by Wilbur Smith
‘David Allen is a good youngster,’ Bernard told Nick. ‘But have you got Levoisin for Sea Witch?
‘Jules is playing the prima donna, he has not said yes, but he'll come.’
‘You'll have a good team, then. What's the latest date for Sea Witch?’
‘End March.’
‘The sooner the better, I've got contacts to keep both tugs running hard until the iceberg project matures.’
‘I'm having lunch with the Sheikhs today.’
‘I know. There's a lot of interest. I've got a good feeling. There is something big brewing, but they are a cagey bunch. The inscrutable smile on the face of the sphinx - when do we see you?’
'I'll come across just as soon as I've got Duncan Alexander into the arbitration court - end of the month, hopefully.’
‘We've got a lot to talk about, Nicholas.’
Nick hesitated for the time it took to smoke the first cheroot of the day before he called Monte Carlo - for the call would cost him at least fifty thousand dollars, probably closer to seventy-five. The best is always the cheapest, he reminded himself, picked up the receiver and spoke to a secretary in Monte Carlo, giving his name.
While he waited for the connection he thought how his life was complicating itself once more. Very soon Bach Wackie would not be enough, there would have to be a London branch of Ocean Salvage, offices, secretaries, files, accounts, and then a New York branch, a branch in Saudi, the whole cycle again. He thought suddenly of Samantha, uncluttered and simple happiness, life without its wearisome trappings - then the connection was made and he heard the thin, high, almost feminine voice.
‘Mr. Berg - Claud Lazarus.’ No other greeting, no expressions of pleasure at the renewal of contact. Nick imagined him sitting at his desk in the suite high above the harbour, like a human foetus - preserved in spirits, bottled on the museum shelf. The huge bald domed head, the soft putty-coloured rudimentary features, the nose hardly large enough to support the thick spectacles. The eyes distorted and startled by the lens, changing shape like those of a fish in an aquarium as the light moved. The body underdeveloped, as that of a foetus, narrow shoulders, seemingly tapering away to the bowed question mark of a body.
‘Mr. Lazarus. Are you in a position to undertake an in-depth study for me?’ It was the euphemism for financial and industrial espionage; Claud Lazarus’ network was not limited by frontiers or continents, it spanned the globe with delicately probing tentacles.
‘Of course,’ he piped softly.
‘I want the financial structuring, the lines of control and management, the names of the nominees and their principals, the location and inter-relationship of all the elements of the Christy Marine Group and London European Insurance and Banking Co. Group, with particular reference to any changes in structure during the previous fourteen months. Do you have that?’
‘This is being recorded, Mr. Berg.’
'Of course. Further, I want the country of registration, the insurers and underwriters of all bottoms traceable to their holdings.’
‘Please continue.’
‘I want an accurate estimate of the reserves of London and European Insurance in relations to their potential liability.’
‘Continue.’
‘I am particularly interested in the vessel Golden Dawn presently building at the yards of Construction Navale Atlantique at St Nazaire. I want to know if she has been chartered or has contracted with any oil company for carriage of crude and, if so, on what routes and at what rates.’
‘Yes? Lazarus squeaked softly.
‘Time is of the essence - and, as always, so is discretion.’
‘You need not have mentioned that, Mr. Berg.’
‘My contact, when you are ready to pass information, is Bach Wacky in Bermuda.’
‘I will keep you informed of progress.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Lazarus.’
‘Good day, Mr. Berg.’
It was refreshing not to have to pretend to be the bosom comrade of somebody who supplied essentials but nonetheless revolted him, Nick thought, and comforting to know he had the best man in the world for the job.
He looked at his watch. It was lunchtime, and he felt the quick lift of his spirits at the thought of being with Samantha.
Lime Street is a narrow alleyway, with tall buildings down each side of it, which opens off Leadenhall Street. A few yards from the junction, on the left hand side as you leave the street of shipping, is the covered entrance to Lloyd's of London.
