Crude Deception

by Gordon Zuckerman

  Three new public opinion polls are being designed to measure the public’s attitude about this foreign profits tax provision.

  The key question being tested by these polls is this: Is the public interest better served by preserving the foreign profits tax and incentivizing the consumption of foreign oil, or by eliminating the provision and using the savings to reduce taxes?

  To ensure the reliability of the results, three of the nation’s leading market survey companies have been retained. These surveys will be conducted in the six states that produce over 90 percent of America’s oil and in six states that are the highest consumers of petroleum products. The states of California, Pennsylvania, and Texas will appear in both polls.

  The normally unflappable personal secretary of Phil Warner, senior editor of the New York Times, rushed into her boss’s office without knocking.

  “Mr. Warner? Jack Hardy of Titus Oil is on the phone. By the way he’s talking, he seems very upset.”

  The senior editor hardly had time to place the phone next to his ear before a voice shouted, “Phil, what the hell is going on?”

  “Calm down, Jack,” he replied. “I’m sure these surveys won’t reveal anything you can’t handle!”

  “How the hell did this thing get started, Phil? I thought we had it stopped!”

  “So did I. Several weeks ago Walter Matthews approached me with the idea about polling voters. After we talked, I thought it best for the Times to decline from funding the research project. I just assumed that would be the end of the matter. Apparently some other private party has funded Walt’s surveys.”

  “Where could Walter be getting the financial support to conduct these surveys?” said Jack. “They have to be very expensive.”

  “Jack, I honestly don’t know. When I asked him to reveal the source of his funding, he refused.”

  For the rest of the day, calls from irate senators, congressmen, and oil company executives jammed the newspaper’s switchboard. Phil couldn’t remember when anything the paper had done had caused such a furor. Smiling, he leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands behind his neck. Well, this time it’s going to be really interesting to see where the chips fall! The genie isn’t out of the bottle yet, but the cork is real loose. If he ever gets loose, putting him back in will be harder than putting toothpaste back into the tube.

  News of the pending survey quickly spread throughout the oil industry. In Caracas, Houston, San Francisco, New York, New Jersey, London, Teheran, Baghdad, and Riyadh, oil-company executives with tense, drawn faces met to assess the implications of the study and to formulate plans to minimize the damage.

  In Washington, the congressmen and senators aligned with the oil lobby were being asked questions they didn’t want to answer. In their casual meetings in the halls, in the privacy of their offices, or in their clubs, they continually asked one another who was behind the surveys, and how they could be stopped.

  But the senators from the more populous but non-oil-producing states were smiling. The letters were pouring in, in a ratio of nine to one favoring the repeal of the foreign profits tax provision.

  The senators from the oil-producing states were not smiling. Domestic oil producers were already applying pressure toward repeal. Big Oil was pushing them hard in the opposite direction. And the majority of the people, even in these oil states, were favoring repeal. Transparency was becoming a very real issue. Local voters and campaign contributors were becoming a loud and articulate voice against the foreign profits tax provision.

  In Washington, the national contributors were calling their lobbyists. Lobbyists were calling congressmen. Dinner parties, golf games, hunting and fishing trips were being arranged. Nobody was amused.

  The President of the United States was smiling. Might this struggle over the foreign profits tax be the start of a long-overdue reform movement directed at eliminating the tax preference for foreign oil? Was it the work of Jacques Roth and his friends? It certainly looked like something they might do.

  Roger Malone, too, was smiling. This time Jacques has really shaken the tree! the chairman thought. I wonder how he plans to use the information …

  At the Castle Dome Ranch, Señor Juan Pablo Perez was also smiling, and not only because he and Mike had come up with the proof they were looking for. The newspaper article indicated to him that someone else had taken up the cause of bringing fairness and honesty to the industry. He briefly wondered if his new American friends had anything to do with the organization of the polling surveys.

  In his London office, Sir David Marcus sat at his desk, smiling. “The industry’s historical tree of order is about to be shaken,” he said aloud. “And with change comes new opportunity.”

  Chapter 12

  CLAUDINE AND NATALIE

  Claudine had forgotten how glorious an English breakfast could be. Eggs cooked to order, broiled kippers, freshly squeezed orange juice, toast, unsalted butter, and the finest of English marmalades were all set before her. Sir David Marcus was sitting opposite her at the brightly lit London restaurant enjoying his second cup of coffee. He was refreshed after an enjoyable night at the French Club and anxious to resume the previous day’s conversation.

  “Claudine, I’ve been thinking about the problem of raising so much money in a hostile environment,” he said. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a world map, which he unfolded and spread across the table. “This morning, I placed marks on thirty separate locations where I believe we might be able to identify motivated sources of investment for our oil development bonds. The presence of a mark indicates an unusual regional need to create a more diversified and competitive petroleum market. You will note that there are three different types of mark. The round mark signifies that there are petroleum reserves waiting to be developed. The square mark indicates a market that supplies its petroleum needs by buying oil on the open market. The triangle represents a regional money center needing to warehouse surplus funds in liquid, investment-quality, interest-bearing bonds.

