The Fourth Estate (84 page)

Townsend told
Heather which call he wanted put through. He picked up the phone nervously and
heard an unfamiliar voice.

“Good morning,
Mr. Pierson, how kind of you to call,” Townsend said. He listened intently.

“Yes, Mr.
Pierson,” fie said eventually. “Of course. I fully understand your position.
I’m sure I would have responded in the same way, given the c i rCLIM stances.”
Townsend listened carefully to the reasons why Pierson had come to his
decision.

“I understand
your dilemma, and I appreciate your taking the trouble to call me personally.”
He paused. “I can only hope that you won’t regret it. Goodbye, Mr. Pierson.” He
put the phone down and buried his head in his hands. He suddenly felt very
calm, When Heather heard the cry she stopped typing, jumped up and ran through
to Townsend’s office. She found him leaping up and down, shouting, “He’s
agreed! He’s agreed!”

“Does that mean
I can finally order another dinner jacket for you?” asked Heather.

“Half a dozen,
if you want to,” he said, taking her in his arms. “But first you’ll have to get
my credit cards back.” Heather laughed, and they both started to jump up and
down.

Neither of them
noticed Elizabeth Beresford enter the room.

“Am I to assume
that this is some form of cult worship practiced in the more remote parts of
the AntipodeS?” asked E.B. “Or could there be a more simple explanation,
involving a decision made by a banker in a mid-western state?”

They abruptly
stopped and looked toward her. “It’s cult worship,”

Townsend said.
“And you’re its idol.”

E.B. smiled.
“I’m gratified to hear it,” she said calmly. “Perhaps, Heather, I could have a
word with Mr. Townsend in private?”

“Of course,”
said Heather. She put her shoes back on and left the room, closing the door
quietly behind her.

Townsend put a
hand through his hair and returned quickly to his chair.

Once he had sat
down, he tried to compose himself.

“Now I want you
to listen, Keith, and listen carefully,”

E.B. began. “You
have been incredibly lucky. You were within a whisker of losing everything.”

I realize that,”
said Townsend quietly.

I want you to
promise me that you will never make a bid for anything ever again without first
consulting the bank-and by the bank, I mean me.”

“You have my
solemn oath on it.”

“Good. Because
you’ve now got ten years in which to consolidate Global and make it into one of
the most conservative and respected institutions in its field. Don’t forget,
that was stage five of our original agreement.”

I will never
forget,” said Townsend. “And I shall be eternally grateful to you, Elizabeth,
not only for saving my company, but me along with it.”

“It’s been a
pleasure to help,” said E.B., “but I won’t feel my job has been completed until
I hear your company described, especially by your detractors, as blue chip.”

He nodded
solemnly as she bent down, flicked open her briefcase and removed a stack of
credit cards. She passed them across to him.

“Thank you,” he
said.

A flicker of a
smile appeared on her lips. She rose from her chair and offered an outstretched
hand across the table. Townsend shook it. I hope we’ll meet again soon,” he
said as he accompanied her to the door.

I hope not,”
said E.B. I don’t think I want to be put through that particular mangle a
second time.”

When they
reached Heathees office, E.B. turned to face him. For a moment Townsend
considered kissing her on the cheek, but then thought better of it. He remained
by Heathees desk as E.B. shook hands with his secretary in the same formal way.
She glanced in Townsend’s direction, nodded and left without another word.

“Some lady,
that,” said Townsend, staring at the closed door.

“That’s for
sure,” said Heather wistfully. “She even taught me one or two things about
you.”

Townsend was
about to ask what they could possibly be when Heather added, “Shall I call the
White House back?”

“Yes, straight
away. I’d completely forgotten. When I’ve finished with him, get me Kate.”

As Townsend
returned to his office, Elizabeth stood in the corridor, waiting for one of the
six lifts to arrive at the top floor. She was in a hurry to get to the bank and
clear her desk-she hadn’t spent a weekend at home for the past month, and had
promised her husband that she would be back in time to see their daughter
perform the role of Gwendolen in the school play. When a lift finally reached
the executive level, she stepped inside and pressed the button for the ground
floorjust as another lift door opened on the other side of the corridor. But
the doors closed before she could see who it was who had leaped out and run off
in the direction of Townsend’s office.

The lift stopped
at the forty-first floor, and E.B. was joined by three young men who continued
their animated conversation as if she wasn’t there. When one of them mentioned
Armstrong’s name, she began to pay closer attention. She couldn’t believe what
they were saying. Every time the lift stopped and new people came in, she
picked up a fresh piece of information.

A breathless Tom
came rushing into Heather’s office. All he said was, “is he in?”

“Yes, Mr.
Spencer,” she replied. “He’s just finished speaking to the President. Why don’t
you go straight through?”

Tom walked
toward the executive suite and threw open the door just as Townsend completed
dialing a number on his private phone. “Have you heard the news?” he gasped.

“Yes,” said
Townsend, looking up. 1 was just phoning Kate to let her know that Pierson’s
agreed to extend the loan.”

“I’m delighted
to hear it. But that’s not news, it’s history,” said Tom, failing into the seat
E.B. had recently vacated.

“What do you
mean?” asked Townsend. “I only heard it myself a few minutes ago.”

A voice came on
the line and said, “Hello, Kate Townsend.”

“I mean, have
you heard about Armstrong?”

“Armstrong? No,
what’s he been up to now?” asked Townsend, ignoring the phone.

“Hello,” Kate
repeated. “Is anyone there?”

“He’s committed
suicide,” said Tom.

“is that you,
Keith?” said Kate.

“He’s done
what?” said Townsend, dropping the receiver back in place.

