Seawitch - Страница 2

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Benson was perfectly correct. In the design of the Seawitch Lord Worth had adopted shortcuts which the narrow-minded could have regarded as unscrupulous, if not illegal. Like all oil companies, North Hudson had its own design team. They were all cronies of Lord Worth, employed solely for tax-deduction purposes; their combined talents would have been incapable of designing a rowboat.

This did not worry Lord Worth. He had no need for a design team. He was a vastly wealthy man, had powerful friends—none of them, needless to say, among the oil companies—and was a master of industrial espionage. With these resources at his disposal, he found little trouble in obtaining those two secret advance plans, which he passed on to a firm of highly competent marine designers, whose exorbitant fees were matched only by then1 extreme discretion. The designers found little difficulty in marrying the two sets of plans, adding just sufficient modifications and improvements to discourage those with a penchant for patent-rights litigation.

Benson went on: «But what really worries me, and what should worry all you gentlemen here, is Lord Worth's violation of the tacit agreement never to indulge in drilling in international waters.» He paused, deliberately for effect, and looked slowly at each of the other nine in turn. «I say in all seriousness, gentlemen, that Lord Worth's foolhardiness and greed may well prove to be the spark that triggers a third world war. Apart from protecting our own interests, I maintain that for the good of mankind—and I speak from no motive of spurious self-justification—if the governments of the world do not intervene, then it is imperative that we should. As the governments show no sign of intervention, then I suggest that the burden lies upon us. This madman must be stopped. I think you gentlemen would agree that only we realize the full implications of all of this and that only we have the technical expertise to stop him.»

There were murmurs of approval from around the room. A sincere and disinterested concern for the good of mankind was a much more morally justifiable reason for action than the protection of one's own selfish interest. Patinos, the man from Venezuela, looked at Benson with a smile of mild cynicism on his face. The smile signified nothing. Patinos, a sincere and devout Catholic, wore the same expression when he passed through the doors of his church.

«You seem very sure of this, Mr. Benson?»

“Tve given quite some thought to it.»

Borosoff said: «And just how do you propose to stop this madman, Mr. Benson?»

A'l don't know.»

«You don't know?» One of the others at the table lifted his eyebrows a millimeter—for him a sign of complete disapproval. «Then why did you summon us all this distance?»

«I didn't summon you. I asked you. I asked you to approve whatever course of action we might take.»

'This course of action being—»

«Again, I don't know.»

The eyebrows returned to normal. A twitch of the man's lip showed that he was contemplating smiling.

«This—ah—third party?»

«Yes.»

«He has a name?»

«Cronkite. John Cronkite.»

A hush descended upon the company. Them open objections had turned into pensive hesitation which in turn gave way to a nodding acceptance. Benson apart, no one there had ever met Cronkite, but his name was a household word to all of them. In the oil business that name had long been a legend, although at times a far from savory one. They all knew that any of them might require his incomparable services at any time, while at the same time hoping that that day would never come.

When it came to the capping of blazing gushers, Cronkite was without peer. Wherever in the world a gusher blew fire no one even considered putting it out themselves, they just sent for Cronkite. To wincing observers his modus operandi seemed nothing short of Draconian, but Cronkite would blasphemously brook no interference. Despite the extortionate fees he charged, it was more common than not for a four-engined jet to be put at his disposal to get him to the scene of the disaster as quickly as possible. Cronkite always delivered. He also knew all there was to know about the oil business. And he was, hardly surprisingly, extremely tough and utterly ruthless.

Henderson, who represented oil interests in Honduras, said: «Why should a man with his extraordinary qualifications, the world's number, one, as we all know, choose to engage himself in—ah—an enterprise of this nature? From his reputation I would hardly have thought that he was one to be concerned about the woes of suffering mankind.»

«He isn't. Money. Cronkite comes very high. A fresh challenge—the man's a born adventurer. But, basically, it's because he hates Lord Worth's guts.»

Henderson said: «Not an uncommon sentiment, it seems. Why?»

