Mightier Than the Sword

by Jeffrey Archer

  When she looked around at her colleagues, none of them was smiling. Most of them had faced crises in their lives, but nothing on this scale. Even Admiral Summers’s lips were pursed. Emma opened the blue leather folder in front of her, a gift from Harry when she’d first been appointed chairman. It was he, she reflected, who had alerted her to the crisis, and then dealt with it.

  “There is no need to tell you that everything we discuss today must remain strictly confidential, because it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to suggest that the future of the Barrington shipping line, not to mention the safety of everyone on board, is at stake,” she said.

  Emma glanced down at an agenda that had been prepared by Philip Webster, the company secretary, the day before they set sail from Avonmouth. It was already out of date. There was just one item on the revised agenda, and it would certainly be the only subject discussed that day.

  “I’ll begin,” said Emma, “by reporting, off the record, everything that took place in the early hours of this morning, and then we must decide what course of action to take. I was woken by my husband just after three…” Twenty minutes later, Emma double-checked her notes. She felt she had covered everything in the past, but accepted she had no way of predicting the future.

  “Have we got away with it?” the admiral asked, once Emma had called for questions.

  “Most of the passengers have accepted the captain’s explanation without question.” She turned a page of her file. “However, we’ve had complaints from thirty-four passengers so far. All but one of them have accepted a free voyage on the Buckingham at some time in the future, as compensation.”

  “And you can be certain there will be a whole lot more,” said Bob Bingham, his usual North-Country bluntness cutting through the outwardly calm demeanor of the older board members.

  “What makes you say that?” asked Emma.

  “Once the other passengers discover that all they have to do is write a letter of complaint to get a free trip, most of them will go straight to their cabins and put pen to paper.”

  “Perhaps not everyone thinks like you,” suggested the admiral.

  “That’s why I’m on the board,” said Bingham, not giving an inch.

  “You told us, chairman, that all but one passenger was satisfied with the offer of a free trip,” said Jim Knowles.

  “Yes,” said Emma. “Unfortunately an American passenger is threatening to sue the company. He says he was out on deck during the early hours of the morning and there was no sight or sound of the Home Fleet, but he still ended up with a broken ankle.”

  Suddenly, all the board members were speaking at once. Emma waited for them to settle. “I have an appointment with Mr.—” she checked her file—“Hayden Rankin, at twelve.”

  “How many other Americans are on board?” asked Bingham.

  “Around a hundred. Why do you ask, Bob?”

  “Let’s hope that not too many of them are ambulance-chasing lawyers, otherwise we’ll be facing court actions for the rest of our lives.” Nervous laughter broke out around the table. “Just assure me, Emma, that Mr. Rankin isn’t a lawyer.”

  “Worse,” she said. “He’s a politician. A state representative from Louisiana.”

  “One worm who’s happily found himself in a barrel of fresh apples,” said Dobbs, a board member who rarely offered an opinion.

  “I’m not following you, old chap,” said Clive Anscott, from the other side of the table.

  “A local politician who probably thinks he’s spotted an opportunity to make a name for himself on the national stage.”

  “That’s all we need,” said Knowles.

  The board remained silent for some time, until Bob Bingham said matter-of-factly, “We’re going to have to kill him off. The only question is who will pull the trigger.”

  “It will have to be me,” said Giles, “as I’m the only other worm in the barrel.” Dobbs looked suitably embarrassed. “I’ll try and bump into him before he has his meeting with you, chairman, and see if I can sort something out. Let’s hope he’s a Democrat.”

  “Thank you, Giles,” said Emma, who still hadn’t got used to her brother addressing her as chairman.

  “How much damage did the ship suffer in the explosion?” asked Peter Maynard, who hadn’t spoken until then.

  All eyes turned to the other end of the table, where Captain Turnbull was seated.

  “Not as much as I originally feared,” said the captain as he rose from his place. “One of the four main propellers has been damaged by the blast, and I won’t be able to replace it until we return to Avonmouth. And there was some damage to the hull, but it’s fairly superficial.”

