked

him, for it seemed that the very earth had changed its shape and was

moving.

Then he saw that the great hull of Golden Dawn had begun to slide

forward. The band burst into the Marseillaisel, the heroic strains

watered down by wind and distance, while Golden Dawn gathered momentum.

it was an incredible, even a stirring sight, and despite himself,

Nicholas felt the goose-bumps rise upon his fore-arms and the hair lift

on the back of his neck. He was a sailor, and he was watching the

birthing of the mightiest vessel ever built.

She was grotesque, monstrous, but she was part of him.

No matter that others had bastardized and perverted his grand design -

still the original design was his and he found himself gripping the

binoculars with hands that shook.

He watched the massive wooden-wedged arresters kick out from under that

great sliding mass of steel as they served to control her stern-first

rush down the ways. Steel cable whipped and snaked upon itself like the

Medusa's hair, and Golden Dawn's stern struck the water.

The brown muddy water of the estuary opened before her, cleaved by the

irresistible rush and weight, and the hull drove deep, opening

white-capped rollers that spread out across the channel and broke upon

the shores with a dull roar that carried clearly to where Nicholas

stood.

The crowd that lined the bridge was cheering wildly.

Beside him, a mother held her infant up to watch, both of them screaming

with glee.

While Golden Dawn's bows were still on the dockyard's ways her stern was

thrusting irresistibly a mile out into the river; forced down by the

raised bows it must now be almost touching the muddy bottom for the wave

was breaking around her stern quarters.

God, she was huge! Nicholas shook his head in wonder.

If only he had been able to build her the right way, what a ship she

would have been. What a magnificent concept!

Now her bows left the end of the slips, and the waters burst about her,

seething and leaping into swirling vortices.

Her stern started to rise, gathering speed as her own buoyancy caught

her, and she burst out like a great whale rising to blow. The waters

spilled from her, creaming and cascading through the steelwork of her

open decks, boiling madly in the cavernous openings that would hold the

pod tanks when she was fully loaded.

Now she came up short on the hundreds of retaining cables that prevented

her from driving clear across the river and throw - herself ashore on

the far bank.

She fought against this restraint, as though having felt the water she

was now eager to run. She rolled and dipped and swung with a ponderous

majesty that kept the crowds along the bridge cheering wildly. Then

slowly she settled and floated quietly, seeming to fill the Loire River

from bank to bank and to reach as high as the soaring spans of the

bridge itself.

The four attendant harbour tugs moved in quickly to assist the ship to

turn its prodigious length and to line up for the roads and the open

sea.

They butted and backed, working as a highly skilled team, and slowly

they coaxed Golden Dawn around. Her sideways motion left a mile-wide

sweep of disturbed water across the estuary. Then suddenly there was a

tremendous boil under her counter, and Nicholas saw the bronze flash of

her single screw sweeping slowly through the brown water. Faster and

still faster it turned, and despite himself Nicholas thrilled to see her

come alive. A ripple formed under her bows, and almost imperceptibly

she began to creep forward, overcoming the vast inertia of her weight,

gathering steerage way, under command at last.

The harbour tugs fell back respectfully, and as the mighty bows lined up

with the open sea she drove forward determinedly.

Silver spouts of steam from the sirens of the tugs shot high, and

moments later, the booming bellow of their salute crashed against the

skies.

The crowds had dispersed and Nicholas stood alone in the wind on the

high bridge and watched the structured steel towers of Golden Dawn s

hull blending with the grey and misted horizon. He watched her turn,

coming around on to her great circle course that would carry her six

thousand miles southward to Good Hope, and even at this distance he

sensed her change in mood as she steadied and her single screw began to

push her up to top economic speed.

Nicholas checked his watch and murmured the age-old Master's command

that commenced every voyage.

Full away at 1700 hours, he said, and turned to trudge back along the

bridge to where he had left the hired Renault.

It was after six o'clock and the site was empty by the time Nicholas got

back to Sea Witch. He threw himself into a chair and lit a cheroot

while he thumbed quickly through his address book. He found what he

wanted, dialled the direct London code, and then the number.

Good afternoon. This is the Sunday Times. May I help you? Is Mr.

Herbstein available? Nicholas asked.

Hold on, please. While he waited, Nicholas checked his address book for

his next most likely contact, should the journalist be climbing the

Himalayas or visiting a guerrilla training camp in Central Africa,

either of which were highly likely - but within seconds he heard his

voice.

Denis/he said. This is Nicholas Berg, how are you? I've got a hell of

a story for you. Nicholas tried to bear the indignity of it with

stoicism, but the thick coating of pancake make-up seemed to clog the

pores of his skin and he moved restlessly in the make-up chair.

Please keep still, sir! the make-up girl snapped irritably; there was a

line of unfortunates awaiting her ministrations along the bench at the

back of the narrow room. One of them was Duncan Alexander and he caught

Nicholas eye in the mirror and raised an eyebrow in a mocking salute.

In the chair beside him, the anchorman of The Today and Tomorrow Show

lolled graciously; he was tall and elegant with dyed and permanently

waved hair, a carnation in his button-hole, a high camp manner and an

ostentatiously liberal image.

I've given you the first slot. If it gets interesting, I'll run you

four minutes forty seconds, otherwise I'll cut it off at two.

Denis Herbstein's Sunday article had been done with high

professionalism, especially bearing in mind the very short time he had

to put it together. it had included interviews with representatives of

Lloyd's of London, the oil companies, environmental experts both in

America and England, and even with the United States Coast Guard.

Try to make it tight and hard/advised the anchor-man.

