by Emma Lathen
For three long days and nights he had labored, together with the other governing members of the IFMA, over the inevitable problems of a worldwide sport. They could now look back on a satisfactory array of achievements. The schedule for next year’s competition contained no major conflicts. An appeal against the suspension of an Italian rider had been finally dis-allowed. The new regulations for cross-country rallies were in final form. And they had even found time to gossip about the new racing models several manufacturers planned to launch.
When the meetings came to a formal close, Fleming felt as if he were breaking the surface of the water after a particularly long dive.
“As long as I’m here, I think I’ll stay on for the All Midland Rally,” a member from Australia said chattily. “What about you, Gene? Will I see you there?”
Still gulping for air, Gene studied a pocket diary in disbelief. “Not a chance,” he said regretfully. “I’ve just got time to take my wife to Stratford tomorrow, and then it’s back to work.”
“Good Lord, has she been here all this time? Doesn’t she find it dull?”
In common with most husbands, Gene believed that all was well with his wife until the air was rent by shrieks of discontent.
“Oh, she always finds plenty to do,” he said comfortably.
Haru Fleming was not the only woman who could occupy herself in London.
“I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided I’d like to come with you,” Audrey Kruger announced at the dinner table, the evening before Lackawanna was due to depart.
Carl looked up from his jellied consommé in surprise. “But you hate business trips. You never want to come.”
“The last time I said that, you were going to Omaha,” she retorted. “This is different.”
Audrey was a pretty, slightly plump woman who had experienced no difficulty shinning up the economic pole along with her husband. Carl, grateful to have an old-fashioned wife who busied herself with home and children, had always been tolerant of the mink coats and designer gowns.
“You may have the wrong idea about Birmingham,” he said. “It’s not really your kind of town.”
“Oh, I’ll stay in London,” she said instantly. “After all, you’ll be there for the first couple of days.”
Now he eyed her with growing suspicion. “I’ll be tied up most of the time,” he warned.
“So? I’ll see some friends. You know Margaret Bentwood has been living there since she remarried.”
Mildly puzzled, Kruger was running out of objections. Audrey, he knew, never interfered in business or complained about his long hours. And her decision to remain in London removed the possibility of distractions in Birmingham. Listening to her prattle about her need for a change, he decided that she was simply succumbing to the call of bright lights.
Audrey was relieved to see his brow clear. She neither knew nor cared about the ins and outs of Lackawanna’s plans for Japan. But she had been dismayed by the condition in which her husband had returned from Tokyo and Washington and feared that England might generate the same stresses. As the only person in the world really adept at bringing down Carl Kruger’s blood pressure, she had no intention of being three thousand miles away.
Fortunately there was one sure method to dispel any lingering doubts.
“Besides, if I’m really at loose ends,” she said bravely, “I have a little shopping I can do.”
Kruger’s lips twitched.
“That’s big of you, honey,” he acknowledged.
The amenities of London might not have existed, for all the pull they were exercising on Pamela Webb. Apart from one dash south to parade Mr. Kwai Dong through the financial district, she had spent her time at Midland Research. No longer able to prolong her stay, she was giving Ali Khan a final pep talk.
“I don’t see what you’re worried about, Ali. The demonstration will be great.”
“Of course it will,” he said impatiently. “But I’m not looking forward to meeting with the bunch again. Look what happened last time.”
“But this will be different,” she insisted. “Everybody will pretend that last time never happened. Not only that; they won’t be discussing the business aspect of the proposal. Nobody wants to emphasize how much they stand to gain or lose.”
Khan erupted into a short bark of laughter.
“That doesn’t leave much for them to talk about.”
Shaking her head at his density, Pamela said meaningfully: “Just robotics.”
She had managed to fix his attention.
“If I can only get them to stay in the room,” he half groaned.
“Oh, come on, Ali. You practically drove them away with your equations and your schematics. But a demonstration is different. You saw how fascinated Dong was. They can actually see what it is you’ve done. Besides,” she continued on a more sober note, “nobody’s going to be tempted to wander off. Don Hodiak doesn’t want to end up as Iwamoto’s alibi again. And poor Carl isn’t going alone anywhere. I’ll bet they stick together in a clump.”
Khan was grinning broadly. “It would serve them right if I gave them the equations.”
“Control yourself. Let’s not forget what this is in aid of,”
she directed. “You give them a wow of a demo and let Carl pitch his sales talk, and we’ll all be happy.”
By the time Ali left, Pamela knew that her work had been effective.
“Now if only someone would reassure me,” she muttered to herself.
Don Hodiak, for one, was willing to defer the clump policy.
“Look, if you’re having trouble getting space for Audrey, I could take another flight,” he offered the next morning.
“Thanks, Don, but the travel department already has her seat.”
The two men had come to terms with their fundamental disagreement. Hodiak, having openly declared his opposition, had become easygoing and helpful. If the heavens now fell, his stance seemed to say, he had done all that was possible to avert the calamity. Kruger, as usual, had put the past behind him. After an initial spurt of fury, he had dismissed Hodiak’s threats as meaningless. Either Lackawanna would return from England with an agreement too attractive to be denied or there would be nothing to argue about at the forthcoming board meeting. As a result of these responses, Kruger and Hodiak were working together more harmoniously than when their differences had been relatively minor.