  “Will it slow us down?” asked Michael Carrick.

  “Not enough for anyone to notice we’re covering twenty-two knots rather than twenty-four. The other three propellers remain in good working order and as I had always planned to arrive in New York in the early hours of the fourth, only the most observant passenger would realize we’re a few hours behind schedule.”

  “I bet Representative Rankin will notice,” said Knowles unhelpfully. “And how have you explained the damage to the crew?”

  “I haven’t. They’re not paid to ask questions.”

  “But what about the return journey to Avonmouth?” asked Dobbs. “Can we hope to make it back on time?”

  “Our engineers will be working flat out on the damaged stern during the thirty-six hours we’re docked in New York, so by the time we sail, we should be shipshape and Bristol fashion.”

  “Good show,” said the admiral.

  “But that could be the least of our problems,” said Anscott. “Don’t forget we have an IRA cell on board, and heaven knows what else they have planned for the rest of the voyage.”

  “Three of them have already been arrested,” said the captain. “They’ve been quite literally clapped in irons and will be handed over to the authorities the moment we arrive in New York.”

  “But isn’t it possible there could be more IRA men on board?” asked the admiral.

  “According to Colonel Scott-Hopkins, an IRA cell usually comprises four or five operatives. So, yes, it’s possible that there are a couple more on board, but they’re likely to be keeping a very low profile now that three of their colleagues have been arrested. Their mission has clearly failed, which isn’t something they’ll want to remind everyone back in Belfast about. And I can confirm that the man who delivered the flowers to the chairman’s cabin is no longer on board—he must have disembarked before we set sail. I suspect that if there are any others, they won’t be joining us for the return voyage.”

  “I can think of something just as dangerous as Representative Rankin, and even the IRA,” said Giles. Like the seasoned politician he was, the member for Bristol Docklands had captured the attention of the House.

  “Who or what do you have in mind?” asked Emma, looking across at her brother.

  “The fourth estate. Don’t forget you invited journalists to join us on this trip in the hope of getting some good copy. Now they’ve got an exclusive.”

  “True, but no one outside this room knows exactly what happened last night, and in any case, only three journalists accepted our invitation—the Telegraph, the Mail, and the Express.”

  “Three too many,” said Knowles.

  “The man from the Express is their travel correspondent,” said Emma. “He’s rarely sober by lunchtime, so I’ve made sure there are always at least two bottles of Johnnie Walker and Gordon’s in his cabin. The Mail sponsored twelve free trips on this voyage, so they’re unlikely to be interested in knocking copy. But Derek Hart of the Telegraph has already been digging around, asking questions.”

  “‘Hartless,’ as he’s known in the trade,” said Giles. “I shall have to give him an even bigger story, to keep him occupied.”

  “What could be bigger than the possible sinking of the Buckingham by the IRA on its maiden voyage?”

  “The possible sinking of Britain by a Labou
r government. We’re about to announce a £1.5 billion loan from the IMF in an effort to halt the slide of sterling. The editor of the Telegraph will happily fill several pages with that piece of news.”

  “Even if he does,” said Knowles, “with so much at stake, chairman, I think we ought to prepare ourselves for the worst possible outcome. After all, if our American politician decides to go public, or Mr. Hart of the Telegraph stumbles across the truth, or God forbid, the IRA have a follow-up planned, this could be the Buckingham’s first, and last, voyage.”

  There was another long silence, before Dobbs said, “Well, we did promise our passengers this would be a holiday they would never forget.”

  No one laughed.

  “Mr. Knowles is right,” said Emma. “If any of those three outcomes were to materialize, no amount of free trips or bottles of gin will save us. Our share price would collapse overnight, the company’s reserves would be drained, and bookings would dry up if prospective passengers thought there was the slightest chance of an IRA bomber being in the next cabin. The safety of our passengers is paramount. With that in mind, I suggest you all spend the rest of the day picking up any information you can, while reassuring the passengers that all is well. I’ll be in my cabin, so if you come up with anything, you’ll know where to find me.”

