pages of his notebook and headed it simply 'costs'.
already there were two entries there. let them give me the job, he thought fervently, just let me have it one month and i'll move the world.
'mr. ironsides.' the man beside him spoke. rod glanced down at him recognizing him.
'hello, davy.' it was remarkable how dissimilar the two brothers were.
'mr. ironsides, my boss boy has worked his ticket. he's going home at the end of the month. can you see that i get a good man to replace him?'
'your brother's boss boy has asked for transfer. will you take him?'
'ja!' davy delange nodded. 'i know him, he's a good boy.' and that takes care of one more detail, thought rod, as he stepped out of the cage into a bright summer's afternoon and tasted the fresh sweet air with pleasure. now there are only the butt ends of the day's work to tidy up. then i can go and fetch the drink that dan promised me.
dimitri met him in the passage outside the office.
'i've got kowalski in my office.' 'good,' said rod grimly. he went into his own office and sat on the edge of his desk.
'send him in,' he called through to dimitri.
kowalski came through the door and stopped. he stood very still, his long arms hanging slackly at his side, his belly bulging out over his belt.
'you call me,' he muttered thickly, his english hardly intelligible. it was a peasant's face, coarse-featured, dull eyed he had not shaved, dirt from the stopes clung in the thick black stubble of beard.
'you beat a man today? 'rod asked softly.
'he no work, kowalski nodded. 'i beat him. maybe next time his brothers they work. no bloody nonsense!'
'you're fired,' said rod.
'pull your time and get the hell off this property.'
'you fire?'
kowalski blinked in surprise.
'there will be criminal charges pressed against you by the company.' rod went on. 'but in the meantime i want you off the property.'
'police?' kowalski growled. there was expression on his face now.
'yes,' said rod, 'police. the spade-sized hands at the end of kowalski's arms balled slowly into massive fists.
'you call da bloody police!' he took a step towards the desk, big, menacing.
'dimitri,' rod called sharply, 'close the door.' dimitri had been listening intently, now he jumped up from his desk and closed the inter leading door. he stood with his ear pressed to the panelling.
for thirty seconds more there was the growl and mutter of voices, then suddenly a thud, a bellow, another thud and a shattering crash.
dimitri winced theatrically.
'dimitri!' rod's voice, and he pushed the door open.
rod sat on the edge of his desk, swinging one leg casually, he was sucking the knuckle of his right hand.
'dimitri, tell them not to put so much polish on the floor. our friend slipped and hit his jaw on the desk.' dimitri clucked sympathetically as he stood over the reclining hulk of the big pole.
kowalski was snoring loudly through his mouth.
'gave himself a nasty bump,' said dimitri. 'shame!' doctor steyner worked on quietly for the remainder of monday morning. he favoured the use of a tape recorder, for this cut out human contact which manfred found vaguely repellent. he disliked having to speak his thoughts to a female who sat opposite him with skirts up around her thighs, squirming her bottom and touching her hair. however, what he really could not abide was the odour. manfred was very sensitive to smells, even his own body smell of perspiration disgusted him. women, he found, had a peculiar cloying odour that he could detect beneath their perfume and cosmetics. it nauseated him.
this was why he had insisted on separate bedrooms for theresa and himself. naturally he had not told her the reason, but had insisted instead that he was such a light sleeper that he could not share a room with another person.
his office was in white and ice-blue, the air clean and cold from the air-conditioning unit, his voice was crisp and impersonal, the whiff of the recorder subdued, and with the conscious portion of his mind manfred was happily absorbed in his conjuring tricks with figures and money, past performance and future estimates, a three- dimensional structure of variables and contingencies which only a super-normal brain could visualize. but beneath it was a sense of disquiet; he was waiting, hanging in time, and the outward sign of his agitation was the way the fingers of his right hand ran up and down his thigh as he worked, a caressing narcissistic gesture.
a few minutes before noon the unlisted direct telephone on his desk rang, and the movement of his hand stilled.
only one caller could reach him here, only one caller had that number.
for a few seconds he sat unmoving, delaying the moment, then deliberately he switched off the recorder and lifted the telephone.
'doctor manfred steyner.' he identified himself.
'you have got our man in?' the voice enquired.
'not yet, andrew.' there was silence from the other end, a dangerous crackling silence.
'but there is no cause for alarm. it is nothing. a delay merely, not a setback.'
'how long?'
'two days at the latest by the end of the week.'
'you will be in paris next week?'
'yes.' manfred was an adviser to the government team which was to meet the french for gold price talks.
'he will meet you there. it would be best for you that your side of the bargain were completed by then. you understand?' understand, andrew.' the discussion was ended, but manfred interjected to prevent the caller from hanging up.
'andrew!'
'yes.'
'will you ask him if-' manfred's tone had changed almost imperceptibly, there was an obsequious edge in it.
'ask him if i may play tonight, please, andrew.'
'wait.' the minutes drifted by, and then the voice came back on the line.
'yes, you may play. simon will inform you of your limits.'
'thank you. tell him, thank you.' manfred made no effort to conceal his relief as he cradled the receiver. he sat beaming at the ice-blue paper on the far wall of his office, even his spectacles seemed to sparkle.
there were five men in the opulently furnished room. one of the men was subservient to the others, he was younger than they, attentive to their moods and wishes. clearly he was a servant. of the remaining four, one was just as obviously the host. he was seated at the focus of all their attention. he was fat, but not excessively so, the fat of good living not of gluttony.
he was speaking, addressing himself to his three guests.
'you have expressed doubts as to the reliability of the tool i intend using in the coming venture. i have arranged a demonstration which i hope will convince you that your concern is groundless. that is the reason for the invitation that andrew here conveyed to you this afternoon.' the host turned to the younger man. 'andrew, would you be good enough to go through and wait for doctor steyner to arrive; as soon as that happens, please let simon seat him while you come through and inform us.' he gave his orders with dignity and courtesy, a man accustomed to command.
'now, gentlemen, while we wait may i offer you a drink?'
the conversation that sprang up between the four of them as they sipped their drinks was knowledgeable, and extraordinarily well informed. at its root was one subject: wealth. mineral wealth, industrial wealth, the harvest of the land and the sea. oil, steel, coal, fish, wheat and gold.
there were clues to the stature of these men in the cut and quality of the cloth they wore, the sparkle of a stone on a finger, the tone of authority in a voice, the casual unaffected use of a high name.
'he is here, sir,' andrew interrupted them from the doorway.
'oh! thank you, my boy.' the host stood up. 'would you mind stepping this way, please, gentlemen.' he crossed the room and drew aside one of the gold and maroon drapes. behind it was a window.
the four men clustered about the window and looked through into the room beyond. it was a gaming room of an expensive gambling establishment. there were men and women sitting about a baccarat table, and none of them so much as glanced up at the window overlooking them.
'this is a one-way glass, gentlemen,' the host explained.
'so you need not worry about being seen in such a den of iniquity.'
they chuckled politely.
'what kind of profit does this place show you?' one of them asked.
'my dear robert!' the host feigned shock. 'you don't for a moment believe that i would be in any way associated with an illegal undertaking?' this time they chuckled with genuine amusement.
'have exclaimed the host. 'here he is.' across the gaming room doctor manfred steyner was
