A time for pirates, p.7
A Time for Pirates, page 7
‘Well they’ll be out to buy it now, I can tell you. We’ve got to get it first.’
‘Yes.’
‘What about our main area? It looks like secondary jungle?’
‘Totally undeveloped, Mr Harris. No village, nothing.’
That was all right. It was improbable that Min had already started to negotiate for a concession of the area, but if they had I was pretty sure I could arrange to have the matter tangled in much red tape.
‘I’ll start proceedings right away to form a new company called Kelantan Developments,’ I said. ‘With a share capital of five thousand Malay dollars subscribed by me.’
Under this arrangement Hawakami would be putting themselves entirely in my hands for the time being and Akamoro wasn’t happy about this. But he had the check of being able to ruin me later if I cheated and this kept him calm enough.
‘And then, Mr Harris?’
‘I find some directors for the board. One of them can be my partner Mr Menzies. Another must be a Malay.’
‘You have a man in mind?’
‘Batim Salong.’
His face said that the prince’s reputation was not unknown to him.
‘I do not understand such a choice?’
‘His Excellency the Tunku is a cousin of practically all the men who matter in the running of this country. He has royal blood. He’s intelligent, but lazy. I think I can wake him up.’
Akamoro shook his head.
‘The choice is not acceptable.’
‘Now look, we’ll get nowhere at all without a Malay who counts and you know it! I happen to have an in with Batim, I don’t with anyone else with his potential of usefulness. Without him I don’t play. Which leaves you free to report your find to the government in the hope that they’ll give you the concession. In my opinion you wouldn’t get it. For one thing you’d have a number of very awkward questions to answer.’
There was a very long silence before Akamoro said:
‘It would seem that I must trust your judgment.’
He hated having to do that.
By two-thirty am we had worked out a great many more details and without recourse to the whisky bottle. I poured him a night cap and took my glass to the french windows, opening them. The city seemed quiet enough, no police sirens, and no red that wasn’t from neon. I shut the window again and turned.
‘We haven’t discussed my price, Mr Akamoro. What does Tokyo think that is?’
The blunt question could have damaged an emerging relationship with a lot of people, but not my guest. He might have been waiting to tell me.
‘After initial formation of company we meet all further expenses. You will receive retaining fee. This will be two hundred and fifty thousand US dollars paid into Swiss bank.’
I felt I was worth a lot more.
‘I don’t have a Swiss bank.’
‘This easily arranged at any time through Tokyo. There will also be further payment to you of the same amount when Kelantan Developments come fully under control of my company.’
I got half a million greenbacks for all my work and a scheduled fade out at the end of it.
‘What about my co-directors?’
‘We will arrange suitable fees for them, also.’
I sat down again. Akamoro did the talking. He might have been reading from a Tokyo briefing, everything thought out, no loose ends. I stayed on the board of Kelantan Developments until the oil really started to flow, all the way as a front man. The real business would be done by a general manager experienced in oil who was to be lured from his present job by bright new prospects but not given a seat on the board. Akamoro estimated that the field ought to be in full production within two years. When this stage had been reached first one Hawakami man and then a second would be quietly infiltrated as new directors. This would leave the original directors in apparent control, three to one, but quite suddenly Russell, feeling the weight of his years, would accept a golden handshake and resign. I would do the same on the grounds of pressure from my other businesses. This would leave Malay interests continuing to be represented by the man I had demanded, but Tokyo in control.
Hawakami were running a risk, of course, and knew it. There was a chance that I might decide I liked the oil business and not want to leave it. In the event of my causing trouble of this kind I would forfeit that second two hundred and fifty thousand as well as earning the undying enmity of Hawakami enterprises which would be most unhealthy for Harris and Company. Also, and this was ingenious, I wasn’t going to be paid a salary from Japan, just those two additions to capital, one now, one when I retired gracefully.
‘The Japanese are going to win the peace,’ I said.
Mr Akamoro stayed solemn.
‘To allies we are just and fair.’
‘I’m sure of that. There’s a little matter of diesel engines. A franchise in Manila I’d very much like to get back. You know what I’m talking about?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well?’
‘Price cutting now over,’ he said.
We breakfasted on the verandah. I had the impression that Akamoro was suffering from a slight hangover, though he was looking remarkably tidy in an uncrushable suit and freshly drip-dried shirt. These days the traveller with no luggage at all can stay neat. As the debris of our technology increasingly threatens to swamp us we keep our persons immaculate.
After half an hour of minimal talk, none of it drifting in the direction of business, we were joined by my partner. I took one look at him and knew at once that this morning he was switched off and meant to stay that way. When Russell is switched on … he likes to set his own times for this … his charm can be almost overwhelming, particularly to people newly exposed to it, and guests leave us at the end of an on session with an awareness of having just experienced one of life’s really important things, stimulated by an old man’s wit and warmed by his basic humanity.
Now he was operating on minimal revs, just ticking over. He had put on a bathrobe after a shower, tying this shut with a couple of tasselled cords, but not very effectively. He was wearing nothing underneath and sat down looking like the leading baritone in a new musical who is just about to add a note of rough realism to the big nude scene, meantime wrapped in towelling because of a draught from the wings. He hadn’t shaved.
