‘If you can come up with that amount of cash within thirty days, Mr. Townsend, you have yourself a deal. In which case perhaps you would be kind enough to ask your lawyers to get in touch with mine.’
‘And the name of your lawyers...?’
‘Forgive me for cutting this conversation short, Mr. Townsend, but I’m due on the driving range in ten minutes, and my pro charges by the hour.’
‘Of course, Ambassador,’ said Townsend, relieved that Sinclair couldn’t see the look of disbelief on his face. He put the phone down and looked across at Tom.
‘Do you know what you’ve just done, Keith?’
‘The biggest deal of my life,’ replied Townsend.
‘At three billion dollars, it’s possibly the last,’ said Tom.
‘I’ll close the damn paper down,’ shouted Armstrong, thumping his fist on the desk.
Russell Critchley, who stood one pace behind his client, felt the words might have carried a little more conviction if Sean O’Reilly hadn’t heard them every day for the past three months.
‘It will cost you a whole lot more if you do,’ replied O’Reilly, his voice quiet and gentle as he stood facing Armstrong.
‘What do you mean by that?’ hollered Armstrong.
‘Just that by the time you put the paper up for sale, there might not be anything left worth selling.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘I guess you might interpret it that way.’
Armstrong rose from his chair, placed the palms of his hands on the desk and leaned forward until he was only a few inches away from the trade union leader’s face; but O’Reilly didn’t even blink. ‘You expect me to settle for $320 million, when only last night I found eighteen names listed on the checking-in sheets who have retired from the company, one of them over ten years ago?’
‘I know,’ said O’Reilly. ‘They get so attached to the place they just can’t stay away.’ He tried to keep a straight face.
‘At $500 a night,’ shouted Armstrong, ‘I’m not surprised.’
‘That’s why I’m offering you a way out,’ said O’Reilly.
Armstrong grimaced as he looked down at the latest work sheets. ‘And what about Bugs Bunny, Jimmy Carter and O.J. Simpson, not to mention forty-eight other well-known personalities who signed on for yesterday’s late shift? And I’ll bet the only finger any of them lifted all night was to stir their coffee between hands of poker. And you expect me to agree that every one of them, including George Bush, has to be included in your redundancy package?’
‘Yes. It’s just our way of helping him with his campaign contributions.’
Armstrong looked toward Russell and Peter in desperation, hoping to get some support from them, but for different reasons neither of them opened his mouth. He turned back to face O’Reilly. ‘I’ll let you know my decision later,’ he shouted. ‘Now get out of my office.’
‘Were you still hoping that the paper will hit the streets tonight?’ asked O’Reilly innocently.
‘Is that another threat?’ asked Armstrong.
‘Sure is,’ said O’Reilly. ‘Because if you are, I suggest you settle before the evening shift comes on at five o’clock. It doesn’t make a lot of difference to my men if they’re paid for working or not working.’
‘Get out of my office,’ Armstrong repeated at the top of his voice.
‘Whatever you say, Mr. Armstrong. You’re the boss.’ He nodded to Russell and turned to leave.
Once the door had closed behind him, Armstrong swung round to face Peter. ‘Now you can see what I’m up against. What do they expect me to do?’ He was still shouting.
‘To close the paper down,’ said Russell calmly, ‘as you should have done on the first day of the seventh week. By now they would have settled at a far lower price.’
‘But if I’d taken your advice, we’d have no paper.’
‘And we’d all be getting a night’s sleep.’
‘If you want a night’s sleep, you have one,’ said Armstrong. ‘I’m going to settle. In the short term it’s the only way out. We’ll win them round in the end, nothing’s more certain. O’Reilly is about to crack. I’m sure you agree with me, Peter.’
Peter Wakeham didn’t say anything until Armstrong turned to face him, when he began to nod vigorously.
‘But where are you going to find another $320 million?’ asked Russell.
‘That’s my problem,’ said Armstrong.
‘It’s mine too. I’ll need the money within minutes of O’Reilly putting his signature to the agreement, otherwise they’ll come out on strike just as we’re about to print the next edition.’
‘You’ll have it,’ said Armstrong.
‘Dick, it’s still not too late...’ said Russell.
‘Settle, and settle now,’ shouted Armstrong.
Russell nodded reluctantly and left the room as Armstrong picked up a phone that would put him directly through to the editor. ‘Barney, it’s good news,’ he boomed. ‘I’ve managed to convince the unions that they should settle on my terms. I want a front-page story saying it’s a victory for common sense and a leader on how I’ve achieved something no one else has ever done in the past.’
‘Sure, if that’s what you want, boss. Would you like me to print the details of the settlement?’
‘No, don’t bother with the details. The terms are so complicated that even the readers of the Wall Street Journal wouldn’t understand them. In any case, there’s no point in embarrassing the unions,’ he added before putting the phone down.
‘Well done, Dick,’ said Peter. ‘Not that I was in any doubt that you’d win in the end.’
‘At a price,’ said Armstrong, opening the top drawer of his desk.
‘Not really, Dick. O’Reilly caved in the moment you threatened to close the paper. You handled him quite brilliantly.’
‘Peter, I need a couple of checks signed,’ said Armstrong, ‘and as you’re the only other director in New York at the moment...’
‘Of course,’ said Peter. ‘Only too happy to oblige.’
Armstrong placed the pension fund checkbook on his desk and flicked open the cover. ‘When are you returning to London?’ he asked as he waved Peter into his chair.
‘Tomorrow’s Concorde,’ Peter replied with a smile.
‘Then you’ll have to explain to Sir Paul why I can’t make the board meeting on Wednesday, much as I’d like to. Just tell him that I’ve finally settled with the unions on excellent terms, and that by the time I report to the board next month we should be showing a positive cash flow.’ He placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder.
‘With pleasure, Dick,’ said Peter. ‘Now, how many of these checks do you need signed?’
‘You may as well do the lot while you’re at it.’
‘The whole book?’ said Peter, shifting uneasily in his chair.
‘Yes,’ replied Armstrong, handing him his pen. ‘They’ll be quite safe with me. After all, none of them can be cashed until I’ve countersigned them.’
Peter gave a nervous laugh as he unscrewed the top of the pen. He hesitated until he felt Armstrong’s fingers tightening round his shoulder.
‘Your position as deputy chairman comes up for renewal in a few weeks’ time, doesn’t it?’ said Armstrong.
Peter signed the first three checks.
‘And Paul Maitland won’t go on for ever, you know. Eventually someone will have to take his place as chairman.’
Peter continued signing.
Final Edition
Double or Quits
36
Daily Express
8 February 1991
Cabinet Escapes as IRA Bomb Explodes in Garden of No. 10
‘Bitten Off More than They Can Chew’ was the headline on the article in the Financial Times. Sir Paul Maitland, sitting by the fire at his home in Epsom, and Tom Spencer, traveling in from Greenwich, Connecticut, on a commuter train, both read the article a second time, although only half the contents were of any real interest to them.