PAPER MONEY by Ken Follett

suppose Ellen has been saying this kind of thing to you.”

Hamilton laughed. “You’re right, but it pains me that you think I’m

incapable of such ponderings on my own.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt you mean it. It’s just that Ellen has a way of saying

what you are thinking.

All the same, you wouldn’t be repeating these things to me if they

hadn’t struck a chord.” He paused. “Derek, be careful not to lose

Ellen.”

They stared at one another for a moment, then they both looked away.

There was silence. They had reached the limit of intimacy permitted by

their friendship.

Eventually Fett said: “We might get a cheeky bid in the next few days.”

Hamilton was surprised. “Why?”

“Someone might think he can pick you up at a bargain price, while you’re

depressed and panicked by the interim results.”

“What would your advice be, then?” Hamilton asked thoughtfully.

“It depends on the offer. But I’d probably say “Wait.” We should know

today whether you’ve won the oil field license.”

“Shield.”

“Yes. Win that, and your shares will strengthen.”

“We’re still a poor prospect for profits.”

“But ideal material for an asset stripper.” “Interesting,” Hamilton

mused. “A gambler would make the bid today, before the Minister’S

announcement. An opportunist would do it to morrow, if we win the

license. A genuine investor would wait until next week.”

“And a wise man would say no to all of them.” Hamilton smiled. “Money

isn’t everything, Nathaniel.”

“Good lord!”

“Is that so heretical?”

“Not at all.” Fett was amused, and his eyes sparkled behind the

spectacles. “I’ve known it for years. What surprises me is that you

should say it.”

“It surprises me, too.” Hamilton paused. “A matter of curiosity: do you

think we’ll get the license?”

“Can’t say.” Suddenly the broker’s face was unreadable again. “Depends

whether the Minister believes it should go to an already-profitable

company as a bonus, or to an ailing one as a life belt “Hm. Neither, I

suspect. Remember, we only head the syndicate: it’s the total package

that counts. The Hamilton section, in control, provides City contacts

and management expertise. We’ll raise the development money, rather than

supply it out of our own pocket. Others in the team offer engineering

skills, oil experience, marketing facilities, and so on.”

“So you’ve a good chance.” Hamilton smiled again. “Socrates.”

“Why?”

“He always made people answer their own questions.” Hamilton lifted his

heavy frame out of the chair. “I must go.”

Fett walked to the door with him. “Derek, about Ellen, I hope you don’t

mind my saying …”

“No.” They shook hands. “I value your judgment.”

Fett nodded, and opened the door. “Whatever you do, don’t panic.”

“Okey-do key As he went out, Hamilton realized that he had not used that

expression for thirty years.

Two MOTORCYCLE police parked their machines either side of the rear

entrance to the bank. One of them produced an identity card and held it

flat against the small window beside the door. The man inside read the

card carefully, then picked up a red telephone and spoke into it.

A black van without markings drove between the motorcycles and stopped

with its nose to the door. The side windows of its cab were fitted with

wire mesh internally, and the two men inside wore police-type uniforms

with crash helmets and transparent visors. The body of the van had no

windows, despite the fact that there was a third man in there.

Two more police bikes drew up behind the van, completing the convoy.

The steel door to the building lifted smoothly and noiselessly, and the

van pulled in. It was in a short tunnel, brightly lit by fluorescent

tubes. Its way was blocked by another door identical with the first.

The van stopped and the door behind closed. The police motorcyclists

remained in the street.

The van driver wound his window down and spoke through the wire mesh

into a microphone on a stand. “Morning,” he said cheerfully.

There was a large plate-glass window in one wall of the tunnel. Behind

the window, which was bulletproof, a bright-eyed man in shirtsleeves

spoke into another microphone. His amplified words resonated in the

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