by Denis Pitts
“That is apparent. You have been a wolf.”
“A wolf? Do you consider me so predatory?”
“Man is a predator. The purpose of civilization, and of institutions such as the Banque d’Isigny, is to temper the predatory nature of man and to promote reason and stability. You are a reasonable man, and a stable one. Unhappy and bitter, yes, as your mother — as Eva and I are unhappy and bitter. But who are you to control so much? Is it right that one man, barely known outside the world of finance, should secretly accumulate so much power? Can one man — any one man — be trusted? Have you given me reason to trust you?”
“Yes, I have. The Banque d’Isigny has never been in better shape. My personal holdings may be speculative and undersecured. But I have not misused my position of trust.”
“Have you not? You told me that the Place du Vendôme in Rennes, which you bought with your own money, admittedly, was sold for twice as much a few weeks after you had removed the gold, simply because it had passed through the hands of a d’Isigny. You were amused. I am not. And dozens, or hundreds, of transactions you have made over the past few years have gone the same way. Do you think there is any way you could act in your own name? It is my name.”
“You gave me your name. You may have it back.”
The men were silent for some minutes. “I am sorry,” Jean-Paul finally said. “I do not mean to hurt you.”
“But you have hurt me and will hurt me,” said d’Isigny. “For you are a wolf. And perhaps I am a dog, the faithful dog that guarded France’s gold.”
“You have been my father.”
“You have been my son — but perhaps you have never been my son. It is not your fault. But you are indeed a predator, and I am not. I could not be.”
“I will not return to the old ways.”
“Nor will you steal my bank. I am sorry, but that is what you have done. You will extricate your own affairs from those of the bank. And you will no longer use my name.”
“I must speak to Mama.”
“You will not speak to my wife. I will explain to her.” The gentle man had tears in his eyes, as did Jean-Paul, but he spoke with the strength of his blood.
Jean-Paul Becker bowed to d’Isigny and left the house forever.
*
In less than a year the Becker Group was born. Jean-Paul was in the open, with more than a billion dollars in strategic investments. And he was a d’Isigny client — for the Banque d’Isigny could not conscientiously ignore a man of such power and obvious probity. Jacques d’Isigny and Jean-Paul Becker met on many occasions, and few of the other men in their circle noticed that they spoke to each other of money and finance with an odd tenderness, and that they never smiled or shook hands.
*
Jean-Paul Becker called the racing stables at Dinard.
“I want you to enter two horses in the spring meeting in Jersey. I don’t want winners, I just want entries. Indeed, send your two least likely nags and the two worst apprentices you have. Don’t tell them not to win or they will. I have some business to discuss and this is a good way to avoid gossip.”
*
The island of Jersey lies twenty miles from the French coast and, much to the resentment of many Frenchmen, is a self-governing state that owes its allegiance to the British Crown. It is small and pleasant and the bulk of its revenue stems from tourism and money, because it is a pleasant tax haven.
It has a vague eccentricity in that its official language is French and so are its laws. The enforcement of law is based on a Napoleonic concept. Most of the French spoken on the island, however, is a curious patois which few sophisticated Parisians would understand. It is spoken largely by peasant farmers and their families and kept alive by a handful of nationalists and by a horde of lawyers. The island houses some of the richest men in Britain.
The huge accumulation of tax-haven wealth in Jersey has also attracted the biggest banks in the world, all of which have branches or agents on the island, as well as representatives of all the major stockbroking houses in London. The attendant chartered accountants can be counted in the thousands.
The biggest stockbroking house was that of Freemantle, Loveday, Pocock and Chivers (Cheapside) Ltd., which was contained within a small, modern four-story block in the center of the main town of St. Helier.
The junior partner in the firm was a squat, active man in his early thirties named Alec Chivers. A bachelor, he was a member of the Jersey Hunt, and owned a string of racehorses. Out of his office, he was rarely seen out of the company of beautiful women.