  “Not a good idea,” said Giles firmly. Emma looked surprised. “The chairman should be seen on the sundeck, relaxing and enjoying herself, which is far more likely to convince the passengers they have nothing to worry about.”

  “Good thinking,” said the admiral.

  Emma nodded. She was about to rise from her place to indicate that the meeting was over, when Philip Webster, the company secretary, mumbled, “Any other business?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Emma, who was now standing.

  “Just one other matter, chairman,” said Giles. Emma sat back down. “Now that I’m a member of the government, I have no choice but to resign as a director of the company, as I’m not allowed to hold a post of profit while serving Her Majesty. I realize it sounds a bit pompous, but it’s what every new minister signs up to. And in any case, I only joined the board to make sure Major Fisher didn’t become chairman.”

  “Thank God he’s no longer on the board,” said the admiral. “If he was, the whole world would know what had happened by now.”

  “Perhaps that’s why he wasn’t on board in the first place,” suggested Giles.

  “If that’s the case, he’ll keep shtum, unless of course he wants to be arrested for aiding and abetting terrorists.”

  Emma shuddered, unwilling to believe that even Fisher could stoop that low. However, after Giles’s experiences both at school and in the army, Emma shouldn’t have been surprised that once Fisher had begun to work for Lady Virginia, they hadn’t come together to assist her cause. She turned back to her brother. “On a happier note, I’d like to place on record my thanks to Giles for serving as a director of the company at such a crucial time. However, his resignation will create two vacancies on the board, as my sister, Dr. Grace Barrington, has also resigned. Perhaps you could advise me of any suitable candidates who might be considered to replace them?” she said, looking around the table.

  “If I might be allowed to make a suggestion,” said the admiral. Everyone turned toward the old salt. “Barrington’s is a West Country firm with long-standing local connections. Our chairman is a Barrington, so perhaps the time has come to look to the next generation, and invite Sebastian Clifton to join the board, allowing us to continue the family tradition.”

  “But he’s only twenty-four!” protested Emma.

  “That’s not much younger than our beloved Queen when she ascended the throne,” the admiral reminded her.

  “Cedric Hardcastle, who’s a shrewd old buzzard, considered Sebastian good enough to be his personal assistant at Farthings Bank,” interjected Bob Bingham, winking at Emma. “And I’m informed that he’s recently been promoted to second-in-command of the bank’s property division.”

  “And I can tell you in confidence,” said Giles, “that when I joined the government, I didn’t hesitate to put Sebastian in charge of the family’s share portfolio.”

  “Then all that’s left for me to do,” said the admiral, “is propose that Sebastian Clifton be invited to join the board of Barrington’s Shipping.”

  “I’d be delighted to second that,” said Bingham.

  “I confess that I’m embarrassed,” said Emma.

  “That will be a first,” said Giles, which helped lighten the mood.

  “Shall I call for a vote, chairman?” asked Webster. Emma nodded, and sat back in her chair. “Admiral Summers has proposed,” continued the company secretary, “and Mr. Bingham has seconded, that Mr. Sebastian Clifton be invited to join the board of Barrington’s.” He paused for a moment before asking, “Those in favor?” Every hand rose except Emma’s and Giles’s. “Those against?” No hands were raised. The round of applause that followed made Emma feel very proud.

  “I therefore declare that Mr. Sebastian Clifton has been elected as a member of the board of Barrington’s.”

  “Let’s pray there will be a board for Seb to join,” Emma whispered to her brother once the company secretary had declared the meeting closed.

  * * *

  “I’ve always considered he was up there with Lincoln and Jefferson.”

  A middle-aged man, dressed in an open-necked shirt and sports jacket, looked up but didn’t close his book. The few strands of wispy fair hair that were still in evidence had been carefully combed in an attempt to hide his premature baldness. A walking stick was propped against his chair.

