B00DSDUWIQ EBOK (16 page)

And
it was already Day Five.

Part VI

Arrangements

“Still, I am
prepared for this voyage, and for anything else

you may care to
mention.
Not that I am not afraid, but there is very little time left.
You have probably made travel arrangements, and know the feeling.
Suddenly, one morning, the little train arrives in the station,

but oh, so big it
is! Much bigger and faster than anyone told you.”

―
John Ashbery

Chapter 16

He
was standing
by the tapestry,
admiring the loom and color of the piece, and the exquisite artistry of the
crest woven above his house coat of arms. Sir Roger Ames, Duke of Elvington, was
also listening carefully to the account of his acquisitions agent, just back
from Bladon where he had been working the operation under St Martin’s church.
The Duke was the latest appointment to the peerage, with lands and estates in
the County of York. There had not been a Duke outside the Royal Family for
generations, and so the appointment was a rare privilege, but then again Sir
Roger Ames was accustomed to rarity and privilege, and had come to expect as
much in all walks of life. Now he was assuring himself that a certain matter he
had commissioned was completed to his satisfaction.

“And
sir,” the agent continued, “I can report that the operation was a complete success.
The sample has been recovered, and with more than sufficient quantity, and the
access has been resealed to a depth of six feet.”

“Not
the whole of it?” the Duke questioned.

“Six
feet has proven to be more than enough in prior circumstances, your Grace.”

“Yes,
well that might do on foreign soil, Mr. Thomas, good for the tunnel work in Egypt
I suppose, but this is the homeland we’re speaking of. Can you assure me this
won’t make news one unfortunate morning with something on the order of a sink
hole?” The Duke wasn’t really concerned about it, but pretended nonetheless. There
wasn’t time to be worried. There were only four days remaining.

“Oh,
most assuredly not, sir. All the reinforced wood work remains in place. There should
be no trouble of the sort. In fact, I would venture to say the ground is stronger
now than before. Remember that I was able to use that utility tunnel to get a
good deal of the way. Otherwise I could never have completed a tunnel of that
length in just nine days. The rest has been very well sealed.”

“Won’t
it erode?”

“In
time, sir, but the cavity is likely to simply fill up with rain water, which will
give the whole scene the appearance of a natural aquifer if ever uncovered.”

The
Duke gave him a dubious glance, indicating that he simply didn’t buy that argument,
but the man didn’t seem prepared to quibble the point further.

“Sufficient
quantity, you say?”

“Seven
pounds, your Grace—that’s two pounds beyond the normal delivery specification. Quite
adequate.”

“Quite,”
said the Duke. “And certification?”

“Everything
is in order, sir. DNA testing has come back double plus to the good. I have the
lab reports right here with me as part of the delivery.”

“Very
well,” said the Duke, turning now to regard the man he had been speaking to for
the first time. Ames was a tall man, straight back, impeccable deportment, a thin
twirl of a mustachio beneath a well used face, yet the lines there had given
him a stately expression, haughty yet deepened with hint of hidden wisdom, the
eyes dark and yet soft in their regard and lit with the confidence of
intelligence. He was a man who had seen enough of the world to know the difference
between good times and bad. And times were good on the Elvington Estate just
now. Very good.

“Mister
Thomas, might I inquire on another matter?”

“Certainly,
sir.”

“Have
you any training in martial arts, military matters, weaponry and such?”

“I
was a Lieutenant in Four Five Commando, Royal Marines, sir. Well trained in special
combat arts and operations.”

“Excellent.
And would you be available for a very special assignment in the immediate
future—say a few days time?”

“For
you, sir, I am available any time at your convenience.”

“This
would be a rather long term assignment, somewhat dangerous, I suppose, but also
somewhat exciting.”

“I
am yours to command, your Grace.” Thomas knew better than to ask what the
compensation would be. He knew he would be well rewarded, and was pleased to
land a potential new contract this quickly.

