captain and…” Scragger stopped. It had suddenly occurred to him this was the perfect solution. That’s a beaut idea. I could be examiner - I can sign them out in type and that way I’d get enough flying under the right circs. Bonzer!” He beamed. Tell you wot, sport, if Andy can fix it, I’m in.” He stuck out his hand and Kasigi shook it.
“Thank you. Perfect. So Mr. Gavallan, do we ‘give her a try’?” “Why not?” Gavallan put out his hand and felt Kasigi’s iron-hard grip and for the first time really believed there was a chance. Kasigi’s smart. Very. Now he’s got the standard modem Japanese company operating procedure in place: get foreign experts to train Japanese personnel on site, or to create the market in their own countries, then move in the trainees. We get the short-term profit, they get the long-term market. They’re doing to us in business what they failed to do at war. In spades. So what? It is fair trading. And if Kasigi and his ambassador can extract me from my disaster, it’s no skin off my nose to help him out of his. “We’ll give her a try.” Kasigi smiled properly for the first time. “Thank you. I’ll phone the moment I have any news.” He half bowed, then strode off.
“You think he’ll do it, Andy?” Scragger asked hopefully.
“Honest to God I don’t know.” Gavallan waved at a waiter for the bill. “How you going to solve him in time?”
Gavallan started to answer and stopped. He had just noticed Pettikin and Paula at a table by the swimming pool, their heads close together. “I thought Paula was off to Tehran this morning.”
“She was. Maybe the flight was canceled or she took a sickie,” Scragger said absently, afraid to be grounded.
“What?”
“That’s Aussie. If it’s a nice day and a sheila suddenly wants the afternoon off to swim or make love or just goof off, she calls in to the office during her lunch break and says she’s feeling horrible. Sick. Sickie.” Scragger’s eyebrows soared. “Sheilas Down Under are very accommodating sometimes. That Paula’s something else - Charlie’s a goner.”
Gavallan saw the pleasure on their faces under the umbrella, oblivious of the world. Apart from worry over Dubois, Erikki, and the others, he had read the piece in the morning’s papers about the sudden stock market crash in Hong Kong: “Many of the major companies, headed by Struan’s, Rothwell-Gornt, Par-Con of China, lost 30 percent of their value or more in the day, with the whole market plunging and no end in sight. The statement issued by the Taipan, Mr. Linbar Struan, saying that this was just a seasonal hiccup brought a slashing rebuff from the government and his rivals. The more sensational press was rife with widely circulated rumors of insider trading among the Big Four and manipulation by selling short to bring prices tumbling from their record high.” That’s got to be why I can’t get hold of Ian. Has he gone to Hong Kong? Bloody Linbar! His balance sheet this year’ll be red top to bottom.
With an effort he put brakes on his mind. He saw Pettikin reach over and cover Paula’s hand. She did not take it away. “You think he’ll pop the question, Scrag?”
“If he doesn’t he’s a mug.”
“I agree.” Gavallan sighed and got up. “Scrag, I’m not going to wait. You sign the bill, then go down and get Charlie, say I’m sorry but he’s got to meet me in the office for an hour, then he’s got the rest of the day off, then get hold of Willi and Rudi. I’ll phone JeanLuc, and between us we’ll come up with what Kasigi needs, if he can deliver. Don’t tell ‘em why, just say it’s urgent and to keep their mouths closed tighter than a gnat’s bum.” He walked off. “Hey, Mr. Gavallan!” stopped him. It was the American Wesson who jovially got up from his table and stuck out his hand. “You got time for a drink and to visit awhile?”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Wesson, thanks, but, er, can I take a rain-check? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Hell, yes, anytime.” Wesson grinned at him and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a good-natured conspiratorial whisper, and for the first time Gavallan noticed the small hearing aid in the man’s left ear. “Only wanted to say, congratulations, you sure as hell showed those jokers your heels!” “We, er, we just got lucky. Sorry, got to dash. ‘Bye.”
“Sure, see you.” Thoughtfully Wesson picked up his pen and put it in his pocket. So Kasigi is gonna try and bail out Gavallan, he thought, meandering toward the lobby. I’d never’d figured that one. Shit, there’s no way the new regime’ll cooperate. Kasigi’s a pipe dreamer. Poor bastard must be going crazy, Iran-Toda’s a mess, and hell, even if they start now it’ll take years for that plant to be in production, and everyone knows Iran’s oil spigot’ll stay turned off, losing Japan 70 percent of her energy supply; there’s gotta be another soar in world prices, more inflation… Japan’s our only ally in the Pacific and the poor bastards’re going to be nailed.
