“Then Bahrain,” Kasigi said. “Mr. Gavallan, can I have Captain Scragger’s services for a year to run the operation - if it comes to fruition - at double his present salary?” He saw Scragger’s eyes narrow and wondered if he’d gone too far too fast, so he added lightly, “If I ask you to give up your first love, my friend, it’s only right you should be compensated.” “That’s a great offer, but, well, I don’t know. Andy?”
Gavallan hesitated. “It’d mean you’d have to quit S-G, Scrag, and quit flying. You couldn’t run five ships and fly - and anyway you could never go back to Iran, no way.”
That’s right. Quit flying. So I’m at a crossroads too, Scragger was thinking. Don’t try to pretend Mac’s bad luck didn’t give me a shaft to end all shafts. And why did I faint yesterday? Doc Nutt said it was just exhaustion. Balls, I’ve never fainted in my life before and wot do doctors know anyways? A year in Bahrain? That’s better than a few months in the North Sea always bucking the next medical. No flying? My Gawd! Wait a minute, I could keep current and my hand in with a little local joyriding. “I’d have to think about that, but thanks for the offer, Mr. Kasigi.” “Meanwhile, Mr. Gavallan, could you organize the first month or so?” “Yes. With a certain amount of luck, within the week I could get enough birds and crew there to get you started, the balance in a week or two for a renewable three-month contract.” Gavallan added as delicately as he could, “So long as we beat our deadline.”
Kasigi kept his satisfaction covered. “Good. Shall we meet here at nine? I’ll bring Mr. Umura, who’s president of the Sumitomo for the Gulf, to arrange the letters of credit in the form you want, Mr. Gavallan.” “Nine o’clock on the dot. Perhaps you could mention to your ambassador, even if tonight’s sunset deadline passes, my freighters won’t arrive till noon tomorrow and I won’t be able to get them loaded and off before tomorrow sunset.”
“You will keep ‘Ambassador Level’ just between us?”
“Of course. You have my word. Scrag?”
Kasigi heard Scrag say the same, and was, as always, astounded that Westerners could be so naive as to rely on someone’s “word” - word of honor, whose honor, what honor? Hasn’t it ever been that a secret shared is no secret and never will be again? Like Whirlwind, it had been so easy to smoke that one out. “Perhaps we could plan it this way: we settle finances and letters of credit tonight; you begin to arrange the helicopters and spares and crew, how to manage the operation from Bahrain, warehousing, and sum - everything subject to confirmation tomorrow sunset. If you’ve successfully extracted your own equipment by then, you guarantee Iran-Toda will have its helicopters within the week.”
“You seem very confident you can eliminate our deadline.” “My ambassador can, perhaps. I’ll phone and tell you what he says the moment I’ve left him. Captain Scragger, would it be possible for you to run a trainee program for Japanese pilots?”
“Easy, providing they speak English and have at least a hundred chopper hours. I’d have to get a training captain and…” Scragger stopped. It had suddenly occurred to him this was the perfect solution. That’s a beaut idea. I could be examiner - I can sign them out in type and that way I’d get enough flying under the right circs. Bonzer!” He beamed. Tell you wot, sport, if Andy can fix it, I’m in.” He stuck out his hand and Kasigi shook it.
“Thank you. Perfect. So Mr. Gavallan, do we ‘give her a try’?” “Why not?” Gavallan put out his hand and felt Kasigi’s iron-hard grip and for the first time really believed there was a chance. Kasigi’s smart. Very. Now he’s got the standard modem Japanese company operating procedure in place: get foreign experts to train Japanese personnel on site, or to create the market in their own countries, then move in the trainees. We get the short-term profit, they get the long-term market. They’re doing to us in business what they failed to do at war. In spades. So what? It is fair trading. And if Kasigi and his ambassador can extract me from my disaster, it’s no skin off my nose to help him out of his. “We’ll give her a try.” Kasigi smiled properly for the first time. “Thank you. I’ll phone the moment I have any news.” He half bowed, then strode off.
“You think he’ll do it, Andy?” Scragger asked hopefully.
“Honest to God I don’t know.” Gavallan waved at a waiter for the bill. “How you going to solve him in time?”
Gavallan started to answer and stopped. He had just noticed Pettikin and Paula at a table by the swimming pool, their heads close together. “I thought Paula was off to Tehran this morning.”
“She was. Maybe the flight was canceled or she took a sickie,” Scragger said absently, afraid to be grounded.
“What?”
“That’s Aussie. If it’s a nice day and a sheila suddenly wants the afternoon off to swim or make love or just goof off, she calls in to the office during her lunch break and says she’s feeling horrible. Sick. Sickie.” Scragger’s eyebrows soared. “Sheilas Down Under are very accommodating sometimes. That Paula’s something else - Charlie’s a goner.”
Gavallan saw the pleasure on their faces under the umbrella, oblivious of the world. Apart from worry over Dubois, Erikki, and the others, he had read the piece in the morning’s papers about the sudden stock market crash in Hong Kong: “Many of the major companies, headed by Struan’s, Rothwell-Gornt, Par-Con of China, lost 30 percent of their value or more in the day, with the whole market plunging and no end in sight. The statement issued by the Taipan, Mr. Linbar Struan, saying that this was just a seasonal hiccup brought a slashing rebuff from the government and his rivals. The more sensational press was rife with widely circulated rumors of insider trading among the Big Four and manipulation by selling short to bring prices tumbling from their record high.” That’s got to be why I can’t get hold of Ian. Has he gone to Hong Kong? Bloody Linbar! His balance sheet this year’ll be red top to bottom.
With an effort he put brakes on his mind. He saw Pettikin reach over and cover Paula’s hand. She did not take it away. “You think he’ll pop the question, Scrag?”
“If he doesn’t he’s a mug.”
“I agree.” Gavallan sighed and got up. “Scrag, I’m not going to wait. You sign the bill, then go down and get Charlie, say I’m sorry but he’s got to meet me in the office for an hour, then he’s got the rest of the day off, then get hold of Willi and Rudi. I’ll phone JeanLuc, and between us we’ll come up with what Kasigi needs, if he can deliver. Don’t tell ‘em why, just say it’s urgent and to keep their mouths closed tighter than a gnat’s bum.” He walked off. “Hey, Mr. Gavallan!” stopped him. It was the American Wesson who jovially got up from his table and stuck out his hand. “You got time for a drink and to visit awhile?”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Wesson, thanks, but, er, can I take a rain-check? I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
“Hell, yes, anytime.” Wesson grinned at him and leaned closer, dropping his voice to a good-natured conspiratorial whisper, and for the first time Gavallan noticed the small hearing aid in the man’s left ear. “Only wanted to say, congratulations, you sure as hell showed those jokers your heels!” “We, er, we just got lucky. Sorry, got to dash. ‘Bye.”
“Sure, see you.” Thoughtfully Wesson picked up his pen and put it in his pocket. So Kasigi is gonna try and bail out Gavallan, he thought, meandering toward the lobby. I’d never’d figured that one. Shit, there’s no way the new regime’ll cooperate. Kasigi’s a pipe dreamer. Poor bastard must be going crazy, Iran-Toda’s a mess, and hell, even if they start now it’ll take years for that plant to be in production, and everyone knows Iran’s oil spigot’ll stay turned off, losing Japan 70 percent of her energy supply; there’s gotta be another soar in world prices, more inflation… Japan’s our only ally in the Pacific and the poor bastards’re going to be nailed.