Savages

  Jerry said, “As you know, Harry, we’re keeping in close contact with the State Department. We’re doing everything we can, and no doubt they are, but we want it to be seen that we’re giving this top priority, and that one of our top guys is handling it. As soon as you can, Harry, get back to Paui. Search again. Take a month if you have to.”

  Harry blinked. When he’d been on Paui, Jerry had ordered him to leave. Harry said, “I’ve already explained that you are the people who have the power to get a proper search going. That’s why I’ve come here, to discuss it with you and the group in Washington. This can’t be handled properly from Paui.”

  “Nonsense! Spend whatever’s necessary, Harry,” Jerry said firmly. “Within reason, of course. If they aren’t alive, then we’ll need proof of death. Here in the States, death can’t legally be assumed until seven years after a disappearance. So the insurance companies won’t pay up for seven years, unless we find some trace of them.”

  Somebody added, “By which time the money might have devalued by nearly fifty percent if inflation averages out at nine percent a year.”

  The man on Jerry’s left said, “Charley and Patty between them were carrying more life insurance than the average passenger list of a Boeing 747.”

  “Plus the usual Nexus executive cover,” Jerry added. “And Isabel’s husband was also well covered by his company policy.”

  The man on Jerry’s left said, “The total insurance figure will probably be an eight-figure sum. If they aren’t coming back, their next of kin will be instant millionaires.”

  Harry said, “I expect they’d prefer not to be.”

  “Well, sure,” Jerry said. “While you’re here, Harry, we want you to visit all the families. That personal touch will reassure them that everything possible is being done. It’s already been arranged. Your driver is waiting, and he has your schedule. Remember that to them you represent hope, Harry.”

  “I came here to get some action, not to pay social calls,” Harry said.

  A manservant appeared, wearing a white coat and black trousers; coffee was served in gold-rimmed white Wedgwood cups. Jerry Pearce shook a sugar substitute into his cup. He said, “Of course. We’ll discuss that after you’ve seen the families. And when you return to Paui, finalize the contract with President Raki as fast as possible.”

  “He’s still sore.”

  “The protection payments have been brought up to date,” Jerry said. “We’ve also paid the extortionate interest he demanded.”

  “Raki’s greedy,” Harry said. “I hear he hasn’t yet paid his army’s wages. And he’s been humiliated by us, as he sees it. We can expect problems.”

  “What sort of problems?” someone asked.

  “He’ll make appointments, then refuse to see me. He’ll cat-and-mouse me. He’ll ask for a specific sum, then as soon as I’ve agreed to it, he’ll increase it. I suspect he wants more money than we’ve ever imagined.”

  “He’s in your area, Harry,” Jerry said. “He’s your responsibility. Keep seeing Raki and stay friendly. Keep reminding him that, providing he makes a deal, our price will beat anyone else’s. Remind him how much we’ve paid so far to Credit Suisse. Get on good terms, and make the deal as fast as you can.”

  “That’s a tall order,” Harry said.

  “Now Harry …”

  “I’d better tell you his new price.”

  After he’d spoken, there was silence around the table.

  “He says that once we’ve dug it up, it’s gone,” Harry explained. “And he asked me to remind you that Nexus isn’t mining for the sake of Paui.”

  Jerry said, “I’m tired of hearing Third World countries squawk that the multinationals are ruthlessly gobbling up their raw materials and exploiting them, when they’re being paid a fortune for mining rights—plus those unethical special arrangements.”

  Harry said, “They don’t see bribery as unethical.”

  Everyone winced.

  Harry said, “Bribes are part of their system of operation, part of any deal. If you want to operate in some tribe’s area, then you pay protection money to the headman. If you want some powerful person to use his influence to get you a contract, then you pay him for his power and he’ll use part of the money for little payoffs all down the line, to see you have no problems.”

  “Bribery is legally forbidden,” someone said irritably.

  “East of Suez, they’ve been operating that way for thousands of years,” Harry said. “And they don’t see why they should stop buying power with money, just because the U.S. power-purchasing system is called ‘union bargaining’ or ‘trade embargoes’ or ‘sanctions’ … or whatever Lockheed called it.” Harry looked at the tough faces around the table and thought, You can always find a civilized reason to excuse an uncivilized action.