“Then we’re still on the same schedule?” Hodiak asked.
“Yes, the limo will be here at one-thirty.”
“Fine; I’ll be ready.”
By now time was running out, but Bennet Alderman still hoped to clean up some unfinished business before he left for England. His instructions, given four days ago, had been explicit.
“Make it a rush job, and spend as much as you have to. I want anything you can dig up on Don Hodiak. That’s Donald P. Hodiak. He lives at 329 Countway . . .”
At Lackawanna, eyebrows would have been raised, but Tony Cella’s one-man office was a long way from the company. Cella was a specialist in asking only necessary questions.
“What about Hodiak’s family?”
“Look into every damn thing you can find,” Alderman had replied revealingly. “I want results I can use.”
Both of them approached other people’s secrets with professional detachment. As far as Alderman was concerned, Don Hodiak had been a marked man ever since he threatened to go over Carl Kruger’s head. Tony Cella’s assignment was to provide the ammunition.
“I’ll call you as soon as I have anything,” Cella had promised.
He was as good as his word.
“For starters, there’s the wife,” Cella said, consulting a thick dossier. “Maiden name, Mary Ellen Carmody. Born in Trenton, attended Oberlin. Married when she was twenty-four. Two sons, one daughter. They attend First Presbyterian Church of Meadowview . . .”
Alderman restrained his impatience. Dull preliminaries were the price Cella always exacted for his pay dirt.
“
. . . and she was pregnant when she married Hodiak,” Cella continued.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Alderman interjected. “These days that just sounds quaint.”
Cella shrugged, then went on to more promising material.
“Since then she’s had a string of drunk-driving convictions. And for the past five years she’s been a regular at the Henley Institute for Substance Abuse. Right now she’s getting psychiatric treatment on an outpatient basis.”
Alderman blinked at this revelation, but after thinking for a moment, he said: “So he doesn’t have a happy home life. I can’t do a helluva lot with that, Tony.”
Cella’s clients got information, not counseling.
“You never can tell,” he said. “But you may be in luck. I’ve dug up something a little better.”
“Don’t tell me Hodiak’s going to a shrink too,” said Alderman.
The blots on Don Hodiak’s record were depressingly normal. His dreary love affair with a suburban neighbor was long past, but his occasional fishing trips to Florida seemed to include feminine companionship.
“I’ve got a man looking for photographs, but maybe there aren’t any,’’ Cella reported. “That kind of solid citizen is usually extra careful, if you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” said Alderman, somewhat taken aback by the contours of Don Hodiak’s life. “But put a little muscle into that search. If there aren’t any pictures, I could use a hotel registration.’’
What Cella did have to offer was a fully documented survey of Don Hodiak’s finances.
“. . . and even with those hospital bills for the wife, Hodiak seems to live pretty much within his means,” he said, providing details about insurance premiums, tuition payments, retirement packages, and mutual funds. “He hasn’t had to borrow on the house, for example.”
This kind of recital was calculated to tow Bennet Alderman well beyond his depth. Money as a form of power was something he understood completely, but the economic underpinnings of middle-class life were totally alien to him. He was beginning to suspect that Cella had fallen down on the job, when the investigator said:
“There are just two other things.”
Hoping that Cella was saving the best for last, Alderman said:
“Go on.”
“Japan,” said Cella. “Apart from these little quickies in Florida, Hodiak usually takes vacations with the whole family. You know: Cape Cod, Europe. But twice in the last three years, the Hodiaks visited Tokyo. Didn’t you tell me that trip with you and Kruger was his first?”
Alderman was almost surprised into sharing his thoughts with Cella. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he exclaimed. “Do you suppose . . . I mean, I wonder if Carl knows. Or Pamela.”
“I’ll tell you who does,” Cella told him firmly. “The Japanese police. That’s why I can’t tell you who Hodiak met or talked to. I make it a point not to step on police toes unless I have to. And in a murder case, I don’t have to.”
“What I’m after doesn’t have a damn thing to do with murder,” Alderman protested angrily.
“If you say so,” said Cella levelly.
Alderman was still trying to factor murder into his thinking, when Cella continued:
“Then there’s the stock that Hodiak owns.”
The anticlimax roused Alderman. “What about the stock he owns?” he said irritably.
Cella explained that Don Hodiak owned no shares in the company for which he worked. From other sources Cella had ascertained that Hodiak’s modest portfolio contained Coca-Cola, AT&T, and some utilities.
“. . . but no Lackawanna,” he concluded.
Alderman did not see why this was particularly significant.
“Lackawanna’s got a stock option plan,” Cella said patiently.
During his years with the company, Hodiak had participated in the program that provided incentives for key executives. He had purchased stock below market price.
“. . . Then, all of a sudden, he began selling. He got out just in time, and he hasn’t touched the stock since. It’s all there on the public record.”