  When he had finished giving her his rationale for marking each location, Claudine said, “David, as I listened to you I couldn’t help but notice that each time you discussed one of those marks, you mentioned some overriding reason which would motivate that particular group of investors to become involved.

  “And I’m beginning to see what you’re saying—we have to help these investors solve their own unique problems as we try to raise funds. So many of them have compelling reasons to support what we’re doing. When I look through your financial telescope, I see a much different picture of the oil companies. Perhaps the long arm of Big Oil isn’t as long or intimidating as we originally thought.”

  “Yes, but I wouldn’t underestimate the power of the Oil Club. No one has ever attempted to do what you are going to try, but I doubt that there has ever been a time when international investment cooperation was so needed. If anybody has a chance to pull it off, it has to be you and your Sentinel friends.”

  The work portion of their conversation completed, he asked Claudine, “How would you like to join me for opening night of London’s newest musical? Afterwards, you are welcome to accompany the star, Miss Natalie Cummins, and me to dinner at one of London’s newest private supper clubs. Natalie is a very interesting woman, and I’m sure you will enjoy meeting her.”

  Obviously, David has no idea that Natalie and Jacques had an affair during the war, Claudine reflected. I’m not even sure Jacques knows I know about his relationship with Miss Cummins. This could turn out to be a very interesting evening. How often does a wife have the opportunity to meet one of her husband’s former girlfriends, particularly someone as famous and talented as Natalie Cummins?

  “Thank you, David. I’m a great fan of Miss Cummins. I’ve actually seen her current show in New York twice, but I’d love to see it again—especially if I get to meet her afterward!”

  “Perhaps I should warn you—I have already invited a mystery guest who will be joining us. You may find him most in
teresting. He will meet us at Claridge’s at seven o’clock, in time to have a drink and become acquainted and still have time to make the curtain.”

  Lost in thoughts of what she would wear, Claudine simply nodded and thanked David once more for his invitation.

  Claudine rarely gave much thought to impressing new people. This night, however, was different; everything had to be just right.

  Entering the ground-floor restaurant in Claridge’s, Claudine could see that David had already spotted her and was moving in her direction. As they walked back to the table, she could tell he was proud to be escorting her between the tables, introducing her to some of his friends and enjoying the envious looks of all the other males.

  She met a flurry of new people on the walk across the establishment, and it was only when they approached David’s table that she recognized her old friend Prince Habib of the House of Saud.

  “Claudine, what a pleasure it is to see you again after all these years,” said the prince, standing to greet her. “Life in the world of international banking hasn’t been the same since you moved to the United States and married that rogue French friend of ours.”

  Noticing David’s confusion, the prince said, “Claudine, I hope you don’t mind my little surprise of joining you this evening. I didn’t tell David of our previous acquaintance because I didn’t want to rob him of the pleasure of thinking he was introducing us. By the way, I was in Geneva this week meeting with your father. He is very excited about your forthcoming visit.”

  One look at David’s face was all it took for both Claudine and Prince Habib to break out in laughter. “David,” the prince said, “If I didn’t know you better, I would have said you look like a little boy who just learned there is no Santa Claus!”

  They sat down as a waiter poured Claudine a glass of wine, and at last David responded. “Habib, how many of the Sentinels do you know? I knew you and Mike had attended the Harvard Business School at the same time, but I never knew you were a friend of both Jacques and Claudine. You could have told me before I went to all that trouble of explaining who they were!”

  “David, the banking relationships between my family and the Roths and the Demaureuxs date back to before I was born. You have no idea how many dinner parties Jacques, Claudine, and I were all required to sit through together, and never allowed to talk. I think I was thirteen years old when I first fell in love with Claudine. By the time she left for school in the United States, I was fully prepared to give up the Bedouin practice of multiple wives to marry just her, but she never gave me the chance.”

  The combination of the laudatory London reviews, the presence of London’s homegrown star, and the excitement of an opening night’s performance all served to make the show the hottest ticket in town. Every seat was filled, and there were standing-room-only patrons gathered in the rear of the theater.

  Prince Habib and Claudine watched the show from their host’s private box, the last one to the left of the stage, overlooking the orchestra pit. Engaged in quiet conversation as they waited for the overture to begin, the three friends were oblivious to the attention they were attracting from much of the audience. The sight of such a beautiful woman sitting between the celebrated Saudi prince and the much-reported-on Duke of Trafalgar was a difficult vision for people to ignore.

  As the overture concluded, the lights dimmed, the curtains opened, and the celebrated star made her entrance. When she smiled, the audience erupted into appreciative applause.

  Claudine could not help but be impressed. Without singing a single note, dancing a single step, or uttering a single word, she had captivated the audience.

  By the time the final curtain had come down and the audience had given the last of their standing ovations, Claudine was exhausted from all the excitement of watching a true star dance and sing her way through three acts. Her hands were sore from clapping; she was relieved when David tugged slightly on her arm, motioning for her to follow him backstage.

