Crude Deception

by Gordon Zuckerman

  Fascinated by all the people who had congregated in the back room, the curious members of the working press began to watch the entrance, hoping to recognize one of the new arrivals. No one paid any particular attention when Mike and Juan Pablo entered or when Cecelia and two men of Oriental extraction escorted her along the length of the bar.

  Some of them recognized Jacques from the many pictures and stories that had appeared in the New York newspapers, but they all noticed the tall, exquisitely dressed, beautiful woman with the silver-blonde hair who accompanied him.

  The already-suspicious members of the working press became even more curious when their fellow newspaperman, Walt Matthews, entered the bar, said hello to his friends, and disappeared into the back room.

  Out of professional respect for the privacy of their respected colleague, they resisted their reporter instincts, remained at the bar, and began to speculate among themselves about what could be happening. They didn’t have to wait long. Walt soon reentered the main bar area and invited them to join him and his friends. In uncharacteristic fashion, with the aid of a chair, Walt climbed up and stood on one of the tables in the back room.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, my friends, and the Sentinels, I would like to read you a story that will appear above the fold in tomorrow morning’s New York Times and the thirty-two other papers where my column is syndicated.”

  December 8, 1946

  CRUDE DECEPTION

  By Walt Matthews

  Tonight, the citizens of the world can rest more easily knowing another cycle of unbridled greed has been avoided. The presumed authority of the “Oil Club” has been successfully challenged; the efforts of seven major oil companies to perpetuate their control over 90 percent of the world’s petroleum supply has been prevented.

  The formation of a $15 billion international energy development fund will assure the world of a more diversified and competitive oil industry capable of supplying the world with a reliable supply of affordable oil.

  In May of this year, a group calling themselves the Sentinels learned of a secret meeting organized by seven major oil companies to be held at a remote hunting and fishing club in Wyoming. The purpose of this clandestine meeting was to discuss and approve a plan to control 90 percent of the world’s future petroleum production.

  Concerned about the effects of so much power becoming concentrated in such a small number of hands, the Sentinels developed and executed a plan to break the grip of the Oil Club. To implement their plan, the Sentinels were required to mobilize public awareness and concern, to create and pass new legislation, and to fund an unprecedented $15 billion energy development pool from the world’s international investment community.

  “I hope you will join me as I tip my hat to these courageous, motivated, and talented young people,” said Walt when he was done reading. “Without them and their efforts, our world could be a far different place.”

  After a long round of applause, Matthews hopped down from the table and led the crowd of newspaper reporters away to file their own reports. The remaining people raised their glasses in salute of a job well done.

  Tapping his knife against his glass, Mike indicated he wanted to say a few words. “Jacques,” he began, “it wasn’t so long ago that a very brave lady and your friends felt the need to express their feelings when you appeared lost. To a person, none of us thought you were actually lost; we just didn’t know where you were. In our hearts we knew we would need you to return and assist us in completing our mission. We just didn’t understand you would choose to help us in such a dramatic fashion! Would you honor us with a few words?”

  “It’s all Claudine’s fault,” said Jacques, standing. “It’s not that I would ever recommend getting smashed in the head or losing one’s memory, but if it has to happen, being nursed back to health by Claudine is one hell of an experience. She has some very interesting ideas about recuperative medicine!”

  All faces turned to Claudine as the group chuckled together.

  “But seriously,” Jacques continued, “one of the most difficult things for me to endure was watching her go off, by herself, and make all those calls on the European bankers. As it turned out, she didn’t need my help, but waiting for her to return was always excruciating.

  “With all that time, I went clear back to 1935 and started making a list of everyone we had met who either possessed or represented the kind of capital we needed. Next, I started to check off all the people we had already contacted in our more recent quest. And guess what, Schmidt was the only one we hadn’t contacted. Identifying him required no genius, just a lot of hard work.

  “Let us not forget, making up a four-billion-dollar shortfall represents a lot of work on the part of many people. What do you suppose might have happened if Cecelia hadn’t lost her temper in Jakarta, or Mike hadn’t organized all those community bankers? Who in their right mind would organize an air force to fly nearly five hundred tons of gold out of China, right under the noses of the Chinese communists?”

  Claudine then spoke up. “Given all that, the question I want to asked Henri and Pierre is, how could you be so certain there would be a second wave of follow-on interest?”

  After exchanging a conspiratorial grin with Henri, Pierre answered, “Oh, we weren’t sure—it was the only thing we could think to say that might rekindle your enthusiasm!”

  After waiting for the group’s shock to fade, Henri said, “I would like to believe the collective efforts of all of you were sufficient to play on the bankers’ suspicious nature. I am beginning to think they had become alarmed by the possibility that their fellow American bankers might independently decide to complete the balance of the funding.

  “Remember when I told you that one of the risks a major money-center bank could not afford to take was the possibility of the transaction being consummated without them as a major participant? In a way, Pierre and I were correct, but not for the right reasons. Maybe the lesson to be learned here is to never underestimate the greed and the suspicious nature of a money-center banker.”