“Where anybody can see it,” Alderman said with disgust. “Hell, Tony, I’m not paying you big bucks for something people already know.”
Cella was unresentful. “That’s the best way to hide things sometimes.” He paused to let this sink in, then added: “It looks to me as if you can make a good case that Hodiak has been betting against Kruger for a long time.”
“Maybe,” said Alderman, not altogether convinced.
Nevertheless he was quite satisfied to sign a large check for the first course. Cella had provided a tempting appetizer to lay on Carl Kruger’s desk.
Chapter 19
Shortly after arriving in London, John Thatcher found himself in a taxi headed for the Sloan’s local office. His mission was to introduce Gene Fleming.
“I’ve just arrived, but Gene’s been here several days on personal business,” he told Toby Lemieux.
After the usual polite preliminaries, Fleming remarked: “I feel right at home. Half my hotel seems to be Japanese.”
“They’re pouring in for the opening of the Japanese Trade Show that we’ll be attending tomorrow night. But they’ve been coming in waves for months. It’s a mobilization for European economic unification. All the Japanese are shopping for acquisitions, and big ones at that.”
Thatcher seized the moment. “Thanks to Gene’s efforts in Tokyo, some of them will be handled by the Sloan,” he said. “You’ll have seen the list we sent over.”
“Certainly, and made good progress with it. The pharmaceuticals still need winnowing, but we’re ready to make a preliminary recommendation to the client on the shipyard,” Lemieux announced before continuing less confidently. “It’s a shame he isn’t interested in English china. However, we’ll do the best we can to find something in France.”
“I’m sure you will.”
Lemieux remembered his obligations to the new boy in the Sloan family. “All in all, that list was a magnificent effort.”
“We’re beginning to take off,” said Fleming without false modesty. “To the point where the Japanese banks are pretty sour.”
Lemieux countered with a resume of his own accomplishments, before saying: “You mustn’t be misled because we’ve been around longer than you have. For years we were merely providing standard services for American corporations with a U.K. presence. We didn’t start investment banking for quite a while—not till after we brought Lackawanna and Midland Research together.”
Thatcher straightened. “I didn’t know we had.”
“I thought perhaps you might not.” On his mettle before a rival branch manager, Lemieux welcomed any opportunity to detail London’s triumphs. “Of course it was quite informal and took place only because of an earlier visit by Ali Khan.”
“Tell us about it,” Thatcher invited.
“Ali had some bright ideas about robotics when he was finishing his stint at Cambridge. So he went back north and began work in a makeshift lab with a few employees. He had some insane notion that MR would start paying its way in a year or two.”
The rate of small-business failure was, in Thatcher’s opinion, largely attributable to this line of reasoning.
“What in the world did Khan think he was going to sell?”
“That’s just the point. He was still living in a world of university research, where you’re a big hit if you develop the possibility of a breakthrough. He didn’t start learning the facts of life until he ran out of funds. The investors had already kissed their money good-bye and the suppliers had cut off credit when he sallied forth to get financing. The local authorities and the banks laughed him out the door. Finally he tried some industrial firms, and that’s when the vultures began to gather. They all figured that once he was out on the street, he’d be desperate.”
“Poor kid,” said Fleming. “How old was he when the roof fell in?”
Lemieux shook his head at the recollection of the youthful Ali.
“He was twenty-five and had taken quite a mauling. When he wandered in here, you could practically see his exposed nerve endings. He assumed that everybody was saying his work was no good, and he was actually brandishing a tattered evaluation from a couple of Cambridge professors. The whole thing was pathetic. So I explained that the banks thought he was a bad risk because he was proposing an undertaking much more expensive than he realized. Asking people to bail him out of his immediate problems was ridiculous. He wouldn’t make a sale until he attacked the specifics of a particular application, constructed working prototypes, and designed cost-effective production methods.”
“You mean to say he listened?” Thatcher asked.
Toby laughed.
“Not a bit. Ali was nodding in dumb despair until I told him one of his problems was asking for too little.”
As all bankers know, one of the hardest things to explain to budding entrepreneurs is that a financial plan viable on its face is more attractive than a much less expensive program doomed to failure by its very modesty.
“Although,” Thatcher admitted, “it doesn’t sound as if either approach would have done him much good.”
“Exactly. I let Ali blow off steam, because that was about all I could do for him. Then I forgot MR until two days later, when Carl Kruger strolled in.”
Gene Fleming’s eyes were gleaming with interest. “Two days? This Khan must live right.”
“That’s the luck of the draw,” Lemieux said philosophically. “Lackawanna U.K. was in a tax jam which made purchasing and financing a small undertaking attractive. Kruger was considering various options when I mentioned MR. He liked the sound of robotics, and I arranged the most disastrous meeting of my career.”
“They didn’t hit it off?”
“There wasn’t enough contact for even that. Carl explained that money would have to be poured into MR for at least four or five years before payback. Ali treated Kruger as if he were a backward student and hurled technical details at him. Neither of them listened to a word the other one was saying.”
