'Look who's talking,' Kate retorted. 'Bloody hell! How do we get you out of here?'
'In a box. That's the only way they're going to let me go.'
'I have a lot of fancy lawyers who—'
'Forget it, Kate. They caught me fair and square. Now I've got to get away fair and square.'
'What are you talking about?'
'I don't like cages, I never did. And they haven't built one yet that can keep me.'
Kate said, 'Banda, don't try it. Please. They'll kill you.'
'Nothing can kill me,' Banda said. 'You're talking to a man who lived through sharks and land mines and guard dogs.' A soft gleam came into his eyes. 'You know something, Kate? I think maybe that was the best time of my life.'
When Kate went to visit Banda the next day, die superintendent said, 'I'm sorry, Mrs. BlackwelL We've had to move him for security reasons.'
'Where is he?'
'I'm not at liberty to say.'
When Kate woke up the following morning, she saw the headline in the newspaper carried in with her breakfast tray. It read: rebel leader killed while trying to escape prison. She was at the prison an hour later, in the superintendent's office.
'He was shot during an attempted prison break, Mrs. Black-well. That's all there is to it.'
You're wrong, thought Kate, there's more. Much more. Banda was dead, but was his dream of freedom for his people dead?
Two days later, after making the funeral arrangements, Kate was on the plane to New York. She looked out the window to take one last look at her beloved land. The soil was red and rich and fertile, and in the bowels of its earth were treasures beyond man's dreams. This was God's chosen land, and He had been lavish in his generosity. But there was a curse upon the country. I'll never come back here again, Kate thought sadly. Never.
One of Brad Rogers's responsibilities was to oversee the Long-Range Planning Department of Kruger-Brent, Ltd. He was brilliant at finding businesses that would make profitable acquisitions.
One day in early May, he walked into Kate Blackwell's office. 'I've come across something interesting, Kate.' He placed two folders on her desk. 'Two companies. If we could pick up either one of them, it would be a coup.'
'Thanks, Brad. I'll look them over tonight.'
That evening, Kate dined alone and studied Brad Rogers's confidential reports on the two companies—Wyatt Oil & Tool and International Technology. The reports were long and detailed, and both ended with the letters nis, the company code for Not Interested in Selling, which meant that if the companies were to be acquired, it would take more than a straightforward business transaction to accomplish it. And, Kate thought, they're well worth taking over. Each company was privately controlled by a wealthy and strong-minded individual, which eliminated any possibility of a takeover attempt. It was a challenge, and it had been a long time since Kate had faced a challenge. The more she thought about it, the more the possibilities began to excite her. She studied again the confidential balance sheets. Wyatt Oil & Tool was owned by a Texan, Charlie Wyatt, and the company's assets included producing oil wells, a utility company and dozens of potentially profitable oil leases. There was no question about it, Wyatt Oil & Tool would make a handsome acquisition for Kruger-Brent, Ltd.
Kate turned her attention to the second company. International Technology was owned by a German, Count Frederick Hoffman. The company had started with a small steel mill in Essen, and over the years had expanded into a huge conglomerate, with shipyards, petrochemical plants, a fleet of oil tankers and a computer division.
As large as Kruger-Brent, Ltd., was, it could digest only one of these giants. She knew which company she was going after. nis, the sheet read.
We'll see about that, Kate thought.
Early the following morning, she sent for Brad Rogers. 'I'd love to know how you got hold of those confidential balance sheets,' Kate grinned. 'Tell me about Charlie Wyatt and Frederick Hoffman.'
Brad had done his homework. 'Charlie Wyatt was born in Dallas. Flamboyant, loud, runs his own empire, smart as hell. He started with nothing, got lucky in oil wildcatting, kept expanding and now he owns about half of Texas.'
'How old is he?'
'Forty-seven.'
'Children?'
'One daughter, twenty-five. From what I hear, she's a raving beauty.'
'Is she married?'
'Divorced.'
'Frederick Hoffman.'
'Hoffman's a couple of years younger than Charlie Wyatt. He's a count, comes from a distinguished German family going back to the Middle Ages. He's a widower. His grandfather started with a small steel mill. Frederick Hoffman inherited it from his father and built it into a conglomerate. He was one of the first to get into the computer field. He holds a lot of patents on microprocessors. Every time we use a computer, Count Hoffman gets a royalty.'
'Children?'
'A daughter, twenty-three.'
'What is she like?'
'I couldn't find out,' Brad Rogers apologized. 'It's a very buttoned-up family. They travel in their own little circles.' He hesitated. 'We're probably wasting our time on this, Kate. I had a few drinks with a couple of top executives in both companies.
Neither Wyatt nor Hoffman has the slightest interest in a sale, merger or joint venture. As you can see from their Financials, they'd be crazy even to think about it.'
That feeling of challenge was there in Kate again, tugging at her.
Ten days later Kate was invited by the President of the United States to a Washington conference of leading international industrialists to discuss assistance to underdeveloped countries. Kate made a telephone call, and shortly afterward Charlie Wyatt and Count Frederick Hoffman received invitations to attend the conference.
Kate had formed a mental impression of both the Texan and the German, and they fitted her preconceived notions almost precisely. She had never met a shy Texan, and Charlie Wyatt was no exception. He was a huge man—almost six feet four inches—with enormous shoulders and a football player's body that had gone to fat. His face was large and ruddy, and his voice loud and booming. He came off as a good oF boy—or would have if Kate had not known better. Charlie Wyatt had not built bis empire by luck. He was a business genius. Kate had talked to him for less than ten minutes when she knew that there was no way this man could be persuaded to do anything he did not want to do. He was opinionated, and he had a deep stubborn streak. No one was going to cajole him, threaten him or con him out of his company. But Kate had found his Achilles' heel, and that was enough.
Frederick Hoffman was Charlie Wyatt's opposite. He was a handsome man, with an aristocratic face and soft brown hair tinged with gray at the temples. He was punctiliously correct and filled with a sense of old-fashioned courtesy. On the surface, Frederick Hoffman was pleasant and debonair; on the inside Kate sensed a core of steel.
The conference in Washington lasted three days, and it went well. The meetings were chaired by the Vice- President, and the President made a brief appearance. Everyone there was im-
pressed with Kate Blackwell. She was an attractive, charismatic woman, head of a corporate empire she had helped build, and they were fascinated, as Kate meant them to be.
When Kate got Charlie Wyatt alone for a moment, she asked innocently, 'Is your family with you, Mr. Wyatt?'
'I brought my daughter along. She has a little shoppin' to do.'
'Oh, really? How nice.' No one would have suspected that Kate not only knew his daughter was with him, but what kind of dress she had bought at Garfinckel's that morning. 'I'm giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor Friday. I'd be pleased if you and your daughter would join us for the weekend.'
Wyatt did not hesitate. 'I've heard a lot about your spread, Mrs. Blackwell. I'd sure like to see it.'
Kate smiled. 'Good. I'll make arrangements for you to be flown up there tomorrow night.'
