The waiter returned with a silver tray of drinks. Elizabeth took her glass of wine before continuing.
“How,” Elizabeth asked, “can anyone expect to make a killing just by owning shares in all three? Especially if the ownership is secret and they can’t exercise any voting control or hold board positions?”
“Because their plans are global. The consortium I ran afoul of had a master plan to hold monopolies in various world markets. If there were three carriers in a particular market or country, they would quietly buy up all three, and then slowly eliminate competition among them as they divided up the pie. The idea didn’t work in Britain, and it hasn’t happened fully in Europe. But if you trace the corporate ownership of many of these international airlines, you’ll begin to find the same interests in the background. It’s happening.”
Elizabeth’s eyes must have flared in surprise, since Creighton moved back a few inches in reaction to her expression. “You’re telling me this is a worldwide plot?”
“No. Not a plot, as in ‘conspiracy.’ This is a business plan, and a brilliant one, designed to create huge multinational transportation giants with monopolies all over the world and unlimited power.”
“I had no idea!” Elizabeth said.
“Just think of the potential, if you could own and control major airports, and all sides of the transportation equation coming in and out of them—airlines, taxicabs, trains, hire cars, buses, and all cargo shipments. Certainly you’d divide it up into a multitude of different companies and names so the unwashed masses and their politicians wouldn’t catch on they were being fleeced. But if you were the ultimate owner and the ultimate authority who eventually collected the dividends from a controlled market, you’d have an endless money machine and more power than many governments. Anyone who wanted to go anywhere or ship anything would, ultimately, have to deal with you.”
“Could they really put such a thing together?” Elizabeth asked.
Creighton nodded. “Unlike American corporations, which seem to plan only for the next thirty minutes, the men running this type of organization think very clearly ten to twenty years ahead. They’re like a geological force, Elizabeth. They operate on the same principle that permits tectonic forces to warp the earth’s landscape so slowly and steadily that we aren’t aware it’s happening. Slow, determined, steady, and backed by immense financial force.”
“That’s quite an analogy. I know a few things about plate tectonics,” Elizabeth said.
“It’s an apt analogy, though. These people have the wisdom to know that if they move slowly, they can change almost anything to their liking. The problem comes when you block them cold, as my airline did, or conceptually threaten their master plan, as I believe Pan Am has done. Then giant companies like that can move with frightening speed to protect their interests. You remember that I warned you that organizations with this much money and power at stake are capable of anything?”
“I do,” she said, her mind flashing back to Friday night.
“I’ll tell you one more thing of great significance. If governments all over the planet don’t get off their arses and learn to exercise at least some control over their domestic transportation markets to protect them from multinational lockup, such plans will succeed. This is the new colonialism, don’t you see—the new building of empire—and this time consumers everywhere become the manipulated colonials.”
Jack Bastrop raised a finger. “After all, Elizabeth, it’s the extreme of a free market when the market forces a fight to the finish and the victor ends up with all the spoils, in a monopoly or oligopoly.”
A telephone had rung in the background as Bastrop was speaking. The waiter was back to tap Ing on the shoulder.
“Excuse me, please,” Ing said, getting up.
Creighton spread out his hands in an explanatory gesture. “Look at your situation in America, Elizabeth. Jack and I have talked about this extensively. The big three are no longer in real competition with each other. They don’t have to be. They essentially own the North American market, and they’ve been able to divide it up without ever breaking antitrust laws just as a natural consequence of deregulation. They’re stable, now they’re profitable, they’ve raised fares through the roof, they fly in and out of fortress hubs, and they’re keeping their costs down and packing passengers into what could charitably be called cattle-car interiors. Since foreign airlines can’t fly point-to-point in the U.S., and foreign companies can’t legally control a U.S. carrier, the big three have become independent money machines poised to grow fat and rich in the next decade. Anyone who holds their stock will benefit greatly.”
“And Pan Am is the skunk at that tea party?” Elizabeth interjected.
“Quite right!” Creighton agreed. “If you succeed in redefining what a quality airline is, they’ll have to redo their interiors, change their fare structure, upgrade their service and their salaries, and drop the density of their seating to compete with you. This is akin to the idea of democracy afoot in a totalitarian regime. It’s dangerous and heretical and threatens their control and their profits. If one of the three retrofits their fleet and the others don’t, you’ve set up internecine competition again. Competition results in shrinking profits for those quiet stockholders who sit in the wings and pull strings on the board.”
Jason Ing returned quietly, sat down, and resumed sipping the soft drink he had ordered.
Elizabeth smiled an acknowledgment at him and turned back to Creighton. “But you said the big three themselves aren’t behind this anti-Pan Am campaign.”
“I’m sure they aren’t. Oh, don’t be fooled. The three majors would be very appreciative if you’d just go away quietly. But they’re far too ethical and concerned about being prosecuted themselves to ever engage in sabotage. I’m convinced they have no inkling of what some of their stockholders are doing on their behalf, and also that their leaders don’t even realize their boards have been infiltrated, so to speak.”