“Very
well…You may make your delivery then, Mister Thomas. Leave the report on my desk.
The secretary will issue a sight draft for the agreed commission—all this subject
to verification by the auditors, of course. I will contact you tomorrow regarding
the new assignment I mentioned.”

“Certainly,
sir. And thank you, sir.” Ian Thomas made a polite head bow, bending slightly, recognizing
he had been dismissed without so many words. One had to have a keen ear for
intonation when speaking to this sort, and Thomas had done business with some
of the wealthiest men in Europe.

He
turned and walked back down the long carpeted hall, bowing slightly again as he
backed out the door and pulled it gently closed. Only then did he allow himself
the broad smile that finally stretched his wide features into a Cheshire Cat grin.
The image of the sight draft he was about to collect was already running through
his imagination. Not bad for a few days work, he thought, and an second assignment
to boot!

In
his office the Duke ambled casually over to his desk, hands clasped behind his back,
eyes searching out the file the man had left him. He sat down in his comfortable
leather chair, and opened the file, his lips taut as he read, with the
occasional scratch of his chin.

“Ah,
Winston,” he said aloud. “To think that you’ll soon be gleaming on a pendant.”

He
thought on that…who to gift with this little treasure? It would buy the affections
of the Lady Pomroy, yes? But he would have to show it round the group, and soak
up a bit of the envy a good finished stone was likely to induce. Old Maitland
would have a fit if I should trot this one out, what? The man thought he was
firmly planted on the high ground with the Marlboro stone. We’ll see what he
has to say about old Winston. Then again… I could take it with me when I leave.

He
held that thought for a while, considering.

The
Duke was a member of a very select club, one of many such gatherings in a wealthy
man’s social circles. For years now they had been amusing themselves by seeking
out the remains of famous people the world over, all long since dead and safe
in the arms of history. Yet new technologies could take a sufficient quantity
of their ashes and create something extraordinary, something rare and beautiful,
something utterly unique, and such things had a way of being particularly
desirable in the circles he frequented.

In
this case his agent had just certified delivery on the remains of one Sir Winston
Churchill, fresh from his cemetery repose at Bladon in Oxfordshire. The material,
mostly just ash but still laden with carbon, would be soon be subjected to the
immense pressures and temperatures required to create a certified diamond, and
Sir Winston would become the latest glittering acquisition in the Duke’s
collection. A company called “LifeGem” had been creating diamonds this way for
years, mostly run of the mill ring stones made from the remains of passed
“loved ones.” But the Duke, and a select group of like-minded men and women of
means, had grander tastes.

He
thought, for a moment. This man Thomas was good, very good indeed. Four Five Commando
is it? Well enough. He may just be the man I need for this little adventure.
Rumors had been floating about for some time that Maitland was up to no good
again. It was said he had an exceptional find to present at the next
meeting…the final meeting in just a few days time. There weren’t many left, he
knew. A pity that this would be their final meeting.

We
shall see, he thought. Perhaps I just might steal a bit of Maitland’s thunder with
this if LifeGem can roll it over in time, yes?

He
chided himself for not thinking the whole plan through carefully. A little foresight
and he might have had something more in keeping with his chosen path. Being
fond of themes, perhaps a nice stone created from the remains of another famous
duke might compliment this one—say, the Duke of Wellington? For that matter,
his nemesis Napoleon Bonaparte might be a worthy compliment. Yes, those two
stones side by side would make an awesome display, would they not? Particularly
if everything works out as I imagine.

He
seemed pleased with that thought, and opened a drawer, slipping the file inside
and pushing it closed again until the security latch clicked tight. Now onto more
pressing matters. This business in the news of late, British flagged tanker
struck amidships by a missile in the Straits of Hormuz, Royal Navy frigate
attacked by the Russians in the Black Sea and another Fairchild tanker sent to
the bottom there. What was this about now? It was sounding rather ominous. He
tapped his desk, thinking on the matter.