  Standing in the wings, Claudine, the prince, and David watched an excited Natalie comparing opening-night notes with the play’s director and its two famous composers. When they’d finished talking, they turned and started walking toward the left wing of the stage. At almost the same time, all four of them appeared to notice David and his friends.

  David stepped toward them and smiled. “Natalie, I would like to introduce my dear friend, Jacques Roth’s new wife, Claudine Demaureux. Claudine is a highly respected member of the international banking community. In addition to perfecting a new financial instrument, she is here to organize a new oil-development fund. Don’t be fooled by her appearance, she is a smart, accomplished lady.”

  David couldn’t help but be puzzled by the two women’s silent interaction as he introduced them. Both stood very still, assessing each other, as the director and composers took their leave.

  After a long, awkward moment, Claudine finally broke the ice. “Miss Cummins, I am a great fan. I saw your show twice in New York before you left to return to England. I enjoyed both your performances, but tonight I noticed something even deeper in your interpretation of your character.”

  Flashing the warm smile that had made her an audience favorite, Natalie said, “Thank you for noticing. Ever since I returned to London, I have been taking more acting lessons. It’s a personal goal of mine to someday be regarded as a serious actress.”

  “Natalie,” said David, “this quiet, handsome man next to me—who, believe me, is not used to waiting so long to be introduced—is Prince Habib of the House of Saud. He is a great fan of yours and has insisted that I introduce you to him. But before I do, I want to make it quite clear that you are my date. I insisted that he behave himself.”

  “Thank you for the introduction, David,” said Natalie as she shook the prince’s hand. “Claudine, gentlemen, now if you will excuse me, I have to change. It may take a while. Why don’t the three of you go ahead? I’ll meet you at David’s club.”

  Watching Natalie return to her dressing room, Claudine thought, I can’t believe how I’m reacting to her. I don’t even resent her. In fact, I’m flattered that Jacques chose me. I think I could even grow to like her.

  Chapter 13

  A RETURN TO HONG KONG

  It was June 27, 1946, a good three days and two stops after Cecelia’s takeoff from San Francisco. She was startled when the wheels of her plane touched down on the Hong Kong runway. Can it really be more than ten years since I left home? she thought.

  Standing in the plane’s doorway, she looked on the tarmac below and recognized her father immediately. Despite his graying hair and thicker waistline, his erect posture and penetrating eyes reminded her that he was still the proud and powerful Tai-Pan of the House of Chang. Even at this distance, I can sense the aura of his power, she mused. He is still the Great Eagle of Hong Kong.

  She still remembered the day she first heard her father referred to by that name. One of her girlfriends at school was repeating what she’d heard her father say at home: “From the way that young Tai-Pan fellow is recruiting trade from all over the Orient, you would think he was the Great Eagle of Hong Kong!”

  She watched as he made his way toward the bottom of the stairs that led up to the plane. Carefully descending, Cecelia was seized by a sudden fear. Was he still the soft, gentle, and caring father she loved so much? Was she still his little girl?

  She didn’t have to wait long for an answer. The Great Eagle made his way forward, spread his wings, and enveloped his beloved daughter.

  Safely inside the black Mercedes limousine, Cecelia sat close to her father. Leaning her weight against him, her head touching his shoulder, she held both his hands in hers.

  It wasn’t long before Cecelia noticed they were taking a different route home than the one she remembered.

  Tai-Pan asked his chauffeur to stop at an old teahouse in the oldest part of Hong Kong, down by the wharf. Turning to his daughter he said, “I’d like to talk to you before we both become distracted by all th
e excitement waiting for you at home. Mai Li’s Teahouse is the best place I know where we can sit quietly and speak of the many things that have passed since we were last together.”

  Mai Li had been Cecelia’s nanny, raising her as if she were her own daughter. She had also been Tai-Pan’s number-one mistress. When their relationship was over, he had purchased the teahouse for her and set her up in business. He would frequently visit his old friend, and his private booth was always available when he came to think and didn’t want to be disturbed.

  Consistent with her normal custom, Mai Li greeted Tai-Pan formally, bowing and expressing her honor at having him visit her humble teahouse. She was so intent on what she was doing, she at first failed to recognize Cecelia.

  “Mai Li,” said Tai-Pan, “say hello to Cecelia. Look how she has grown up. She is a very important banker in San Francisco who has just traveled seven thousand, five hundred miles—to see you.”

  “Oh, Tai-Pan, how you like to joke with me!” said Mai Li gleefully as she embraced Cecelia.

  After Mai Li had gotten over her initial shock, she seated Tai-Pan and his daughter at his personal booth, the one in the back away from interfering chatter and eavesdroppers.

  When the tea had been served, the father began to share what was in his heart. “Cecelia, I used to receive regular reports from the Bank of Hong Kong regarding your international banking activities during the war. That’s when I learned of the local network you established to move the money, bonds, and gold of so many of our friends into and out of China and Hong Kong.