Ignoring the curious look on Parkin’s face, Quinn poured himself a drink and sat down in the chair.
“Well?” Derek asked, his hands nervously pulling at some unseen lint on his shirt.
“It’s done,” Gerritt answered with satisfaction. “There are a few more tricky things to be ironed out, but it’s done.”
“Great!”
Gerritt just nodded, not revealing how great it was. Gerritt Industries had just been pulled back from the edge of disaster. He thought of that morning in Lauterbrunnen when his two top executives had cried wolf. Wait until you hear the crack of the hammer before you say we’re belly up, he had told Shurtliff. Well, the hammer had been set aside. Now, they were about to move from the edge of disaster to something very much more attractive.
With a soft click the lock shot open again, and the door opened. Derek whirled in surprise as a small dark man, carrying a thin and very expensive-looking briefcase entered. Gerritt stood quickly and went over and shook hands with Andrew Hadlow.
“Would you like a drink?”
Hadlow shook his head, and Gerritt turned to Parkin. “This is Derek Parkin.”
There was a curt nod, and Derek noted return introductions were not forthcoming. Gerritt motioned to the chairs, and they all sat down. Gerritt sipped his drink, watching Parkin thoughtfully for several moments. Then he smiled.
“Derek, I’ve been very happy with our little arrangement.”
Parkin picked up his own drink and gulped the remaining third of it down quickly, aware of the sudden prickling sensation down his back. He had come expecting the fifteen thousand dollar payoff Gerritt had promised him. Now he sensed that something else was in the wind.
Hadlow opened the briefcase and pulled out an envelope. He handed it to Gerritt, who tossed it to Derek. Parkin nearly dropped his glass as he caught it. He checked it furtively, counting the fifteen bills quickly. When he looked up, he saw the quick look of distaste on the small man’s face.
“The information you have given us has been most helpful,” Gerritt went on expansively.
“Thank you.”
“This, along with the bonus Barclay will pay you, should fix you up for some time to come.”
Parkin’s eyes narrowed. “What bonus?”
Gerritt looked surprised. “Alex has promised Marc Jeppson a bonus of one hundred thousand dollars when the deal is finalized. You mean…?” He looked a little embarrassed at having revealed something he should not have.
Derek slammed his glass down on the table and swore bitterly.
“Jackie, too, from what I understand,” Gerritt lied smoothly.
Derek swore again, his face dark with anger. “That doesn’t surprise me. Barclay has been squeezing me out ever since his darling Marc Jeppson came on board.”
Gerritt nodded sympathetically, watching this sullen man brood, wondering how Barclay had ever come to hire such a liability. He stood, got the bottle of whiskey, and poured Derek another drink. As Parkin drank deeply, Gerritt glanced at Hadlow, who gave a quick inclination of his head.
“How would you like to make that bonus and a great deal more?”
Parkin’s head snapped up like Gerritt had yanked on it with a baling hook. The sudden hunger in his eyes was unmistakable.
Gerritt held out his hands, a bland expression on his face. “As you know, I am now a limited partner with Alex in this thing. I’ll get five percent of the total commissions.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It seems to me that Alex is treating me as shabbily as he is you. I mean, if it weren’t for my radar system, there would be no deal with the Saudis.”
“That’s right. Alex has said that again and again.”
“And yet Alex takes ninety-five percent. I get five. Marc gets a hundred thousand bonus, and you get nothing. Somehow, that doesn’t seem right to me.”
“It’s rotten, that’s what it is!”
Gerritt leaned forward suddenly. “How would you like to change all of that?”
Derek, suddenly very sober, set his drink down carefully. “How?”
“You know about Alex’s heart condition?”
Derek nodded, a sudden chill hitting him at the base of the neck.
“If he were to have a heart attack about now, that would take him out of the action for a time. Perhaps long enough that a different deal would have to be negotiated.”
Derek was absolutely motionless now, his eyes following every nuance on Gerritt’s face.
