It was 9:30 the next night when Jacques’s train finally pulled into Grand Central Station. The platform leading to the station was virtually deserted. Jacques watched the last passengers disembark, waiting until they had proceeded well along the platform before he stepped from the train. So far so good. Nobody seems to be following me. But could someone be waiting in the station?
Taking his time to make his way through the lightly populated depot, he slowly walked toward the exit to Forty-Seventh Street, hailed a cab, and watched to see whether anyone appeared to be tailing him. He instructed the cabdriver to make several turns, only giving him the address of his final destination once he was convinced none of the cars behind them were following his path.
Standing near the opening of an alley across the street from the entrance to his apartment building, Jacques spent another half hour making certain that no one was watching him or the apartment. The weather had turned cold and it had begun to rain. By the time he proceeded across the street, he was soaked through and half frozen. For the first time in several days he allowed himself the luxury of thinking about his warm, beautiful, sensuous new wife.
Not having a key and not absolutely clear on the number of their new apartment, Jacques selected a number that seemed familiar, pushed the button, and hoped it was the right one. Almost immediately, the door buzzed.
Exiting the elevator on the fourth floor, he turned right and proceeded down the hallway, inspecting the numbers next to the doors he passed. Glancing ahead, he saw that the door of their apartment was ajar. When he pushed it open, he found Claudine standing in the entrance, dressed in three-inch spike heels, a fur coat, a long strand of pearls, and her most mischievous grin. Her silvery blonde hair was done up in a French twist, accentuating her height. Her turquoise eyes shone like bright spotlights out of her perfectly chiseled Nordic face.
With her left hand, she slowly opened the coat, revealing her nakedness. “Like the pearls?” she asked. With her right hand she handed him a glass of champagne. “How about giving your girl a big hug and a long kiss, getting out of those wet clothes, and taking a long hot shower with an old friend? Welcome home, cowboy.”
Twenty minutes later, Jacques was totally immersed in the charms of his beautiful, affectionate wife, made all the more enjoyable by copious amounts of hot water and foamy soap. The cooling water signaled the rapidly approaching conclusion to what had been an amazing greeting. Not wanting to lose the moment, he brushed a strand of wet hair from her forehead and said, “The warmth of the hearth beckons.”
After they’d dried off and returned to the living room, Jacques poured them a second glass of champagne and gently laid Claudine down in front of the fire.
Staring down at this magnificent woman, her skin glowing with the light of the fire, he asked, “Does this remind you of a certain night in a small cabin in the Swiss Alps?”
“How could it not?” Claudine answered, beckoning him toward her with an index finger.
As he carefully lowered himself onto her, he looked down into her blue-green eyes. I’ve always heard that a woman’s eyes were the window to her soul, he thought. Does she really feel what I am seeing?
Half an hour later, he whispered into her ear, “Claudine, we have to make a choice. We can lie here and freeze to death, or I could put another log on the fire while you find us a blanket and pour us another glass of champagne.”
“I know what kind of a log you want to put on the fire!” she said. “Let’s sit on the couch and you can talk to me. While you’ve been traipsing around the Rocky Mountains catching fish, I’ve been here all by myself with nobody to talk to. I’ll get us that blanket while you put a real log on the fire and open a bottle of the Bordeaux you left in your apartment.”
Settled on the couch under the warm blanket and enjoying the fine wine, Jacques finally began to explain what had happened during his trip.
“It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that it became evident the men in the river were interested in doing more than fishing. I was lucky to get away. The question is, were they able to identify me or follow me when I left Casper? I still don’t know, but it took three days and five trains before I finally arrived at Grand Central.”
Sensing her alarm, he continued, “Don’t worry too much—even after I arrived at the station, I took every precaution to make certain that no one was waiting for me or followed me here. For a half an hour before I pushed the buzzer, I was standing across the street observing. But now that we know Big Oil has had their meeting, we have to assume their plans are under way. The Sentinels need to learn a lot more about what they’re planning—and a whole lot more about the oil industry. We have a lot of ground to cover before we can formulate a plan of our own.”
Chapter 2
SIR DAVID MARCUS
When he woke up the next morning in a strange apartment, Jacques was at first unsure of where he was. Gaining his bearings, he realized two things: Claudine was lying next to him.
Moving slowly to avoid waking her, he eased his way out of the bed. On his way back from the bathroom, he thought, Now if I can just get back into bed without disturbing her, maybe we can continue where we left off last night.
Jacques watched his wife and listened to her quiet breathing while he carefully climbed back in bed. Cuddled up behind her with his arms carefully wrapped around her, he was trying to decide what to do next when quite unexpectedly she said, “If you will give a girl a minute, I’m thinking about a hell of a way we can start the day!”
With a quick wink, she slid out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Jacques listened intently to the little noises she made, the same ones all women seemed to make. When she reappeared, her hair was combed, her face washed, and she was wearing nothing but a mischievous grin. As she slid back into bed her only words were, “Do you think breakfast can wait?”
