Looking straight into Hardy’s eyes, Roger said, “Jack, this time you and your friends have gone too far. Do you think the government is going to tolerate your employing Samson or anyone else to conduct paramilitary operations here or in Europe? That day is over. Unless we can come to a quick understanding regarding the unharmed release of Jacques Roth, you and your oil buddies will be subjected to some very interesting consequences.”
“Roger,” said Hardy, clearly shaken, “I don’t want to appear disrespectful, but do you really think you can come marching in here, tell me your suspicions about Samson, and try to convince me that we can be proven guilty of all those charges? Do you expect Titus Oil and the other oil companies to change our strategic course because you have a recording of one conversation?”
“Don’t screw around,” said Roger. “I don’t have time to play games. Do you really think I would be here if all we had was a recording of one of your telephone conversations? How do you know that we don’t have other tapes of conversations between Clarke and your friends at English Oil? Or tapes between you and them? How do you know that Clarke hasn’t already told us about his relationship with you and his other employers? Don’t forget, we have the sworn confessions of Samson operatives—those are the ones who weren’t killed.
“But that’s not the point. I am here to offer you a choice. Either you agree to sign this affidavit I’m about to hand you, immediately cancel all your arrangements with Samson, and produce Roth within the next twenty-four hours, or you can expect to face the full investigative energies of the Justice Department, the Department of Commerce, the FBI, and the IRS. And, I’m sure that I don’t have to remind you that your commercial banking friends will have to receive the approval of the Federal Reserve before they can expect to access the funds they will need to finance the development of new oil fields. This is not the time for you to be fucking around!”
“Roger, you still don’t understand!” said Hardy. “Threaten us any way you wish, but before you decide to take action, it might be best if you understood our position. If we are successful, we will have gained control of ninety percent of the world’s oil supply. If we fail, we can slow down production of our current oil fields, reducing the supply of available petroleum and driving up the price of oil. The value of our existing oil reserves will become incalculable. It’s a win-win situation. Knowing this, do you really believe your threats are going to deter us?”
“Jack, your reputation for being a tough, hard-driving force in the oil industry is not in question,” said the chairman. “If I didn’t acknowledge your leadership, I wouldn’t be here. It’s the Jacques Roth situation that concerns me. Sign this affidavit, and I’m out of here. Once you produce the French banking empire’s scion, alive and unharmed, you and your pals can do whatever you think best when it comes to the oil industry.”
Roger watched as his adversary digested what he had just said. “Roger, for the sake of argument, what happens if I sign your affidavit and we can’t produce Jacques Roth because we don’t have him?”
Reaching for the document, Roger said, “Let me add a postscript!”
After returning to his Washington office, Roger placed three phone calls.
The first was to Secretary Ainsworth. “Henry, Jack signed our document. I think you folks at the Treasury and I may have heard the last of Samson, at least for a little while. If they have Jacques, they should release him in the next twenty-four hours.”
He then made another call: “Mr. President, things went as we hoped. Hardy has signed the affidavit. I think we have seen the last of the Oil Club’s attempts to blackmail our government.”
The final call was to Henri Demaureux at La Garoupe. “Henri, the affidavit has been signed. For all intents and purposes, I think you can consider Samson neutralized. They should no longer represent a threat to you or your daughter, and they should release Jacques within the next twenty-four hours. I do think, however, it is entirely possible that Samson doesn’t have Jacques. In that case, we’ll have to look for another explanation.”
Chapter 32
EL SUERTUDO
On the seventh day of Jacques’s disappearance, a crewman on a Catalonian fishing boat spotted a small craft with its mainsail flapping about in the breeze. Unaccustomed to seeing small sailboats in the fishing lanes off the Mediterranean coast of Spain, the crewman motioned for the captain to navigate toward what appeared to be an abandoned craft. As the commercial fishing boat drew closer, the two men could see the boat’s sole occupant lying unconscious in the bottom of the small cockpit.
The motionless body did not show any signs of recognition as the fishing boat approached. After two blasts on the air horn, there was still no movement. Pulling alongside the sailboat, the captain climbed down and secured the smaller boat to his own. He inspected the body and felt a slight pulse. “He’s alive, but just barely. His lips are parched, his tongue is swollen, and he has burns over most of his exposed body.”
The captain and one of his crew succeeded in rolling the unconscious man onto what was left of the jib and carefully lifted him onto the larger boat. After carrying him to a small room that served as the captain’s cabin, they gently lowered him onto a bed. After instructing the crewman to soak a clean cloth in a pan of fresh water, the captain squeezed the wet cloth and slowly dripped water into the man’s mouth. Once he saw the man lick his lips, the captain went above and gave the crew orders to finish what they were doing. He was preparing to return to port.
The man carried no identification. An inspection of the boat yielded no clues as to his identity. Not certain what to do, the captain thought, If he’s still alive when we get him to my home, perhaps my wife and daughter will know how to take care of him.
