Алистер Маклин - The Golden Gate

Quarry said heavily: ‘I suppose that ends your demands for the day?’

‘Not quite.’ Branson turned a palm up in an apologetic gesture. ‘But it’s only a trifle.’

One wonders what you might consider a trifle.’

‘A quarter of a million dollars.’

‘Astonishing. By your standards, a grain of sand. And what might that be for?’

‘My expenses.’

‘Your expenses.’ Quarry breathed deeply, twice. ‘My God, Branson, you are the piker to end all pikers.’

‘I’m used to people calling me names.’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t hurt so easily any more and one learns to take the rough with the smooth. Now, as to payment – you are going to pay me, aren’t you?’

No one said whether they were going to pay him or not.

‘I have to make arrangements with a friend in New York who has friends in certain European banks.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s noon now so it’s either eight or nine o’clock in Central Europe and all good Central European bankers knock off at six precisely. So I’d be greatly obliged if you’d let me have your decision by seven o’clock in the morning.’

Quarry said cautiously: ‘What decision?’

‘As to the availability of the funds and the form that they will take. Not that I care very much what they are, anything from Euro-dollars to stock in suitably selected offshore funds. You, of all people, should find little problem in handling such things with a certain amount of discretion – witness, for instance, the hundreds of millions of dollars you’ve funded such organizations as the CIA for subversive activities overseas without the poor taxpayer being any the wiser. A childishly simple routine for your Treasury. Not that I care whether those funds are traceable or not: just as long as they are convertible.

‘When my New York friend has informed us that those funds have all arrived at their several destinations – and that shouldn’t take more than another twenty-four hours, say until noon the same day – we shall take our farewells of you. Our hostages will, of course, accompany us.’

‘And where are you taking us?’ Cartland demanded.

‘You I’m not taking anywhere. The armed services may regard you as invaluable but your value to me as a bargaining counter is zero. Besides, you’re the only man here who could conceivably cause me trouble. Not only are you a man of action but you’re far too lean – let me have men about me that are fat and all that bit. The President and his three remaining oil friends. There’s no harm in telling you that I have a friend in the Caribbean who is the President of an island that doesn’t and never will have an extradition treaty with the United States. He’s willing to put us up, bed and breakfast, for a million dollars a night.’

No one had anything to say to this. In terms of the sums of money that Branson had so recently been bandying about, it seemed a reasonable enough charge.

‘One point,’ Branson said. ‘I did not mention that as from noon the following day – day after tomorrow that is – there will be a penalty clause, an escalation charge you might call it, for every hour’s delay in the reported lodgement of the funds. Two million dollars an hour.’

‘You do place a certain value on your time, don’t you, Mr Branson,’ Quarry said.

‘If I don’t, who will? Would there be any more questions?’

‘Yes,’ Cartland said. ‘How do you propose to get to this island paradise of yours?’

‘Fly there. How else? A ten-minute flight in our helicopters to the International Airport and we board our plane there.’

‘You have all this arranged? You have a plane standing by?’

‘Well, it doesn’t know it’s standing by but it will soon enough.’

‘What plane?’

‘Air Force 1, I believe you call it.’

Even Cartland was shaken out of his habitual reserve. ‘You mean you’re going to hijack the Presidential Boeing?’

‘Be reasonable, General. You surely can’t expect your President to judder his way down to the Caribbean in a clapped-out DC3? It’s the logical, the only way of transporting world leaders who are accustomed to the ultimate in luxury travel. We’ll show them the latest films. Brief though their incarceration may be we’ll make it as comfortable as possible for them. We might even get some more new films when we fly them back to the States again.’

‘We?’ Cartland said carefully.

‘My friends and I. I feel it only right – no, more than that, our bounden duty – that we should see them safely back again. How any man of any sensitivity can bear to live in that monstrosity they call the White House I don’t know but, after all, there’s no place like home.’

Milton was equally careful. ‘You mean you’re going to set foot on American soil again?’

‘My own, my native land. Why ever not? You disappoint me, Mr Milton.’

‘I do?’

‘You do. Apart from the Supreme Court and the Attorney General I would have thought that the Secretary of State would know as much about our law and constitution as any other man in the land.’ There was silence. Branson looked around but there was still silence so he addressed himself to the Secretary again. ‘Or don’t you know that bit where it says that no man who has been granted a full and free pardon by the State for any crime, actual or alleged, can ever again be arraigned on that same charge?’

It took at least ten seconds for the full implications to dawn and it was then that the Potomac, in the person of the Chief Executive, burst its banks. It was also then that the President lost twice the number of the putative votes he might have gained from his earlier statement that he would sacrifice himself for America. He could hardly be blamed. Devious some politicians may be and others are armoured in pachydermal hides: but never had the President encountered such Machiavellian effrontery. Even Presidents may be forgiven the odd earthy turn of phrase within the privacy of their own four walls but they customarily abjure such phraseology when addressing the electorate. But, momentarily, the President had totally forgotten the fact that he was, in effect, addressing the electorate: he was appealing to a mindless heaven for justice. And it was in that direction that his anguished face was lifted as he stood there, arms rigidly outstretched and fists clenched, his face assuming a peculiarly purplish hue.

‘Half a deleted billion dollars! And a deleted full and free pardon! God Al-deleted-mighty!’ He lowered his gaze from the cloudless sky and turned the full fury of his wrath on Branson who, disappointingly, had not been struck down by a bolt from heaven.

Branson murmured to the doctor: ‘You have your cardiac arrest unit handy?’

‘This is not funny’

The President warmed to his theme. ‘You evil twisted deleted bastard! If you imagine–’

Cartland, belatedly, reached his side, touched his arm and whispered urgently: ‘You’re on television, sir.’

The President, cut off in mid-expletive, looked at him, screwed his eyes shut in sudden comprehension, opened them again, looked the camera squarely in the eye and addressed it in measured tones.

‘I, as the elected representative and Chief Executive of the American people, will not stand for this vile blackmail, the machinations of this evil and amoral man. The American people will not stand for it. Democracy will not stand for it. Come what may we shall fight this cancer in our midst–’

‘How?’ Branson asked.

‘How?’ The President tried manfully to control his blood pressure at the thought of this but full rationality had not yet returned to him. ‘The entire resources of every investigative agency in those United States of ours, the entire weight of the armed forces, the full majesty of law and order will be brought to bear–’