Gold

by Brian Freemantle

  Once again he couldn’t think of anything to say. She moved her head, as if examining the room. ‘There’s a lot of my stuff here,’ she said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I don’t want to pack now … I don’t think …’ She gulped to a halt.

  ‘You needn’t leave … there are other rooms …’ he started, thoughtlessly. And then stopped.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t think.’

  ‘Will you be here tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t expect to be.’

  ‘I’ll collect them then.’

  ‘All right.’

  Ann smiled, too brightly. ‘We’re being remarkably civilised, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll give Richard my resignation tomorrow.’

  ‘You needn’t,’ he said. ‘I’ll shield you against Metzinger, now that I know.’

  ‘That’s stupid, too.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘To me it is.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Why not stay on, until you decide?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve hurt you.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the spying. We both buggered it up.’

  Thank you for telling me. About Metzinger.’

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I hope it’ll work out with Hannah,’ she said. Almost at once her face quivered and the tears finally came. ‘No, I don’t,’ she burst out defiantly. ‘I didn’t mean that at all. I hope it’s a disaster.’

  Collington wanted to comfort her but knew that if he reached out to touch her they would end up in bed. She snatched a handkerchief from her handbag and blew her nose and wiped her eyes. ‘I didn’t mean to say that.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Nothing does any more, does it?’ she said. ‘Oh shit, that’s self-pity, and I didn’t intend that either!’ She jerked upright, standing uncertainly before him. ‘I think I should go.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, rising with her.

  ‘Goodbye, James.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to be sorry. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Thisis getting maudlin.’

  He wanted to make some gesture, to kiss her, but knew that would be wrong, like trying to comfort her. She seemed held by the same uncertainty. Then, without saying anything else, she turned andleft the room.

  Collington remained standing for a long time, looking after her. When he finally moved, it was a decisive movement towards the telephone. He needed to be covered against Metzinger. Thank God Geoffrey Wall was so efficient. Having him in London helped, too.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The loss of £100,000,000 had done little to impair Prince Hassan’s life style. Collington had expected a suite, perhaps two – certainly not the occupation of an entire floor. He allowed Wall to establish preliminary contact, to minimise the delay, but even so it took an hour for him to progress past squatting Arabs and be allowed by unidentified staff members to approach the Saudi prince. Collington remained patient throughout, recognising the psychology: Hassan wanted to appear the more important of the two of them. Collington wondered why he was making so much effort to assert something that was already obvious.

  He was finally admitted to a large corner room, which would have looked out on to Grosvenor Square had the blinds not been drawn. There were three other Arabs there, all robed like Hassan. When the Prince rose to greet him, Collington saw that there was a jewelled dagger hilt protruding from a black cummerbund. An odour permeated the room, perfume rather than incense.

  ‘Welcome to my temporary home,’ said Hassan. There was a slight hiss in his voice, and just the vaguest trace of an American accent in some of the words. He didn’t smile.

  ‘I appreciate the honour of such a meeting,’ said Collington, matching the elaborate courtesy. It was like eating chewy toffee, he thought.

  Hassan indicated a couch upon which he had been sitting and Collington moved towards it. Having been kept waiting, Hassan was now attempting to treat him as an equal. As he seated himself, Collington became aware of another Arab entering from the direction in which he had come, carrying a tray with tiny cups of sweet red tea. They had obviously taken over a kitchen as well.

  The tea was served and Hassan said, ‘My humble apologies for your delay.’

  Collington didn’t imagine Hassan had ever been humble in his life. ‘It was nothing,’ he said.

  ‘There are many demands upon me.’

  ‘I can appreciate that. It was gracious of you to see me so quickly.’

  ‘You are not unknown to us, by reputation at least. There is a saying that curiosity should be satisfied, before it begins to burn.’

  Collington looked across at the other men in the room. They were following the conversation intently and he guessed they could speak English. It was the sort of protection he would have sought in similar circumstances.

  ‘You will know then of my companies,’ said Collington.

  ‘So many companies!’ said Hassan, in apparent admiration.

  The Arab was manoeoeuvring the conversation, Collington recognised, so that he was constantly having to follow the direction, the supplicant to the stronger man. Wall had warned him of the man’s negotiating technique.

  ‘Which I hope to expand even further,’ he said.

  ‘The prophets praise a man of adventure,’ said Hassan.

  Collington had no way of knowing, but he suspected that Hassan was making up the Arab folklore as he went along.

  ‘Men of adventure need companions,’ he said, entering into the charade and hoping Hassan wouldn’t interpret it as a reference to the silver debacle. ‘And discretion,’ he added quickly, looking around at the watchful Arabs. ‘Great discretion.’

  ‘Discretion is always of the greatest importance,’ agreed Hassan.

  ‘I came alone,’ said Collington, pressing the point.

  Hassan hesitated, taking it. Abruptly, he clapped his hands together, a single gesture, and the thaee men rose and filed from the room.

  It had been easy, thought Collington: too easy. Just as it had been too easy for Wall to arrange the appointment in such a short time.