As the captain navigated toward the coast, he looked back at the sea behind them. They’d left Jacques’s battered sailboat bobbing, abandoned, on the water.
Torreblanca was a small coastal Catalonian fishing village, well off the track of tourists or commercial vendors, with the exception of the regular visits of Parisian fish buyers. The people of Torreblanca had long adhered to a Catalonian custom of preserving their independence from the rest of the world.
Located on the eastern coast of Spain, midway between Valencia and Barcelona, near the mouth of the Ebro River, the small village had survived for centuries by harvesting the unusual and bountiful species of fish that were attracted by the nutrient-rich waters that drained from the watersheds of the Pyrenees.
It took all four crewmen to lift up the sail and carry the unconscious man up the narrow side street that led from the dock to the captain’s home. As predicted, the captain’s wife and daughter knew exactly what to do. They washed off the tall, dehydrated, sun-charred man. They changed his bandage, cut his hair, and gave him a shave before putting him in bed. Water was slowly dripped into his mouth until he would swallow involuntarily.
“Getting enough fluids back into him must come first,” said the captain’s wife. “Next, we will treat his burns with the juice of the aloe plant. We’ll worry about nourishment after he wakes up.”
For the next two days they repeated the process of giving him water every half hour. On the third day, when Jacques regained consciousness, he was all alone in a dark and strange room. His yell of terror brought the wife and her daughter running.
“Where am I?” Jacques shouted in English and then in French. “What has happened to me?” Understanding neither language, all the woman could do was respond in her gentle Castilian tongue. Unable to understand the words, he could sense the kindliness in her voice. He looked around and saw that he wasn’t captive; the door was open, he was comfortable, and the woman was smiling. A pretty young girl entered the room carrying a bowl of soup, a big wooden spoon, and a large napkin.
Sitting down on the bed next to him, she laid the napkin on his chest, filled the spoon with the clear broth, and tasted it for warmth before slowly pouring it into his mouth. Patiently, she continued feeding him and talking to him
in the same strange language, in that soft, lyrical voice. On the fifth day, Jacques was able to get out of bed on his own and make his way into the bathroom. He had barely enough strength to return. He remained in bed and slept as best he could between his regular intakes of water and food.
Finally, by the end of the week, he was able to get out of bed, walk around the house, and sit in the chair on the small balcony that looked out over the Mediterranean. It was when he was looking out over the sea that he experienced his first flash of memory. The view had brought back a vision from another time and another place.
He learned the name of the pretty daughter was Gloria. She began to take him for short walks around the fishing village. As they ventured about, Jacques would see familiar sites and his visual memory would briefly reopen, only to close again as soon as he tried to analyze what he was seeing. At least the flashes are coming more frequently, he thought.
Now ready for stronger nourishment, Jacques would join his new family at the dinner table, enjoy the food they put on his plate, particularly the fish, and quietly listen to the strange-sounding conversation. His strength was returning, and he was taking longer walks.
By the start of the third week, Jacques was beginning to understand some of what he was hearing and started to speak a few words of the strange language. He was gaining weight, and the wound on his head had healed. One night over dinner, the captain decided that Jacques should go out on the fishing boat and begin to earn his keep. The crew, always needing an extra hand on deck, would be pleased to teach him the different tasks.
Jacques’s strength was returning; he was gaining weight and becoming tanned like the rest of fishermen. His six-feet-three stature and blue eyes clearly differentiated him from the others.
For reasons no one seemed able to explain, both the size of the catch and the quality of the fish on the captain’s boat seemed to be improving. Members of the other crews and the buyers in the market could see that there was something special and mysterious about the man they now called El Suertudo, “the lucky one.”
Each afternoon, Parisian fish buyers would be waiting to inspect and bid on each fisherman’s daily catch. Interested but not qualified to participate in the age-old haggling routine, Jacques would stand aside and watch the process unfold, casually talking to one of the fish buyer’s helpers.
Late one afternoon, after the market had closed, he was flattered when one of his new companions asked him if he could take his picture.
Chapter 33
A MEETING WITH ROGER
Mike had arrived in Washington the night before his scheduled meeting with Reserve Chairman Malone and a few key senators. Distracted by his continuing thoughts of Jacques, who had now been missing for several weeks, Mike had to force himself to prepare for the meeting. If only Jacques were here, he would know what to do! I never expected to be the one responsible for convincing these men of the necessity of issuing our proposed oil development bonds.
Mike was greeted warmly upon his arrival at Roger Malone’s private office the following morning.
“Mike, I understand what an important and sensitive subject we are going to be discussing today. It occurred to me, however, that it might be a good idea if we talked about Jacques before we join the others.”
“I agree,” said Mike, waiting for the chairman to continue.
“I know you understand that the five gentlemen waiting in the next room are some of your greatest admirers in Washington, and that they don’t need to be convinced of the merits of your plan. They are, however, concerned about a couple of subjects. The first, and by far the most important, concerns your resolve and that of the others about proceeding with your plan in the event that Jacques fails to reappear.
