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men, and I’m prepared to adopt desperate methods.”
He paused for their reactions. Facially they were all he could have wished. Howell, his assistant and the general all too clearly realized that Lord Worth meant every word he said. The implications were too horrendous to contemplate, But no one said anything, so Lord Worth took up the conversational burden again.
“Finally, gentlemen, you base your pusillanimous refusal to act on the fact that I have no proof of evil intent. I do, in fact, possess such proof, and it’s cast iron. I will not lay this proof before you because it is apparent that I will achieve nothing here. I require a decision-maker, and the Secretary has the reputation for being just that. I suggest you get him here.”
“Get the Secretary?” HowelTs ears were clearly appalled by this suggested l$se majeste. “One doesn’t ‘get’ the Secretary. People make appointments days, even weeks, in advance. Besides, he is in a very important conference.”
Lord Worth remained unmoved. “Get him. This conference he’d better have with me will be the most important of his life. If he elects not to come, then he’s probably holding the last conference of his political career. I know he’s not twenty yards from here. Get him.” “I—I don’t really think—” Lord Worth rose. “I hope your immediate successors—and the operative word is ‘immedi-
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ate’—win, for the country’s sake, display more common sense and intestinal fortitude than you have. Tell the man who, through your gross negligence and cowardly refusal to face facts, will be held primarily responsible for the outbreak of the next war, to watch TV tonight. You have had your chance—as your stenographer’s notebook will show—and you’ve thrown it away.” Lord Worth shook his head, almost in sadness. “There are none so blind as those who will not see— especially a spluttering fuse leading to a keg of dynamite. I bid you good day, gentlemen.”
“No! No!” Howell was in a state of very considerable agitation. “Sit down! Sit down! I’ll see what I can do.”
He practically ran from the room.
During his rather protracted absence—he was gone for exactly thirteen minutes—conversation in the room was minimal.
Zweicker said: “You really mean what you say, don’t you?”
“Do you doubt me, General?”
“Not any more. You really intend to carry out those threats?”
“I think the word you want is ‘promises/ ”
After this effective conversation-stopper an uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Only Lord Worth appeared hi no way discomforted. He was, or appeared to be, calm and relaxed, which was quite a feat, because he knew that the
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appearance or nonappearance of the Secretary meant whether he had won or lost.
He’d won. The Secretary, John Benton, when Howell nervously ushered him in, didn’t look at all like his reputation—which was that of a tough, shrewd-minded, hard-nosed negotiator, ruthless when the situation demanded and not much given to consulting his cabinet colleagues when it came to decision-making. He looked like a prosperous farmer and exuded warmth and geniality—which deceived Lord Worth, a man who specialized in warmth and geniality not a whit. Here, indeed, was a very different kettle of fish from Howell, a man worthy of Lord Worth’s mettle. Lord Worth rose.
Benton shook his hand warmly. “Lord Worth! This is a rare privilege—to have, if I may be forgiven the unoriginal turn of speech, to have America’s top oil tycoon calling on us.”
Lord Worth was courteous but not deferential. “I wish it were under happier circumstances. My pleasure, Mr. Secretary. It’s most kind of you to spare a few moments. Well, five minutes, no more. My promise.”
“Take as long as you like.” Benton smiled. “You have the reputation for not bandying words. I happen to share that sentiment.”
‘Thank you.” He looked at Howell. “Thirteen minutes to cover forty yards.” He looked back at the Secretary. “Mr. Howell will have—ah— apprised you of the situation?”
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“I have been fairly well briefed. What do you require of us?” Lord Worth refrained from beaming: here was a man after his own heart. John Benton continued: “We can, of course, approach the Soviet and Venezuelan ambassadors, but that’s like approaching a pair of powderpuffs. All they can do is report our suspicions and veiled threats to their respective governments. They’re powerless, really. Even ten years ago ambassadors carried weight. They could negotiate and make decisions. Not any more. They have become, through no fault of their own, faceless and empty people who are consistently bypassed in state-to-state negotiations. Even their second chauffeurs, who are customarily trained espionage agents, wield vastly more power than the ambassadors themselves.
“Alternatively, we can make a direct approach to the governments concerned. But for that we would have to have proof. Your word doesn’t come into question, but it’s not enough. We must be able to adduce positive proof of, shall we say, nefarious intent.”
Lord Worth replied immediately. “Such proof I can adduce and can give you the outline now. I am extremely reluctant to name names because it will mean the end of a professional career of a friend of mine. But if I have to, that I will do. Whether I release those names to you or to the public will depend entirely upon the department’s reaction. If I can’t receive a promise of action
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after I have given you this outline, then I have • no recourse other than to approach the public. This is not blackmail. Tin in a corner and the only solution is to fight my way out of it. If you will, as I hope you will, give me a favorable reaction, I shall, of course, give you a list of names, which, I would hope, will not be published by your department. Secrecy, in other words. Not, of course, that this will prevent you from letting-loose the FBI the moment I board my helicopter out there.”
“The great warm heart of the American public versus the incompetent bumbling of the State Department.” Benton smiled. “One begins to understand why you are a millionaire—I do apologize, billionaire.”
“Earlier this week a highly secret meeting was held in a lakeside resort out west. Ten people, all of them very senior oilmen, attended this meeting. Four were Americans, representing many of the major oil companies in the States. A fifth was from Honduras. A sixth was from Venezuela, a seventh from Nigeria. Numbers eight and nine were oil sheikhs from the Gulf. The last was from the Soviet Union. As he was the only one there who had no interest whatsoever hi the flow of oil into the United States, one can only presume that he was there to stir up as much trouble as possible.”
Lord Worth looked around at the five people
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in the room. That he had their collective ear was beyond dispute. Satisfied, he continued.
“The meeting had one purpose and one only in mind. To stop me and to stop me at all costs. More precisely, they wanted to stop the flow of oil from the Seawitch—that is the name of my oil rig—because I was considerably undercutting them in price and thereby raising all sorts of fiscal problems. If there are any rules or ethics in the oil business I have as yet to detect any. I believe your congressional investigative committees agree one hundred per cent with me on that. Incidentally, North Hudson—that’s the official name of my company—has never been investigated.
“The only permanent way to stop the flow of oil is to destroy the Seawitch. Halfway through the meeting they called in a professional trouble-shooter, a man whom I know well, and a highly dangerous man at that. For reasons I won’t explain until I get some sort of guarantee of help, he has a deep and bitter grudge against me. He also happens—just coincidentally, of course—to be one of the world’s top experts, if not the very top, on the use of high explosives.
“After the meeting this troubleshooter called aside the Venezuelan and Soviet delegates and asked for naval cooperation. This he was guaranteed.’* Lord Worth looked at the company with a singular lack of enthusiasm. “Now perhaps you people will believe me.
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“I would add that this man so hates me that he would probably do the job for nothing. However, he has asked for—and got—a fee of a million dollars. He also asked for—and got— ten million dollars’ ‘operating expenses.’ What does ten million dollars mean to you—except the unlimited use of violence?”
“Preposterous! Incredible!” The Secretary shook his head. “It has, of course, to be true. You are singularly well-informed, Lord Worth. You would appear to have an intelligence service to rival our own.”
“Better. I pay them more. This oil business is a jungle and it’s a case of survival of the most devious.”
“Industrial espionage?”