Let's not pussyfoot around. He wanted sensation, not too many facts or

figures, good gory horror stuff - or a satisfying punch-up.

The Sunday Times article had flushed them out at Orient Amex and Christy

Marine; they had not been able to ignore the challenge for there was a

question tabled for Thursday by a Labour member in the Commons, and

ominous stirrings in the ranks of the American Coast Guard service.

There had been enough fuss to excite the interest of The Today and

Tomorrow Show. They had invited the parties and both Christy Marine and

Orient to meet their accuser.

Amex had fielded their first teams. Duncan Alexander with all his

charisma had come to speak for Christy Marine, and Orient Amex had

selected one of their directors who looked like Gary Cooper. With his

craggy honest face and the silver hairs at his temple he looked like the

kind of man you wanted flying your airliner or looking after your money.

The make-up girl dusted Nicholas face with powder.

I'm going to invite you to speak first. Tell us about this stuff - what

is it, cadmium? the interviewer checked his script.

Nicholas nodded, he could not speak for he was suffering the ultimate

indignity. The girl was painting his lips.

The television studio was the size of an aircraft hangar, the concrete

floor strewn with thick black cables and the roof lost in the gloomy

heights, but they had created the illusion of intimacy in the small

shell of the stage around which the big mobile cameras cluttered like

mechanical crabs around the carcass of a dead fish.

The egg-shaped chairs made it impossible either to loll or to sit

upright, and the merciless white glare of the arc lamps fried the thick

layer of greasy make-up on Nicholas skin. it was small consolation that

across the table Duncan looked like a Japanese Kabuki dancer in make-up

too white for his coppery hair.

An assistant director in a sweatshirt and jeans clipped the small

microphone into Nicholas lapel and whispered, Give them hell, ducky.

Somebody else in the darkness beyond the lights was intoning solemnly,

Four, three, two, one - you're on! and the red light lit on the middle

camera.

Welcome to The Today and Tomorrow Show/ the anchor-man's voice was

suddenly warm and intimate and mellifluous. Last week in the French

ship-building port of St Na zaire, the largest ship in the world was

launched In a dozen sentences he sketched out the facts, while on the

repeating screens beyond the cameras Nicholas saw that they were running

newsreel footage of Golden Dawn's launching. He remembered the

helicopter hovering over the dockyard, and he was so fascinated by the

aerial views of the enormous vessel taking to the water that when the

cameras switched suddenly to him, he was taken by surprise and saw

himself start on the little screen as the interviewer began introducing

him, swiftly running a thumbnail portrait and then going on: Mr. Berg

has some very definite views on this ship. In her present design and

construction, she is not safe to carry even regular crude petroleum oil/

Nicholas said.

However, she will be employed in the carriage of crude oil that has been

contaminated by cadmium sulphide in such concentrations as to make it

one of the more toxic substances in nature. Your first statement, Mr.

Berg, does anyone else share your doubts as to the safety of her design?

She does not carry the Al rating by the marine inspectors of Lloyd's of

London/ said Nicholas.

Now can you tell us about the cargo she will carry - the so-called

cad-rich crudes? Nicholas knew he had perhaps fifteen seconds to draw a

verbal picture of the Atlantic Ocean turned into a sterile poisoned

desert; it was too short a time, and twice Duncan Alexander interjected,

skilfully breaking up the logic of Nicholas presentation and before he

had finished, the anchor-man glanced at his watch and cut him short.

Thank you, Mr. Berg. Now Mr. Kemp is a director of the oil company. My

company., Orient Amex, last year allocated the sum of two million U.S.

dollars as grants to assist in the scientific study of world

environmental problems. I can tell you folks, right now, that we at

Orient Amex are very conscious of the problems of modern technology He

was projecting the oil-company image, the benefactors of all humanity.

Your company's profit last year, after taxation, was four hundred and

twenty-five million dollars/ Nicholas cut in clearly. That makes point

four seven percent on environmental research - all of it tax deductible.

Congratulations, Mr. Kemp. The oil man looked pained and went on: Now

we at Orient Amex/ plugging the company n gm e again neatly, are working

towards a better quality of life for all peoples.

But we do realize that it is impossible to put back the clock a hundred

years. We cannot allow ourselves to be blinded by the romantic wishful

thinking of amateur environmentalists, the weekend scientists and the

doom-criers who - Cry Torrey Canyon, Nicholas suggested helpfully, and

the oil man suppressed a shudder and went on quickly. -who would have us

discontinue such research as the revolutionary cadmium cracking process,

which could extend the world's utilization of fossil fuels by a

staggering forty percent and give the world's oil reserves an extended

life of twenty years or more. Again the anchor-man glanced at his

watch, cut the oil off in mid-flow and switched his attention to Duncan

Alexander.

Mr. Alexander, your so-called ultra-tanker will carry the cad-rich

crudes. How would you reply to Mr. Berg? Duncan smiled, a deep secret

smile. When Mr. Berg had my job as head of Christy Marine, the Golden

Dawn was the best idea in the world. Since he was fired, it's suddenly

the worst. They laughed, even one of the cameramen out beyond the

lights guffawed uncontrollably, and Nicholas felt the hot red rush of

his anger.

Is the Golden Dawn rated Al at Lloyd's? asked the anchor-man.

Christy Marine has not applied for a Llpyd's listing we arranged our

insurance in other markets. Even through his anger Nicholas had to

concede how good he was, he had a mind like quicksilver.

How safe is your ship, Mr. Alexander? Now Duncan turned his head and

looked directly across the table at Nicholas.