Nicholas stepped out of James Teacher's Bentley and took Samantha on his arm. He paused a moment, with a feeling of certain reverence.
As a seaman, the history of this remarkable institution touched him intimately. Not that the building itself was particularly old or venerable. Nothing now remained of the original coffee house, except some of the traditions: the caller who intoned the brokers names like the offertory in the temple of some exotic religion, the stalls in which the underwriters conducted their business and the name and uniform of the institution's servants, the waiters with brass buttons and red collar tabs.
Rather it was the tradition of concern that was enshrined here, the concern for ships and for all men who went down to the sea in those ships and did their business in great waters.
Perhaps later, Nicholas would find time to take Samantha through the Nelson rooms and show her the displays of memorabilia associated with the greatest of Britain's sailors, the plate and letters and awards. Certainly he would have her as lunch guest in the big dining-room, at the table set aside specifically for visiting sea captains.
But now there were more important considerations to demand all his attention. He had come to hear the verdict given on his future - within a few hours he would know just how high and how fast the wave of his fortune had carried him.
‘Come,’ he said to Samantha, and led her up the short flight of steps into the lobby, where there was a waiter alerted to receive them.
We will be using the Committee Room today, sir. The earlier submissions by both parties had been heard in one of the smaller offices, leading off the high gallery above the vast floor of the exchange with its rows of underwriters stalls. However, due to the extraordinary nature of this action, the Committee of Lloyd's had made a unique decision - to have their arbitrators give their findings and make their award in surroundings more in keeping with the importance of the occasion.
They rode up in silence, all of them too tense to make the effort of small-talk. and the waiter led them down the wide corridor, past the Chairman's suite of offices and through the double doors into the grandeur of the room designed by Adam for Bowood House, the country home of the Marquess of Lansdowne. It had been taken to pieces, panel by panel, floor, ceiling, fireplace and plaster mouldings, transported to London and re-erected in its entirety with such care and attention that when Lord Lansdowne inspected it, he found that the floorboards squeaked in exactly the same places as they had before.
At the long table, under the massive glittering pyramids of the three chandeliers, the two arbitrators were already seated. Both of them were master mariners, selected for their deep knowledge and experience of the sea, and their faces were toughened and leathery from the effects of sea and salt water. They talked quietly together, without acknowledging in any way the rows of quietly attentive faces in the rows of chairs facing them - until the minute hand of the antique clock on the Adam fireplace touched its zenith. Then the President of the court looked across at the waiter who obediently closed the double doors and stood to attention before them.
‘This Arbitration Court has been set up under the Committee of Lloyd's and empowered to receive evidence in the matter between the Christy Marine Steamship Co. Ltd. and the Ocean Salvage and Towage Co. Ltd. This Court finds common ground in the following areas:
‘Firstly, a contract of salvage under Lloyd's Open Form "No cure no pay" for the recovery of the passenger liner Golden Adventurer, a ship of 22,000 tons gross burden and registered at Southampton
, exists between the parties.
‘Secondly, that the Master of the Golden Adventurer while steaming on a south-westerly heading during the night of December 16th at or near 72 16 south and 32 12 west – ‘ The President let no dramatics intrude on his assembly of the facts. He recounted it all in the driest possible terms, succeeding in making Golden Adventurer's plight and the desperate endeavours of her rescuers sound boring. Indeed, his colleague seemed to descend into a condition of coma at the telling of it. His eyes slowly closed, and his head sagged gently sideways, his lips vibrating slightly at each breath - a volume not quite sufficient to make it a snore.
It took nearly an hour, with the occasional consultation of the ship's log books and a loose volume of hand-written and typed notes, before the President was satisfied that he had recounted all the facts, and now he rocked back in his chair and hooked his thumbs into his waistcoat. His expression became decisive, and while he surveyed the crowded room, his colleague stirred, opened his eyes, took out a white linen handkerchief and blew two sharp blasts, one for each nostril, like the herald angel sounding the crack of doom.
