Mightier Than the Sword

by Jeffrey Archer

  When he saw the guard stationed on the East Berlin border, he didn’t need to be reminded that they didn’t welcome tourists. He entered another building that hadn’t seen a splash of paint since the wall had gone up, and where no one had given a thought for old, tired, or infirm visitors who might just want to sit down. Another queue, another wait, longer this time, before he eventually handed over his passport to a young customs officer who did not greet him with good evening, sir, in any language.

  The official slowly turned each page of his passport, clearly mystified by how many countries this foreigner had visited in the last four years. After he’d turned the final page, he raised the palm of his right hand in the air, like a traffic policeman, and said, “Stay,” clearly the one word of English he knew. He then retreated to the back of the room, knocked on a door marked Kommondant, and disappeared inside.

  It was some time before the door opened again, and when it did, a short, bald-headed man appeared. He looked about the same age as Giles, but it was hard to be sure because his shiny, double-breasted suit was so out of date it might have been his father’s. His graying shirt was frayed at the collar and cuffs, and his red tie looked as if it had been ironed once too often. But the surprise was his command of English.

  “Perhaps you would come with me, Mr. Barrington,” were his opening words.

  “Perhaps” turned out to be an order, because he immediately turned on his heel and headed toward his office without looking back. The young official lifted the counter lid so Giles could follow him.

  The official sat down behind his desk, if a table with a single drawer can be described as a desk. Giles sat opposite him on a hard wooden stool, no doubt a product of the same factory.

  “What is the purpose of your visit to East Berlin, Mr. Barrington?”

  “I’m visiting a friend.”

  “And the name of this friend?”

  Giles hesitated, as the man continued to stare at him. “Karin Pengelly.”

  “Is she a relative?”

  “No, as I said, a friend.”

  “And how long are you intending to stay in East Berlin?”

  “As you can see, my visa is for one week.”

  The official studied the visa for a considerable time, as if hoping to find an irregularity, but Giles had had the document checked by a friend at the Foreign Office who confirmed that every little box had been filled in correctly.

  “What is your profession?” asked the official.

  “I’m a politician.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I used to be a Member of Parliament, and a Foreign Office minister, which is why I’ve traveled so much in recent years.”

  “But you are no longer a minister, or even a Member of Parliament.”

  “No, I am not.”

  “One moment please.” The official picked up a phone, dialled three numbers and waited. When someone answered, he began a protracted conversation of which Giles couldn’t understand a word, but from the man’s deferential tone, he was in no doubt that he was addressing someone far more senior than himself. If only Karin had been there to translate for him.

  The official began to make notes on the pad in front of him, often followed by the word Ja. It wasn’t until after several more Jas that he finally put the phone down.

  “Before I stamp your visa, Mr. Barrington, there are one or two more questions that need to be answered.”

  Giles attempted a weak smile as the official looked back down at his pad.

  “Are you related to Mr. Harry Clifton?”

  “Yes, I am. He’s my brother-in-law.”

  “And are you a supporter of his campaign to have the criminal Anatoly Babakov released from prison?”

  Giles knew that if he answered the question honestly, his visa would be revoked. Couldn’t the man understand that for the past month he’d been counting the hours until he saw Karin again? He was sure Harry would appreciate the dilemma he was facing.

  “I repeat, Mr. Barrington, do you support your brother-in-law’s campaign to have the criminal Anatoly Babakov released?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Giles. “Harry Clifton is one of the finest men I have ever known, and I fully support his campaign to have the author Anatoly Babakov released.”

  The official handed Giles back his passport, opened the drawer of his desk, and placed the visa inside.

  Giles stood up and, without another word, turned and made his way out of the building, to find it had started raining again. He began the long walk back to the West, wondering if he would ever see Karin again.

  SEBASTIAN CLIFTON

  1970

  24

  “DID YOU EVER make a complete fool of yourself when you were my age?” asked Sebastian as they sat drinking on the veranda.

  “Not more than once a week, if my memory still serves me,” said Ross Buchanan. “Mind you, I’ve improved a little over the years, but not much.”

  “But did you ever make such a huge mistake that you’ve regretted it for the rest of your life?” asked Seb, not touching the brandy by his side.

  Ross didn’t reply immediately, because he knew only too well what Seb was referring to. “Nothing I haven’t been able to make amends for.” He took a sip of his whisky before adding, “Are you absolutely convinced you can’t win her back?”

  “I’ve written to her several times, but she never replies. I’ve finally decided I’ll have to go to America and find out if she’d even consider giving me a second chance.”

  “And there hasn’t been anyone else?” said Ross.

  “Not in that way,” said Sebastian. “The occasional fling, too many one-night stands, but frankly Sam was the only woman I loved. She didn’t care if I was penniless. I stupidly did. Did you ever have that problem, Ross?”

  “Can’t pretend I did. When I married Jean, I had twenty-seven pounds, two shillings, and four pence in my personal account, but then you weren’t allowed an overdraft if you worked as a clerk for the Aberdeen Shipping Company. So Jean certainly didn’t marry me for my money.”

  “Lucky man. Why didn’t I learn from Cedric Hardcastle? A handshake should always be enough to close a deal.”