I believe she is as safe as the world's leading marine architects and

naval engineers can make her. He paused, and there was a malevolent

gleam in his eyes now, So safe, that I have decided to end this

ridiculous controversy by a display of my personal confidence.

What form will this show of faith take, Mr. Alexander? The anchor-man

sensed the sensational line for which he had been groping and he leaned

forward eagerly.

On Golden Dawn s maiden voyage, when she returns from the Persian Gulf

fully laden with the El Barras crudes, I and my family, my wife and my

step-son, will travel aboard her for the final six thousand miles of her

voyage from Cape Town on the Cape of Good Hope to Galveston in the Gulf

of Mexico. As Nicholas gaped at him wordlessly, he went on evenly,

That's how convinced I am that Golden Dawn is capable of performing her

task in perfect safety. Thank you. The anchor-man recognized a good

exit line, when he heard one. Thank you, Mr. Alexander.

you have convinced me - and I am sure many of our viewers. We are now

crossing to Washington via satellite where The moment the red in use

light flickered out on the television camera, Nicholas was on his feet

and facing the real Duncan Alexander. His anger was fanned by the

realization that Duncan had easily grandstanded him with that adroit

display of showmanship, and by the stabbing anxiety at the threat to

take Peter aboard Golden Down on her hazardous maiden voyage.

You're not taking Peter on that death trap of yours, he snapped.

Thats his mother's decision/ said Duncan evenly. As the daughter of

Arthur Christy, she's decided to give the company her full support/ he

emphasized the word full'.

I wont let either of you endanger my son's life for a wild

public-relations stunt. I'm sure you will try to prevent it, Duncan

nodded and smiled, and I'm sure your efforts will be as ineffectual as

your attempts to stop Golden Dawn., He deliberately turned his back on

Nicholas and spoke to the oil man. I do think that went off rather

well/ he said, don't you? James Teacher gave a graphic demonstration of

why he could charge the highest fees in London and still have his desk

piled high with important briefs. He had Nicholas urgent application

before a Judge-in-Chambers within seventy hours, petitioning for a writ

to restrain Chantelle Alexander from allowing the son of their former

marriage, one Peter Nicholas Berg, aged twelve years, to accompany her

on an intended voyage from Cape Town in the Republic of South Africa to

Galveston in the state of Texas aboard the bulk crude-carrier Golden

Dawn, and/or to prevent the said Chantelle Alexander from allowing the

child to undertake any other voyage aboard the said vessel.

The judge heard the petition during a recess in the criminal trial of a

young post-office worker standing accused of multiple rape. The judge's

oak-panelled book-lined chambers were overcrowded by the two parties,

their lawyers, the judge's registrar and the considerable bulk of the

judge himself.

Still in his wig and robes from the public court, the judge read swiftly

through the written submission of both sides, listened attentively to

James Teacher's short address and the rebuttal by his opposite number,

before turning sternly to Chantelle.

Mrs. Alexander. The stern expression wavered slightly as he looked upon

the devastating beauty which sat demurely before him. Do you love your

son More than anything else in this life., Chantelle looked at him

steadily out of those vast dark eyes, And you are happy to take him on

this journey with you? I am the daughter of a sailor, if there was

danger I would understand it. I am happy to go myself and take my son

with me. The judge nodded, looked down at the papers on his desk for a

moment.

As I understand the circumstances, Mr. Teacher, it is common ground that

the mother has custody? That is so, my lord. But the father is the

child's guardian. I'm fully aware of that, thank you/ he snapped

acidly.

He paused again before resuming in the measured tones of judgement, We

are concerned here exclusively with the welfare and safety of the child.

It has been shown that the proposed journey will be made during the

holidays and that no loss of schooling will result.

On the other hand, I do not believe that the petitioner has shown that

there exists reasonable doubts about the safety of the vessel on which

the voyage will be made. It seems to be a modern and sophisticated

ship. To grant the petition would, in my view, be placing unreasonable

restraint on the child's mother. He swivelled in his chair to face

Nicholas and James Teacher. I regret, therefore, that I see

insufficient grounds to accede to your petition. in the back seat of

James Teacher's Bentley, the little lawyer murmured apologetically.

He was right, of course, Nicholas. I would have done the same in his

place. These domestic squabbles are always - Nicholas was not

listening. What would happen if I picked up Peter and took him to

Bermuda or the States? Abduct him? James Teacher's voice shot up an

octave, and he caught Nicholas arm with genuine alarm - I beg of you,

dismiss the thought. They would have the police waiting for you God!

Now he wriggled miserably in his seat. I can't bear to think of what

might happen. Apart from getting you sent to gaol, your former wife

might even get an order restraining you from seeing your boy again, she

could get guardianship away from you. If you did that, you could lose

the child, Nicholas. Don't do it. Please don't do it! Now he patted

Nicholas arm ingratiatingly. You'd be playing right into their hands.

And then with relief he switched his attention to the briefcase on his

lap.

Can we read through the latest draft of the agreement of sale again? he

asked, We haven't got much time, you know. Then, without waiting for a

reply, he began on the preamble to the agreement which would transfer

all the assets and liabilities of Ocean Salvage and Towage to the

Directors of the Bank of the East, as nominees for parties unnamed.

Nicholas slumped in the far corner of the seat, and stared thoughtfully

out of the window as the Bentley crawled in the traffic stream out of

the Strand, around Trafalgar Square with it wheeling clouds of pigeons

and milling throngs of tourists, swung into the Mall and accelerated

down the long straight towards the Palace.

I want you to stall them/ Nicholas said suddenly, and Teacher broke off

in the middle of a sentence and stared at him distractedly.

