was too late for that now, but what he could do was remove the share certificates from his safe deposit box and shred them. That would be safest. Fortunately, they were nominee certificates, not registered in his name.
For the moment, Heyward realized, he was ignoring the competitiveness between himself and Alex Vandervoort, concentrating instead on survival. He had no illusions about what the collapse of Supranational would do to his own standing in the bank and with the board. He would be a pariah the focus of everybody's blame. But perhaps, even now, with quick action and some luck, it was not too late for a recovery. If the loan money was regained, he might become a hero.
The first order of business was to get in touch with Supranational. He instructed his secretary, Mrs. Callaghan, to get G. G. Quartermain on the telephone.
Several minutes later she reported, 'Mr. Quartermain is out of the country. His office is vague about where he is. They won't give any other information.'
It was an inauspicious start and Heyward snapped, 'Then get Inchbeck.' He had had several conversations with Stanley Inchbeck, Supranational's comptroller, since they first met in the Bahamas.
Inchbeck's voice, with its nasal New York accent, came briskly on the line. 'Roscoe, what can I do?'
'I've been trying to locate George. Your people don't seem to…' 'He's in Costa Rica.' 'I'd like to speak to him. Is there a number I can call?' 'No. He left instructions he doesn't want calls.' 'This is urgent.' 'Then tell me.'
'Very well. We're calling our loan. I'm advising you now, and formal written notice will follow in tonight's mail.'
There was a silence. Inchbeck said, 'You can't be serious.' 'I'm entirely serious.' 'But why?'
'I think' you can guess. I also believe you wouldn't want me to go into reasons on the telephone.'
Inchbeck was silent in itself significant. Then he protested, 'Your bank is being ridiculous and unreasonable. Only last week Big George told me he was willing to let you people increase the loan by fifty percent.'
The audacity astounded Heyward, until he realized audacity had paid off for Supranational once before. It wouldn't now.
'If the loan were repaid promptly,' Heyward said, 'any information that we have here would remain confidential. I'd guarantee that.'
What it came down to, he thought, was whether Big George, Inchbeck, and any others who knew the truth about SuNatCo, were willing to buy time. If so, FMA might steal an advantage over other creditors.
'Fifty million dollars!' Inchbeck said. 'We don't keep that much cash on hand.'
'Our bank would agree to a series of payments, providing they followed each other quickly.' The real question was, of course: Where would SuNatCo find fifty million in its present cash-starved condition? Heyward found himself sweating a combination of nervousness, suspense, and hope.
'I'll talk to Big George,' Inchbeck said. 'But he isn't going to like this.'
'When you talk to him, tell him I'd like to discuss, also, our loan to Q-lnvestments.'
Heyward wasn't sure but, as he hung up, he thought he heard Inchbeck groan.
In the silence of his office, Roscoe Heyward leaned backward in the upholstered swivel chair, letting the tenseness drain out of him. What had occurred in the past hour had come as a stunning shock. Now, as reaction set in, he felt dejected and alone. He wished he could get away from everything for a while. If he had the choice, he knew whose company he would welcome. Avril's. But he had not heard from her since their last meeting, which was over a month ago. In the past, she had always called him. He had never called her.
On impulse, he opened a pocket address book he always carried and looked for a telephone number he remembered penciling in. It was Avril's in New York. Using a direct outside line, he dialed it.
He heard ringing, then Avril's soft and pleasing voice. 'Hello.' His heart leaped at the sound of her. 'Hi, Rossie,' she said when he identified himself.
'It's been a while since you and I met, my dear. I've been wondering when I'd hear from you.'
He was aware of hesitation. 'But Rossie, sweetie, you aren't on the list any more.' 'What list?'
Once more, uncertainty. 'Maybe I shouldn't have said that.' 'No, please tell me. This is between the two of us.'
'Well, it's a very confidential list which Supranational puts out, about who can be entertained at their expense.'
He had the sudden sense of a cord around him being tightened. 'Who gets the list?'
'I don't know. I know us girls do. I'm not sure who else.'
He stopped, thinking nervously, and reasoned: What was done, was done. He supposed he should be glad he was not on any such list now, though found himself wondering with a twinge of jealousy who was. In any case, he hoped that back copies were carefully destroyed. Aloud he asked, 'Does that mean you can't come here to meet me any more?'
'Not exactly. But if 1 did, you'd have to pay yourself, Rossie.'
'How much would that be?' As he asked, he wondered if it were really himself speaking.
'There'd be my air fare from New York,' Avril said matter-of-factly. 'Then the cost at the hotel. And-for me two hundred dollars.'
Heyward remembered wondering once before how much Supranational had paid out on his behalf. Now he knew. Holding the telephone away, he wrestled within his mind: Commonsense against desire; conscience against the knowledge of what it was like to be alone with Avril. The money was also more than he could afford. But he wanted her. Very much indeed.
He moved the telephone back. 'How soon could you be here?' 'Tuesday of next week.' 'Not before?' 'Afraid not, sweetie.'
He knew he was being a fool; that between now and Tuesday he would be standing in line behind other men whose priorities, for whatever reason, were greater than his own. But he couldn't help himself, and told her, 'Very well. Tuesday.'
They arranged that she would go to the Columbia Hilton and phone him from there. Heyward began savoring the sweetness to come.
He reminded himself of one other thing he had to do destroy his Investments share certificates.
From the 36th floor he used the express elevator to descend to the main foyer, then walked through the tunnel to the adjoining downtown branch. It took minutes only to gain access to his personal safe deposit box and remove the four certificates, each for five hundred shares. He carried them back upstairs, where he would feed them into a shredding machine personally.
But back in his office he had second thoughts. Last time he checked, the shares were worth twenty thousand dollars. Was he being hasty? After all, if necessary he could destroy the certificates at a moment's notice.
Changing his mind, he locked them in a desk drawer with other private papers.
12
The big break came when Miles Eastin was least expecting it.
Only two days earlier, frustrated and depressed, convinced that his servitude at the Double-Seven Health Club would produce no results other than enmeshing him deeper in criminality, the renewed shadow of prison loomed terrifyingly over him. Miles had communicated his depression to Juanita and, though tempered briefly by their lovemaking, the basic mood remained.
On Saturday he had met Juanita. Late Monday evening at the Double-Seven, Nate Nathanson, the club manager, sent for Miles who had been helping out as usual by carrying drinks and sandwiches to the card and dice players on the third floor.
When Miles entered the manager's office, two others were there with Nathanson. One was the loan shark, Russian Ominsky. The second was a husky, thick-featured man whom Miles had seen at the club several times before and had heard referred to as Tony Bear Marina. The 'Bear' seemed appropriate. Marino had a heavy, powerful body, loose movements and a suggestion of underlying savagery. That Tony Bear carried authority was evident, and he was deferred to by others. Each time he
arrived at the Double-Seven it was in a Cadillac limousine, accompanied by a driver and a companion, both clearly bodyguards.
Nathanson seemed nervous when he spoke. 'Miles, I've been telling Mr. Marino and Mr. Ominsky how useful you've been here. They want you to do a service for…' Ominsky said curtly to the manager, 'Wait outside.' 'Yes, sir.' Nathanson left quickly.