Chivers was not aware that he had been under close scrutiny for several weeks, and that the substantial new fund he was then administering had been placed in his charge deliberately by Jean-Paul Becker so that he might observe the skill with which he could deal with monies of a substantial order.
Inquiries by the Becker organization had revealed that Chivers was the fourth son of an earl, that he was an old Harrovian, and that he was astute and acutely ambitious.
*
The racecourse in Jersey has few trappings. It is a simple, functional affair. There are no enclosures, but there is a paddock and an actual racecourse which runs partly along perilous cliffs over which careless jockeys and overexcited racehorses have been known to disappear, much to the delight of attendant vacationing crowds.
Because of the paucity of racehorses native to the island and the difficulties involved in bringing horses from the mainlands of France and England, the same horse is allowed to run two races on one day; indeed, to run four races during a two-day meeting.
Regulations that are strictly forbidden by the jockey clubs of most countries are accepted in Jersey. The race meeting there is a friendly social affair that draws big crowds of tourists. The racing itself is not taken as seriously by most people as the stewards, horse owners and trainers would wish.
On the morning of the spring meeting, Jean-Paul flew from Orly to Jersey by a British Island Airways flight that was crowded with day-trippers from Paris, discussing little but the duty-free bargains available to them.
At the austere airport, Becker rented a mini-car and drove through the heavy tourist traffic to the racecourse. He was directed to a parking place by a fierce-looking man with a mustache who carried a large white paddle in one hand and a gin and tonic in the other.
Jean-Paul made his way across to the winners’ enclosure. He waited for some time and then spotted Chivers pulling up in an open Jaguar. A striking blonde woman was with him.
Chivers watched casually as his horse was unloaded from a trailer that had been towed to the racecourse behind a Landrover and walked into the paddock. He wore a brown tweed suit, a high white collar, impeccably starched, and a navy-blue tie. Obviously well-known at the racecourse, he greeted several people before finding the jockey who would ride his horse.
Jean-Paul looked at Chivers with care, sizing him up before making an approach. He tried hard to assess the computerized report of Chivers against the casual, easygoing man he saw. Chivers, talking to the jockey, looked around the paddock and saw Jean-Paul leaning against the rails, watching him. To Jean-Paul’s surprise, he left the jockey immediately and came directly over to him.
“Hello,” he said. “You must be Monsieur Becker. My name is Chivers, and I have a feeling that I work for you. Saw you had a couple of horses here and thought it most unusual. Wondered whether you would be coming.”
“You work for me?”
“I think I handle one of your funds. The Bronson Investment Trust Fund C, if I remember correctly.”
“And you think that is one of mine?”
“It’s not easy to bring a large sum of money onto this island without the most careful scrutiny by a lot of people, particularly the Treasury Department. In this case, no one could find out a thing about the ownership of the money. So I reasoned that it was a particularly shrewd organization behind the move. I made one or two inquiries. Bronson is a holding company that’s a front for the Tannenbaum Group, which in turn is, I b
elieve, wholly owned by a group of shareholders who, I surmise because of their known financial shortages, are nominees. I must assume, for reasons of geography and certain inside information, that they are nominees for yourself or your organization.”
“Top marks, Mr. Chivers.” Jean-Paul was clearly impressed. “I’d like to talk to you. And I’d like to do so before I return to Paris at six.”
They were interrupted by a small man wearing a huge panama hat with a headband in the regimental colors of the Royal Scots Greys. A large white badge proclaimed him “Steward.”
“Are you racing, Chivers, or is that spavined nag of yours some kind of nasty decoration in the paddock? For Christ’s sake warn the jockey about her, especially her inability to turn a corner. And who are you?”
He cast a beady pair of eyes over Jean-Paul, showing particular distaste for the expensive French suit and the handmade Florentine shoes.
“I’m a friend of Chivers,” he said.
The steward handed him a piece of rope.
