The Fourth Estate (75 page)

“It’s not Fred,
sir,” came back the reply. “It’s Mark Tenby.”

“I-hen put me
through to Fred, will you?”

“Fred retired
three months ago, sir,” the chief accountant said. “Sir Paul appointed me in
his place.”

Armstrong was
just about to say “With whose authority?” when he changed his mind. “Fine,” he
said.’nen perhaps you would send me up a checkbook immediately. I’m leaving for
the States in a couple of hours.”

“Of course, Mr.
Armstrong. Personal or company?”

-Fhe pension
fund account,” he said evenly. “I’ll be making one or two investments on behalf
of the company while I’m in the States.”

T’here followed
a longer silence than Armstrong had expected. “Yes, sir,” said the chief
accountant eventually. “You will of course require the signature of a second
director for that particular account, as I’m sure you know, Mr. Armstrong. And
I should remind you that it’s against company law to invest pension fund money
in any company in which we already have a majority shareholding.”

“I don’t need a
lecture on company law from you, young man,” shouted Armstrong, and slammed the
phone down. “Bloody cheek,” he added to the empty room. “Who does he imagine
pays his wages?”

Once the
checkbook had been sent up, Armstrong abandoned any pretense of going through
his post, and slipped out of the room without even saying goodbye to Pamela. He
took the elevator to the roof and ordered his helicopter pilot to take him to
Heathrow. As they took off, he looked down on London with none of the affection
he now felt for New York.

He landed at
Heathrow twenty minutes later, and quickly made his way through to the
executive lounge. While he was waiting to board his flight, one or two
Americans came over to shake him by the hand and thank him for all he was doing
for the citizens of New York. He smiled, and began to wonder what would have
happened to his life if the boat on which he had escaped all those years ago
had docked at Ellis Island rather than Liverpool. Perhaps he might have ended
up in the White House.

His flight was
called, and he took his place at the front of the aircraft.

After an
inadequate meal had been served, he slept intermittently for a couple of hours.
The nearer they came to the east coast of the United States, the more confident
he became that he could still pull it off. A year from today the Tribune would
not only still be outselling the Star, but would be declaring a profit that
even Sir Paul Maitland would have to acknowledge he had achieved single-handed.
And with the prospect of a Labor government in power, there was no saying what
he might achieve. He scribbled on the menu, “Sir Richard Armstrong,” and then,
a few moments later, put a line through it and wrote underneath,’The Rt Hon the
Lord Armstrong of Headley.”

When the wheels
touched down on the tarmac at Kennedy he felt like a young man again, and
couldn’t wait to get back to his office. As he strode through the customs hall,
passengers pointed at him, and he could hear murmurs of “Look, it’s Dick
Armstrong.” Some of them even waved. He pretended not to notice, but the smile
never left his face. His limousine was waiting for him in the VIP section, and
he was quickly whisked off in the direction of Manhattan. He slumped in the
back seat and turned on the television, flicking from channel to channel until a
familiar face suddenly caught his attention.

‘The time has
come for me to retire and concentrate on the work of my foundation,” said Henry
Sinclair, the chairman of Multi Media, the largest publishing empire in the
world. Armstrong was listening to Sinclair and wondering what price he would
consider selling up for when the car came to a halt outside the Tribune
building.

Armstrong heaved
himself up out of the car and waddled across the pavement. After he had pushed
his way through the swing doors, people in the lobby applauded him all the way
to the elevator. He smiled at them as if this were something that happened
wherever he went. A trade union official watched as the elevator doors closed,
and wondered if the proprietor would ever find out that his members had been
instructed to applaud whenever and wherever he appeared. ‘Treat him like the
president and he’ll start to believe he is the president,” Sean O’Reilly had
told the packed meeting. “And go on applauding until the money runs out.”

At each floor on
which the elevator doors opened the applause started afresh. When he reached
the twenty-first floor, Armstrong found his secretary standing waiting for him.
“Welcome home, sir,” she said.

“You’re right,”
he replied as he stepped out of the elevator. “This is my home. I only wish I’d
been born in America. If I had, by now I’d be the president.”

“Mr. Critchley
arrived a few minutes ahead of you, sir, and is waiting in your office,” the
secretary said as they walked down the corridor.

“Good,” said
Armstrong, striding into the largest room in the building.

“Great to see
you again, Russell,” he said as his lawyer stood up to greet him. “So, have you
sorted out the union problem for me”

“I’m afraid not,
Dick,” said Russell, as they shook hands. “In fact, the news is not good from
this end. I’m sorry to report that we’re going to have to start over.”

“What do you
mean, start over?” said Armstrong.

“While you were
away the unions rejected the $230 million redundancy package you proposed.
They’ve come back with a demand for $370 million.”

Armstrong
collapsed into his chair. “I only have to go away for a few days, and you let
everything fall apart!” he screamed. He looked toward the door as his secretary
entered the room and placed the first edition of the Tribune on the desk in
front of him. He glanced down at the headline:

“WELCOME HOME
DICK!”

NEW YORK TRIBUNE

4 ]FEBRUARY 1991

C
aptain Dick in Command “AwSTRONG HAS
MADE a bid of $2 billion for Multi Media,” said Townsend.

“What? That’s
like a politician declaring war when he doesn’t want people to realize how bad
his problems are at home,” said Tom.

“Possibly. But
like those same politicians, if he pulls it off, it just might sort out his
problems at home.”

“I doubt it.
After going through those figures over the weekend, if he stumps up $2 billion
it’s more likely to end up as yet another disaster.”