Akamoro had done his homework and knew a good deal about Russell, possibly more than I did, and there hadn’t been a hint of any opposition to my partner on the board of Kelantan Developments. It was pretty obvious, though, that the Japanese was now having a hard time fitting the dossier to the man. And Russell didn’t help at all. He accepted the introductions with a nod, and a cup of coffee without one, then sat looking like a Hogarth drawing of what a life of sin does for you in the end. The only contribution he offered towards the entertainment of a guest was to flex fingers on two plump, mottled hands, letting early sun get at his arthritis.
It suddenly occurred to me that those snores could have been artificial and last night Russell had, in fact, crept down a corridor to listen to talk in the sitting-room. If he’d done that there was a big storm brewing for when we were alone.
The sound of a car coming up the drive at that hour was something of a surprise, it was too early for the vans and the post had been, and I was positively startled by the sign on the roof which said: ‘Police. Stop!’ Akamoro rose.
‘Mr Harris, in my room I have taken liberty of phoning to police station. I ask for car to take me to hotel. I think this is best policy. Please accept deep thanks for kind hospitality. And Mr Menzies, it is great pleasure to meet you.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Russell said, committing himself to nothing.
We watched Akamoro go, straight down the steps, since he had nothing to carry except that wallet. A sergeant got out of the front of the car and opened a back door. Akamoro had charming old world Nipponese courtesy for the representative of law and order. He wasn’t one of the new breed of his country’s go-getters who have learned in commercial school all about the brisk, firm handshake and using first names from round one. I hadn’t been told to call him Ken, short for Kenichi.
The car moved.
‘What the hell was all that about?’ Russell asked.
‘He was at the Potters’. The idea of a police car to take him to his hotel didn’t seem a good thing last night, they were all busy. I offered him a bed.’
‘And just who is he?’
‘A tractor salesman.’
‘What company?’
‘Obori Agricultural Machinery.’
‘That’s a Hawakami subsidiary.’
I didn’t deny it.
‘Big hearted of you to entertain one of them, after Manila.’
‘I forgive easily.’
Russell stirred in his chair.
‘You didn’t think of calling me last night to help with the entertaining?’
I could feel the beam of suspicion from six feet away.
‘Well, I thought about it. But you were snoring. And with your sleep problem it seemed a shame to disturb you.’
‘Voices woke me. At two!’
‘We were discussing Zen Buddhism. It got quite animated. Mr Akamoro goes into regular retreat at a monastery. It helps his business drive. I’m thinking of trying it. He’s offered to give me an introduction to a temple in the Izu peninsula that takes paying guests.’
‘Did that man come here with an offer from Hawakami? A take-over offer for your diesels?’
‘No.’
‘You’re up to something, Paul.’
‘You brood too much.’
The phone rang. I went into the house and picked up the receiver.
‘This is Jean Hyde.’
‘Hello. No trouble your way, I hope?’
‘We’re serene. I believe there’s been some sort of vigilante squad of the local men patrolling the street, but I haven’t seen it. My worry is personal. All the other men I’ve met in riots have tried to date me next day. Why didn’t you?’
‘I’m a great respecter of husbands.’
‘I said you were a period piece. Would a lunch be too dangerous?’
‘Not if we avoid a private room. Today?’
‘I’m free. But make it somewhere quiet.’
‘Under martial law the club ought to be pretty quiet. It’ll take a few days to get back to norm.’
‘I don’t think I want to be exposed to sahibs.’
‘The species is almost extinct. I’ll meet you there at one.’
‘Oh … all right.’
‘Any contact with your husband?’
‘Yes. He rang me last night.’
‘Where from?’
‘You know, I didn’t ask. He’d come into some town, though, but only for an hour or so. I told him not to worry about me. Knowing John, he won’t.’
The Geological Department is housed in the half-cellar of a new block built for the Ministry of Agriculture and Forestry. If I had been Hugh Gilston I’d have rejected those offices, but he isn’t the rejecting type, a half-scientist, half-civil-servant who has voted for no punch ups in his world, a man who has slipped easily into the round hole provided. I play golf with him sometimes because he is slightly worse than I am.
Hugh’s desk was a clutter with coffee pot and used cup still left on it. He was bent so far forward over some work I could see his bald spot. He didn’t look up.
‘Yes?’
‘Sorry to bother you.’
‘Good God, Paul! What brings you slumming?’
‘I want a look at your survey files.’
‘Of course. Geological surveys?’
‘That’s it.’
‘I’m not supposed to ask of what area?’
He smiled. It made him look much younger.
‘I’d prefer just to be led to your shelving and left. Unless that’s against regulations. Is there a security factor?’
‘Officially. In fact, no. You’re welcome to all of it. And the dust.’
