make the whole cracking process hopelessly uneconomic. We've turned
what appeared to be a hopelessly contaminated oilfield into one of the
most brilliant advances in oil refining. I hope you have not
underestimated the resistance to the transportation of Duncan cut him
short. There will be no publicity. The loading and unloading of the
crude will be conducted with the utmost discretion, and the world will
not know the difference. just another ultra-tanker moving across the
oceans with nothing to suggest that she is carrying cadrich. But, just
suppose the news did leak? Duncan shrugged. The world is conditioned
to accept anything, from DDT to Concorde, nobody really cares any more.
Come hell and high water, we'll carry the El Barras oil. Nobody is
strong enough to stop us. Duncan gathered his papers and went on
softly, I need six million dollars for sixty days - and I need it by
noon tomorrow. You are a brave man! the man repeated softly. But you
are finely stretched out. Already my brothers and I have made a
considerable investment in your courage. To be blunt Mr. Alexander,
Christy Marine has exhausted its collateral. Even Golden Dawn is pawned
down to her last rivet - and the charter for Orient Amex does not change
that. Duncan took another sheaf of papers, bound in a brown folder, and
the man lifted an eyebrow in question.
My personal assets, Duncan explained, and the man skimmed swiftly
through the typed lists.
Paper values, Mr. Alexander. Actual values are 5o'/'O of those you
list, and that is not six million dollars of collateral. He handed the
folder back to Duncan. They will do for a start, but we'll need more
than that. What more is there? Share options, stock options in Christy
Marine. If we are to share risk, then we must have a share of the
winnings. Do you want my soul also? Duncan demanded harshly, and the
man laughed.
We'll take a slice of that as well, the agreed amiably.
It was two hours later that Duncan sank wearily into the leather-work of
the Rolls. The muscles in his thighs trembled as though he had run a
long way and there was a nerve in the corner of his eye that jumped as
though a cricket was trapped beneath the skin. He had made the gamble,
everything - Christy Marine, his personal fortune, his very soul. It
was all at risk now.
Eaton Square, sir? the chauffeur asked.
No! Duncan told him. He knew what he needed now to smooth away the
grinding, destroying tension that wracked his body, but he needed it
quickly without fuss and, like the peppermint-tasting powder, like a
medicine.
The Senator Club in Frith Street, he told the chauffeur.
Duncan lay face down on the massage table in the small green-curtained
cubicle. He was naked, except for the towel, and his body was smooth
and lean. The girl worked up his spine with strong skilled fingers,
finding the little knots of tension in the sleek muscle and unravelling
them.
Do you want the soft massage, sir? she asked.
Yes, he said and rolled on to his back. She lifted away the towel from
