When he was called back into the office Hancox was alone. The file of documents closed and pushed to one side.
“Do sit down, Mr. Malloy.” When Malloy was seated Hancox said, “I’m afraid I’m going to disappoint you, Mr. Malloy.”
Hancox waited for a response but Malloy didn’t speak.
“It’s my impression that newly-fledged young lawyers are always looking for a good fight in court.” He paused and looked at Malloy. “My client has considered this claim very carefully. As you will know there are points on which we could argue. However my client has agreed with your claim.” He handed over a typed sheet. “That is a signed agreement and a cheque for the sum in damages is being prepared now for you to take with you. The pension arrangements are detailed in the agreement there.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Can I suggest that you might like to acknowledge my client’s good will by mentioning the settlement to those same newspapers. I think that would be fair, don’t you?”
“I’ll do that, Mr. Hancox. I’d like to go further if your client agreed.”
“Go on.”
“I’m sure the press would like photographs of the cheque being handed over to their ex-employee by, say, a vice-president.”
Hancox smiled. “And then you can send nice photocopies of the item to your other potential opponents.”
“It could help, sir.”
“I’ll see what my client says. I’ll contact you in a couple of days.”
Two days later Malloy got the phone call from Hancox.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Malloy, but my client would not agree to the publicity for handing over the cheque. I must confess I advised them against it. Not on legal grounds but because I thought it would be in bad taste. After all we’re dealing with a man who is never going to work again.”
“On reflection I think you’re right, sir. Not a bright idea on my part.”
“I’m sure you had the best of intentions. Anyway, I’m glad the matter was settled amicably.” He paused. “If ever you fancy trying your talents away from union work I’d like you to give me a ring— and I mean that, it’s not a gesture.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.”
CHAPTER 8
Aarons always had open invitations to stay with devoted Party members when he was on his tours but he always refused as gracefully as he could. It was vital to his role that he was never openly identified with the Party.
He sat in his room that night in the shabby motel just off the road from Los Angeles to Las Vegas. He looked at his watch. The man who was driving him to the meeting was already half an hour late. Then he heard the knock on the door and the man came in and Aarons knew that something was wrong.
“What is it?”
“There’s a bunch of thugs from the town have gone to the camp and they mean trouble, Andrei. We’ll have to call off the meeting for tonight.”
“Do our people need help?”
“We’ve phoned around and there are car-loads of people on the way.” He paused. “We spotted two FBI men in the crowd who were watching. They weren’t doing anything. Just watching while the local hooligans were screaming “Commie bastards’ and “Jew-boys’ and “Free-love bitches.” It’s best you don’t go near the place.”
“I need to have the meeting. It’s important.”
“How about I arrange a meeting for two days’ time at a different site and we only have heads of local Parties. That way you could cover the whole of California in one go.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess that’s the best we can do. Why the thugs?”
“They know we’ve been holding the Summer School for junior leaders and there’s a lot of bad feeling from the locals. They’ve threatened to smash up the school but they’ve never actually done anything before.”
“I’ll wait to hear from you then.”
“You’re sure you want to carry on? There’ll be a lot of hostility from our people against you and Moscow.”
Aarons smiled. “I’m used to it, comrade. And that’s why I’m here.”
It had taken three days to get the group together and Aarons had been driven out to the hunting lodge that had been borrowed for the meeting.
There were twelve people around the plain wooden table and Aarons was aware of the hubbub of raised voices that went suddenly quiet when he walked into the room with the man who had driven him there. He looked around at their faces as the door closed behind him and he said quietly, “Shall we sit down and chat.”
When they were all sitting he said, “I’d be grateful if you would each give me your name and who you represent.”
There were two women and eleven men apart from himself and they each gave their names and the group they represented. And Andrei knew which one would be the trouble-maker. A man named Kaufman. Bald-headed, in his forties, wearing a blue and white striped shirt with short sleeves and smoking a thin cigar. There was always a Kaufman wherever he’d been. They were never convinced because their lives were devoted to dissension. They seemed to be against all forms of law and authority. They often referred to themselves as citizens of the world to cover their antipathy not only to their own country but to the Soviet Union as well. They didn’t discuss, they argued, angrily, as if they were defending the Party single-handed. The fact that they were tearing it to pieces was just proof of their sincerity. But by now he’d met a lot of Kaufmans and he knew how to deal with them. The Kaufmans were quite useful because they were so offensive and aggressive that even their companions found them objectionable.
“Perhaps I could explain Moscow’s reasoning on current events. There are …”
“Let’s cut out the bullshit, comrade. There’s no excuse we will accept for what Moscow has done.” There was perspiration on