It was almost noon by the time they finished breakfast. They had consumed two cups of coffee each and finished scanning both newspapers that had been delivered to the door of the apartment. He hated to destroy the moment, but Jacques knew he had no choice but to begin the discussion of Sentinel business with Claudine.
“All we know for certain,” he said, “is that the chief executives of the seven major oil companies have conducted a secret meeting. It’s obvious that we need to understand a lot more about what they discussed and what they are planning. Mike and I had planned, once I completed this trip to Wyoming, to begin preparing for the Allied Bankers Association meeting. As part of our preparation, we scheduled a trip to Washington to pay a call on the Fed chairman and some of our other government contacts. They need to know what’s happening, and we need to hear what they have to say.”
A weary look came across Claudine’s face. He knew she didn’t want to be away from him again this soon.
“This process could take a few days,” said Jacques. “Why don’t you schedule a trip to Europe while I’m in Washington? You could visit your father in Geneva and discuss our concerns with some of his banker friends. On your way through London, you might also consider paying a call on my old friend Sir David Marcus.
“David Marcus?” said Claudine. “Have you told me about him?”
“You’ve heard me speak about David on several occasions. We attended the London School of Economics at the same time and became quite good friends. If there is anyone who can help us develop a better understanding of the Middle Eastern oil world, it’s David. Outside the Sentinels, he’s one of the few people I have learned to respect and trust—as long as it involves business. When it comes to women, it’s an entirely different matter. If it was anybody else but you, I would be worried.”
Claudine laughed. “Oh, Jacques, you know you have nothing to worry about; I learned a long time ago how to handle men like him.”
“Well, when you meet him, be prepared for a shock. In addition to having the title of Duke of Trafalgar bestowed on him, he’s one of the most unusual men you will ever meet. He’s short, maybe only five feet four
, and he’s powerfully built, with shocking red hair and penetrating blue eyes. But it’s not his physical presence that you will remember. David is one of the hardest-working, brightest, and most completely trustworthy men I’ve ever had the chance to know. At least until the next attractive woman enters the room.”
“Perhaps you would like to explain how it is that you know so much about his interest in women? And while you’re at it, you might want tell me why you think I’m so trustworthy.”
Claudine enjoyed watching Jacques squirm for a few moments. Finally she said, “Why don’t you pour us another cup of coffee and relax? If I hadn’t learned to deal with your former ways, I wouldn’t be sitting here. Now tell me about Sir David Marcus—is he really a duke?”
Relieved at the change of subject, Jacques said, “Yes, and he’s the grandson of one of the founders of English Oil, Limited. From the day he joined English Oil, it was always assumed that he would be the third member of the Marcus family to become English Oil’s president.
“But then, three years ago, without warning, David resigned. He sold his shares and used the money to organize his own oil investment advisory firm. When I had the opportunity to ask him why he did it, he gave me a very illuminating answer. He told me that the center of the petroleum universe is going to be domiciled in the Middle East. Without gaining the trust and respect of a small number of sovereign leaders, he said, it will become almost impossible to do business in that region. As a high-profile executive representative of English Oil, it was only natural that David was expected to implement the policies of his family’s company. Accordingly, he was finding there wasn’t very much he could do to break down Middle Eastern leaders’ suspicions.
“He told me he felt, over time, that he could be a more effective deal-maker if he renounced his allegiance to English Oil, created his own independent research and investment company, and began to practice the kinds of things that would clearly suggest he was anxious to win these leaders’ trust and respect.”
With the assistance of the Federal Aviation Administration, Jacques used his list of the planes’ makes, models, and N numbers to learn where each of the chartered aircraft had originated. A few FAA calls to the local fixed-base operators were all that was required to have the planes’ logs released. The logs identified each of the executives, placed them at the Rocky Mountain Club, and established that they were all there at the same time.
As soon as the affidavits were drawn and signed, Jacques had the information he would need to prove that the seven executives had indeed met together in private. And it was a good thing: Morgan Stone had asked him if he would make himself available at the Allied Bankers Association meeting the next day, before he and Mike left for Washington.
Chapter 3
THE BANKERS CONVENE
As Mike Stone entered the Stone City Bank’s executive quarters on the thirty-fifth floor, he couldn’t help but stop, stand in front of the big plate-glass window, and look at the view of the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty, and Ellis Island. No matter how many times he saw the view, it always reminded him of the burden of trust people like him must assume.
Before joining his father at the annual meeting of the Allied Bankers Association in the bank’s boardroom, he stopped for a moment to inspect the size of the group assembled. As he looked through the open door, he saw forty of the world’s leading bankers, who had convened to discuss the anticipated funding requirements of the world’s petroleum industry. Mike couldn’t remember when so many of the prominent members of the ABA had attended the same meeting. He walked in and took a seat toward the head of the table.