  “Will this new price get us the deal we want?” Jerry Pearce asked. “All mining rights on Paui for the next ten years?”

  Harry shook his head. “Same deal as before, only it’ll cost you more.”

  Jerry said, “We must insist on an all-rights deal.”

  So Jerry too knew about the cobalt and chromite deposits.

  Jerry confirmed this later over lunch in the quiet mahogany surroundings of the Nexus Club. “Ed submitted ludicrously high security bills for his home on his expense sheet, but Arthur okayed them. Clearly something was up. I checked Ed’s trips and called for copies of the relevant lab reports. Couldn’t get a copy of one of them, so I double-checked the dates against expenditures, and the only report that wasn’t accounted for was Paui.”

  Harry said, “There are other things unaccounted for on Paui,” then went on to tell Jerry of Brett’s death and his doubts about the boat explosion. He felt in his pocket for Arthur’s watch. Jerry recognized it instantly.

  “Have you told Washington?” Jerry asked.

  “If we tell Washington, nothing else may ever come to light. Raki likes the idea of a nice clean yacht explosion. He’s decided that the Louise was overdue for service. He doesn’t want anyone questioning his findings. He’d clamp down on further searching.”

  “What do you hope to find?”

  “I don’t know. Anything. Maybe another personal effect that can’t be explained away.”

  Jerry nodded. “Give me that watch. I’ll establish whether it’s been in seawater. It doesn’t look like it.”

  “I’d rather keep it,” Harry said, returning the watch to the safety of his pocket.

  “I’d rather you gave it to me,” Jerry said. “It will be safer with me.”

  “I’d rather hang on to it for the time being, Jerry.”

  “Give me that watch, Harry.”

  Surprised, Harry stalled. “I want to check it out with Arthur’s mother.” Perplexed, he wondered why Jerry wanted the watch so badly.

  “Well, I suppose … Okay, Harry, but after that, it goes in the office safe. That watch is our only proof.”

  “Sure, Jerry.” Harry changed the subject. “Can you let me have the insurance lists of their personal valuables, including the women’s jewelry? In case any of them turn up at Mrs. Chang’s.”

  * * *

  The golden-haired boy in the wheelchair roared, “You smell old! You stink!”

  “Now, Stephen, that’s no way to talk to your grandmother.” Mildred Blauner briskly pushed up the sleeves of her scarlet jumpsuit. “Old people don’t smell if they floss their teeth; you only have to sniff the floss to see why.” Mrs. Blauner tapped the checkerboard between them. “You only say that because you’re losing the game. If you’re going to be a bad boy, I won’t play with you.”

  No longer was Stephen called “difficult” or “frustrated” or “overstimulated.” The adjectives used by his grandmother were “good” or “bad,” as applicable.

  Judy put her head around the door. “There’s a Mr. Scott to see you. Shall I make coffee?”

  Mrs. Blauner nodded. “Show him in here, please. He’ll want to talk to Stephen.”

  T
he yellow-floored room looked like a cross between a gym and a toy shop, Harry thought as he looked at the expensive exercise appliances and the wall lined with shelves stacked with toys.

  Beneath the short, blond curls of a Watteau cupid, large blue eyes stared at Harry. A rosebud mouth opened.

  “When are they going to find my mom?” Stephen yelled.

  “Mr. Scott won’t speak to you if you shout,” Mildred said in a mild voice. She put both hands on her knees to ease herself off a leather stool that was shaped like an elephant. “Nice of you to drop by, Mr. Scott.”

  Harry ducked as the checkerboard whizzed past his ear, followed by a hail of checkers.

  “That child is a full-time job,” Mildred said as she offered coffee to Harry. “Dr. Beck—that’s Stephen’s own doctor—is arranging for him to go into a private clinic where he’ll have the same standard of care as he does at home. But he’ll be with other kids, so he’ll have to watch himself. They won’t put up with his tantrums.”

