Алистер Маклин - Seawitch

‘I have been fairly well briefed. What do you require of us?’ Lord Worth refrained from beaming: here was a man after his own heart. John Belton continued. ‘We can, of course, approach the Soviet and Venezuelan ambassadors, but that’s like approaching a pair of powder-puffs. All they can do is to report our suspicions and veiled threats to their respective governments. They’re powerless, really. Even ten years ago ambassadors carried weight. They could negotiate and make decisions. Not any more. They have become, through no fault of their own, faceless and empty people who are consistently bypassed in State-to-State negotiations. Even their second chauffeurs, who are customarily trained espionage agents, wield more power than the ambassadors themselves.

‘Alternatively, we can make a direct approach to the governments concerned. But for that we would have to have proof. Your word doesn’t come into question, but it’s not enough. We must be able to adduce positive proof of, shall we say, nefarious intent.’

Lord Worth replied immediately. ‘Such proof I can adduce and can give you the outline now. I am extremely reluctant to name names because it will mean the end of the professional career of a friend of mine. But if I have to, that I will do. Whether I release those names to you or to the public will depend entirely upon the Department’s reaction. If I can’t receive a promise of action after I have given you this outline, then I have no recourse other than to approach the public. This is not blackmail. I’m in a corner and the only solution is to fight my way out of it. If you will, as I hope you will, give me a favourable reaction, I shall, of course, give you a list of names, which, I would hope, will not be published by your department. Secrecy, in other words. Not, of course, that this will prevent you from letting loose the FBI the moment I board my helicopter out there.’

‘The great warm heart of the American public versus the incompetent bumbling of the State Department.’ Belton smiled. ‘One begins to understand why you are a millionaire – I do apologize, billionaire.’

‘Earlier this week a highly secret meeting was held in a lakeside resort out west. Ten people, all of them very senior oilmen, attended this meeting. Four were Americans, representing many of the major oil companies in the States. A fifth was from Honduras. A sixth was from Venezuela, a seventh from Nigeria. Numbers eight and nine were oil sheikhs from the Gulf. The last was from the Soviet Union. As he was the only one there who had no interest whatsoever in the flow of oil into the United States, one can only presume that he was there to stir up as much trouble as possible.’

Lord Worth looked around the five people in the room. That he had their collective ear was beyond dispute. Satisfied, he continued.

‘The meeting had one purpose and one only in mind. To stop me and to stop me at all costs. More precisely, they wanted to stop the flow of oil from the Seawitch – that is the name of my oil rig – because I was considerably undercutting them in price and thereby raising all sorts of fiscal problems. If there are any rules or ethics in the oil business I have as yet to detect any. I believe your congressional investigative committees would agree one hundred per cent with me on that. Incidentally, Worth Hudson – that’s the official name of my company – has never been investigated.

‘The only permanent way to stop the flow of oil is to destroy the Seawitch. Halfway through the meeting they called in a professional trouble-shooter, a man whom I know well, and a highly dangerous man at that. For reasons I won’t explain until I get some sort of guarantee of help, he has a deep and bitter grudge against me. He also happens – just coincidentally, of course – to be one of the world’s top experts – if not the very top – on the use of high explosives.

‘After the meeting this trouble-shooter called aside the Venezuelan and Soviet delegates and asked for naval cooperation. This he was guaranteed.’ Lord Worth looked at the company with a singular lack of enthusiasm. ‘Now perhaps you people will believe me.

‘I would add that this man so hates me that he would probably do the job for nothing. However, he has asked for – and got – a fee of a million dollars. He also asked for – and got – ten million dollars “operating expenses”. What does ten million dollars mean to you – except the unlimited use of violence?’

‘Preposterous. Incredible.’ The Secretary shook his head. ‘It has, of course, to be true. You are singularly well-informed, Lord Worth. You would appear to have an intelligence service to rival our own.’

‘Better. I pay them more. This oil business is a jungle and it’s a case of the survival of the most devious.’

‘Industrial espionage?’

‘Most certainly not.’ It was just possible that Lord Worth actually believed this.

‘This friend who may be coming to the end of his–’

‘Yes.’

‘Give me all the details, including a list of the names. Put a cross against the name of your friend. I shall see to it that he is not implicated and that only I will see that list.’

‘You are very considerate, Mr Secretary.’

‘In return I shall consult with Defence and the Pentagon.’ He paused. ‘Even that will not be necessary. In return I can personally guarantee you a sufficiency of air and sea cover against any normal or even considerable hazard.’

Lord Worth didn’t doubt him. Belton had the reputation of being a man of unshakeable integrity. More important, he had the justly-deserved reputation of being the President’s indispensable right-hand man. Belton delivered. Lord Worth decided against showing too much relief.

‘I cannot tell you how deeply grateful I am.’ He looked at the stenographer, and then at Howell. ‘If I could borrow this lady’s services–’

‘Of course.’ The stenographer turned to a fresh page in her notebook and waited expectantly.

Lord Worth said: ‘The place – Lake Tahoe, California, The address–’

The telephone jangled. The stenographer gave Lord Worth an ‘excuse-me’ smile and picked up the receiver. Howell said to the Secretary: ‘Dammit, I gave the strictest instructions–’

‘It’s for Lord Worth.’ She was looking at Belton. ‘A Mr Mitchell from Florida. Extremely urgent.’ The Secretary nodded and the stenographer rose and handed rest and receiver to Lord Worth.

‘Michael? How did you know I was here? … Yes, I’m listening.’

He listened without interruption. As he did so, to the considerable consternation of those watching him, the colour drained from his tanned cheeks and left them an unhealthy sallow colour. It was Belton himself who rose, poured out a brandy and brought it across to Lord Worth, who took it blindly and drained the not inconsiderable contents at a gulp. Belton took the glass from him and went for a refill. When he came back Lord Worth took the drink but left it untouched. Instead he handed the receiver to Belton and held his left hand over his now screwed-shut eyes.

Belton spoke into the phone. ‘State Department. Who’s speaking?’

Mitchell’s voice was faint but clear. ‘Michael Mitchell, from Lord Worth’s home. Is that – is that Dr Belton?’

‘Yes. Lord Worth seems to have received a severe shock.’

‘Yes, sir. His two daughters have been kidnapped.’

‘Good God above.’ Belton’s habitual imperturbability had received a severe dent. No one had ever seen him register shock before. Perhaps it was the bluntness of the announcement. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I wish to hell I wasn’t, sir.’

‘What are you?’

‘We – my partner John Roomer and I – are private investigators. We are not here in an investigative capacity. We are here because we are neighbours and friends of Lord Worth and his daughters.’