«Lord Worth sent his own private Boeing for him to come cap a blazing gusher in the Middle East. By the time Cronkite arrived, Lord Worth's own men had capped it. This, alone, Cronkite regarded as a mortal insult. He then made the mistake of demanding the full fee for his services. Lord Worth has a reputation for notorious Scottish meanness, which, while an insult to the Scots, is more than justified in his case. He refused, and said that he would pay him for his time, no more. Cronkite then compounded his error by taking him to court. With the kind of lawyers Lord Worth can afford, Cronkite never had a chance. Not only did he lose but he had to pay the costs.»

«Which wouldn't be low?» Henderson said.

«Medium-high to massive. I don't know. All J know is that Cronkite has done quite a bit of brooding about it ever since.»

«Such a man would not have to be sworn to secrecy?»

«A man can swear a hundred different oaths and break them all. Besides, because of the exorbitant fees Cronkite charges, his feelings toward Lord Worth and the fact that he might just have to step outside the law, his silence is ensured.»

It was the turn of another of those grouped round the table to raise his eyebrows. «Outside the law? We cannot risk being involved—»

« 'Might,' I said. For us, the element of risk does not exist.»

«May we see this man?» Benson nodded, rose, went to a door and admitted Cronkite.

Cronkite was a Texan. In height, build and cragginess of features he bore a remarkable resemblance to John Wayne. Unlike Wayne, he never smiled. His face was of a peculiarly yellow complexion, typical of those who have had an overdose of antimalarial tablets, which was just what had happened to Cronkite. Mepacrine does not make for a peaches-and-cream complexion— not that Cronkite's had ever remotely resembled that. He was newly returned from Indonesia, where he had inevitably maintained his 100 percent record.

«Mr. Cronkite,» Benson said. «Mr. Cronkite, this is—»

Cronkite was brusque. In a gravelly voice he said: «I don't want to know their names.»

In spite of the abruptness of his tone, several of the oilmen round the table almost beamed.

Here was a man of discretion, a man after their own hearts.

Cronkite went on: «All I understand from Mr. Benson is that I am required to attend to a matter involving Lord Worth and the Seawitch, Mr. Benson has given me a pretty full briefing. I know the background. I would like, first of all, to hear any suggestions you gentlemen may have to offer.» Cronkite sat down, lit what proved to be a very foul-smelling cigar, and waited expectantly.

He kept silent during the following half-hour discussion. For ten of the world's top businessmen, they proved to be an extraordinarily inept, not to say inane, lot. They talked in an ever-narrowing series of concentric circles.

Henderson said: «First of all, there must be no violence used. Is that agreed?»

Everybody nodded agreement. Each of them was a pillar of business respectability who could not afford to have his reputation besmirched in any way. No one appeared to notice that, except for lifting a hand to his cigar and puffing out increasingly vile clouds of smoke, Cronkite did not move throughout the discussion. He also remained totally silent.

After agreeing that there should be no violence, the meeting of ten agreed on nothing.

Finally Patinos spoke up. «Why don't you— one of you four Americans, I mean—approach your Congress to pass an emergency law banning offshore drilling in extraterritorial waters?»

Benson looked at him with something akin to pity. «I am afraid, sir, that you do not quite understand the relations between the American majors and Congress. On the few occasions we have met with them—something to do with too much profits and too little tax—I'm afraid we have treated them in so—ah—cavalier a fashion that nothing would give them greater pleasure than to refuse any request we might make.»

One of the others, known simply as «Mr. A,» said: «How about an approach to that international legal ombudsman, The Hague? After all, this is an international matter.»

Henderson shook his head. «Forget it. The dilatoriness of that august body is so legendary that all present would be long retired—or worse—before a decision is made. The decision would just as likely be negative anyway.» «United Nations?» Mr. A said. «That talk-shop!» Benson obviously had a low and not uncommon view of the UN. «They haven't even got the power to order New York to install a new parking meter outside their front door.»

The next revolutionary idea came from one of the Americans.

«Why shouldn't we all agree, for an unspecified time—let's see how it goes—to lower our price below that of North Hudson? In that case no one would want to buy their oil.»