  Hassan might be trying to conceal it, with the pretence before the meeting and the gluey verbosity, but he was an anxious man. Wouldn’t he have been anxious, if he had dropped £100,000,000, Collington asked himself. He’d continue the ambiguity, forcing the concession of directness from the other man.

  ‘Adventurous companions complement each other to mutual benefit,’ he said.

  ‘Is that why you come, for mutual benefit?’ said Hassan.

  It was the first time he had asked a direct question, giving Collington the advantage.

  ‘Yes,’ said Collington and stopped. He wasn’t the supplicant any more.

  Hassan shifted along the couch, seeming aware of the change of strategy.

  ‘Do you approach me as my country’s Minister for Oil and Development, or Prince Tewfik Hassan?’ he asked.

  ‘I approach Prince Tewfik Hassan, who is Saudi Arabia’s Minister for Oil and Development,’ said Collington, unhelpfully.

  ‘I represent a country,’ said the Arab. ‘Whom do you represent?’

  The shadow boxing was over, decided Collington, gratefully.

  ‘Myself,’ he said.

  ‘Only yourself?’ insisted Hassan.

  ‘Only myself,’ replied Collington.

  ‘Could the position change?’

  Anxious or not, Hassan was determined not to make any more mistakes.

  ‘Not to the point of causing yourself or your country any embarrassment,’ Collington said. He felt Hassan’s eyes directly upon him. He met the stare, refusing to be intimidated.

  ‘I think it’s time you talked more fully,’ invited Hassan.
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  He’d taken the bait, decided Collington. Now the man had to be played, like a nervous fish.

  ‘Your country has a weakness,’ he declared, conscious of Hassan’s immediate frown at something which could be criticism. He hurried on: ‘A weakness which could not be foreseen. And which is now difficult for you to confront.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Hassan sharply. The man was offended, Collington knew, but he was in the stronger position.

  ‘The foreign investment reserves of your country are over committed to dollars,’ he said. ‘Even your bank holdings are denominated in American currency. And the dollar is over-burdened. All currency is volatile, but too much world trading is costed in American money. Your country is losing money with its investments.’

  Hassan sat silent, digesting the assessment. ‘The dollar is a rising currency,’ he said.

  ‘The strength has only been there for a few months,’ disputed Collington. ‘And even now, you can’t have benefited. The rise began in June. For two years prior to that, allowing for every fluctuation, the overall loss represented eighteen per cent on all your investments. The current rise is twelve per cent. You’re six per cent short.’

  Hassan smiled, a different expression than before. ‘You are a well-informed man,’ he said, and this time the praise seemed genuine.

  ‘It would have been an insult to make this approach without being so,’ said Collington, falling back for a moment on verbosity and deciding it was time to make concessions himself.

  Hassan continued smiling. ‘What is your proposal, Mr Collington?’

  ‘Gold,’ declared Collington, purposely dramatic, ‘A commodities agreement with Saudi Arabia, committing gold for oil.’

  Hassan sighed. ‘It seems so very simple,’ he said wistfully.

  ‘And could be,’ said Collington.

  Hassan shook his head. ‘Saudi Arabia is the pivot in the Middle East,’ he said. ‘For years we’ve been the moderating influence, trying to dissuade the other oil producers from price increases which worsen the inflation in the West and so reduce their profits. Could we, as the leaders, consider breaking an embargo we were instrumental in establishing?’

  For the first time Collington realised that neither of them had directly mentioned South Africa: he decided to take his lead from the other man’s diplomacy.

  ‘Earlier we used the word discretion,’ Collington reminded. ‘Just as I approached this meeting as well informed as possible, I considered the difficulties that might arise. I do not consider them insurmountable.’

  ‘I need to be persuaded,’ said Hassan.

  ‘We are multi-national,’ said Collington. ‘We have divisions in Europe, here in London and in America. I propose the establishment of several, separate companies. Here in London there would be a division actively attempting to participate in the development of the North Sea, aiming to win a drilling contract from the British government. It would also, of course, be involved in purchasing. There would be another purchasing company in America, headquartered possibly on the Gulf of Mexico. And in Rotterdam there would be a third.’

  ‘Behind the cover of a legitimate company in Britain we would supply oil which would in turn be sold to a legitimate company in America, who would re-sell it to Holland and from Holland it would go on to a further destination?’ queried Hassan.

  ‘Everything would be legitimate,’ qualified Collington. ‘I’m suggesting nothing to contravene the rules or laws of any of the countries. The only unusual thing would be that once the oil was purchased, it would not be sold, re-sold and sold again, as happens at the moment.’

  ‘Once more you make it sound so simple!’ said the Arab. ‘But there is still a flaw that makes it unworkable.’

  Collington was surprised Hassan had lost £100,000,000. He was not a stupid man.

  ‘Which is?’ he said, anticipating the man’s answer.

  ‘You are a gold producer, not seller. You are forbidden, by law, to dispose of it. So there is no way – no legal way – that you could enter into this sort of commitment.’

  ‘You, too, are well informed,’ said Collington.

  ‘I, too, wanted to avoid insult,’ responded Hassan.