“If you are doing nothing, Chivers’ friend, hold onto this if you please. Keep the proles out of the paddock. Just caught someone feeding fish and chips to a thoroughbred hurdler.”
*
It began to rain.
Jean-Paul and Chivers sat in the mini-car and watched the crowd scatter, seeking shelter where they could find it. Three bookmakers opposite them hoisted umbrellas and looked glum.
“Can I interest you in a job?’ asked Jean-Paul.
“Tell me.”
“I want to buy into a number of British companies — without in any way being identified as a buyer.”
“Not easy.” Chivers turned to look at Becker. “You know the law. The register of shareholders must be available for inspection.”
“We can sort that out quickly enough.”
“You want another front? There’s a host of chartered accountants on this island who would be delighted to do such business for you. I can give you the name of the very best man right now.”
“I said I was offering you a job, Mr. Chivers. I want someone to run this company, someone in whom I have complete trust. We have spent a lot of time assessing your capabilities and I feel it’s a job that would interest you. The salary starts at thirty thousand pounds per annum — somewhat in excess of the average paid to my executives.”
Chivers smiled, watching a string of horses canter away in the rain.
“It would seem that you want a front,” he said. “But Jersey law insists that there be a minimum of three directors, who must have three shares each in the company. I shall be happy to arrange for the other two directors, and their shares will be made over to me in blank transfers. My holdings in the company will be made over to you in the same way, together with a deed of trust. It’s a simple, everyday business on this island, but I am sure that you know that already.”
Chivers took a leather cigar case from the inside pocket of his suit and lit a small cheroot. He was intrigued by this casual yet aloof, friendly yet detached man who was not much older than he but was already such a force of magnitude in the world of money.
“Now then,” Chivers said. “What companies do you want to buy?”
“Over a period of the next five years,” Jean-Paul said, “it’s very likely that you will be investing two or three billion dollars. Once we have drawn up contracts and the share business has been sorted out, you will find an office on this island and you’ll wait for instructions that will arrive by coded Telex from Paris. You’ll be expected to buy various shares at the best possible price. As a stockbroker, you’ll be able to judge best.
“It will be a slow, uphill process, requiring a great deal of patience on your end. I’ll be putting considerable trust in you and your judgment, and I’ll expect the same trust from you. The prime consideration at this moment is that there be no known connection, apart from the deeds that will be lodged in the Banque d’Isigny, between me, or any of my various organizations, and the company you set up. That is fundamental to our agreement.”
In the confined space of the mini-car, the two men shook hands.
*
Two months later, Alec Chivers, by then installed in a handsome Georgian house overlooking the red granite cliffs of northern Jersey, was becoming impatient. The house bore a small, discreet sign: “A. D. Chivers Holdings (Jersey) Limited.”
The office had been completed, the carpets laid, the plush furniture bought. He had sent all the bills for this, as well as for the installation of Telex equipment, to Bronson Holdings (Luxembourg) Inc., in Basel and had received a check drawn on a sterling account in the Bahamas by return mail.
He had engaged an attractive receptionist and an efficient secretary. His salary check arrived. It was drawn on an Irish bank. He continued to await instructions, but none arrived. On the strength of his salary, he bought a new automobile, a Jensen Interceptor, and a new thoroughbred mare, which won handsomely at the autumn meeting on the island.
On the last day of September, he took a pleasing young heiress to a long and expensive lunch. He called his office more by habit than in any belief that there was a message for him.
“There’s something on the Telex I can’t understand,” the girl said. “It’s addressed to you.”
He drove the Jensen at some speed through the narrow lanes, with their high hedgerows, and retired to his office with the message and codebook.
The Telex, when translated, read:
Buy:
124,000 Lucas Industries;
132,000 Avon Rubber;
120,000 National Auto Transport Limited;
110,000 Car Deliveries Limited;
15,000 Super Electric Accessories;
116,000 Allparts Limited.
Please also report on availability Standfast Limited and send me a complete report on this company with existing shareholders, assets, board construction. Treat this last request as urgent. Regards, Becker.