“Who would be a more logical choice for a replacement than me? I’ve got the contacts with the aircraft company. I have the radar system. The Saudis already know me, and I’ve been in on the negotiation phase from the beginning.” He paused as Derek licked his lips. “And who would I need by my side but the man who has already drawn up all the contracts and knows the ins and outs of all the paper work?”
Hadlow opened his briefcase again and extracted something, but when he shut it, whatever he had gotten was in the palm of his hand, and Derek couldn’t see what it was.
“The commissions are going to run around sixty million, Derek,” Gerritt continued. “I’d be willing to give you a ten percent partnership. I’m not talking about hundred thousand dollar bonuses. I’m talking six million dollars!”
Hadlow leaned over and handed Gerritt a small brown prescription bottle and a plastic card. Gerritt looked at them curiously, his gray eyes hooded and veiled. Finally he looked up.
“Alex is on medication for his heart. He takes one pill every night before going to bed.”
Derek’s face was suddenly gray.
“He is not back in his room yet. He’s down in the main bar celebrating his victory with General Canning and Whitaker from the State Department.”
“What are you saying?” Derek whispered.
“This medication, which looks identical to his, will trigger the heart attack we were just discussing. Here is a card that will get you in his room.”
“Are you mad? What if it kills him?”
Hadlow spoke for the first time, mildly and quietly, but it frightened Derek even more than Gerritt’s calloused blandness. “It won’t. This has been prepared very carefully. We don’t want Barclay dead. Only out of commission for a while.”
“I can’t!” Parkin said hoarsely. “If something went wrong, you’re talking murder!”
“Nothing is going to go wrong!” Gerritt snapped. “All we’re going to do is make the inevitable happen at a more convenient time.”
Derek was shaking his head in horror.
Hadlow leaned forward. “Do you know Jonathan Taggart, Mr. Parkin?”
For a moment, Derek was blank, then recall came. “The designer of the radar system?” he asked Gerritt.
Both men nodded.
“Let me tell you a little story about Jonathan Taggart,” Hadlow said quietly.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Valerie twirled around slowly in front of Marc.
“You look terrific!” He turned to the salesgirl. “She’ll take it.”
“Marc!”
He ignored her. “Can she wear it?” he asked.
The woman smiled, liking this handsome young man’s assertiveness. “Certainly. I’ll put her other dress in a box.”
“Good. I’ll clip the tags on this one.” He stepped to Valerie and took out his fingernail clippers. Valerie turned her head. “Marc! I can’t take this!” she whispered.
“Why not? You said you liked it.”
“I love it, but—”
“You only have the dress you wore. You need something for the celebration luncheon today.”
“I know, but it’s a hundred and seventy dollars!”
He spun her around and kissed her firmly. “Right now, I’d pay five hundred dollars just to have you here.”
“You’re crazy,” she laughed, thoroughly delighted.
“I know, and I also know who made me that way.” He finished clipping the tags. “Come on, let’s go pay for this and go to some o
ther stores. The morning is still young. You’d better take advantage while I’m in this affluent mood.”
Half an hour later, they were just coming out of a hotel gift shop, laden with packages for the boys, when an urgent cry spun them around. Jackie came from the direction of the elevators, half running.
“Marc, wait!” she called.
They turned on their heels and walked swiftly toward her. She stopped, trying to catch her breath. “Marc. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Alex has had a heart attack. They’ve just rushed him to the hospital.”
When Ardith came out into the waiting room, everyone stood. Her face was drawn, her eyes swollen and red. Russ Whitaker, Undersecretary of State, stepped up to meet her. “How is he?”
She took a deep breath, then sighed heavily. “They’ve taken him into surgery. They’re going to have to do a bypass. But the doctor is very optimistic.”
Derek sagged back and sat down heavily, relief coursing through him like a cold mountain stream.
Gerritt shot him a warning glance, then stepped forward. “Ardith, if there’s anything we can do, let us know.”
“Thank you, Quinn. For now, there’s nothing really.” She turned to the others. “Really, I so much appreciate you coming, but you may as well return to the hotel. It will be several hours before anything further develops.” She looked to Marc. “I would like Marc, Jackie, and Derek to stay for a few minutes.”
