Brian Freemantle: The Inscrutable Charlie Muffin

She stood in the middle of the room, a slim, almost frail figure, the hair which she constantly used for dramatic effect cascading to her waist because she knew he liked it worn that way and it was inherent in her to please the man she was with.

She walked to him, smiling for the first time, cupping his head and pulling his face to hers.

‘I love you, Robert,’ she said. ‘Really love you.’

He held her at arm’s length, looking at her.

‘Why tell me that?’ he asked.

‘Because I wanted you to know.’

The noise of the explosion woke Nelson and the girl four nights later, as it woke nearly everyone on the island and the Kowloon waterfront. By the time Nelson got to the balcony, the flames were already spurting from the stem and as he watched there was a noise like a belch and the blaze gushed through the main funnels of the Pride of America.

A gradual glow in the stern was the first indication that there was fire there too, then one of the plates split and huge orange gouts burst out, like a giant exhaust.

‘Oh my God,’ said Nelson softly. He was very sober.

Beside him, the girl remained silent.

Because it was dark, neither could see that the water with which the fire boats were already attacking the blaze was still stained with the welcoming dye. It looked like blood.

Lu had wanted to hold his press conference on the Pride of America. But the engine-room explosions had blown away plates below the waterline, settling the liner to top-deck level in the water, and the harbour surveyors forbade the meeting as too dangerous. Instead the ship-owner led a small flotilla of boats out to the still smoking, blackened hull, wheeling around and around in constant focus for the cameras, the customary silk suit concealed beneath protective oilskins and the hard-hat defiantly inscribed ‘The University of Freedom’. John Lu was by his side.

The millionaire waited four days after the fire for the maximum number of journalists to gather and then took over the main conference room in the Mandarin Hotel to accommodate them. He entered still carrying the hat and put it down on the table so that the title would show in any photographs.

He was more impatient than at previous conferences, striding up and down the specially installed platform, calling almost angrily into the microphone for the room to settle.

Finally, disregarding the noise, he began to talk.

‘Not a fortnight ago,’ he said, ‘I welcomed many of you aboard that destroyed liner out there…’

He swept his hand towards the windows, through which the outline of the ship was visible.

‘And I announced the purpose to which I was going to put it.’

The room was quiet now, the only movement from radio reporters adjusting their sound levels properly to record what Lu was saying.

‘This morning,’ he started again, ‘you have accompanied me into the harbour to see what remains of a once beautiful and proud liner…’

He turned to the table, taking a sheet of paper from a waiting aide.

‘This,’ he declared, ‘is the surveyor’s preliminary report. Copies will be made available to you individually as you leave this room. But I can sum it up for you in just two words – “totally destroyed”.’

He turned again, throwing the paper on to the table and taking another held out in readiness for him, this time by John Lu.

‘This is another report, that of investigators who have for the past four days examined the ship to discover the cause of the fire,’ continued Lu. ‘This will also be made available. But again I will summarise it…’

He indicated behind him, to where two men in uniform sat, files on their knees.

‘And I have asked the men who prepared the report to attend with me today, should there later at this conference be any questions you might like to put to them. Their findings are quite simple. The Pride of America has been totally destroyed as the result of carefully planned, carefully instigated acts of arson.’

He raised his hand, ahead of the reaction to the announcement.

‘Arson,’ he went on, ‘devised so that it guaranteed the Pride of America would never be put to the use which I intended.’

He referred to the report in his hand.

‘“… Large quantity of inflammable material spread throughout cabins in the forward section,”’ he quoted, ‘“… sprinkler system disconnected and inoperative and fire doors jammed to prevent closure

… debris of two explosive devices in the engine room, together with more inflammable material, ensuring immediate and possibly uncontrollable fire… kerosene introduced into the sprinkler system at the rear of the vessel, so that the fire would actually be fed by those attempting to extinguish it…”’

He looked up, for what he was saying to be assimilated.

‘Provable, incontrovertible facts,’ he said. ‘As provable and as incontrovertible as this -’

Again the aide was waiting, handing to Lu a length of twisted, apparently partially melted metal about a foot long. The millionaire held it before him, turning to the photographers’ shouted requests.

‘There is some lettering upon the side,’ he said, indicating it with his finger and once more holding the metal for the benefit of the cameramen. ‘A translation will be made available, together with all the other documents to which I’ve referred today. But again I will summarise it for you. This is part of the outer casing of an incendiary device. It was found, together with other evidence still in the possession of the Hong Kong police, in the engine room. The lettering positively identifies it as manufactured in the People’s Republic of China…’

Lu returned the casing to the table behind him, happy now for the noise to build up.

‘Arson,’ he shouted, above the clamour. ‘Arson committed by a country frightened of having the free world constantly reminded of the evils of its doctrine.’

He snatched again for the incendiary casing.

‘Their former leader, Mao Tse-tung, once preached that power comes from the barrel of a gun. This is the proof of that doctrine.’

He slumped back against the table, reaching out for the instantly available glass of water and throughout the room more aides began moving with microphones so that questions would be heard by everyone.

‘Do you feel fully justified in making the accusations that you have today?’ was the first, from an unseen woman at the back.

Lu led the mocking laughter that broke out.

‘I’ve rarely felt so justified in doing anything in my life,’ he said. ‘Is it possible for a country to sue someone for defamation of character? If it is, then I shall be happy to accept any writ from the People’s Republic of China.’

‘Will you attempt to buy another vessel to create another University of Freedom?’ asked the New York Times correspondent.

‘And have it burned out within days? That blackened hulk out there can speak as eloquently as any political lecturer of the dangers I wanted to publicise.’

‘What about the professors whom you had already engaged?’ demanded the same questioner.

‘They were employed upon a year’s contract. In every case, that contract has been honoured in full and first-class air fares made available to return them to whichever country they choose.’

‘How much has all this cost?’

‘I have never made any secret of the fact that I purchased the Pride of America for $20,000,000.’

‘Does that mean you’ve lost that amount of money?’ queried an Englishman representing the Far East Economic Review.

‘Of course not. International maritime regulations insist that all vessels be properly insured.’

‘So the $20,000,000 is recoverable?’