*
In the years following the formation of the Common Market, Europe was plagued by ever-increasing inflation, crime, unemployment and serious political unrest. Inflation led to major reductions in all armed forces and there had been a constantly growing gulf between the United States and its allies in NATO.
Factional rows stemmed from constant economic jealousy as well as from the effects of a vast multilingual bureaucracy in the European capital city of Brussels and from international distrust bred during several centuries of war.
But there was no longer talk of war among any of these nations, and thus less and less effort and interest was being directed to national defense. Despite all the efforts of the NATO command there was little enthusiasm in schemes for the standardization of weaponry, because each of the NATO member nations was determined to maintain its own arms industry, no matter how small. This in turn led to anger on the part of the American government, with the result that there was a constant paring of U.S. involvement in NATO. The feeling of distrust this engendered in Europe was happily fostered by France, which steadfastly refused to rejoin NATO and remained icily independent.
The reductions in armed forces led to the creation of small, heavily armed groups of specialist soldiers who were more in keeping with the traditions of the eighteenth century than with the needs of modern war. The British army, for instance, became merely a policing force in Northern Ireland, maintaining only a fraction of its actual commitment. Italy, after several years of stumbling from crisis to crisis, reached a point at which its army was concentrated in one northern garrison town, while its once proud navy lay impotent, anchored by rusty chains in Naples and Taranto.
The armies of all nine member nations were concerned primarily with internal security. The greatest menace to the Continent came from within.
As the values of the various European currencies decreased, so did the agencies of law enforcement, whose principal task had become the containment of substantial numbers of urban guerilla movements — political, anarchic and criminal.
; With tides of unemployment and national insecurity, there was a frightening increase in bank robberies, kidnappings and crimes against people and property that were often justified by obscure political groups. Weapons were freely available for all these groups, subsidized by their makers in Czechoslovakia, Poland and East Germany.
Even in Britain, police in certain danger areas now openly carried pistols, and their counterparts in other cities pressed for the same authority. Europe could no longer point with smugness to the problems faced by cities in the United States. To a considerable extent, the European community brought this upon itself by the early encouragement of cheap labor from former British, French, Dutch and other colonial possessions and by encouraging almost mass migration of peasant workers from Greece and Turkey. A solid block of the unemployed was thus eventually created: second and third generations were dispensable.
The only true growth industry in Europe became the private security companies. There were a total of forty such organizations on the Continent. The biggest of them was Standfast, a limited-liability concern born in Northern Ireland during the early years of the troubles. After shrewd bidding, it had taken over all the other major security companies in Britain.
The light blue of the smartly uniformed Standfast guards had become as accepted in Britain as its helmeted police force. Security trucks (also light blue) carried large sums of money in transit. Factories and warehouses and banks were guarded with such efficiency that Standfast was called upon to guard airports and other civilian installations. After several years in which the company thrived, largely through the substantial backing it received from banks and major corporations, Standfast landed its biggest contract to date: the task of guarding all military installations, airfields and dockyards in the country.
The fact that Standfast employees then outnumbered the civil police force passed almost without notice.
*
There was little surprise in the London stock market when A. D. Chivers Holdings (Jersey) Limited made a bid for seven percent of the shares in Standfast Limited at a somewhat inflated share price. No more was there comment on the Bourse in Paris when an obscure Luxembourg-based investment company began to buy holdings in Vigilance de France, Standfast’s French equivalent. It also seemed quite natural for the Banco di Tuscany to buy out a small private Florentine security company called Cittadella. There was some mild consternation on the Frankfurt exchange when Germany’s major security company, Armor, was bought out by a syndicate of private investors. But fears subsided when it was known that the principal shareholders were led by the new chief executive of Armor, the Baroness Angelica von Thurborg. Entirely trustworthy and exceptionally beautiful, she was the finest horsewoman in Germany, and had led German teams to a succession of Olympic victories.