The others offered quick condolences and took their leave. Valerie murmured something to Marc and started to turn, but Ardith moved quickly to her side. “I’d like you to stay too, Valerie.”
Once the others were gone, Ardith motioned to the chairs. “Sit down, please.” She waited until they were seated in a semicircle facing her, then pulled a chair around.
“Alex wouldn’t let them put him under until he made me promise to do this.” A fleeting expression of desperation crossed her face. “There he was, so sick he could barely talk, and—” Tears welled up, and she fumbled for a Kleenex in her purse. “And he wouldn’t let them take him until he made sure I knew what to do.”
Jackie nodded, her own eyes red and swollen.
Ardith turned to Marc. “Alex was worried sick something like this would happen. Once you agreed to stay with him, he had all the papers drawn up and executed. You are now the acting president of Barclay Enterprises, Marc.”
Marc rocked back, stunned. Jackie took a quick intake of breath. Derek stared, his mouth working but making no sound. Valerie, wide-eyed, was watching Marc’s reaction.
“You have full power and authority to act.” She stopped, fighting again for control. Finally, sniffing back the tears, she was able to continue. “He begged me to tell you not to wait around here, Marc. He said you’ve got to act immediately, or everything will start to fall apart.”
Marc nodded slowly, still dazed as Valerie reached out and squeezed his hand. Derek jumped up, his mouth a thin hard line. “Well,” he hissed. “I guess that makes it clear where I stand with Alex.” He shot Marc a withering glance, then whirled and stalked out.
Jackie reached over and touched Marc’s arm. He was staring after him in shock and bewilderment. “Don’t worry about him, Marc. He’ll be all right. He’s just extremely jealous.”
“I…” He shook his head, then turned back to Ardith. “I don’t know what to say.”
Ardith smiled despite her tears. “Don’t say anything. Alex has tremendous confidence in you.” She turned to Jackie. “He would have made you the president if the Saudis didn’t have this thing about dealing with women.”
Jackie was up instantly and put her arms around her. “Ardith, you don’t have to explain anything to me. All I care about is Alex getting better.”
“I know,” Ardith said, the tears starting again. She looked at Marc. “So go, Marc. You’ve got to keep things together.” Her voice caught. “If he loses this, it will kill him.”
Valerie and Marc were at the entrance to the hotel parking garage. She reached up and kissed him quickly. “You don’t need to be worrying about me right now. I’ll go and stay with the boys and Mother.”
He shook his head, still a little dazed. “I…” He finally nodded. “I guess you’re right. Thank you for understanding.”
She threw her arms around him. “I love you Marc Jeppson. I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult.”
He held her tightly. “Just knowing you’re back is enough. If it weren’t for that…” He kissed her hard, not wanting her to leave, but knowing she was right.
She pulled back, her eyes shining. “Did you take the ring back to the jeweler?”
He smiled, touching her cheek. “It’s in the top drawer of my dresser.”
“Will you get me for breaking and entering if I go get it?”
“Won’t matter,” he said gruffly. “A man can’t testify against his wife anyway.”
By four o’clock that afternoon, the scramble for repositioning was starting to settle. The parlor of the La Jolla Suite had become the equivalent of the majlis, the council room, where so much of Saudi business and social interaction takes place. The men were seated in a rough circle, drinking the bitter coffee ground fresh from the beans they’d brought with them from Saudi Arabia. Except for the luxurious surroundings and the business suits scattered here and there, it could have been a gathering of sheiks in the black, goat-skinned tents of the Bedouins.
Quinn Gerritt had been the first to come, oozing reassurances that the deal was in no way jeopardized. Then with subtlety, but clarity, he made them a new offer.
Marc Jeppson came an hour or so later with the announcement of his new authority and calm assurances that all would be well.
Now they sat in council, sipping the bitter coffee. General Amani spoke first, shaking his head firmly. “Do not trust this Mr. Gerritt. If he so quickly turns on Barclay in a time of tragedy, he will as quickly turn on us, given half a chance.”