I beg your pardon? I want you to find a way to stall the Sheikhs., Good

God, man. James Teacher was utterly astounded.

It's taken me nearly a month - four hard weeks to get them ripe to sign/

his voice choked a little at the memory of the long hours of

negotiation. I've written every line of the agreement in my own blood.,

I need to have control of my tugs, I need to be free to act 'Nicholas,

we are talking about seven million dollars. We are talking about my

son/ said Nicholas quietly.

Can you stall them? Yes, of course I can, if that's what you truly

want. Wearily James Teacher closed the file on his lap. How long? Six

weeks - long enough for Golden Dawn to finish her maiden voyage, one way

or the other. You realize that this may blow the whole deal, don't you

Yes, I realize that. And you realize also that there isn't another

buyer? Yes. They were silent then, until the Bentley pulled up before

the Bank building in Curzon Street, and they stepped out on to the

pavement Are you absolutely certain? Teacher asked softly Just do it/

Nicholas replied, and the doorman held the bronze and glass doors open

for them.

Bermuda asserted its calming influence over Nicholas the moment he

stepped out of the aircraft into its comfortable WArMth and clean,

glittering sunlight. Bernard Wackie's gorgeous burnt-honey-coloured

secretary was there to welcome him. She wore a thin cotton dress the

freshly cut pineapple and a flashing white smile.

Mr. Wackie's waiting for you at the Bank, sir. Are you out of your

mind, Nicholas? Bernard greeted him. Jimmy Teacher tells me you blew

the Arabs out of the window. Tell me it's not true, please tell me it's

not true. Oh, come on, Bernard, Nicholas shook his head and patted him

consolingly on the shoulder, your co-mission would only have been a

lousy point seven million, anyway. Then you did it! Bernard wailed,

and tried to pull his hand out of Nicholas grip. You screwed it all up.

The Sheikhs have been screwing us up for over a month, Bernie baby. I

just gave them a belt of the same medicine, and do you know what? They

loved it. The Prince sat up and showed real interest for the first

time. For the first time we were speaking the same language. They'll

still be around six weeks from now. But why? I don't understand. just

explain to me why you did it. Let's go into the plot, and I'll explain

it to you. in the plot Nicholas stood over the perspex map of the

oceans of the globe, and studied it carefully for fully five minutes

without speaking.

That's Sea Witch's latest position, she's making good passage.

The green plastic disc that bore the tug's number was set in

mid-Atlantic.

She reported two hours ago/ Bernie nodded, and then with professional

interest, How did her sea trials go off? There were the usual wrinkles

to iron out, that's what kept me in St Nazaire so long.

But we got them straight and Jules has fallen in love with her., He's

still the best skipper in the game. But already Nicholas attention had

switched halfway across the world.

Warlock's still in Maurit'us! his voice snapped like a whip.

I had to fly out a new armature for the main generator.

It was just bad luck that she broke down in that God-forsaken part of

the world. When will she be ready for sea? Allen promises noon

tomorrow. Do you want to telex him for an update on that? Later.

Nicholas wet the tip of a cheroot carefully, without taking his eyes off

the plot, calculating distances and currents and speeds.

Golden Dawn? he asked, and lit the cheroot while he listened to

Bernard's reply.

Her pod tanks arrived under tow at the new Orient Amex depot on El

Barras three weeks ago. Bernie picked Up the pointer and touched the

upper bight of the deep Persian Gulf . They took on their full cargoes

of crude and lay inshore to await Golden Dawn's arrival. For a moment,

Nicholas contemplated the task of towing those four gigantic pod tanks

from Japan to the Gulf, and then he discarded the thought and listened

to Bernard.

Golden Dawn arrived last Thursday and, according to my agent at El

Barras, she coupled up with her pod tanks and made her turn around

within three hours. Bernard slid the tip of the pointer southwards down

the eastern coast of the African continent. I have had no report of her

since then, but if she makes good her twenty-two knots, then she'll be

somewhere off the coast of Mozambique, or Maputo as they call it now,

and she should double the Cape within the next few days. I will have a

report on her then, she'll be taking on mail as she passes Cape Town.

And passengers/ said Nicholas grimly; he knew that Peter and Chantelle

were in Cape Town already. He had telephoned the boy the night before

and Peter had been wildly elated at the prospect of the voyage on the

ultratanker.

It's going to be tremendous fun, Dad/his voice cracking with the onset

of both excitement and puberty. We'll be flying out to the ship in a

helicopter. Bernard Wackie changed the subject, now picking up a sheaf

of telex flimsies and thumbing swiftly through them.

I've confirmed the standby contract for Sea Witch.

Nicholas nodded, the contract was for Jules Levoisin and the new tug to

stand by three offshore working rigs, standard exploration rigs, that

were drilling in the Florida Bay, that elbow of shallow water formed by

the sweep of the Florida Keys and the low swampy morass of the

Everglades, It's ridiculous to use a twenty-two-thousand-horsepower

ocean-going tug as an oil rig standby/ Bernard lowered the file, and

could no longer contain his irritation, Jules is going to go bananas

sitting around playing nursemaid. You are going to have a mutiny on

your hands - and you'll be losing money. The daily hire won't cover

your direct costs. She will be sitting exactly where I want her, said

Nicholas, and switched his attention back to the tiny dot of an island

in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Now Warlock.