Jesus, with Gavallan’s Lengeh op closed down, isn’t the whole Siri field in jeopardy? How’ll de Plessey operate Siri without chopper support? Ambassador, huh? Interesting. How’s that gonna work? Who does what to whom? And how much do I pass on to old Aaron? The lot, that old bastard’ll figure where it all fits if anyone can.
He wandered through the lobby and out to his car and did not notice Kasigi in a phone booth to one side.
“.. .I quite agree, Ishii-san.” Kasigi was speaking deferentially in Japanese, sweat on his brow. “Please inform His Excellency we’ll get our equipment and crew, I’m sure of it - if you can arrange the rest.” He kept the nervousness out of his voice.
“Ah, is that so? Excellent,” Ishii from the embassy said. “I’ll inform His Excellency at once. Now, what about the Iranian ambassador? Have you heard from him?”
The bottom dropped out of Kasigi’s bottom. “He hasn’t accepted the invitation?”
“No, so sorry, not yet, and it’s almost three o’clock. Very distressing. Please join the meeting as we agreed. Thank you, Kasigi-san.” “Thank you, Ishii-san,” he said, wanting to scream. Gently he replaced the phone.
In the air-conditioned lobby he felt a little better and went to the reception desk. There he collected his messages - two from Hiro Toda to phone - and went upstairs to his room and locked the door. He crushed the messages into a ball, threw them into the toilet, and began to urinate on them. “Dear stupid cousin Hiro,” he said aloud in Japanese, “if I save your stupid neck which I have to do to save my own,” then added a stream of English obscenities as there were none in Japanese, “your family will be in debt to mine for eight generations for all the trouble you’re causing me.” He flushed the messages away, took off his clothes, showered, and lay naked on the bed in the cool breeze, wanting to gather energy and restore his tranquillity to prepare for the meeting.
The Japanese ambassador’s chance remark that had initiated his whole scheme had been made to Roger Newbury at a British embassy reception a couple of days ago. The ambassador had mentioned mat the new Iranian ambassador had been bewailing the closure of Iran-Toda mat would have given the new Islamic state a tremendous position of economic power throughout the whole Gulf region. “His name’s Abadani, university trained, majored in economics, of course fundamentalist but not rabidly so. He’s quite young and not too experienced but he’s a career officer, speaks good English, and was in the Kabul embassy…”
At the time the remarks had meant very little to Kasigi. Then Whirlwind happened. Tehran’s telexes had spread throughout the Gulf, and then rumors of Abadani’s demand for an inspection of Gavallan’s helicopters fixed for this evening - an inspection that would obviously prove they had been Iranian registered: “… and that, Kasigi- san, will create an international incident,” Ishii had told him late last night, “because now Kuwait, Saudi, Bahrain will be implicated - and that, I can assure you, one and all would prefer to avoid, most of all our Sheik.”
In the dawn he had gone to see Abadani and had explained about Zataki and starting construction again, adding in great secrecy that the Japanese government was rearranging Iran-Toda as a National Project - therefore covering all future financing - and that with Excellency Abadani’s cooperation he could also start work in Bandar Delam immediately. “National Project? God be thanked! If your government is behind it formally, that would solve all financing forever. God be thanked. What can I do? Anything!”
“To restart immediately I need helicopters and expatriate pilots and crew. The only way I can get them quickly is with the help of S-G Helicopters and Mr. Gavall - ” Abadani had exploded.
After listening politely and seemingly agreeably to a tirade about air piracy and enemies of Iran, Kasigi had obliquely returned to the attack. “You’re quite right, Excellency,” he had said, “but I had to choose between risking your displeasure by bringing it to your attention, or failing in my duty to your Great Country. Our choice is simple: If I don’t get helicopters I cannot restart. I’ve tried Guerney’s and others with no success and now I know I can only get them quickly through this dreadful man - of course only for a few months as a stopgap until I can make my own arrangements for Japanese personnel. If I don’t restart at once that will precipitate this man Zataki, I assure you he and his Abadan komiteh is a law unto itself, making good his threat. That will shock and embarrass my government and cause them to delay implementation of total National Project financing and then…” He had shrugged. “My government will order Iran-Toda abandoned, and start a new petrochemical plant in a safe area like Saudi Arabia,