Several others nodded their agreement, but Sheik Hazzan was adamant. “Gerritt has the radar system. And he has offered to work with us for ten percent less commission. That is a substantial difference.”
Prince Khalid, full brother to the crown prince and the king, and Commander-in-Chief of the Saudi Armed Forces, spoke softly. “Do the Saudis change camels in the middle of the race? Last night we agreed that Mr. Barclay would represent us.”
Hazzan nodded in deference but was still firm. “Alex Barclay is lying in a hospital. That changes everything.”
“He has designated Mr. Jeppson as his legal representative,” General Amani pointed out. “And while nothing has been signed, Khalid is right. Our honor states that we must wait to see if Barclay Enterprises can carry through what they have promised.”
“Mr. Jeppson is a young, inexperienced agent. He has no expertise.”
The crown prince stirred, and the others turned to watch. His eyes were bright and alert, his face handsomely etched. For several moments, he looked above their heads, considering all that had been said. Finally he spoke. “Ahmed is right in one thing. Our first concern is to make the best arrangements we can make for our government.”
The vice-Minister of Defense tipped his head, acknowledging the support.
“However, my brother also makes a telling point. I would not have it be said that when a stranger trips on the tent peg, the Saudis use his body for a carpet.”
They all nodded, thinking of Alex Barclay lying in a hospital bed. The crown prince turned to the general. “You know this Jeppson best. What is your assessment?”
Amani spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “He is young. In that Feisal is correct. He is also inexperienced in the area of being a representative.”
Hazzan was nodding vigorously.
Amani hesitated, then spoke quietly. “Ibn Saud was twentysix when he recaptured Riyadh from the hated Ibn Rasheed.” It was a telling point, for he was referring to the apex of modern Saudi history. In 1902, Abdul
Aziz, the leading son of the famed house of Saud, had crossed the incredibly fierce environment of the Empty Quarter with a small force of loyal followers to fall on Riyadh and reclaim it for the house of Saud. It was the beginning of the modern kingdom and the center of song and legend.
Amani let the point sink in, then continued. “Jeppson is a man of honor, and Barclay evidently has great confidence in his abilities. And,” he paused, to give emphasis to what he felt was an important factor, “he knows our people and respects and admires what we have achieved. He will not use us and throw us aside when he is done.”
The crown prince was impassive, letting that rest on the others’ as well as on his own mind. He looked around, but when no one else wanted to speak, he nodded. “Then we will see what the young Mr. Jeppson can do.” He turned to Amani. “Convey to Mr. Gerritt our interest in his proposal, but that for now we regretfully feel we must honor our commitment with Barclay Enterprises.”
One floor below, the Israelis were also holding council. Gondor was at the head, the rest were scattered around the suite watching him attentively. Eli Weissman, the deputy director was a new addition, having just arrived from Washington, D.C., about twenty minutes earlier. There was a small chalkboard, and on it Gondor had listed the current status of the various participants in the drama unfolding in the Hotel LaRoche.
“That’s where it stands now,” he said to Weissman. “At first, it looked like the pieces of the tapestry would start to unravel, and Barclay’s tragedy would prove to be a blessing for us. But Barclay’s foresight and Jeppson’s quickness seem to have pulled things back together. The Saudis are committed to follow through if he can deliver.
“And he withstood Gerritt?” Weissman asked.
He turned to Yehuda. “Udi, you were monitoring that line. Tell us again what happened.”
Yehuda shrugged. “Parkin came straight from the hospital to Gerritt with the news that Jeppson had full authority. So Gerritt acted swiftly. He went to the Saudis and tried to undercut Barclay and to squeeze him out. When that failed, he called Jeppson to his room. He threatened to pull out of the deal unless Marc cut him in for half of the total commission. Jeppson seemed at first stunned, but he held his ground. Gerritt has already signed all the agreements with Barclay. Jeppson told him flatly that if he tried to pull out, he would have a massive law suit on his hands.”