Crude Deception

by Gordon Zuckerman

  Standing up, Mike said, “Tony, thank you for your words of encouragement and the use of your system. I would like to add something to what you just said. We need to consider the trust factors that the information gleaned from Señor Perez’s files revealed. We also should consider the influence of U.S. guarantees. I think we may have underestimated the persuasiveness of our own argument. We’ve even been assured we have the support of the White House.

  “If any of you have had the opportunity to study David’s investment-center map, I have to believe you share my amazement how broad and diverse the potential sources of economic interest are. There is no way to gauge the effect of these qualitative arguments or the attractiveness of our offering terms until we begin to meet with the investment managers.”

  “The American people haven’t yet spoken,” said Cecelia. “Once we’ve created and passed the necessary legislation, the will of Americans might play a more influential role. Imagine how the big banks might react when faced with the possibility of being excluded from one of this country’s most important financings. Maybe the strength of the Oil Club’s position is not as commanding as they would like us to believe.”

  Ian Meyer, who had been sitting quietly and listening to all the talk of numbers, finally said, “I’m not certain I understand all the numbers, or what they mean. All I know is that we are talking about a very complex and large transaction. I don’t think I need to remind you, it was only five years ago that we conjured up the idea of forging a hundred million dollars of the Germans’ gold certificates. If a hundred million seemed like a big number then, can you imagine how people are going to react to the suggestion that we need to raise fifteen billion dollars? Before we overreact to the big number, why don’t we concentrate on completing the funding of the one-billion-dollar prototype? I know we’re done organizing that exercise, but once we complete it, maybe we will have a better feel for the remaining fourteen billion.”

  Chapter 36

  A LINE IN THE SAND

  Following the passage of the bill that eliminated the foreign profits tax, rumors were beginning to circulate. A second bill authorizing the formation of a government agency to issue oil development bonds was making its way through Congress. While the first bill was viewed as an anti-oil tax issue, the second bill was regarded as a direct threat to the Oil Club’s desire to perpetuate its majority control of the world’s oil supply. The battle lines were being drawn.

  The executive management of the seven major oil companies understood that if the law were to pass, the presence of an alternative source of development financing could upset their desire to organize an economic blockade. They had no alternative but to utilize their highly organized oil lobby in Congress to oppose the pending legislation.

  A line in the sand was about to be drawn. Congressmen were going to have to choose. Would they back their sources of financial campaign support, or were they going to protect the interests of their voting constituencies?

  Proponents of the new bill would argue that its genius came in providing the funding needed to ensure the orderly and competitive development of reliable and adequate supplies of least-cost oil.

  Opponents of the bill contended that the same result could be achieved without the public’s involvement.

  The bill’s effects weren’t limited to Congress and the oil companies. The Oil Club’s banking partners were attempting to support the needs of their biggest clients, and the Sentinels were preparing to take their case to the people.

  The battle had become big news. Walt Matthews was reporting on it regularly in the Times and in thirty-two syndicated newspapers. Time was scheduled for the bill’s sponsors to hold press conferences and make guest appearances on radio talk shows. They made themselves available for interviews by the financial press, citizen activist groups, and the reporters of the leading magazines.

  The policies of both political parties were being reshaped. The democratic process of the United States was being fully tested. Control of the world’s oil supply was at stake.

  Walter was no longer having trouble generating funding for new surveys. The polls were beginning to reveal favorable ratings for the government’s ingenuity in solving important problems. The public’s interest was growing in what was rapidly becoming an important national issue.

  The members of both houses of Congress were going home on weekends. They were talking to the local political bosses, they were holding town meetings, and they were reading and answering their mail.

  The issue was also rousing the people. Voting records of their congressional representatives were being studied. Independent views were being aggregated into a single, loud voice of public opinion, all amplified by the reporting of each new opinion poll.

  It wasn’t long before the elected representatives had a clear understanding of the sentiment of their voters. Hiding in the shadows was no longer an option; they were going to have to make a choice.

  Oil Club lobbyists were working overtime. Private meetings were being scheduled, questions were being asked. Campaign donors were making veiled threats of future abandonment. The rank and file of both political parties was attempting to exert its maximum influence.

  Walt Matthews saw an opportunity to appeal to an even larger national audience. Knowing that certain key congressmen were caught between the unreported backroom pressure of the Washington lobbyists and the well-reported interests of their local constituencies, he wasn’t willing to settle for limiting his energies to writing his syndicated column. He was using his influence with the working press to encourage them to poll and report more complete accounts of local voter interests and preferences.

  News of the battle began to spread. The results of local polls were being picked up by news agencies and were reported across the country. Public interest was growing. What had started out as a state-by-state issue was rapidly turning into a national issue that pitted the public’s needs against the agendas of those with vested interests. David and Goliath cartoons appeared in the editorial sections of the local newspapers, the New Yorker, Life, Time, and the Saturday Evening Post.