  Chapter 57

  CECELIA AND MIKE

  Over breakfast the following morning, served in the smaller dining room of the Morgan Stone mansion, Morgan turned to Tai-Pan. “My old friend,” he said, “how would you like to join me for a tour of our bank? There have been a lot of changes since you last visited us. There are a number of people I would like you to meet.”

  During their tour later that morning, Morgan—eager to be a congenial host—asked his guest, “Is there anything special you would like to see or do while you are in New York?”

  “Could we go to Yankee Stadium?” said Tai-Pan. “I’ve always wanted to see the New York Yankees and Joe DiMaggio play baseball.”

  Thirty minutes later their taxi pulled up in front of Yankee Stadium for the Wednesday afternoon game. The Yankees were playing their American League rivals, the Cleveland Indians. Both clubs were fighting for the pennant. Bob Feller was pitching for the Indians, and Joe DiMaggio was playing center field for the Yankees.

  As the usher was escorting them to Morgan’s box, Tai-Pan kept stopping and looking around. The stadium was filled; the place was in a state of bedlam. It was the bottom of the first inning and DiMaggio was coming to bat.

  Once they were seated, they took off their ties and coats, rolled up their sleeves, and ordered their first hot dogs and two bottles of beer. By the third inning, each was eating a second hot dog and drinking another beer. By the fifth inning, the two men were enjoying another beer; they had become just two more Yankee fans yelling for their team.

  By the seventh inning, they had spilled beer on themselves, spots of mustard covered their shirts, their hair needed combing, and they were hoarse from yelling. Before they knew it, the game had gone into extra innings and DiMaggio hit his game-winning home run in the bottom of the twelfth.

  As they left the stadium Morgan said, “Why don’t we go directly to my house? We don’t want to keep everyone waiting.
”

  “What about the way we are dressed?” Tai-Pan protested. “I need to shower and change my clothes. This is a very important night for Cecelia and Mike; I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

  “Tai-Pan, my friend, I’m quite certain they are going to be a lot more concerned about how we feel about their relationship than how we are dressed.”

  Hoping his comment would encourage Tai-Pan to say something, Morgan patiently waited for a response. When, after an appreciable period of time, he realized that the wily trader from Hong Kong was not prepared to say anything, Morgan motioned for his car.

  The rest of the Sentinels were taking advantage of Tai-Pan and Morgan’s absence to have a meeting of their own. In his new role as their team leader, Mike was speaking to the group. “Not to minimize all we have accomplished, but it’s important we appreciate that our job isn’t finished. In certain respects, it’s just beginning. I have no great confidence that, left to its own devices, the fragmented independent oil industry will succeed in forming the kind of well-organized and competitive effort required to compete with the Oil Club. We have only swatted it on the ass.

  “Having access to development capital is one thing; beating the Oil Club to the punch could be another matter. With Claudine and Jacques returning to Europe, and Cecelia and me being pinned down here in New York, who is left to make certain the implementation of the independent oil plan doesn’t get dropped?”

  Claudine was the first to respond. “You haven’t said anything about the University of California’s newest redheaded addition to its graduate school faculty. Who among us knows more about the oil industry, and enjoys the trust and confidence of Middle Eastern leaders, than David? And who enjoys the support of the god-damnedest research assistant the industry has ever seen?”

  “Wait a minute,” David protested, “there’s someone in this room who has the best set of oil credentials I’ve ever seen. If this conversation is headed where I think it’s headed, I think you’d better ask the gentleman from Venezuela how he feels about becoming involved.”

  With everyone’s attention focused on him, the one man who in his own quiet way had probably done more than anyone to change the landscape of the world’s contemporary oil industry measured his words before speaking. “Nothing would please me more than to continue to work alongside David, and to be able to call on the support of all of you. I think we have started something that we need to finish!”

  Everyone had already arrived at the Stone mansion when the two disheveled, slightly inebriated men, who seemed to be new best friends, came through the front door. Without acknowledging the other guests, they made their way to Morgan’s bar for a spot of twelve-year-old Macallan scotch, served neat.

  Properly served, Morgan and Tai-Pan turned to the other guests and family members, who were all staring at them with their mouths open in astonishment. Cecelia couldn’t believe her eyes. She had never seen her noble and notoriously formal father so relaxed and having so much fun. She turned to Mike and asked, “Where do you think they’ve been?”

  “Judging from the mustard stains on their shirts, I would think they’ve been to a ball game,” he said. “It seems we’re seeing another side of our fathers!”

  Before anyone could say anything, Mike’s mother went up to Cecelia’s father, gave him a small kiss on the cheek, and said, “Welcome, Tai-Pan. It’s a privilege and a pleasure to have you and your daughter as guests here in our home. I have reserved the seat next to mine for you at the dinner table, and Morgan has arranged for Cecelia to sit next to him. I’m looking forward to our having a nice chat.”

  Everyone knew it was the kind of evening when things could go very right or very wrong. The adrenaline and the wine were freely flowing. Dinner was delayed twice. When the dinner chime rang for the third time, the Stones’ crusty maid of thirty years announced, “If you people aren’t going to sit down, I’m going to throw a magnificent dinner in the garbage can and go home!”