Right. Warlock. Bernie picked up another file. I have tendered for a

deep-sea tow. Cancel it/ said Nicholas. Just as soon as Allen has

repaired his generator, I want him running top of the green for Cape

Town. For Cape Town - top of the green? Bernard stared at him. Christ,

Nicholas. What for? He won't be able to catch Golden Dawn before she

rounds the Cape, but I want him to follow her. Nicholas, you're out of

your mind! - do you know what that would cost? If Golden Dawn gets

into trouble he'll be only a day or two behind her. Tell Allen he is to

shadow her all the way into Galveston roads., Nicholas, you're letting

this whole thing get out of all proportion. It's become an obsession

with you, for God's sake! With her superior speed, Warlock should be up

with her before she enters the 'Listen to me, Nicholas. Let's think

this all out carefully.

What are the chances of Golden Dawn suffering structural failure or

crippling breakdown on her maiden voyage - a hundred to one against it?

It's that high? That's about right. Nicholas agreed. A hundred to

one. What is it going to cost to hold one ocean-going salvage tug on

standby, at a lousy fifteen hundred dollars a day and then to send

another halfway around the world at top of the green? Bernard clasped

his brow theatrically. It's going to cost you a quarter of a million

dollars, if you take into consideration the loss of earnings on both

vessels that's the very least it's going to cost you. Don't you have

respect for money any longer? Now you understand why I had, to stall

the Sheikhs, I couldn't shoot their money on Nicholas smiled calmly a

hundred-to-one chance - but it's not their money yet.

It's mine. Sea Witch and Warlock aren't their tugs, they are mine.

Peter isn't their son, he's mine. You're serious/ said Bernard

incredulously. I do believe you are serious. Right/ Nicholas agreed.

Damned right, I am. Now get a telex off to David Allen and ask him for

his estimated time of arrival in Cape Town. Samantha Silver had one

towel wrapped around her head like a turban. Her hair was still wet

from the luxurious shampooing it had just received. She wore the other

towel tucked under her armpits, making a short sarong of it. She still

glowed all over from the steaming tub and she smelled of soap and talcum

powder.

After a long field trip, it took two or three of these soakings and

scrubbings to get the salt and the smell of the mangroves out of her

pores, and the Everglades mud from under her nails.

She poured the batter into the pan, the oil spitting and crackling with

the heat and she sang out, How many waffles can you eat? He came

through from the bathroom, a wet towel wrapped around his waist, and he

stood in the doorway and grinned at her. How many have you got? he

asked. She had still not accustomed her ear to the Australian twang'.

He was burned and brown as she was, and his hair was bleached at the

ends, hanging now, wet from the shower, into his face.

They had worked well together, and she had learned much from him.

The drift into intimacy had been gradual, but inevitable. In her hurt,

she had turned to him for comfort, and also in deliberate spite of

Nicholas. But now, if she turned her head away, she would not really be

able to remember his features clearly. It took an effort to remember

his name - Dennis, of course, Doctor Dennis O'Connor.

She was detached from it all, as though a sheet of armoured glass

separated her from the real world. She went through the motions of

working and playing, of eating and sleeping, of laughing and loving, but

it was all a sham.

Dennis was watching her from the doorway now, with that slightly puzzled

expression, the helpless look of a person who watches another drowning

and is powerless to give aid.

Samantha turned away quickly. Ready in two minutes/ she said, and he

turned back into the bedroom to finish dressing.

She flipped the waffles on to a plate and poured a fresh batch of

batter.

Beside her, the telephone rang and she sucked her fingers clean and

picked it up with her free hand.

Sam Silver/ she said.

Thank God. I've been going out of my mind. What happened to you,

darling? Her knees went rubbery under her, and she had to sit down

quickly on one of the stools.

Samantha, can you hear me? She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

Tell me what's happening - She could see his face before her, clearly,

each detail of it so vividly remembered, the clear green eyes below the

heavy brow, the line of cheek-bone and jaw, and the sound of his voice

made her shiver.

Samantha., How is your wife, Nicholas? she asked softly - and he broke

off . She held the receiver to her ear with both hands, and the silence

lasted only a few beats of her heart, but it was long enough. Once or

twice, in moments of weakness during the last two weeks, she had tried

to convince herself that it was not true, That it had all been the

viciousness of a lying woman. Now she knew beyond any question that her

instinct had been correct. His silence was the admission, and she

waited for the lie that she knew would come next.

Would it help to tell you I love you? he asked softly, and she could

not answer. Even in her distress, she felt the rush of relief.

He had not lied. At that moment it was the important thing in her life.

He had not lied. She felt most it begin to tear painfully, deep in her

chest. Her shoulders shook spasmodically.

I'm coming to get you, he said into the silence.

,I won't be here/ she whispered, but she felt it welling up into her

throat, uncontrollably. She had not wept before, she had kept it all

safely bottled away - but now, the first sob burst from her, and with

both hands she slammed the telephone back on to its cradle.

She stood there still, shaking wildly, and the tears poured down her

cheeks and dripped from her chin.

Dennis came into the kitchen behind her, tucking his shirt into the top

of his trousers, his hair shiny and wet with the straight lines of the

comb through it, Who was that? he asked cheerfully, and then stopped

aghast, What is it, love? He started forward again, Come on now.

Don't touch me, please/ she whispered huskily, and -he stopped again

uncertainly. We are fresh out of milk, she said without turning. Will

you take the van down to the shopping centre, By the time Dennis

returned, she was dressed and she had rinsed her face and tied a scarf

around her head like a gypsy. They chewed cold, un-appetising waffles

in silence, until she spoke, Dennis, we've got to talk No/he smiled at

her. It's all right, Sam, You don't have to say it. I should have

moved on days ago, anyway. Thanks/ she said.