There was a stir of reawakened interest, they all recognized the moment of decision, and for the first time Duncan Alexander and Nicholas Berg looked directly at each other over the heads of the lawyers and company men. Neither of them changed expression, no smile nor scowl, but something implacable and clearly understood passed between them. They did not unlock their gaze, until the President began to speak again.
‘Taking into consideration the foregoing, this Court is of the firm opinion that a fair and good salvage of the vessel was effected by the salvors, and that therefore, they are entitled to salvage awards commensurate with the services rendered to the owners and underwriters.’
Nicholas felt Samantha's fingers groping for his. He took her hand, and it was slim and cold and dry; he interlocked their fingers and laid their hands upon his upper thigh.
‘This Court, in arriving at the value of the salvor's services, has taken into consideration, firstly, the situation and conditions existing on the site of operations. We have heard evidence that much of the work was carried out in extreme weather conditions. Temperatures of thirty degrees below freezing, wind forces exceeding twelve on the Beaufort scale, and extreme icing.
‘We have also considered that the vessel Golden Adventurer was no longer under command. That she had been abandoned by her passengers, her crew and her Master. She was aground on a remote and hostile coast.
‘We have further noted that the salvors undertook a voyage of many thousands of miles, without any guarantee of recompense, but merely in order to be in a position to offer assistance, should that have become necessary.’
Nicholas glanced across the aisle at Duncan Alexander. He sat at ease, as though he were in his box at Ascot. His suit was of sombre gunmetal grey, but on him it seemed flamboyant and the Zingari tie as rakish as any of Cardin's fantasies.
Duncan turned that fine leonine head and looked directly at Nicholas again. This time Nicholas saw the deep angry glow in his eyes as when a vagrant breeze fans the coals of an open fire. Then Duncan turned his face back towards the President, and he balanced his thrusting square chin on the clenched, carefully manicured fingers of his right fist.
‘Furthermore, we have taken into consideration the transportation of the survivors from the site of the striking, to the nearest port of succour, Cape Town in the Republic of South Africa.’
The President was summing up strongly in favour of Ocean Salvage. It was a dangerous sign; so often a judge about to deliver an unfavourable decision prefaced it by building a strong case for the loser and then tearing it down again.
Nicholas steeled himself, anything below three million dollars would not be sufficient to keep Ocean Salvage alive. That was the barest minimum he needed to keep Warlock afloat, and to put Sea Witch on the water for the first time. He felt the spasm of his stomach muscles as he contemplated his commitments - even with three million he would be at the mercy of the Sheikhs, unable to manoeuvre, a slave to any conditions they wished to set. He would not be off his knees even.
Nicholas squeezed Samantha's hand for luck, and she pressed her shoulder against his.
Four million dollars would give him a fighting chance, a slim margin of choice - but he would still be fighting hard, pressed on all sides. Yet he would have settled for four million, if Duncan Alexander had made the offer. Perhaps Duncan had been wise after all, perhaps he might yet see Nicholas broken at a single stroke.
‘Three.’ Nicholas held the figure in his head. ‘Let it be three, at least let it be three.’
‘This Court has considered the written reports of the Globe Engineering Co., the contractors charged with the repairing and refurbishing of Golden Adventurer, together with those of two independent marine engineering experts commissioned separately by the owners and the salvors to report on the condition of the vessel. We have also had the benefit of a survey carried out by a senior inspector of Lloyd's of London. From all of this, it seems apparent that the vessel sustained remarkably light damage. There was no loss of equipment, the salvors recovering even the main anchors and chains –‘
Strange how that impressed a salvage court. ‘We took her off, anchors and all, Nick thought,’ with a stir of pride.
‘Prompt anti-corrosion precautions by the salvors resulted in minimal damage to the main engines and ancillary equipment –‘
It went on and on. Why cannot he come to it now? I cannot wait much longer, Nicholas thought.
