John Schettler - 9 Days Falling, Volume I

“If you manage to take delivery at anything close to your float,” Salase said at last, “then you might be well on your way to paying off that credit chip coming due next month, eh? I’m sure you’ll find some way of coming up with the remaining funds you need for the Bank of London.” He smiled. “Assuming, of course, your sell what you are presently holding on Princess Royal at current market prices.”

“I beg your pardon?” Elena shifted slightly in her chair, and for a moment it seemed that Salase might indeed have a hand on her leg, though both his well padded paws were resting comfortably on the table now.

Elena composed herself, tamping down her annoyance at the man’s manner. “Yes, I’ve a three million barrels sitting on Princess Royal , dear Mr. Salase—and I own that oil. At current market price, as you so wisely note, that will fetch me a tidy sum. I’ll expect to get closer to $150 a barrel on that oil, if not more by the time I get around to delivering it. Lock-ins on price are very slippery these days, particularly in emergency situations. What with all this hurricane business at Houston, the Americans will be paying top dollar.”

“Pity they can’t get their own oil producers to stop selling to the Japanese,” said Salase, “but I suppose if things get worse in the Pacific they’ll do something about that as well. No hurricane has struck British shores of late, and the price there is a flat hundred pounds, so consider my suggestion that you sell to the Americans if the price of a barrel goes much above that, loyal servant of the Crown that you are.” His smile had a bit of a barb to it now.

“If you know so much about my financial arrangements,” said Fairchild, “then you can see I have my credit call well in sight. I’m wagering Princess Royal is carrying at least $450 million in her holds right this moment, and perhaps more. This little bit I’m picking up here for simple conveyance is just a nudge in the right direction. That would put me over $580 million, and I can take the rest out of petty cash.” She smiled sweetly. “ Argos Fire is ready to lead my little fleet to the Bosporus tomorrow. We have long range helicopters, and perhaps we can provide some security for this customer, but that will come at a cost as well. Our first priority, however, will be to take on his cargo at either Kulevi oil terminal on the Black Sea coast, or at Supsa, assuming the Americans have a bunker credit there…” she waited, a question in her eyes.

“Of course, Miss Fairchild. It has all been arranged.”

“Excellent. Then might I suggest something, Mister Salase? My tanker in the Persian Gulf is much closer to Singapore, and I own that oil. Suppose I were to offer it to your Japanese buyer in fulfillment of this conveyance contract you’ve been trying to arrange.”

“How generous,” Salase beamed. He knew she would get round to this in time, and there it was, her final card on the table. Now he would play out his trump card and run the spades home.

“Then that would still leave you free to convey the Chevron oil to other destinations, perhaps the Americans, as you suggested earlier. But you will have need of great hurry. Yes, I should have known you would have this deal well thought out. You are a very formidable businesswoman, Miss Fairchild. And of course your intelligence services would have the very same information that came through our network yesterday, so I suppose you have already factored that in to your calculations.” He let that hang a moment for effect, and could almost feel her resolve falter a bit. It was the sweetest moment in any close—the moment when you reveal that one last tidbit of information your adversary had failed to consider. Yes, her legs were wide open at last, he thought. Now for the coup de gras .

“Information?” She raised her eyebrows, ever so slightly, “What exactly are you referring to. I’m afraid I have to confess the destination on this little run did come as a surprise. I underestimated the greed of the Americans—sell their own damn oil to the Japanese while Houston gets slammed by a hurricane? I can’t stack that up against my good sense for profit when I see it.”

“Of course,” said Salase, still smiling. “No, I was referring to the information on the security situation in the Persian Gulf. It seems your Princess Royal is going to hit a mine some time tomorrow. You knew this, of course. Perhaps you were even counting on it, because the price of oil is truly going to skyrocket if it happens as planned.” The certainty of his remark was a nice sharp jab, and he could almost feel the woman jump.

Captain MacRae shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his hand in his pocket fingering the latest intelligence decrypt he had picked up from the radio room—the mines! He had not found a moment to inform his CEO, and now she was adrift at sea in the negotiation and about to hit one herself.

Elena was taken aback by the statement. What was this bloated pig of a man talking about? Going to hit a mine? if it happens as planned? She could feel the heat rising on the back of her neck. Her people should have had this—a direct threat to a company ship? Good God, what was going on here? What did this man know that her Intel service could have so blatantly missed? She fought down the anger.

“Of course,” she said at last, though her face had turned a shade of pale rose. It was the first noticeable loss of control MacRae had ever seen her suffer in a public negotiation, and he knew she had been completely surprised by the information. There would be no rest on the Argos Fire tonight, he realized. Mack Morgan, the Intel Master was going to have a lot of questions to answer for not getting this sooner. Perhaps he could save Mack a finger or two if he spoke up now.

“Excuse me, m’lady, but we do have something to discuss concerning that development. Perhaps after dinner you and I can have a chat.” He was signaling her that he had information, perhaps even a plan, a high face card or two in hand, and he hoped it would be enough to help her regain her composure.”

Dinner was served, thankfully just at that moment, giving Elena Fairchild a brief cover to settle herself. But as Salase eyed the sumptuous fare, he could feel the woman’s discomfort in the silence, and she would sit there and take it as long as he desired. At least until dessert had been served. Oh there would be little run ups of conversation aimed at ferreting out the scope of the threat, a trip to the powder room so she could scream shrill orders over a radio and notify the Captain of Princess Royal. And then she would be begging the Americans in the Persian Gulf for a frigate to escort her precious little princess through the Straits, based on ‘credible information from an unnamed source,’ of course.

And when they find out the rest; when the missile fires and the oil starts burning… He smiled, pretending to enjoy his meal. Ah, he thought, it was great to be a man. Women had no place in business matters like these. He was going to enjoy this dinner. The poached salmon looked particularly tasty tonight.