  “Ah, I presume it’s Maurice Swann we’re now talking about.”

  “You know about Mr. Swann?”

  “Only from what Cedric told me. He was convinced that if you closed the Shifnal Farm deal, you’d keep your side of the bargain. So I must assume you didn’t?”

  Seb bowed his head. “That’s why Sam left me. I lost her because I wanted to live in Chelsea, and I didn’t realize she couldn’t give a damn where we lived, as long as we were together.”

  “It’s never too late to admit you’re wrong,” said Ross. “Just pray that Mr. Swann is still alive. If he is, you can be sure he’ll still be desperate to build his theatre. And Kaufman’s, is that enough for you?” asked Ross, changing the subject.

  “What do you mean, is it enough?” asked Seb, picking up his brandy.

  “It’s just that you’re the most ambitious young man I’ve ever come across and I’m not sure you’ll be satisfied until you become chairman of the bank.”

  “Which bank?”

  Ross laughed. “I’ve always assumed that it’s Farthings you’ve had your eye on.”

  “You’re right, and I haven’t been idle. On Bob Bingham’s advice, I’ve been picking up shares for the past five years, always investing fifty percent of the commission I earn on any deal. I already own more than three percent of Farthings’ stock. Once I’ve got my hands on six percent, which shouldn’t be long now, I intend to take my place on the board and wreak havoc.”

  “I wouldn’t be too confident about that, because you can be sure Adrian Sloane will have spotted you on his radar and, like a submarine, he’ll attack when you least expect it.”

  “But what can he do to stop me? The bank’s statutes specify that any company or individual who owns six percent of the stock is automatically entitled to a place on t
he board.”

  “Once you’ve acquired your six percent, he’ll simply rewrite the statutes.”

  “Can he do that?”

  “Why not? He appointed himself chairman while we were at Cedric’s funeral, so why wouldn’t he rewrite the bank’s statutes if it meant he could stop you getting on the board? Just because he’s a despicable man doesn’t mean he isn’t a clever one. But frankly, Seb, I think you’ve got a far bigger problem facing you on the home front.”

  “At Kaufman’s?”

  “No, at Barrington’s. I did warn your mother that if she allowed Desmond Mellor to become a director, it would end in tears. He’s been on the board for four years, and I’m sure you know he now wants to be deputy chairman.”

  “He couldn’t make it more obvious,” said Seb. “But as long as my mother is chairman, he can forget it.”

  “I agree, just so long as your mother is chairman. But surely you noticed that he’s already begun to park his tanks on your front lawn?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “If you read this morning’s Financial Times, you’ll find tucked away under new appointments that Adrian Sloane has invited Mellor to become deputy chairman of Farthings. Now you tell me, what do those two have in common?”

  This silenced Seb for the first time.

  “An intense dislike of your family. But don’t despair,” continued Ross, “you still have a card up your sleeve that he’ll find hard to trump.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Not what, who. Beryl Hardcastle and her fifty-one percent of Farthings’ stock. Beryl won’t consider signing any more documents sent by Sloane that haven’t been carefully scrutinized by her son first.”

  “So what do you advise?”

  “Once you’ve got six percent of the bank’s stock, you can park your tank on Sloane’s front lawn and cause havoc.”

  “But if I were to get hold of Beryl Hardcastle’s fifty-one percent, I could park a whole army on Sloane’s front lawn, and he’d have no choice but to beat a hasty retreat.”

  “Nice idea, as long as you know someone with the odd twenty million pounds to spare.”

  “How about Bob Bingham?” said Seb.

  “Bob’s a wealthy man, but I think you’ll find that’s even too much for him to consider.”

  “Saul Kaufman?”

  “In his present state of health, I suspect he’s a seller not a buyer.”

  Seb looked disappointed.

  “Try to forget taking over the bank for now, Seb. Concentrate on becoming a director and making Sloane’s life hell.”

  Seb nodded. “I’ll go and see him as soon as I’m back from the States.”

  “I think there’s someone else you should pay a visit to before you go to America.”

  * * *

  “What you have to appreciate, Sarah, is that although Macbeth is an ambitious man, Lady Macbeth is the key to him getting his hands on the crown. This was at a time when women’s rights didn’t exist, and her only hope of having any real influence in Scotland was to convince her weak, vacillating husband he should kill the king while he was a guest under their own roof. So I want to do that scene again, Sarah. Try to remember you’re a mean, conniving, evil piece of work, who’s trying to get her husband to commit murder. And this time, make sure you convince me, because if you do, you’ll convince the audience.”

  Sebastian sat at the back of the hall and watched a group of enthusiastic young pupils rehearsing under the watchful eye of Mr. Swann. It was a pity that the stage was so small and cramped.

  “Much better,” said Swann when they came to the end of the act. “That will do for today. Tomorrow, I want to start with the Banquo’s ghost scene. Rick, you must remember that Macbeth is the only person in the room who can see the ghost. Your guests at the dinner are fearful about what’s troubling you, some even think you’re losing your mind. And, Sarah, you’re trying to convince those same guests that all is well, and despite your husband’s strange behavior there’s nothing for them to worry about. And whatever you do, don’t ever look at the ghost, because if you should, even once, the spell will be broken. I’ll see you all at the same time tomorrow, and be sure you know your lines by then. After Monday, we abandon scripts.”