“This unidentified company in Europe? Can we unmask them?”
Creighton hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Eventually. You asked about going to court. We’ve got to uncover three connections first. You’ve got four entities here.” He began counting the fingers of his right hand. “Your revolving-loan bankers, your dirty-tricks group, the big three stockholders, and the mastermind organization in Europe. First we’ve got to prove direct links between your revolving-loan bankers and your dirty-tricks group. If, for instance, we found that Irwin Fairchild held some of your revolving debt, we’ve got the beginnings of a case, since you already have circumstantial evidence that he’s part of the dirty-tricks group. At that point you would probably have enough to go get a court injunction against the revolving-loan bankers shutting you down by, ah …”
“By pulling our credit line,” Elizabeth added. “They’re demanding repayments we can’t meet so they can declare us in default, which will let the owners of the fleet cancel the leases and repossess our airplanes.”
“Right.” Creighton nodded. “Okay, second, we’ve got to find a provable connection between your revolving-loan bankers and the mastermind organization, which I suspect is European. They’re pulling the strings and financing the dirty-tricks group. But we have to find that connection to explain the actions of the revolving-loan bankers. Third, we’ve got to find the connection between the mastermind organization in Europe and companies that are stockholders in the big three. We have to prove that thesis in order to find a motive for the mastermind organization to want to hurt Pan Am. You know, why would financiers want to shut you down and lose money in a bankruptcy unless they had another agenda?”
Elizabeth was shaking her head sadly. “That sounds like years of investigatory work.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Creighton replied. “That’s why the first order of business is to get Jack and Jason here busy finding you five hundred million dollars by next Monday.”
There was a chance, Jason Ing told her, that the money could be made avail
able that fast. They would all have to move rapidly. Jack Bastrop, an independent oilman on the Forbes 500s list who’d made the right investments at the right time and left the Texas oil market before it collapsed, was willing to put up seventy-five million as part of a package. He owned real estate in Hong Kong, and had come to know Ing during previous negotiations.
They all fell silent for a moment, and Elizabeth searched each of their faces before looking at Creighton. “On the phone, you said I should keep an open mind about the source of investment. What did you mean?”
She thought she saw Jack Bastrop catch himself short of a smile, but Creighton’s expression didn’t waiver.
“What I mean,” Creighton said, “is that Jason’s bank is a neophyte at airline investments. They have money in ships and shipping, real estate all over the world and especially here in Vancouver, and several factories in the electronics world. But they draw money in from various sources. Whatever Jason here puts together may be completely unconventional.”
She looked at Jason Ing, who was nodding. “We will meet all your legal requirements,” Ing said, “but Mr. MacRae is correct. It could look rather strange when the final list is assembled, the different names of participating investors, I mean.”
Elizabeth was in a compromising position, and the cautions from both Ing and Creighton MacRae held some worrisome overtones. Who would these strange investors be?
She took a deep breath. “As long as it’s legal,” Elizabeth said carefully, “I can’t see why unconventionality would be a problem.”
“Can you follow me to Hong Kong tomorrow?” Ing asked. The question took Elizabeth by surprise. Her inclination was to say no. The airline was unraveling around her. Brian had put himself in the middle of an FBI investigation. Ron Lamb was still hospitalized. The big three were firing at Pan Am. Chad Jennings was running around creating more problems by the day.
The future of Pan Am once again came down to one person: Elizabeth Sterling. Without a new credit line or a hundred forty million in cash by next Monday, the new Pan Am would be yet another footnote in the corporate history books.
I have no choice, she told herself.
“Would you like to drive back to Seattle with me and fly from there?” she asked Ing, noting his immediate discomfort.
“I … ah …” he said hesitantly, “… cannot enter the United States just now.”
“Oh, a visa matter? You didn’t get a visa?” Elizabeth asked. It seemed a simple enough question, but shades of distress were crossing Ing’s face like the shadows of clouds on a breezy day.
Creighton came to his rescue. “Jason is not permitted in the United States. It’s an old matter, and really unfair, but diplomatic in nature.”
Ing nodded gratefully at Creighton.
“Okay, then. I’ll book myself on the first flight out of Seattle.”
“No!” Creighton’s voice was a little too forceful, and he raised his hand in apology. “I … think it would be far safer if you let me book you under another name. You mustn’t be traced to Hong Kong, or followed anywhere.”
She looked at him, searching his eyes, wondering if she was imagining a slight edge of personal concern in his tone. She smiled and nodded. “Okay. We can work that out.” Elizabeth checked her watch as casually as she could.
“Well. You’ve given me much to think about.” She looked at all three in turn. “I’m afraid I’m getting a bit hungry. Would you gentlemen consider joining me for dinner?”
“Jack’s got another engagement, and Jason has a party to attend, but I’d be delighted to take you to dinner,” Creighton said instantly, before either of the other two could respond.
I asked you, fella! And not alone, either. She smiled as wryly as she could at Creighton. “On Pan Am’s expense account?”