  The waiter, moving around the table, filled the glasses with a special white wine that had been selected to complement the first course. The guests waited before taking their first sip, thinking that one or the other of the fathers might want to make a toast. They needn’t have waited. The first course came and went. White wine glasses were replaced with red wine glasses. Everyone was telling stories.

  Neither Morgan nor Tai-Pan indicated any intention of proposing a toast. The tension was building; the stories were becoming a little less cavalier. The laughter was not quite so loud.

  After the dessert had been served, the waiter began to fill the champagne flutes. At just the right moment, Morgan stood up, somewhat shakily, to make his toast.

  “To Tai-Pan, my new-old friend and America’s newest baseball fan. You have given new meaning to the phrase, ‘When in Rome . . .’ I can’t remember when I’ve had such a good time at a baseball game, eaten so many hot dogs, or consumed so many beers!

  “On a more serious point, I want to talk about what a valuable lesson Mike and Cecelia have taught Mike’s mother and me. Before we met your beloved Cecelia, we had always hoped Mike would marry some nice Jewish girl from a prominent New York family. God knows we introduced him to enough of them.

  “When we learned that Mike was dating a girl of Chinese descent, we found ourselves afraid of things about which we knew little. Ignorance can be a terrible weapon. For years, we asked ourselves why Mike was so determined to perpetuate his relationship with Cecelia, particularly when it meant having to work out so many problems that are involved in maintaining a coast-to-coast relationship.

  “All those things occurred before we had the opportunity to meet Cecelia. Once we got to know her, we could see her lovely ways, her intelligence, her beauty, and the love she and Mike shared for each other. When we learned of her kidnapping, we, like everybody else, held our breath during all those scary months before she was rescued.

  “I hope all of you will join me in a toast to Mike and Cecelia. May they have a long and happy life—and lots of healthy children.”

  After Morgan completed his toast, all eyes turned toward Tai-Pan. After what seemed a very long time, he slowly rose to speak. Despite his wrinkled clothing, Tai-Pan’s formal and powerful character was evident. His posture was controlled and he stood erect.

  Smiling, he said, “Morgan, thank you for your very gracious remarks about my Cecelia. Even now, I am having a difficult time not seeing her as the little girl who sat on my lap and asked all those questions. It took a long time before her mother and I accepted the fact that she needed to leave home and seek a life in a bigger world. For a long time, it’s been very important to us that she understands she has our love and support in whatever course in life she chooses to pursue. We are sorry it has taken so many years for all of us to understand how we really feel.

  “Like you, we were concerned about the harm that might come to Cecelia in her relationship with Mike. For people of an orthodox, privileged Chinese heritage, the thought of a daughter leaving home, pursuing an education, and leading a career in a foreign country can be very confusing. Adding the knowledge that she was in love with an American, not a man of Chinese ancestry, only increased our curiosity and concern.

  “Even though I had the pleasure of meeting Morgan on more than one occasion, Cecelia’s mother and I had never had the pleasure of meeting Mike, nor did we know anything about their life in America. Naturally fearing what we didn’t understand, we hoped that with the passage of time their infatuation for each other might fade.

  “All that ended the day Mike called me in Hong Kong. As you can imagine, his revelation about his relationship with Cecelia came as quite a shock. After listening carefully to him, I could feel his concern and his love for our daughter. What I didn’t know was how she felt about him. For reasons I have only just begun to understand, I misinterpreted her not telling us about him and their relationship for such a long time.

  “Cecelia, you once asked me to come to San Francisco and meet Mi
ke. I knew how much you loved this man and that you needed my approval before you would feel truly comfortable marrying him. I would like to apologize to you for making you believe I was so unapproachable. Please understand that you are the true love of my life and your vitality and happiness will always be my brightest beacon.”

  Tai-Pan then turned toward Mike and looked him straight in the eye. “Twelve years ago, Cecelia needed my support and understanding before she could embark on a new life beyond the barriers of Hong Kong. Although it is apparent that she loves you and wants to marry you, I am very proud that she still thinks my support is important.”

  Bending over to pick up his champagne flute, Tai-Pan raised his glass and said, “I wish to make it as clear as I possibly can that her mother and I are very pleased that you will be her partner in the remaining adventure of her life. Both of you have our complete approval to get married. Here’s to the two of you. May the path of life be plentiful, loving, and produce lots of grandchildren.”

  The guests remained silent, spellbound by Tai-Pan’s eloquence.

  Taking advantage of the brief moment of silence, he continued. “There is one matter for clarification, however.” Everyone stiffened in anticipation. Smiling, he asked, “Morgan, do you think we could go back to Yankee Stadium tomorrow? I didn’t have the opportunity to ask Joe DiMaggio for his autograph!”

  EPILOGUE

  Sixty years later, in the year 2007, the world’s daily demand for oil had increased to approximately ninety million barrels, twenty times greater than the consumption in 1947. In the intervening period, control over 90 percent of the world’s production shifted from seven major oil companies to seven sovereign nations. The price of oil had risen from fourteen to more than seventy dollars per barrel, an increase of more than 500 percent.