  The mounting public hue and cry was not only making it more difficult for the Oil Club’s Washington lobby to maintain control over the congressional vote, but it was also negatively influencing the public’s trust of the seven major oil companies.

  Unexpectedly, the voters were beginning to raise a second issue. Why should they purchase gasoline from companies they didn’t trust? When the more consumer-oriented members of the different boards of directors began to realize that the problem wouldn’t go away, they were forced to consider the possible consequences of what was happening at the service stations. At an increasing number of board meetings, directors were saying, “Losing a key vote in Congress is one thing, but antagonizing the public consumer is quite another matter. Is this a risk we should be taking?”

  In the House, straw votes were becoming more frequent. The early results, while still favoring denial, demonstrated that an increasing number of middle-of-the-roaders were beginning to favor passage. Then a strange thing began to happen. One by one, some of the congressmen who had traditionally supported the Oil Club began to switch their votes. When asked to explain their change of heart, they would say, “Oh, I don’t think I’ve changed. It’s always been my position to support the interests of the voters I represent.”

  The Oil Club’s reaction to the negative news was equally surprising. There were few threats of retribution. In some quarters there were vague reports that certain major oil executives appeared to be relieved. “After all,” said one, “by not publicly opposing the proposed legislation, we can still privately use our influence over the American banks to prevent the independents from getting their financing, without risking the possibility of further antagonizing our customer.”

  The momentum for passage was building. Each day’s poll revealed steady progress toward the needed 228 votes. When the straw count for passage exceeded 235, people stopped counting. B
y the time the bill reached the floor, it was approved by acclamation and sent on to the Senate for approval.

  Chapter 37

  A REUNION

  Pierre Roth’s secretary knocked gently on the door of his private office before entering. “Excuse me, Mr. Roth,” she said, “there is a man waiting outside who would like to see you. He says it’s extremely important. Apparently it has something to do with Jacques. He gave me a copy of your reward poster and this photograph to show you.”

  I hope this isn’t someone’s idea of a very cruel joke, Pierre thought. After all this time, how is it possible that someone would show up with a photograph of Jacques?

  Almost afraid to look at the picture, Pierre reached for the photograph. The man in the picture seemed taller and gaunter than he remembered Jacques being. He was deeply tanned, wore a beard, had long unkempt hair, and wasn’t wearing shoes. But as Pierre studied the picture, he realized, If I took away the beard and the long hair, the person was definitely Jacques. The blank look on his face confuses me, but I would recognize my son under any conditions.

  Walking over to the window of his office, Pierre used the natural light to help him study the picture more carefully. Finally, he turned to the man, whom the secretary had just ushered in, and asked, “Is Jacques alive? Can I see him?”

  “I don’t know about a man named Jacques,” the man said. “We know him as El Suertudo—‘the lucky one.’ The man in this picture is very much alive. Promise to pay me my reward, sign this letter, and I’ll take you to him.”

  The small specialty fish market in Torreblanca comprised eight separate booths. For as long as anybody could remember, the same eight fishing families had been selling their daily catch to the same Parisian fish buyers. Today, only seven of the booths were occupied; the eighth was conspicuously vacant. Asking around the market, the man with the reward poster failed to learn anything except that the captain’s boat had not returned to its berth in the harbor. The slip was still empty. All he was able to learn was that the captain must have run into trouble. Without radios, no one in the market had any way of knowing what might have happened.

  Pierre stood watching the fishermen clean up their stalls and the fish buyers load their daily purchases into their trucks. The market day was coming to a close, and he was beginning to think his hope had been in vain. Deeply disappointed, he was turning to leave when he heard shouting behind him.

  Pierre watched as a man, presumably the captain, busily made his way forward through what was left of the crowd. Following behind him were his four crewmen, who each carried stacks of fish-laden wicker baskets, their faces hidden behind their precious cargo. Watching them carefully, Pierre focused his attention on the tallest of the men. Even from the back, he recognized his son.

  Rushing forward, he grabbed the tall, gaunt fisherman just as he was turning away from the table where he’d set down his burden. Wrapping his bewildered son in the mightiest of hugs, Pierre said, “Jacques, thank God, it’s really you! You are alive!”

  Surprised and confused, Jacques failed to respond.

  Unprepared for Jacques’s reaction, Pierre pulled back to inspect the man he knew to be his son. Detecting what he thought was an initial sign of recognition, followed by an otherwise blank stare, he said, “Jacques, it’s me, your father. I don’t know why you don’t recognize me, but I’ve come to take you home!”

  At that point Pierre noticed the freshly healed scar on Jacques’s head, and he moved closer to inspect what must have been a recent wound.

  Needing Jacques to return to the boat for more of the day’s catch, the captain became annoyed by the delay. He approached Pierre and said, “Excuse me, Señor, perhaps I can be of some assistance?”