  A groan went up as the actors left the stage and became school children once again, picking up their satchels and books and making their way out of the hall. It amused Seb to see Lady Macbeth clutching Banquo’s hand. No wonder Mr. Swann had told Sarah not to look at him during the ghost scene. Shrewd man.

  Mr. Swann didn’t turn off the stage lights until he had all the props in place for the banquet scene. He then picked up his well-thumbed script, put in his old Gladstone bag, and headed slowly toward the door. At first he didn’t notice that someone was sitting at the back of the room, and he wasn’t able to hide his surprise when he saw who it was.

  “We’re not doing Othello this year,” he said. “But if we were, I wouldn’t have to look far to cast Iago.”

  “No, Mr. Swann, it’s Prince Hal you see before you, come on bended knee to beg forgiveness of the King, having made a dreadful mistake from which he may never recover.”

  The old man stood still as Sebastian took out his wallet, extracted a check, and handed it over.

  “But this is far more than we agreed on,” the former headmaster said, fumbling for words.

  “Not if you still want those new dressing rooms, a proper curtain, and not to have to be satisfied with last year’s costumes.”

  “Not to mention a separate changing room for the girls from Shifnal High,” said Swann. “But may I ask what you meant, Mr. Clifton, when you said you had made a dreadful mistake from which you may never recover?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Seb, “and I’ll not bore you—”

  “I’m an old man with time on my hands,” said Swann, sitting down opposite Seb.

  Sebastian told Mr. Swann how he’d first seen Samantha at Jessica’s graduation ceremony and been struck dumb.

  “I can’t imagine that happens to you too often,” said Swann with a smile.

  “When I next met her, I’d recovered enough to ask her out to dinner. Not long after that I realized I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.” The old man knew when to remain silent. “But when she found out that I didn’t intend to honor my promise to you, she left me, and returned to America.” He paused. “I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Then I would beg you not to make the same mistake I did when I was your age.”

  “You made the same mistake?”

  “Worse in a way. When I was a young man just down from university, I was offered a job teaching English at a grammar school in Worcestershire. I’d never been happier, until I fell in love with the headmaster’s eldest daughter, but didn’t have the courage to let her know.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve always been shy, especially around women, and in any case I was afraid the headmaster wouldn’t approve. It must sound silly now, but it was a different world in those days. I moved to another school and later learned that she had never married. I might have been able to live with that if just last year, when I attended her funeral, her younger sister hadn’t told me that I was her first and only love, but her father had told her she must do nothing unless I made my feelings known. What a fool I was. A moment wasted, to be followed by a lifetime of regret. Young man, be sure not to make the same mistake. Faint heart ne’er won a lady fair.”

  “Robert Burns?” said Seb.

  “There’s hope for you yet,” said Swann. With the help of his walking stick, the old man rose to his feet and took Seb by the arm. “Thank you for your generosity. I look forward to the honor of meeting Miss Sullivan.” He turned to face Seb. “Would you be kind enough to ask her, Mr. Clifton, if she would be willing to open the Samantha Sullivan Theatre?”

  25

  “HI, REVERED PARENT, I’m thinking of going to America on business, and I wondered if—”


  “You could sail on the Buckingham? Yes, of course, but don’t forget Bob Bingham’s rule about family members having to pay for their passage. If you can go next week, you could join your father. He’s off to New York to see his publisher.”

  Sebastian flicked over a page of his diary. “I’ll have to rearrange a couple of meetings, but yes, that looks fine.”

  “And what takes you to the States?”

  “A business opportunity that Mr. Kaufman wants me to look into.”

  The moment Seb put down the phone he felt guilty about not telling his mother the real reason for his trip, as he feared he could well be making a complete fool of himself—once again.

  But he had no idea where Sam was living or how he could find out. He was considering the problem when Vic Kaufman walked into his office and took him by surprise.

  “Have you noticed my dad repeating himself lately?”

  “No, can’t say I have,” said Seb. “Saul’s occasionally a little forgetful, but he must be over seventy.”

  “When he escaped from Poland he didn’t bring a birth certificate with him, but he once let slip that he could remember Queen Victoria’s funeral, so he must be nearer eighty. I have to admit I’m a bit worried, because if anything did happen to the old man, frankly, you’re not ready to take over yet, and I’m just not good enough.”

  It had never crossed Seb’s mind that Saul Kaufman wouldn’t go on being chairman forever, and he certainly hadn’t considered taking over as chairman of the bank before Vic raised the subject.

  Seb now had fourteen staff working for him, most of them older than himself, and his department was the third-largest income provider for the bank, not far behind foreign exchange and commodities.

  “Don’t worry about it, Vic,” said Seb, trying to reassure him. “I’m sure your father’s got a few more miles left on the clock.”

  However, at Seb’s weekly meeting with the chairman, Mr. Kaufman did ask, on three separate occasions, the name of the client they were representing on one particular land development deal, although Seb knew he’d done business with him on at least two occasions in the past.