“it seems he was
lost at sea for several hours, and some fishermen have just picked up his body
off the coast of Sardinia.”

“Armstrong
dead?” Townsend swiveled his chair round, and for a few moments just stared out
of the window over Fifth Avenue. “And to think my mother outlived him,” he said
eventually.

Tom looked
bemused by this statement.

“I can’t believe
it was suicide,” said Townsend.

“Why do you say
that?” asked Tom.

“It’s just not
his style. The damned man always believed he could survive anything.”

“Whatever it was,
London’s leaking like a sieve,” said Tom. “it seems that Armstrong’s endless
flow of cash came from the company’s pension fund, which he was not only using
to buy up his own shares, but also to pay off the unions in New York.”

“The company’s
pension fund?” said Townsend. “What are you talking about?”

“Apparently
Armstrong discovered there was far more cash in the fund than was legally
necessary, so he began siphoning it off at a few million a time, until his
chairman found out what he was up to and handed in his resignation.”

Townsend picked
up an internal phone and pressed three digits.

“What are you
doing?” asked Tom.

“Shh,” said
Townsend, placing a finger up to his lips. When he heard a voice on the other
end of the line, he asked, “is that the accounts department?”

“Yes, sir,” said
someone who immediately recognized the Australian accent. “It’s Hank Turner,
I’m the company’s deputy chief accountant.”

“You’re exactly
the man I need, Hank. First, tell me, does Global have a separate pension fund
account?”

“Yes, of course
it does, sir.”

“And how much
are we holding in that account at the present time?” he asked.

He hung on and
waited for the answer. E.B.’s lift had reached the ninth floor on the way back
up by the time the deputy chief accountant was able to inform Townsend, “As of
nine o’clock this morning, sir, that account is showing a balance of $723
million.”

“And how much
are we required to hold by law in order to fulfill our pension fund
obligations?”

“A little over
$400 million,” came back the accountant’s reply. ‘Thanks to our fund manager’s
shrewd investment policy, we’ve been able to keep well ahead of inflation.”

“So we’re
carrying a surplus of more than $300 million over and above our statutory
obligation?”

‘That is
correct, sir, but the legal position is that at all times we must . . .”

Townsend
replaced the receiver and looked up to find his lawyer staring at him in
disbelief.

E.B. stepped out
of the lift and into the corridor.

“I hope you’re
not thinking what I think you’re thinking,” said Tom, as E.B. walked into
Heather’s office.

“I need to see
Mr. Townsend urgently,” she said.

“Don’t tell me
Pierson has changed his mind?” said Heather.

“No, it’s
nothing to do with Pierson. It’s Richard Armstrong.”

“Armstrong?”

“He’s been found
dead at sea. The first reports are suggesting that he committed suicide.”

“Good heavens.
You’d better go in immediately, Mrs. Beresford. He’s gotTom Spencerwith him at
the moment.”

E.B. headed
toward Townsend’s room. Tom had left the door open when he had rushed in, so
before she reached the office, E.B. was aware that a heated discussion was
taking place. When she heard the words “pension fund” she froze on the spot,
and listened in disbelief to the conversation taking place between Townsend and
his lawyer.

“No, hear me
out, Tom,” Townsend was saying. “My idea would still fall well within any legal
requirements.”

“I hope you’ll
allow me to be the judge of that,” said Tom.

“Let’s assume
that trading in Armstrong Communications shares will be suspended later today
...”

‘That’s a fair
assumption,” agreed Tom.

“So it would be
pointless at this stage for me to try and Jay my hands on any of their stock.
All we know at present is that Armstrong was bleeding the pension fund dry, so
when the shares come back on the market, they’re certain to be at an all-time
low.”

“I still can’t
see how that helps you,” said Tom.

“Because, like
the crusaders of old, dressed in the armor of righteousness, I shall ride in
and save the day.”

“And how do you
propose to do that?”

“Simply by
merging the two companies.”

“But they would
never agree to that. To start with, the trustees of the Citizen’s pension fund
wouldn’t risk a further...”

‘They might when
they discover that the surplus in our pension fund more than covers the losses
in theirs. It would conveniently solve two problems at the same time. First,
the British government wouldn’t have to dip into its special reserve fund.”

“And second?”
said Tom, still looking highly skeptical.

‘The pensioners
themselves could sleep secure in the knowledge that they would not be spending
the rest of their lives facing penury.”

“But the
Monopolies and Mergers Commission would never agree to you owning both of the
two biggest tabloids in Britain,” said Tom.

“Perhaps not,”
said Townsend, “but they couldn’t object to my taking over all of Armstrong’s
regional publications-which should have been mine in the first place.”

“I suppose they
just might wear that,” said Tom, “but the shareholders wouldn’t...”

11... they
wouldn’t give a damn about Armstrong’s 46 percent stockholding in the Netv York
Star.”

“It’s a bit late
to be worrying about that,” said Tom. “You’ve already lost overall control of
that paper.”

“Not yet, I
haven’t,” said Townsend. “We’re still going through the process of due
diligence. I’m not required to sign the completion documents until next
Monday.”

“But what about
the Netv York Tribune?” asked Tom. “Armstrong may be dead, but you’d simply
inherit all his problems. Whatever he claimed to the contrary, that paper is
still losing over a million dollars a week.”

“But it won’t be
if I do what Armstrong should have done in the first place, and close the paper
down,” said Townsend. ‘That way I’d create a monopoly in this city which no one
would ever be able to challenge.”

“But even if you
squared the British government and the Monopolies and Mergers Commission, what
makes you think the board of Armstrong Communications will fall in with your
cozy little plan?”