It was Nicholas, wasn't it?

She regretted having told him now, but at the time it had been vitally

necessary to speak to somebody.

She nodded, and his voice had a sting to it as he went on.

I'd like to bust that bastard in the mouth. We levelled the.

score, didn't we? she smiled, but it was an unconvincing smile, and she

didn't try to hold it.

Sam, I want you to know that for me it was not just another quick shack

job. I know that. Impulsively she reached out and squeezed his hand.

And thanks for understanding - but is it okay if we don't talk about it

any more?

Peter Berg had twisted round in his safety straps, so that he could

press his face to the round perspex window in the fuselage of the big

Sikorsky helicopter.

The night was completely, utterly black.

Across the cabin, the Flight Engineer stood in the open doorway, the

wind ripping at his bright orange overalls, fluttering them around his

body, and he turned and grinned across at the boy, then he made a

windmilling gesture with his hand and stabbed downwards with his thumb.

It was impossible to speak in the clattering, rushing roar of wind and

engine and rotor.

The helicopter banked gently and Peter gasped with excitement as the

ship came into view.

She was burning all her lights; tier upon tier, the brilliantly lit

floors of her stern quarters rose above the altitude at which the

Sikorsky was hovering, and, seeming to reach ahead to the black horizon,

the tank deck was outlined with the rows of hooded lamps, like the

street-lamps of a deserted city.

She was so huge that she looked like a city, there seemed to be no end

to her, stretched to the horizon and towering into the sky.

The helicopter sank in a controlled sweep towards the white circular

target on the heliport, guided down by the engineer in the open doorway.

Skilfully the pilot matched his descent to the forward motion of the

ultra-tanker, twenty-two knots at top economical, - Peter had swotted

the figures avidly - and the deck moved with grudging majesty to the

scend of the tall Cape rollers pushing in unchecked from across the

length of the Atlantic Ocean.

The pilot hovered, judging his approach against the brisk north-westerly

cross-wind, and from fifty feet Peter could see that the decks were

almost level with the surface of the sea, pressed down deeply by the

weight of her cargo.

Every few seconds, one of the rollers that raced down her length would

flip aboard and spread like spilled milk, white and frothy in the deck

lights, before cascading back over the side.

Made arrogant and unyielding by her vast bulk, the Golden Dawn did not

woo the ocean, as other ships do.

the swells, churning Instead, her great blunt bows crushed them under or

shouldering them contemptuously aside.

Peter had been around boats since before he could walk, he too was a

sea-creature. But though his eye was keen, it was as yet unschooled, so

he did not notice the working of the long wide deck.

Sitting beside Peter on the bench seat, Duncan Alexander knew to look

for the movement in the hull. He watched the hull twisting and hogging,

but so slightly, so barely perceptibly, that Duncan blinked it away, and

looked again. From bows to stern she was a mile and a half long, and in

essence she was merely four steel pods held together by an elaborate

flexible steel scaffolding and driven forward by the mighty propulsion

unit in the stern. There was small independent movement of each of the

tank pods, so the deck twisted as she rolled, and flexed like a longbow

as she took the swells under her, The crest of these swells were a

quarter of a mile apart. At any one time, there were four separate wave

patterns beneath Golden Dawn's hull, with the peaks thrusting up and the

troughs allowing the tremendous dead weight of her cargo to push

downwards; the elastic steel groaned and gave to meet these shearing

forces.

No hull is ever completely rigid, and elasticity had been part of the

ultra-tanker's original design, but those designs had been altered.

Duncan Alexander had saved almost two thousand tons of steel, by

reducing the stiffening of the central pillar that docked the four pods

together, and he had dispensed with the double skins of the pods

themselves. He had honed Golden Dawn down to the limits at which his

own architects had baulked; then he had hired Japanese architects to

rework the designs. They had expressed themselves satisfied that the

hull was safe, but had also respectfully pointed out that nobody had

ever carried a million tons of crude petroleum in a single cargo before.

The helicopter sank the last few feet and bumped gently on to the

insulated green deck, with its thick coat of plasticized paint which

prevented the striking of spark, Even a grain of sand trodden between

leather sole and bare steel could ignite an explosive air and petroleum

gas mixture.

The ship's party swarmed forward, doubled under the swirling rotor. The

luggage in its net beneath the fuselage was dragged away and strong

hands swung Peter down on to the deck. He stood blinking in the glare

of deck lamps and wrinkling his nose to the characteristic tanker

stench.

It is a smell that pervades everything aboard one of these ships, the

food, the furniture, the crew's clothing - even their hair and skin.

It is the thin acrid chemical stench of under-rich fumes vented off from

the tanks. Oxygen and petroleum gas are only explosive in a mixture

within narrow limits: too much oxygen makes the blend under-rich and too

much petroleum gas makes it over-rich, either of which mixtures are

non-explosive, non-combustible.

Chantelle Alexander was handed down next from the cabin of the

helicopter, bringing an instant flash of elegance to the starkly lit

scene of bleak steel and ugly functional machinery. She wore a cat-suit

of dark green with a bright green Patou scarf on her head. Two ship's

officers closed in solicitously on each side of her and led her quickly

away towards the towering stern quarters, out of the rude and blustering

wind and the helicopter engine roar.

Duncan Alexander followed her down to the deck, shook hands quickly with

the First Officer.

Captain Randle's compliments, sir. He is unable to leave the bridge

while the ship is in the inshore channel. I understand.

Duncan flashed that marvelous smile.

The great ship drew almost twenty fathoms fully laden and she had come

in very close, as close as was prudent to the mountainous coastline of

Good Hope with its notorious currents and wild winds.