  ‘What if a way could be established?’

  Hassan looked at him blank-faced, but there was definitely a reaction, which Collington would have missed if he had not been regarding the man so intently. For a moment there had been an expression of greed in Hassan’s eyes: that’s what had cost £100,000,000, he thought. It was an expensive disadvantage.

  ‘You spoke of representing yourself, no one else,’ said Hassan.

  ‘You are the minister of a country that has taken a public stance against another country,’ said Collington. ‘I regard this as an exploratory meeting: as I have already made clear, I wanted to introduce nothing that might have created embarrassment between us.’

  ‘How confident are you of a way being established?’ said Hassan.

  ‘I would not have made this approach without such confidence,’ said Collington. That was an over-commitment, he recognised, based upon his talks with Metzinger. But the Afrikaner was unquestionably talking on behalf of the Cabinet.

  ‘Between whom would these contracts be drawn?’ asked Hassan.

  ‘An independently-owned company in England. And the oil company of Saudi Arabia,’ said Collington, guessing the direction of the conversation.

  ‘And who would be the negotiators?’

  It was time for caution, recognised Collington. Hassan was almost landed, but the line would snap if he introduced talk of commission too openly: pride would dictate it, irrespective of the man’s desperation.

  ‘I have opened these talks,’ he said. ‘If they were to progress, then I would expect to remain involved. The representative for your country would be a matter for you to determine.’

  ‘Were it not to be myself, then I would need to be in a position to brief my successor fully,’ said Hassan.

  ‘Of course,’ nodded Collington, seeing the opening the other man had prepared. ‘The companies would be established as I have already indicated. I would anticipate our purchases to be in the region of £500,000,000. All shipment, discharge and delivery costs would be borne by us …’ Collington hesitated, appearing to remember something. ‘There would be a commission, of course. In the circumstances, considering the importance of what we are discussing, I would fix that at twenty per cent …’He hurried on, as if the commission figure were a minor, unimportant part of the negotiations. ‘There would be the complete discretion that I have indicated, the full knowledge of the transactions being confined to a limited number of the top executives.’

  Geoffrey Wall might be an ideal man to run the operation, he thought suddenly. The man had been involved since the outset and Collington imagined it would be the sort of enterprise that would attract the American.

  ‘You seem to have considered the details fairly fully,’ said Hassan.

  Where before Collington had interpreted greed in the man’s look, now there was contentment. Collington had hesitated, fixing the commission figure exactly to match Hassan’s losses, but now he knew it had not been a mistake.

  ‘I have done,’ he said. ‘I would ask you to, also.’

  ‘Will you be in London long?’

  ‘My plans are fluid,’ said Collington.

  ‘Perhaps there would be an opportunity for us to meet again?’

  ‘I would welcome that.’

  ‘Our embassy knows the way to contact you?’

  ‘At all times,’ assured Collington.

  Hassan rose to end the encounter, and Collington stood immediately.

  ‘I have enjoyed the meeting,’ said Hassan.

  ‘So have I.’

  ‘It would be pleasant if there were mutual benefit,’ said Hassan.

  ‘I sincerely hope there will be,’ said Collington. The ending was going to be as formalised as the beginning, he thought.

  There was another sharp handclap and
at once the three men who had been excluded returned to the room. Collington wondered if they had been able to hear much from the ante-room. He followed them through the crowded corridors to the elevator and emerged into the rush hour. His car fidgeted through the central London traffic back to the City, where the SAGOMI building overlooked the Tower and the Thames beyond. Geoffrey Wall was waiting when Collington entered his offices.

  ‘How did it go?’ asked the American.

  ‘Good, I think,’ assessed Collington. ‘He’s certainly attracted.’

  ‘Ran a check, just out of curiosity, while you were there,’ said Wall. ‘Difficult to trace his every movement, of course. But he’s a pretty public figure, so there’s usually some publicity somewhere. I reckon that since he fouled up on the silver deal, he hasn’t spent more than a month in Saudi Arabia.’

  Collington looked up from his desk, nodding appreciatively. ‘Disgraced?’ he said.

  ‘Certainly that, although I think he’s too high up in the pecking order for him to have been asked to get out. My guess it’s a pretty frantic search for a way to recover.’

  ‘I’d say we’re in pretty good shape,’ said Collington confidently.

  ‘What do you think of these?’ asked Wall. From velvet boxes on a document table the assistant took what appeared to be golden bells. It was only when Wall held them up that Collington became aware of the curvature in their design and the thongs, hanging down.

  ‘What are they?’ frowned Collington.

  ‘There’s a protocol shift at the second meeting,’ advised Wall. ‘It’s present-giving time if you reach even tentative agreement. Hassan is a keen hawker. So I’ve had these rushed through: they’re hawk caps, to fit over the bird’s head when it’s not hunting.’

  Collington stretched forward, smiling, taking one of the tiny covers and weighing it in his hand, professionally. It was heavy carat gold and Hassan would recognise it as such. ‘Bloody clever,’ he said to Wall. If the deal went through, he would offer the man the chairmanship, Collington decided: he had earned it.