  Harry looked sympathetic. “Dr. Beck said it should have been done long ago.” His grandmother continued. “In a children’s clinic, Stephen will be among other children who are similarly handicapped, so he won’t be allowed any self-pity. He’ll have to use the brains that the good Lord gave him, instead of brooding about what he hasn’t got. If his parents don’t come back, it’s the only thing to do—and if they do come back, it will still be better for everyone.”

  Harry nodded.

  She said in a low voice, “His own doctor says it’s the right thing. Silver City is no place for a child—the people there have poodles, not children. And I’m not so young as I was. But I never expected to feel so bad about doing it.”

  Mrs. Blauner carefully placed her untouched cup of coffee on the small table beside her chair. Beneath her perfect makeup a sad, sagging face looked at Harry. “I thought Patty was only punishing herself by having Stephen at home. Now that I have to make the decision, I can understand how poor Patty felt.”

  * * *

  “Why in hell do we have to see him?” Bill asked his brother above the staccato excitement of the football commentary.

  “Jerry Pearce wants to show he’s leaving no frigging stone unturned.” Fred, the eldest, lay with his feet up on the flower-patterned sofa. “Why? You got a date tonight?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Bill always has a date.” Sprawled on the floor, nineteen-year-old Dave didn’t take his eyes off the game. “What’s happened to dinner?”

  “Good old Harry is taking us out for a meal,” Fred said.

  “Why does he want to see us?” Bill asked.

  “I told you. Nexus bullshit.” Fred emptied the can of peanuts and threw it at Bill, who put up an arm, caught the can and slammed it back across the room. His brother hurled it back again.

  Fourteen-year-old Rob said, “I think he has the hots for Mom.”

  His brothers laughed.

  “No, I mean it. A couple of winters ago, Dad asked him to eat with us one Sunday,” Rob explained. “Mom and I were breaking the ice on the pond in the front yard so the birds could drink. When Harry got here we were hidden behind the laurels. Mom saw him walking to the front porch and threw a snowball at him. Hit him in the back of his neck.”

  “So what proof is that?” Fred yawned noisily.

  “He turned around, ready to murder, then saw it was Mom. So he just stood there, with this asshole grin on his face.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “That’ll be good old Harry,” Fred said. “Toss me another beer.”

  * * *

  Why couldn’t they make decent coffee in Chinese restaurants, Harry wondered. The meal had been a series of uncomfortable silences. Harry sensed the dejection and depression beneath the tough-guy, monosyllabic conversation. The youngest brother, Rob, whose pale face and flaming hair reminded Harry of Annie, seemed the most forlorn.

  Harry said, “What’re you guys doing for Christmas?”

  “Hadn’t thought.”

  “Staying here.”

  “Nothing special.”

  “Dunno.”

  Fred finally said, “We’ve all been invited places but we’d rather stay here, together.”

  “That’s what Mom would like,” Rob explained.

  Dave said, “Dad’s sister asked us to Cleveland.”

  “Shit, who wants to go to Cleveland?” Fred asked.

  “And anyway, fuck Christmas.” Bill drained his beer. “It’s overcommercialized, overrated and depressing.”

  Dave nodded. “Suicide rate soars at Christmas.”

  Harry said, “It wouldn’t be Christmas without a few disappointments. But would you like to ski?” On a skiing trip there was always something to think about and talk about: skiing.

  “No,” Bill said. “We just want to stay here.”

  “We don’t want to go anyplace,” Dave said.

  Harry said, “You do ski?”

  “Sure, but not often,” young Rob answered.

  Harry looked at the three strapping young men and their teenage brother. “This is one Christmas you shouldn’t spend at home. Get away where nobody knows what’s happened and do something that takes all your concentration so you won’t be able to think about anything else.”

  There was a pause.

  “What the hell. Why not?” said Fred. “Anything’s better than this.”

  * * *

  On the morning of Wednesday, December 5, Jerry Pearce, whistling cheerfully, stepped out his front door into the early morning sun. His uniformed driver saluted and turned to open the door of the waiting black Lincoln.

  Jerry nodded in acknowledgment, climbed inside and picked up the newspaper that lay waiting for him.