We went into the cement floored passage I had used to get to his office. It was a tunnel from the back of the building to the front with a glazed door at each end to hold in the air conditioning. Rows of labelled wooden doors opened off it to one side but there were none at all along the other until we came to a steel panel fitted with a mortice lock. Hugh came into the file-room with me, offering more explanations than I needed about how a fairly primitive indexing system worked. The place had three deep bays formed by racks of open shelving that went up to eight feet and needed a portable ladder to reach the top layers. Card-board holders filled most of the space though there were some gaps.
‘No need to lock you in,’ Hugh said. ‘Will you be some time?’
‘Probably.’
‘I lunch early. If I should be away to the canteen just put the key on my desk, will you?’
Nothing was said about our riots. In official circles these were being played down. The door clanged. It was a little like being in a jail, concrete underfoot and up the walls, everything else, except for the files, metal, including a desk and a chair.
Complete computerization is going to bring its problems for me. I stood in a repository for perhaps eighty years of the life work of local geologists, most of them now as dead as their reports, realizing that if all this information had been stored in an electronic brain bank I simply couldn’t have asked a friend for the key and then browsed for what I wanted. Machines don’t tolerate the casual approach, you have to declare your requirements to the highly trained technician who punches out a card for your ration of facts. An element of secrecy, important at the moment, just wouldn’t be possible.
I got interested in my files. Two characters had been slightly concerned with the area in which I was concentrating, one clearly young from a tendency to unscientific digressions which he hadn’t quite learned to eliminate, the other obviously a departmental head who every now and then made the definitive field trip to clear up any uncertainties left by junior assistants. The old boy made a great act of being sure of himself, but this couldn’t cover the fact that his conclusions were theoretical and mostly guesswork. It didn’t take me too long to find out that even the accessible areas of southern Kelantan had not been surveyed in any depth by government geologists, the job left to the unauthorized back in the 1930’s who had failed to submit a copy of their report for official records.
I didn’t think that Min Kow Lin had originally been led to Kelantan oil by anything recorded here but it still seemed possible that something in these files might have suggested the State as an area to watch. In fact there was nothing like that, not even a discussion of the chances of oil strata being found, the whole fixation being on tin. This indicated one thing pretty closely, that Min’s intelligence organization was even better than I had thought it was. The chances were that they were in a position to know about any unusual activity almost anywhere in the country while local police and officialdom suspected nothing. Routine industrial espionage didn’t begin to account for such an elaborate set-up, it suggested something very near to a secret society apparatus that would certainly serve the Corporation’s commercial activities but could also do a lot more than that. It might even indicate that Min were poised to take a hand in political activity the moment the right opportunity presented itself and I knew well what beam that would be on, Malaysia for the Chinese. I was suddenly slightly less anti the recent establishment of martial law than I had been.
The Chinese may give lip service to multi-racial societies but they don’t really believe in them, only Chinese societies. Where they are able to they take power, where they can’t as yet they wait, and this isn’t a political and social philosophy which leaves a great deal of room for treating other races on terms of equality.
There was a footnote to the report in front of me that I hadn’t followed up, it referred to another file. The index directed me to the central bay which I hadn’t yet visited and I went around the end of shelving. The new aisle was exactly like the one I had left, with a desk and table at the far end. There was also another man engaged on research, looking for something on a low shelf, squatting with his face away from me in maximum available shadow.
Hugh was responsible for these archives and whatever he might say about their importance they had a certain value. I was fairly sure that he kept the only key in use and that no one, even perhaps his own office staff, came in here without his authorization. Certainly the key had been left unturned in the lock and it was just possible that someone who knew I was using the place had decided to pop in for a moment to check something. But this man must have come in very quietly indeed. Concrete and steel amplify sound but all the time I’d been reading I’d heard absolutely nothing, not even the sound of feet in the corridor beyond.
‘You work in the department?’ I asked politely.
The man straightened. He had good leg muscles, shooting up smoothly like a gymnast. Light from high windows was behind him, but I could still see that he was Chinese, tall for the race. His build, too, wasn’t southern, too solid, suggesting a Manchurian. There was a bulge in the right-hand pocket of his tropic weight brown jacket. He stared at me but said nothing. I changed my tone.
‘Have you any right to be in here?’
There was no answer. What reached me was total hostility, a small psychic wave of this. He stood there assessing my exact position on his way to the door.
I thought I was ready for that charge. Malay boxing is a useful surprise factor when it’s the last thing your opponent expects, but I had used it often enough for my little skill to be recorded in dossiers. He came hunched down, apparently the perfect target for the quick flip up of my right leg. I made contact, but not where I’d meant to. Thigh impact was useless. It served him, though. He caught my ankle and jerked up my leg. I went down on concrete.
I wasn’t winded. I grabbed his foot as he went by. He tried to put his other foot in my face but the manoeuvre required a flair for ballet balance he hadn’t quite got. He came down, clutching at files which failed as a handhold and toppled with him, half a row of them. Hardback covers impeded his bids to kick in my teeth with a free foot. I was still holding the other. He broke this by a kind of jack-knife of his body up from the floor, and was on his feet while I was still on my knees, an offering in apparent helplessness which he couldn’t resist. He came at me for a neck chop. My head went in below his rib cage hard. The chop got my right shoulder. Even there it felt like a hot flat-iron dropped from a height.