‘This Court has heard expert opinion and readily accepts that the residual value of the Golden Adventurer's hull, as delivered to the contractors in Cape Town can be fairly set at twenty-six million US dollars or fifteen million, three hundred thousand pounds sterling, and consideration of the foregoing, we are further of the firm opinion that the salvors are entitled to an award of twenty percent of the residual hull value –‘
For long cold seconds Nicholas doubted his hearing, and then he felt the flush of exultation burning on his cheeks.
‘In addition, it was necessary to compute the value of the passage provided to the survivors of the vessel –‘
It was six - six million dollars! He was clear and running free as a wild albatross sweeping across the oceans on wide pinions.
Nicholas turned his head and looked at Duncan Alexander, and he smiled. He had never felt so strong and vital and alive in his life before. He felt like a giant, immortal, and at his side was the vibrant young body pressing to him, endowing him with eternal youth.
Across the aisle, Duncan Alexander tossed his head, a gesture of dismissal and turned to speak briefly with his counsel who sat beside him. He did not look at Nicholas, however, and there was a waxen cast to his skin now as though it had a fine sheen of perspiration laid upon it, and the blood had drained away beneath the tan.
‘Anyway, another few days and you'd probably have started to find me a boring dolly bird, or one of us would have had a heart attack.’ Samantha smiled at him, a pathetic, lopsided little grin, nothing like her usual brilliant golden flashing smile. ‘I like to quit while I'm still ahead.’
They sat close on the couch in the Pan Am Clipper Lounge at Heathrow.
Nicholas was shocked by the extent of his own desolation. It felt as though he were about to be deprived of the vital forces of life itself, he felt the youth and strength draining away as he looked at her and knew that in a few minutes she would be gone.
‘Samantha,’ he said. ‘Stay here with me.’
‘Nicholas,’ she whispered huskily, ‘I have to go, my darling. It's not for very long but I have to go.’
‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘Because it's my life.’
‘Make me your life.’ She touched his cheek, as she countered his offer.
‘I have a better idea, give up Warlock and Sea Witch - forget your icebergs and come with me.’
‘You know I cannot do that.’
‘No,’ she
agreed, ‘you could not, and I would not want you to. But, Nicholas, my love, no more can I give up my life.’
‘All right, then, marry me,’ he said.
‘Why, Nicholas?’
‘So I don't lose my lucky charm, so that you'd damn well have to do what I tell you.’
And she laughed delightedly and snuggled against his chest. ‘It doesn't work like that any more, my fine Victorian gentleman. There is only one good reason for marrying, Nicholas, and that's to have babies. Do you want to give me a baby?’
‘What a splendid idea.’
‘So that I can warm the bottles and wash the nappies while you go off to the ends of the oceans - and we'll have lunch together once a month?’ She shook her head. ‘We might have a baby together one day - but not now, there is still too much to do, there is still too much life to live.’
‘Dammit.’ He shook his head. ‘I don't like to let you run around loose. Next thing you'll take off with some twenty-five year-old oaf, bulging with muscles and-‘
‘You have given me a taste for vintage wine,’ she laughed in denial. ‘Come as soon as you can, Nicholas. As soon as you have done your work here, come to Florida and I'll show you my life.’
The hostess crossed the lounge towards them, a pretty smiling girl in the neat blue Pan Am uniform.
‘Dr. Silver? They are calling Flight 432 now.’
They stood and looked at each other, awkward as strangers.
‘Come soon,’ she said, and then she stood on tiptoe and placed her arms around his shoulders.’ Come as soon as you can.’
Nicholas had protested vigorously as soon as James Teacher advanced the proposition. ‘I don't want to speak to him, Mr. Teacher. The only thing I want from Duncan Alexander is his cheque for six million dollars, preferably guaranteed by a reputable bank - and I want it before the 10th of next month.’
The lawyer had wheedled and jollied Nicholas along. ‘Think of the pleasure of watching his face - indulge yourself, Mr. Berg, gloat on him a little.’