“Second, if we are going to pass the necessary legislation, they need to ask you the same tough questions they are expecting to have to answer themselves. It’s important that you assist them with the answers as best as you can. While we understand it is critical that you develop public support at the grassroots level, passage of the enabling bill will still require a full-court press at the congressional level.”
“I understand, Roger. Before we start, is there any new news on Jacques?”
“Yes, two things. First, I met for a second time with Jack Hardy yesterday. As an addendum to our agreement, we have agreed to withhold our attack on Samson and the oil companies until we can determine what happened to Jacques. I’m not quite certain why I believe Hardy, but he has convinced me that there has to be some other explanation for Jacques’s disappearance; we just don’t know what it is. I’ve known Jack for a long time and believe he is capable of doing almost anything, but he is not a liar! All I can say is, God help them if we learn that they are responsible for Jacques’s disappearance and have deliberately misled us.”
“You said there was something else?”
“Two days ago it was reported that what was left of a small wooden sailboat was found near the eastern coast of Spain. It could be nothing, but until we have checked it out, we can’t know for sure that it wasn’t Jacques’s.”
“How could he have been in that area?” said Mike. “That’s more than two hundred and fifty miles from where the French navy has been searching!”
“As I said, we don’t know. But in the meantime, I have asked the authorities not to contact either Pierre or Claudine. There’s no point in raising their hopes until we know for certain that the wreckage was indeed Jacques’s boat.”
“But if he’d made it to shore alive, he would have contacted us by now,” said Mike.
“We’ve thought the same thing. But it’s possible that he can’t. He could be lying hurt in some local hospital or any number of other places. Claudine told us that he left his wallet at La Garoupe. Without any identification, no one would be able to determine who he is.”
An hour later, Mike, Roger, and five of Roger’s government colleagues were sitting around the chairman’s elegantly furnished office.
When Roger signaled it was time for Mike to begin, he said, “Perhaps it might suffice if I briefly recap some of the more important things that have occurred since we last met?”
“This should be interesting,” Senator Lucas of California murmured sarcastically.
Ignoring him, Mike explained the need to develop a plan of their own to slow down the quest of the major oil companies to perpetuate their control over the world’s oil supply. “The heart of our plan calls for our producing a separate source of financing, one that eliminates the dependency on the balance sheets of the Oil Club. The only source of money capable of creating a viable alternative is the international private investment market.”
“Come on, Mike, are you serious?” said Senator Hess of Pennsylvania. “How do you know that there’s sufficient capacity, much less the motivated cooperation you will need to fund fifteen billion dollars?”
“Sir, we’ve done our homework,” said Mike. “We believe, contingent upon our receiving the assistance we are seeking from the federal government, that it will be difficult, but not impossible. We think we can make it work!”
“Just exactly what are you asking us to consider?” asked Senator Armstrong of Indiana, looking very suspicious.
“Two things: the formation of a new government agency, authorized to issue international oil development bonds, and the support of those bonds with the full faith and credit of the United States government, once they can be secured by the revenues of the proven production of the subject oil fields.”
Senator Lucas was the first to respond. “Mike, you understand that the formation of a government agency and providing those kinds of guarantees will require an act of Congress, right? Even if the White House is prepared to support your plan, you are talking about challenging the well-entrenched Washington oil lobby. Obtaining consent from both houses of Congress could be a very tall order.”
Mike nodded. “Understanding that we would need public support, at the grassroots level, we knew we had to expose the vulnerable un
derbelly of the oil lobby.”
“So that was the real motive behind Walt Matthews’s crusade against the foreign profits tax provision?” Senator Lucas asked.
“The modification of the tax code represented a trial balloon,” said Mike. “It was Walt’s contention that by appealing directly to the American people, we would force Congress to publicly choose between supporting the vested interests of the oil lobby or the best interests of their informed and angered constituencies.”
“You and your friends have certainly developed an interesting technique for serving notice on the Oil Club,” said Senator Lucas. “You may have caught them by surprise the first time, but they will be prepared and waiting for you this time.”
At this point, Chairman Malone broke in. “Mike, why don’t you lead us through the details of what you have in mind?”
After listening to Mike’s presentation, Senator Hess asked, “If we are not prepared to put up the money, why should we consider putting up our guarantees? What’s the difference?”
“There are differences, Senator. One, the government doesn’t have to fund fifteen billion dollars, and two, the transactions can be structured in such a manner that the exposure becomes quantifiable. The related cost of the guarantees can be included in the cost of capital charged to the borrower. Put another way, the borrower pays for the risk associated with his borrowing.”
“Roger,” said Senator Armstrong, “this young man knows what he’s talking about. Currently, my committee is considering a similar approach to help finance the exploding postwar demand for housing. I don’t know why, for collateral purposes, we can’t conceptually consider revenue-generative oil fields as the equivalent to interest-bearing notes secured by properly constituted home mortgages.”
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