Fairchild
& Company, he thought. Yes, I was told to look out for that one in the latter
days. It was a small outfit that had been making runs out of the Gulf into
Milford Haven. He had the file open now, reviewing the company profile…Assets
of a reported seventeen billion, most of that in fleet tonnage and estates in
Aberdeen and on the Isle of Man. What was this note due now at month’s end?
Bank of London, $200 million in US denominated dollars. How gauche. He
preferred his accounting in British pounds, particularly for any company
serving the interests of the Crown. But as this was primarily an oil company,
and oil was exclusively traded in dollars, or had been until very recently, he
excused the transgression.

He
flipped the page, glancing at the company’s last reported balance sheet, with a
particular interest in cash flows. He noted that there had been four entries over
the last month, each one attributed to deliveries received at Milford Haven,
where the company berthed its fleet tankers. The revenues had been diverted out
to cover the last three months operating expenses, licensing, insurance,
payrolls, and then there was this last entry labeled ‘Special Projects,’ that
aroused some interest.

It
was a $200 million credit line Bank of London was calling in at month’s end. What
with the chaos on the markets of late, Barclays sniffing up the skirts of Goldman
before it collapsed, Halifax, a big British housing lender damn near buggered,
Northern Rock gone, Bradford & Bingly nationalized, he could see why.
Credit was tighter than ever throughout the world. But this was a rather extravagant
expense to slip in under an opaque heading like ‘Special Projects.’ Could
Fairchild be involved in
the
special project, the same project he had
been favoring and arranging for some time now? Was she a key holder too?

He
flipped the page, noting the biography of one Elena Fairchild, the company owner
and CEO. Well named, he thought, struck by the mature beauty of the woman.
Decent pedigree, he concluded, with ancestors fighting in the Crusades. Family
tree connected to the Landkey Fairchilds of North Devon…Coal and iron merchants
owning a fleet of small vessels, which plied to Wales and Sussex. My, how the
acorn never seems to fall far from the tree, he mused. A bit of spark in the
blood line. They rigged out several of their ships to fight with Drake and
against the Spanish Armada. Decent of them.

“Well,
Miss Fairchild…” he said aloud, noting she remained unwed with some interest. She
might make for an interesting companion on his little journey, then again, she
might be nothing more than an encumbrance. It didn’t matter. She was half a world
away, and the world was going to hell. He knew it, and a handful of other very
wealthy and well connected men and women knew it too, and the days were running
down. There wasn’t much sand left in the hourglass. This war was going to spin
out of hand and make a grand end of things, and that was very inconvenient—unless
you were very well prepared; unless you had a plan.

He
had carefully positioned all his assets in recent months, making sure that his exposure
to the black hole in the markets that was eating Goldman Sachs this morning
could not touch him in any way, not that it mattered any longer. His mind had
been focused on one thing only, a singular project…yes…how to find a place of
quiet and serenity where he could live out his life in peace and exercise the
considerable wealth and power he possessed at the same time—unmolested by
current regulations and constraints, or the wild annoyances of the modern
financial system.

Now
he had just the ticket—as did a very few others. They were men like Maitland; women
like Lady Pomroy, and perhaps even promising newcomers like this Elena Fairchild.
She would have to pass muster, of course, and the scrutiny of the committee, but
it might be arranged at the next meeting. It might. Then again, perhaps she is
already a key holder as well. No one really knew the names and identities of every
person privileged to hold a key. A pity to leave a woman like that one behind.
Perhaps he could make inquiries.

 “I
see your cash flow is running a bit thin, Miss Fairchild. Seems to me you’ve got
most of your quarterly profit burning in the Straits of Hormuz or lying on the
bottom of the Black Sea.”

 Yes…
Princess
Royal
was your largest tanker, and you were probably counting on her to make
good with the Bank of London. Pity. Let’s hope you make it through the Bosporus
with your last two ships. And what’s this bit here…
Argos Fire
, a
converted
Daring
class destroyer purchased some years ago for refit. How
very interesting.