  No way he was going to give up all this, he told himself.

  He had reason to know that every other newly promoted acting vice president on the temporary Board felt the same way about his new position. He had sounded them all out, separately. Naturally, nothing had been said. The test had been at the previous day’s Board meeting, where Jerry had certainly felt that everyone present was solidly behind him. What best served their purpose was to have a full-scale search, but Jerry had sensed they were all trusting him to make sure it didn’t succeed.

  What the hell, he thought. It was 99.9 percent certain they were dead by now anyway, watch or no watch.

  * * *

  Harry followed the black-coated butler past perfectly proportioned Chinese antiques, past full-sized fig trees, past modern sofas upholstered in subtle silks handwoven by Jack Lenor Larsen. They entered the conservatory, lush with orchids. The atmosphere was muggy and the smell of the earth was damp and rich and strong; it reminded Harry of Paui.

  Mrs. Graham’s pale gray gardening gloves matched her pale gray gardening apron. She was eighty years old, and all her life had been carefully looked after and given the best of everything. She had not gone to school but had been taught by a governess. In due course, her nurse had been replaced by a personal maid. Her first car had been a dark green Bugatti. She had been dressed by Mainbocher until his firm closed, and she still had all those clothes, as well as her prewar Schiaparellis and Balenciagas and her Paulette hats. They were packed in tissue and stacked in boxes in the attic. Diana Vreeland wanted them for the Metropolitan.

  “It was good of you to come.” Mrs. Graham held out her elegant, thin hand. “Would you care for a martini before lunch, Mr. Scott?”

  Harry said, “I’d prefer scotch, please.” He rarely drank at midday and knew better than to accept one of Mrs. Graham’s legendary lethal martinis.

  Harry’s scotch was served with water imported from the Grahams’ own Highlands spring. No Perrier for her. They ate in the breakfast room, through which ran a small stream.

  Mrs. Graham looked out at the landscape. She said, “I hope we hear some good news soon; Lorenza’s baby is due in February and she’s had an unpleasant pregnancy.” Lorenza had been with her grandmother when they heard of her parents’ disappearance
. “It’s not fair,” Lorenza had sobbed again and again. “It’s not fair!”

  Harry, who had heard about the scene, thought, Spoiled women are like spoiled children; real life comes as a dreadful shock to them, and they refuse to accept reality. But until they do, such women remain children. You’re never too old to grow up, Harry thought, as he said, “I’m sorry to hear she’s taking it so badly.”

  As she carefully peeled a leaf from the artichoke on her yellow Meissen plate, Mrs. Graham said, “I’d rather be old than young again. Things aren’t so painful when you’re old. You are no longer quite so surprised by life’s unpleasant little ways.”

  The butler removed the carpaccio plates and placed tiny individual cheese soufflés before them. The soufflés were followed by kumquats, nestling on vine leaves.

  Selecting her fruit, Mrs. Graham said, “This President Raki, has he done everything possible to search?”

  “He appears to have done everything reasonable.”

  “Not quite the same thing, is it?” Mrs. Graham peeled her kumquat with a malachite-handled silver fruit knife that bore the Russian imperial crest.

  “No. But he’s virtually a dictator, so he only sees his own point of view. That’s his definition of ‘reasonable.’”

  Mrs. Graham said, “It is unreasonable to expect the unreasonable to be reasonable.”

  “You’re saying we should circumvent dealing with Raki? If he doesn’t stick to the rules, then we needn’t? But I don’t dare offend him. He could stop us from searching.”

  “Who doesn’t dare doesn’t win,” Mrs. Graham said.

  Never had Harry felt so hungry after a four-course meal.

  * * *

  Wearing identical hand-smocked pink dresses, the two little girls sat upright on Shaker chairs in the family room. Ingrid, who was eight, snuffled again; she always had trouble with her throat in winter. She asked, “Will you find them in time for Christmas?”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t know.” Again Harry wondered why these painful visits had been forced on him, when he had so little time in Pittsburgh. Five-year-old Greta looked as if she was about to cry again.

  Swiftly Carey’s sister said, “Have another cookie, Greta?”