He looked momentarily off balance, then recovered as he extended his hand to help her up, and smiled back at her in shared understanding.
“Eventually, of course.”
26
Monday, March 20, evening
Vancouver, British Columbia
Elizabeth was in her element in Vancouver, and the discovery that Creighton MacRae had never visited the city before gave her a delightful advantage that she found herself using with untoward delight.
The night was clear and mild, and despite the traumas of the previous days, she felt electric and alive.
“There is only one appropriate restaurant for an evening like this,” she told Creighton when they had stepped out on the lanai of the Tai Pan Suite for a few minutes while Jason finished another phone call.
“Oh?”
“The Teahouse, in Stanley Park. Are you familiar with Stanley Park?”
She knew the answer, and waited with some amusement while he calculated how to respond.
“I believe I’ve heard of it, but I can’t recall any details,” Creighton said at last, his eyes focused on the distant north shore of the bay and the area known as North Vancouver.
“The most magnificent park in North America, in my opinion. One thousand acres of largely undeveloped virgin timber, an aquarium, cricket fields, totem poles, beaches, and all of it within walking distance.”
“The Teahouse, you said?”
“Yes.”
He placed his glass on the ledge and excused himself to make a reservation.
He’ll ask directions, too, she told herself with a smile.
She turned down his idea of a taxi and insisted on driving her rental car, enjoying the opportunity to play tour guide as they navigated the short distance to the park and drove around the perimeter road counterclockwise.
“You’re very accomplished at this,” he told her. “All the facts and figures, and the part about Captain George Vancouver. I must say I’m impressed.”
“I worked as a city tour guide one summer, getting on and off buses endlessly. You never forget the basics after that. It’s a great tourist town.”
She paused on the overpass crossing the Lion’s Gate suspension bridge, watching the traffic whiz by beneath them.
“Creighton, is Jason Ing a millionaire in his own right?”
There was silence for a minute, as if he hadn’t heard the question. She studied the back of his head as he tracked the path of the bridge to the north shore, then turned slowly to her with a serious expression and what seemed like a guarded answer.
“He’s very wealthy, and from a wealthy family in Hong Kong. He was planning on moving to Vancouver when Hong Kong reverts to China, and that’s why he owns the hotel—but he’s changed his mind.”
“He owns the hotel?”
“Yes, didn’t I mention that? He’s made the Tai Pan Suite his home. Supposedly the book by that name was written there, and when he bought the hotel last year, he made it his North American headquarters. By the way, there’s a suite reserved for you at no cost.”
Elizabeth turned into the restaurant parking lot, aware that Creighton was examining the restaurant with obvious pleasure.
“Rather like something out of the Victorian period in Covent Garden. Almost a greenhouse, with all that glass.”
“I’ve always loved it here. The establishment and the view,” she inclined her head toward the west and he followed her gaze into the light-studded blackness.
Their table by the western windows was perfect, the candlelight a warm complement to the twinkling lights of freighters at anchor in English Bay—ships waiting their turn to enter the harbor. The meal, too, was world-class, as she had expected. She let him order the wine, impressed with his knowledge of California whites, and the talk finally drifted from business to personal matters as she watched the candlelight play off his weathered features, basking in his occasional smile.
With the dessert gone and coffee before them, Creighton replaced his cup and looked down a moment before letting his eyes rise to engage hers.
“I must say, Elizabeth, you are without a doubt the most unique combination I believe I’ve ever encountered.”
He pa
used, leaving her an opening and obviously hoping for a response.
There was none, as she smiled and waited for him to continue.
“What I mean is, I’ve never encountered a woman in business who could be both, if you understand. A woman and a businessman—or businesswoman, that is …” He smiled and wiped his mouth with the napkin before trying again, his eyes returning to hers.
“Permit me to rephrase that. You’re feminine and businesslike at the same time—smart and hardened, yet soft and beautiful. That’s quite an elegant contradiction, Elizabeth Sterling, CFO.”
“I’m glad you approve,” she said.
“I was prepared to dislike you back home.”
She felt her way through a smile that had several layers of meaning. She imagined the wine was influencing her, but she felt wonderful, and she was quite sure he was the cause.
She excused herself for a trip to the ladies’ room, to let him pay without embarrassment.
A grassy park, high above the bay, replete with benches and low bushes, separated the Teahouse from the sparkling night scene beyond. They walked together toward the water, hands pushed deep in the pockets of their respective coats, letting the conversation drift to more personal matters.
He was ten years older than she, and their childhood memories of the world were slightly out of sync, but it startled her that he, too, had grown up in love with the seashore and the wind, and the gentle bite of cold sea breezes in early spring. The climates of Bellingham, Washington, and his childhood hometown of Wick, on the wind-whipped northeastern coast of Scotland, were not too dissimilar.
They sat on a wooden bench and he fell silent. Elizabeth saw again the reflective look she’d noticed several times earlier—another glimpse of the complex man she had seen for a second in Inverness, beneath the irascible exterior. The expression was seldom more than a shadow passing across his face, but it was the look of someone used to facing life alone.
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