“Multi Media is
worth far more than two billion,” said Townsend. “it owns fourteen newspapers
stretching from Maine to Mexico, nine television stations, and the TV News, the
biggest-selling magazine in the world. Its turnover alone touched a billion
last year, and the company declared an overall profit of over $100 million.
It’s a cash mountain.”

“For which
Sinclair will expect to be given Everest in return,” said Tom.

“I can’t see how
Armstrong can hope to make a profit at $2 billion, especially if he has to
borrow heavily to get it.”

“Simply by
generating more cash,” said Townsend. “Multi Media has been on autopilot for
years. To start with, I’d sell off several of the subsidiaries that are no
longer profitable and revitalize others that should be making far more. But my
main efforts would concentrate on building up the media side, which has never
been properly exploited, using the turnover and profits from the newspapers and
magazines to finance the whole operation.”

“But you have
more than enough to worry about at the moment without getting involved in
another takeover,” said Tom. “You’ve only just settled the strike at the New
York Star; and don’t forget that the bank recommended a period of
consolidation.”

“You know what I
think of bankers,” said Townsend. “Me Globe, the Star and all my Australian
interests are now in profit, and I may never have an opportunity like this
again. Surely you can see that, Tom, even if the bank can’t.”

Tom didn’t speak
for some time. He admired Townsend’s drive and innovation, but Multi Media
dwarfed anything they had ever attempted in the past. And however hard he
tried, he just couldn’t make the figures add up. “Mere’s only one way I can see
it working,” he said eventually.

“And how’s
that?” asked Townsend.

“By offering him
preference shares – our stock in exchange for his.”

“But that would
simply be a reverse takeover. He’d never agree to it, especially if Armstrong
has already offered him two billion in cash.”

“if he has, God
knows where he’s getting it from,” said Tom. “Why don’t I have a word with
their lawyers and see if I can find out if Armstrong really has made a cash
offer?”

“No. That’s not
the right approach. Don’t forget that Sinclair owns the entire company himself,
so it makes a lot more sense to deal with him direct. That’s what Armstrong
will have done.”

“But that’s
hardly your usual style.”

“I realize that.
But it’s become rare for me lately to be able to deal with anyone who owns
their own company.,, Tom shrugged his shoulders. “So, what do you know about
Sinclair?”

“He’s seventy,”
said Townsend, “which is why he’s retiring. In his lifetime he’s built up the
most successful privately-owned media corporation in the world. He was the
Ambassador to the Court of St. James’s when his friend Nixon was president, and
in his spare time he’s put together one of the finest private collections of
Impressionist paintings outside a national gallery. He’s also chairman of a
charitable foundation which specializes in education, and somehow he still
finds time to play golf.”

“Good. And what
do you imagine Sinclair knows about you?”

“That I’m
Australian by birth, run the second-largest media company in the world, prefer
Nolan to Renoir, and don’t play golf.”

“So how do you
intend to approach him?”

“Cut out the
bullshit, call him direct and make an offer. At least that way I won’t spend years
wondering if I might have pulled it off.”

Townsend looked
across at his lawyer, but Tom made no comment.

Townsend picked
up the phone. “Heather, get me Multi Media headquarters in Colorado. And when
they come on, connect me to the operator.” He replaced the receiver.

“Do you really
believe that Armstrong has put in a bid for two billion?” asked Tom.

Townsend
considered the question for some time. “Yes, I do.”

“But where would
he find that amount of cash?”

“Wherever he
found the money to pay off the unions would be my guess.”

“And how much do
you intend to offer?”

The phone on the
desk rang before he could answer.

“is that Multi
Media?”

“Yes, sir,”
replied a deep Southern voice.

“My name is
Keith Townsend,” he said. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Sinclair.”

“Does Ambassador
Sinclair know you, sir?”

“I hope so,”
said Townsend. “Otherwise I’m wasting my time.”

“I’ll put you
through to his office.”

Townsend made a
sign to his lawyer that he should listen in on the extension. Tom picked up the
phone on the side table next to him.

“Ambassador
Sinclair’s office,” said another Southern voice.

“It’s Keith
Townsend. I was rather hoping I might be able to have a word with Mr.
Sinclair.”

‘The Ambassador
is at his ranch, Mr. Townsend, and I know he’s due at the country club in
twenty minutes for his weekly golf lesson. But I’ll see if I can catch him
before he leaves.”

Tom put his hand
over the mouthpiece and said quietly, “Call him Ambassador. It’s obvious that
everyone else does.”

Townsend nodded
as a voice came on the line and said, “Good morning, Mr. Townsend. Henry
Sinclair here. How can I help you?”

“Good morning,
Ambassador,” said Townsend, trying to remain calm. “I wanted to have a word
with you in person, so as not to waste unnecessary time dealing through
lawyers.”

“Not to mention
unnecessary expense,” suggested Sinclair. “What is it that you felt you had to
speak to me about, Mr. Townsend?”

For a moment
Townsend wished he’d spent a little more time discussing tactics with Tom. “I
want to make a bid for Multi Media,” he said eventually, “and it seemed
sensible to deal with you direct.”

1 appreciate
that, Mr. Townsend,” said Sinclair. “But remember that Mr. Armstrong, with whom
I believe you are acquainted, has already made me an offer I was able to
refuse.”

“I’m aware of
that, Ambassador,” said Townsend, wondering how much Arrnstrong had really
offered. He paused for a moment, not looking in Tom’s direction.

“Would it be too
much to ask the figure you have in mind, Mr. Townsend?” said Sinclair.

When Townsend
replied, Tom nearly dropped the phone on the floor.

“And how would
you intend to finance that?” asked Sinclair.

“in cash,” said
Townsend, without any idea how he would raise the money.