“Gentlemen,” Morgan Stone said after giving the bankers a few more minutes to talk among themselves, “thank you for coming. As has been previously announced, I have asked my son, Mike, to join us today. Mike has recently joined the Dean Securities firm in San Francisco where he serves as the President of International Operations. In his new capacity, he has been asked to establish a worldwide futures market for petroleum. His work has required him to make a careful study of the world’s sources of supply, both current and future. He has talked with the most highly regarded economists who are studying the future demand for oil, and he has met with local government officials, oil company executives, exploration experts, and many of you who represent the Oil Club’s banking interests.
“Today, Mike will be talking to us about some of the broader economic and political issues related to the credit requests we are being asked to consider. Mike, if you please?”
Mike cleared his throat and stood. “Good day, gentlemen. Perhaps it would be best if I begin by quantifying the world’s demand for petroleum. The best experts all seem to agree that the world’s daily demand for oil will increase from the wartime demand of approximately four point five million barrels per day to five million barrels by 1950. Thereafter, as a result of anticipated postwar industrial expansion, consumption is expected to double every ten years. Thus, if the experts’ forecasts are correct, ten million barrels per day will be consumed by 1960, twenty million barrels by 1970, or a net increase in daily demand of fifteen million barrels between 1950 and 1970.
“At an estimated total cost of approximately one billion dollars per million barrels of increased capacity, we are talking about total development costs of approximately fifteen billion dollars. Since a ten-year lead time is required from the time development of a new oil field is first considered until the new facility comes on line, we will be asked to commit to this level of funding within the next three years. The bottom line is that the oil industry needs to know that it has reliable access to fifteen billion dollars of developmental capital.”
Ignoring the startled coughs and nervous glances among the crowd of bankers, Mike continued. “One of the questions I have been asked to answer is where we are going to find all this new supply. By 1950, the United States will become a net importer of oil. In fewer than ten years, the center of oil production will shift from the Gulf of Mexico to the Middle East. According to our reports, much of the more accessible, higher-quality oil will be developed in smaller, undeveloped countries in the Middle East, North Africa, and Southeast Asia.
“Each of these countries has vastly different cultural and religious backgrounds—from each other as well as from us. These are not countries with histories of modern governments, free enterprise, and sophisticated legal systems.
“It is not a question of whether we need to invest fifteen billion dollars into these uncharted waters. About that we have little choice. It’s a question of how we are going to do it. Until now, we have relied on the capital, the technologies, the management, and the marketing networks of the seven oil companies that presently control the vast majority of the world’s developed petroleum supplies. In my opinion, these seven companies are members of an oligopolistic organization intent on perpetuating their control over the world’s future oil requirements.
“One of the first basic questions we need to ask ourselves is this: Are we comfortable with the idea of remaining dependent on these seven companies to meet our future needs, or do we believe it’s important to encourage the introduction of a more diversified and competitive industry?”
Jim McLain, president of Big Oil’s largest bank, rose to speak. “Mr. Stone, are you suggesting that we, as bankers, should interfere with the efforts of the major oil companies to solve this problem that you have so eloquently described? Are you suggesting that the ABA and its member banks create some new financing vehicle that will fund the developmental efforts of independent oil companies just to create competition for our own clients?”
Silence settled over the room. Morgan Stone’s principal competitor had just challenged the mighty banker’s son, in the sanctity of the Stone City Bank boardroom. Curious as to how the Stones would react, the other bankers sat back in their chairs, waiting with more than mild curiosity to see what was going to happen next.
Mike glanced at his father and noted his slight smi
le.
“No, Mr. McLain, that is not what I am suggesting,” Mike said congenially. “I am asserting that the oil industry, as we know it, is a closed, highly incestuous group of seven companies that want to do everything they can to control the production of the new oil reserves for themselves. They didn’t earn the name ‘Oil Club’ by accident. Their stated policy of protecting the future of oil development for themselves possesses all the earmarks of eighteenth-century British Liberalism, which some feel is the source of twentieth-century oligopolistic economic policies, more commonly referred to as cartels.
“If you remember, under British Liberalism, industrialists, acting in concert with the government and the financial community, used their combined influence to provide themselves with greater market control, prevent new products from competing with their established product lines, and inhibit new organizations from entering their marketplace.
“Therefore, I’m asking you, sir, whether you seriously believe that the Allied Bankers Association should consider reverting to a two-hundred-year-old economic ideology and agree to limit its extension of credit to these companies alone. Shouldn’t our goal be to encourage the growth of a larger, more diverse industry capable of ensuring the world that it has an adequate and reliable supply of affordable oil? Shouldn’t we as financiers be concentrating on how we can use our financial resources to encourage the entry of all qualified companies to help achieve this goal?”
Mike had barely sat down in his chair before McLain was on his feet. “Morgan, I’m sure you understand that the major oil companies have already met and informed us they are interested in establishing new lines of credit for their exclusive use. At the bank level, it’s not a question of how we feel; it’s an issue of our having to respect the interests of such important clients.”
Crude Deception Page 2