  In his poor but passable Spanish, Pierre attempted to explain. “Captain, please excuse the intrusion. My name is Pierre Roth, and this man is my son, Jacques. He has been missing for many weeks, and we presumed he was dead. Do you have any idea why he doesn’t recognize his own father?”

  When the phone rang at the chateau, Claudine immediately recognized her father-in-law’s voice. “Claudine, we have found Jacques! He’s alive! He’s physically all right, but he is suffering from some sort of post-shock amnesia. We have him in a hospital here in Barcelona. Except for very brief moments when I see something flash in his eyes, he doesn’t seem to recognize me. I’m not even certain if the moments really occur or it’s just my wishful thinking.

  “The doctors are suggesting that I arrange to have Jacques transported to Paris, where he can receive more expert treatment. It would be best if you could meet us there; maybe the sight of you will jog his memory.”

  Grateful that she’d returned from California in time to get the news, Claudine was out the door and on the road within minutes.

  Twenty-four hours later, when Claudine walked into Jacques’s new hospital room in Paris, she found Jacques lying on his side, his back toward her. He was sleeping peacefully. His head had been shaved, and there were red and blue dye marks painted on his skull along both sides of the jagged fresh scar. Intravenous tubes extended from each of his arms. Wires connecting small adhesive patches on his head and body to strange-looking monitors were all over the place. It was obvious they were recording much more than his vital signs.

  Pierre was sitting in a chair next to the bed, holding one of Jacques’s hands and staring anxiously at his sleeping son. Seeing Claudine enter the room, Pierre put his index finger up to his lips, signaling the need for silence. Without hesitation, she took off her coat, shed her shoes, and carefully climbed into Jacques’s hospital bed. Putting her arms around him, she held him while he slept and hoped to be there when he awoke.

  Jacques would never know whether it was the warmth of her arms around him, the sound of her quiet weeping, or the feeling of her tears rolling down his back that awoke him—but whatever it was, it caused his mind to flash open. At that moment he recognized his father, and he knew that his wife was in his bed. Afraid to move, think, or speak, he was worried that whatever he was experiencing would vanish. He was content to lie there and enjoy his moment of lucidity, hoping that it would last for more than a second.

  As soon as he heard the door open and the nurse enter his room and begin checking his monitors, he could sense his memory begin to fade. Seeing Claudine, the nurse said, “Oh, Mrs. Roth, we are so glad you are here. Not only are we hopeful that seeing you will help Jacques make some progress, but we need your approval before we can operate.”

  Sensing Claudine’s alarm, she continued. “This is a good thing, not a bad thing. From the tests we have been running, we suspect that some scar tissue or a small crushed segment of his skull is pressing on his brain. The doctors believe that by reducing the pressure they might be able to help him to recover his memory. I should caution you, however, that in other cases of this type we have found the recovery process to be very slow. It just takes time and patience.”

  Chapter 38

  THE LONG ARM OF BIG OIL

  Mike kept putting off his tour of the banks. He was bothered by his intuition telling him that he was in for some very difficult sledding, but he was even more concerned about Cecelia returning to Hong Kong and China to raise funds so soon after her recent illness. What if the strain was too great? Even the knowledge that her father and Ted Lee would be accompanying her didn’t relieve his fears. They certainly know her well enough to be able to spot any early signs of change, he told himself. I have to comfort myself by believing that they will know what to do.

  Realizing he should start in familiar West Coast territory, Mike’s first call was to his old friend Pete Ferrari.

  “Mike,” said Pete, “although American West National Bank would be one of the last banks to hear such news, some friends of mine have told me the big banks are being pressured by Big Oil to limit their commitments to your oil fund to the minimum end of their investment range. Apparently, the pressure being applied is so great, if it weren’t for their concerns over possible restraint of tr
ade lawsuits, many of them wouldn’t subscribe, even at their minimum levels. Based on some calculations I’ve made, I concluded it might not be a good idea for you to anticipate an aggregate commitment of more than two billion.”

  “Should your observation prove accurate,” said Mike, “it means we will be two to four billion dollars below our American quota. It will put even more pressure on our offshore sources.”

  “The unfortunate part of all this,” said Pete, “is that the bond issue contains a number of qualities that make it very attractive. Under normal circumstances your problem would be one of over-subscription, not under-subscription. All we can do is try.”

  “Who knows, maybe something will happen to encourage some of these money center banks to abandon their minimums.”

  “I wouldn’t get too discouraged, Mike. There are a couple of factors that might be working in your favor. It’s important for you to remember that these other big banks are realists; as loyal as they may be to their Big Oil clients, they still have to worry about their bottom line. They understand that their profitability depends upon their continued support from a much broader customer base than just the oil community. If there is one thing you and your friends understand, it’s how to apply elbow grease and play hardball. If the larger bankers become convinced that you are putting a significant amount of money together, there’s no telling how they might react.”