However, Chantelle Christy must not be exposed to the ear-numbing

discomfort of the helicopter flight for a moment longer than was

necessary, and so Golden Dawn had come in through the inner channel,

perilously close to the guardian rocks of Robben Island that stood in

the open mouth of Table Bay.

Even before the helicopter rose and circled away towards the distant

glow of Cape Town city under its dark square mountain, the tanker's

great blunt bows were swinging away towards the west, and Duncan

imagined the relief of Captain Randle as he gave the order to make the

offing into the open Atlantic with the oceanic depths under his

cumbersome ship.

Duncan smiled again and reached for Peter Berg's hand.

Come on, my boy. I'm all right, sir. Skilfully Peter avoided the hand

and the smile, containing his wild excitement so that he walked ahead

like a man, without the skipping energy of a little boy.

Duncan Alexander felt the customary flare of annoyance. No, more than

that - bare anger at this further rejection by Berg's PUPPY. They went

in single file along the steel catwalk with the child leading. He had

never been able to get close to the boy and he had tried hard in the

beginning. Now Duncan stopped his anger with the satisfying memory of

how neatly he had used the child to slap Berg in the face, and draw the

fangs of his opposition.

Berg would be worrying too much about his brat to have time for anything

else. He followed Chantelle and the child into the gleaming chrome and

plastic corridors of the stern quarters. It was difficult to think of

decks and bulkheads rather than floors and walls in here. It was too

much like a modern apartment block, even the elevator which bore them

swiftly and silently five storeys up to the navigation bridge helped to

dispel the feelings of being ship-borne.

On the bridge itself, they were so high above the sea as to be divorced

from it. The deck lights had been extinguished once the helicopter had

gone, and the darkness of the night, silenced by the thick double-glazed

windows, heightened the peace and isolation. The riding lights in the

bows seemed remote as the very stars, and the gentle lulling movement of

the immense hull was only just noticeable.

The Master was a man of Duncan Alexander's own choosing. The command of

the flagship of Christy Marine should have gone to Basil Reilly, the

senior captain of the fleet. However, Reilly was Berg's man, and Duncan

had used the foundering of Golden Adventurer to force premature

retirement on the old sailor.

Randle was young for the responsibility, just a little over thirty years

of age, but his training and his credentials were impeccable, and he was

an honours graduate of the tanker school in France. Here top men

received realistic training in the specialized handling of these

freakish giants in cunningly constructed lakes and scale-model harbours,

working thirty-foot models of the bulk carriers that had all the

handling characteristics of the real ships.

Since Duncan had given him the command, he had been defending the design

and a staunch ally, and he had stoutly deconstruction of his ship when

the reporters, whipped up by Nicholas Berg, had questioned him. He was

loyal, which heavily, tipping the balance for Duncan against his youth

and inexperience.

He hurried to meet his important visitors as they stepped out of the

elevator into his spacious, gleaming modern bridge, a short stocky

figure with a bull neck and the thrusting heavy jaw of great

determination or great stubbornness. His greeting had just the right

mixture of warmth and servility, and Duncan noted approvingly that he

treated even the boy with careful respect. Randle was bright enough to

realize that one day the child would be head of Christy Marine. Duncan

liked a man who could think so clearly and so far ahead, but Randle was

not quite prepared for Peter Berg.

Can I see your engine room, Captain? You mean right now?

"Yes. For Peter the question was superfluous. if you don't mind, sir!

he added quickly. Today was for doing things and tomorrow was lost in

the mists of the future.

Right now, would be just fine, Well now/ the Captain realized the

request was deadly serious, and that this lad could not be put off very

easily, we go on automatic during the night. There's nobody down there

now - and it wouldn't be fair to wake the engineer, would it?

It's been a hard day.

suppose not. Bitterly disappointed, but amenable to convincing

argument, Peter nodded.

But I am certain the Chief would be delighted to have you as his guest

directly after breakfast. The Chief Engineer was a Scot with three sons

of his own in Glasgow, the youngest of them almost exactly Peter's age.

He was more than delighted. Within twenty-four hours, Peter was the

ship's favourite, with his own blue company-issue overalls altered to

fit him and his name embroidered across the back by the lascar steward

PETER BERG', He wore his bright yellow plastic hard hat at the same

jaunty angle as the Chief did, and carried a wad of cotton waste in his

back pocket to wipe his greasy hands after helping one of the stokers

clean the fuel filters - the messiest job on board, and the greatest

fun.

Although the engine control room with its rough camaraderie, endless

supplies of sandwiches and cocoa and satisfying grease and oil that made

a man look like a professional, was Peter's favourite station, yet he

stood other watches.

Every morning he Joined the First Officer on his inspection.

Starting in the bows, they worked their way back, checking each of the

pod tanks, every valve, and every one of the heavy hydraulic docking

clamps that held the pod tanks attached to the main frames of the hull.

Most important of all they checked the gauges on each compartment which

gave the precise indication of the gas mixtures contained in the air

spaces under the m-gin deck of the crude tanks.

Golden Dawn operated on the inert system to keep the trapped fumes in an

over-rich and safe condition. The exhaust fumes of the ship's engine

were caught, passed through filters and scrubbers to remove the

corrosive sulphur elements and then, as almost pure carbon dioxide and

carbon monoxide, they were forced into the air spaces of the petroleum

tanks. The evaporating fumes of the volatile elements of the crude

mingled with the exhaust fumes to form an over-rich, oxygen-poor, and

un-explosive gas.

