Laski paled. 'What?'
'Do the Cotton Bank's troubles have anything to do with the attempted suicide of Tim Fitzpeterson?'
How the hell did they know? Laski's mind raced. Maybe they didn't know. They might be guessing-flying a kite, they called it, pretending to know something in order to see whether people would deny it. Laski said: 'Does your editor know you're making this call?'
'Um-of course not.'
Something in the reporter's voice told Laski he had struck a chord of fear. He pressed the point home. 'I don't know what kind of game you're playing, young man, but if I hear any more about all this nonsense, I'll know from where the rumors originated.'
Hart said: 'What is your relationship with Tony Cox?'
'Who? Good-bye, young man.' Laski put the phone down.
He looked at his wristwatch: it was a quarter past three. There was no way he could raise a million pounds in fifteen minutes. It looked as if it was all over.
The bank was going to go under; Laski's reputation was to be destroyed; and he would probably be involved in criminal proceedings. He contemplated leaving the country, this afternoon. He would be able to take nothing with him. Start all over again, in New York or Beirut? He was too old. If he stayed, he would be able to salvage enough from his empire to live on for the rest of his life. But what the hell kind of a life would it be?
He swiveled around in his chair and looked out of the window. The day was cooling; after all, it was not summer. The high buildings of the City were casting long shadows, and both sides of the street below were shaded. Laski watched the traffic and thought about Ellen Hamilton.
Today, of all days, he had decided to marry her. It was a painful irony. For twenty years he could have had his pick of women: models, actresses, debs, even princesses. And when at last he chose one, he went broke. A superstitious man would take that as a sign that he should not marry.
The option might no longer be open to him. Felix Laski, millionaire playboy, was one thing; Felix Laski, bankrupt ex-convict, was quite another. He was sure his relationship with Ellen was not the kind of love that could survive that level of disaster. Their love was a sensual, self-indulgent, hedonistic thing, quite different from the eternal devotion of the Book of Common Prayer.
At least, that was how it always had been. Laski had theorized that the permanent affection might come, later, from simply living together and sharing things; after all, the near-hysterical lust that had brought them together was sure to fade, in time.
I shouldn't be theorizing, he thought: at my age I should know.
This morning, the decision to marry her had seemed like a choice he could make coolly, lightly, even cynically, figuring what he would get out of it as if it were just another stock market coup. But now that he was no longer in command of the situation, he realized-and the thought hit him like a physical blow-that he needed her quite desperately. He wanted eternal devotion: he wanted someone to care about him, and to like his company, and to touch his shoulder with affection as she passed his chair; someone who would always be there, someone who would say 'I love you,' someone who would share his old age. He had been alone all his life: it was quite long enough.
Having admitted that much to himself, he went farther. If he could have her, he would cheerfully see his empire crumble, the Hamilton Holdings deal collapse, his reputation destroyed. He would even go to jail with Tony Cox if he thought she would be waiting when he got out.
He wished he had never met Tony Cox.
Laski had imagined it would be easy to control a two-bit hoodlum like Cox. The man might be enormously powerful inside his own little world, but he surely could not touch a respectable businessman. Maybe not: but when that businessman went into partnership-however informal-with the hoodlum, he ceased to be respectable. It was Laski, not Cox, who was compromised by the association.
Laski heard the office door open, and swung around in his chair to see Tony Cox walk in.
Laski stared openmouthed. It was like seeing a ghost.
Carol scuttled in behind Cox, worrying him like a terrier. She said to Laski: 'I asked him to wait, but he wouldn't-he just walked in!'
'All right, Carol, I'll deal with it,' Laski said.
The girl went out and shut the door.
Laski exploded. 'What the devil are you doing here? Nothing could be more dangerous! I've already had the newspapers on, asking me about you and about Fitzpeterson-did you know he tried to kill himself?'
'Calm down. Keep your hair on,' Cox told him.
'Calm down? The whole thing is a disaster! I've lost everything, and if I'm seen with you I'll end up in jail-'
Cox took a long stride forward, grabbed Laski by the throat, and shook him. 'Shut your mouth,' he growled. He threw him backward in his chair. 'Now, listen. I want your help.'
'No way,' Laski muttered.
'Shut up! I want your help, and you're going to give it, or I'll make bloody sure you do go to jail. Now you know I done this job this morning-a currency van.'
'I know no such thing.'
Cox ignored that. 'Well, I've got nowhere to hide the money, so I'm going to put it in your bank.'
'Don't be ridiculous,' Laski said lightly. Then he frowned. 'How much is it?'
'Just over a million.'
'Where?'
'Outside in the van.'
Laski jumped to his feet. 'You've got a million pounds in stolen money, outside here in a fucking van?'
'Yes.'
'You are insane.' Laski's thoughts were racing. 'What form is the money in?'
'Assorted used notes.'
'Are they in the original containers?'
'I'm not that daft. They've been transferred to packing cases.'
'Serial numbers out of sequence?'
'You're getting the idea slowly. If you don't get a move on they'll tow the van away for parking on a yellow line.'
Laski scratched his head. 'How will you carry it into the vault?'
'I got six of the boys out there.'
'I can't let six of your roughnecks carry all that money into my vault! The staff will suspect-'
'They're in uniform-Navy surplus jackets, trousers, shirts and ties. They look like security guards, Felix. If you want to play twenty questions, leave it till afterward, eh?'
Laski decided. 'All right, get moving.' He ushered Cox out and followed him as far as Carol's desk. 'Ring down to the vault,' he told the girl. 'Tell them to prepare to take in a consignment of cash immediately. I will be dealing with the paperwork personally. And give me an outside line on my phone.'
He strode back into his office, picked up the phone, and dialed the Bank of England. He looked at his watch. It was three twenty-five. He got through to Mr. Ley.
'It's Laski here,' he said.
'Ah, yes?' The banker was cautious.
Laski forced himself to sound calm. 'I've sorted out this little problem, Ley. The necessary cash is in my vault. Now I can arrange delivery immediately, as you suggested earlier; or you can inspect today and take delivery tomorrow.'
'Um.' Ley thought for a moment. 'I don't think either will be necessary, Laski. It would rather throw us to have to count so much money this late in the afternoon. If you can deliver first thing in the morning, we'll clear the check tomorrow.'
'Thank you.' Laski decided to rub salt in the wound. 'I'm sorry to have irritated you so much, earlier today.'
'Perhaps I was a little brusque. Good-bye, Laski.'
Laski hung up. He was still thinking fast. He reckoned he could drum up about a hundred thousand in cash