  “I apologize,” said Giles. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

  “No problem,” said the man in an unmistakable southern drawl, but he still didn’t close his book. “In fact I’m always embarrassed,” he added, “by how little we know of your country’s history, while you seem to be so well informed about ours.”

  “That’s because we no longer rule half the world,” said Giles, “and you look as if you are just about to. Mind you, I wonder if a man in a wheelchair could be elected as president in the second half of the twentieth century,” he added, glancing down at the man’s book.

  “I doubt it,” said the American with a sigh. “Kennedy beat Nixon because of a TV debate. If you’d heard it on the radio, you would have concluded that Nixon won.”

  “Nobody can see you sweat on the radio.”

  The American raised an eyebrow. “How come you’re so well informed about American politics?”

  “I’m a Member of Parliament. And you?”

  “I’m a state representative from Baton Rouge.”

  “And as you can’t be a day over forty, I presume you have your sights on Washington.”

  Rankin smiled, but revealed nothing. “My turn to ask you a question. What’s my wife’s name?”

  Giles knew when he was beaten. “Rosemary,” he said.

  “So now we’ve established that this meeting wasn’t a coincidence, Sir Giles, how can I help you?”

  “I need to talk to you about last night.”

  “I’m not surprised, as I have no doubt you’re among the handful of people on board who knows what really happened in the early hours of this morning.”

  Giles looked around. Satisfied no one could overhear them, he said, “The ship was the target of a terrorist attack, but fortunately we managed to—”

  The American waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t need to know the details. Just tell me how I can help.”

  “Try to convince your fellow countrymen on board that the Home Fleet were really out there. If you can manage that, I know someone who’d be eternally grateful.”

  “Your sister?”

  Giles nodded, no longer surprised.

  “I realized there had to be a serious problem when I saw her earlier, sitting on the upper deck looking as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Not the action of a confident chairman
who I have a feeling isn’t all that interested in sunbathing.”

  “Mea culpa. But we’re up against—”

  “As I said, spare me the details. Like him,” he said, pointing to the photo on the cover of his book, “I’m not interested in tomorrow’s headlines. I’m in politics for the long game, so I’ll do as you ask. However, Sir Giles, that means you owe me one. And you can be sure there’ll come a time when I call in my marker,” he added before returning to A Life of Roosevelt.

  * * *

  “Have we docked already?” asked Sebastian as he and Samantha joined his parents for breakfast.

  “Over an hour ago,” said Emma. “Most of the passengers have already gone ashore.”

  “And as it’s your first visit to New York,” said Sam as Seb sat down beside her, “and we only have thirty-six hours before we sail back to England, we haven’t a moment to waste.”

  “Why will the ship only be in port for thirty-six hours?” Seb asked.

  “You can only make money when you’re on the move, and besides, the docking fees are horrendous.”

  “Do you remember your first trip to New York, Mr. Clifton?” asked Samantha.

  “I most certainly do,” said Harry with feeling. “I was arrested for a murder I didn’t commit, and spent the next six months in an American prison.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” said Samantha, recalling the story Seb had once told her. “It was tactless of me to remind you of such a terrible experience.”

  “Don’t give it a second thought,” said Harry. “Just make sure Seb isn’t arrested on this visit, because I don’t want that to become another family tradition.”

  “Not a chance,” said Samantha. “I’ve already planned visits to the Metropolitan, Central Park, Sardi’s, and the Frick.”

  “Jessica’s favorite museum,” said Emma.

  “Although she never got to visit it,” said Seb.

  “Not a day goes by when I don’t miss her,” said Emma.

  “And I only wish I had known her better,” said Sam.

  “I took for granted,” said Seb, “that I would die before my younger sister.” A long silence followed, before Seb, clearly wanting to change the subject, asked, “So we won’t be visiting any nightclubs?”