However, a leak through one of the hundreds of valves and connections

would allow air into the tanks, and the checks to detect this were

elaborate, ranging from an unceasing electronic monitoring of each tank

to the daily physical inspection, in which Peter now assisted.

Peter usually left the First Officer's party when it returned to the

stern quarters, he might then pass the time of day with the two-men crew

in the central pump room.

From here the tanks were monitored and controlled, loaded and offloaded,

the flow of inert gas balanced, and the crude petroleum could be pushed

through the giant centrifugal pumps and transferred from tank to tank to

make alterations to the ship's trim, during partial discharge, or when

one or more tanks were detached and taken inshore for discharge.

In the pump room was kept a display that always fascinated Peter.

It was the sample cupboard with its rows of screw-topped bottles, each

containing samples of the cargo taken during loading. As all four of

Golden Dawn's tanks had been filled at the same off-shore loading point

and all with crude from the same field, each of the bottles bore the

identical label.

EL BARRAS CRUDE

/C..

BUNKERS

HIGH CADMIUM Peter liked to take one of the bottles and hold it to the

light. Somehow he had always expected the crude oil to be treacly and

tarlike, but it was thin as human blood and when he shook the bottle, it

coated the glass and the light through it was dark red, again like

congealing blood.

Some of the crudes are black, some yellow and the Nigerians are green,

the pump foreman told him. This is the first red that I've seen. I

suppose it's the cadmium in it, Peter told him.

Guess it is/ the foreman agreed seriously; all on board had very soon

learned not to talk down to Peter Berg, he expected to be treated on

equal terms.

By this time it was mid-morning and Peter had worked up enough appetite

to visit the gallery, where he was greeted like visiting royalty. Within

days, Peter knew his way unerringly through the labyrinthine and usually

deserted passageways. It was characteristic of these great

crude-carriers that you might wander through them for hours without

meeting another human being. With their huge bulk and their tiny crews,

the only place where there was always human presence was the navigation

bridge on the top floor of the stern quarters.

The bridge was always one of Peter's obligatory stops.

Good-morning, Tug/ the officer of the watch would greet him.

Peter had been christened with his nickname when he had announced at the

breakfast table on his first morning: Tankers are great, but I'm going

to be a tug captain, like my dad. On the bridge the ship might be taken

out of automatic to allow Peter to spell the helmsman for a while, or he

would assist the junior deck officers while they made a sun shot as an

exercise to check against the satellite navigational Decca; then, after

socializing with Captain Randle for a while, it was time to report to

his true station in the engine We were waiting on you, Tug/ growled the

Chief. Get your overalls on, man, we're going down the propeller shaft

tunnel. The only unpleasant period of the day was when Peter's mother

insisted that he scrub off the top layers of grease and fuel oil, dress

in his number ones, and act as an unpaid steward during the cocktail

hour in the elaborate lounge of the owner's suite.

it was the only time that Chantelle Alexander fratemized with the ship's

officers and it was a painfully stilted hour, with Peter one of the

major sufferers - but the rest of the time he was successful in avoiding

the clinging restrictive rulings of his mother and the hated fiercely

but silently resented presence of Duncan Alexander, his stepfather.

Still, he was instinctively aware of the new and disturbing tensions

between his mother and Duncan Alexander.

In the night he heard the raised voices from the master cabin, and he

strained to catch the words. Once, when he had heard the cries of his

mother's distress, he had left his bunk and gone barefooted to knock on

the cabin door.

Duncan Alexander had opened it to him. He was in a silk dressing-gown

and his handsome features were swollen and flushed with anger.

Go back to bed. I want to see my mother, Peter had told him quietly.

You need a damned good hiding/ Duncan had flared.

Now do as you are told. I want to see my mother. Peter had stood his

ground, standing very straight in his pyjamas with both his tone and

expression neutral, and Chantelle had come to him in her nightdress and

knelt to embrace him.

It's all right, darling. It's perfectly all right. But she had been

weeping. After that there had been no more loud voices in the night.

However, except for an hour in the afternoon, when the swimming-pool was

placed out of bounds to officers and crew, while Chantelle swam and

sunbathed, she spent the rest of the time in the owner's suite, eating

all her meals there, withdrawn and silent, sitting at the panoramic

windows of her cabin, coming to life only for an hour, the evenings

while she played the owner's wife to the ship's officers.

Duncan Alexander, on the other hand, was like a caged animal. He paced

the open decks, composing long messages which were sent off regularly

over the telex in company code to Christy Marine in Leadenhall Street.

Then he would stand out on the open wing of Golden Dawn's bridge,

staring fixedly ahead at the northern horizon, awaiting the reply to his

last telex, chafing openly at having to conduct the company's business

at such long remove, and goaded by the devils of doubt and impatience

and fear.

he Often seemed as though he were trying to forge the mighty hull

onwards, faster and faster the north, by the sheer power of his will.

In the north-western corner of the Caribbean basin, there is an area of

shallow warm water, hemmed in on one side by the island chain of the

great Antilles, the bulwark of Cuba and Hispaniola, while in the west

the sweep of the Yucatan peninsula runs south through Panama into the

great land-mass of South America - shallow warm trapped water and

saturated tropical air, enclosed by land-masses which can heat very

rapidly in the high hot sun of the tropics. However, all of it is

gently cooled and moderated by the benign influence of the

north-easterly trade winds so unvarying in strength and direction that

over the centuries, sea-faring men have placed their lives and their

fortunes at risk upon their balmy wings, gambling on the constancy of

that vast moving body of mild air.

But the wind does fail, for no apparent reason and without previous