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spirit into the morning sky had been deflated now. 'It certainly sounds like
Ecker.'
'And the probability is, of course, that I.M. Wartawa told him where we are,
and why, and with whom.'
Michael asked, 'Who's this Ecker?'
Randolph went over to the small refrigerator and took out two bottles of beer.
'Do you want one?' he asked Michael, but Michael shook his head. Randolph
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pried open the cap of one of the bottles and drank the beer straight from the
neck. Then he said, 'Ecker is one of four very tough-looking characters who
have been following us all the way from the continental United States. Ecker
seems to be the leader, although we've never heard him talk. Maybe he's a
mute, something like that. Whatever, they've been sticking pretty close to us
and we have reason to believe they might be the same people who murdered my
family.'
'In which case, they probably want to murder you too,' Michael said equably.
'Not necessarily,' said Randolph. 'They may be doing nothing more than trying
to scare me. After all, they haven't done very much to keep themselves hidden.
On
258
the flight out from Honolulu, they were positively glaring at me, right out in
the open. I was frightened at first that they were sent out to kill me, but
the more I think about it, the more likely it seems that they were sent just
to keep tabs on whatever I was doing. Maybe to warn me off too. To remind me
to behave myself and stop competing with some of my influential competitors
back home.'
Michael sniffed and took out a cigarette. 'He may not have wanted to kill you
at first, this Ecker, but if he has been talking to I.M. Wartawa and if I.M.
Wartawa has been talking to him, he's going to know that you're attempting to
meet your wife and children.'
'And?' Wanda asked.
'And nothing,' Michael replied, scratching a match on the side of Randolph's
closet door and lighting his cigarette. 'Except that your wife and children
were the only eyewitnesses to their own deaths, the only ones who saw who
killed them. And so if / were this Ecker character, I'd do everything I could
to make sure you never got to talk to them.'
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Memphis, Tennessee
Waverley Graceworthy was sitting in the huge library of his mansion on Elvis
Presley Boulevard playing backgammon with his niece, Gertrude, when the butler
came in to announce that Mr Neil Sleaman was paying him an unexpected visit.
'You'd better show Mr Sleaman into the study,' Waverley told the butler. He
reached over and patted Gertrude's blonde, braided hair and smiled. 'Go to the
kitchen, why don't you, Gertie, and ask Mrs Morris for some of her sand tarts.
Tell her you can have a glass of hot, brandied milk to wash them down with.'
He walked along the wide, carpeted corridor, his hands tucked into the pockets
of his red quilted smoking jacket, until he reached the study. Usually
Waverley referred to the study as his 'den,' although it was large enough to
accommodate a fair-sized family bungalow, complete with carport. There were
huge, dark oil paintings on the walls, mostly of Confederate victories: Bull
Run and Fredericks-burg, and the armoured steamboat battle off Memphis in
1862. There was a cavernous fireplace but today the fire was not lit. The
temperature at midday had been well up into the low nineties and the night
promised to be sticky.
Neil Sleaman was standing by the fireplace holding a thin black leather
briefcase. He looked pale. Randolph, of course, had been calling him
erratically day and night and expecting immediate answers to all his
questions.
'Glad you stopped by,' Waverley said, offering Neil an armchair. 'Is there
anything I can get you to drink?'
260
'A beer would be fine,' Neil said.
Waverley went to the fireplace and pushed the button beside the marble
surround. 'I usually prefer it, of course, if we make our meetings a little
more discreet.'
'I'm sorry, but I didn't want to tell you this on the telephone and I thought
you would probably want to hear about it immediately. Randolph called me only
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fifteen minutes ago and said he was making arrangements to come back to
Memphis.'
'When?' Waverley asked. 'Not right away, surely.'
'On the first available flight. That's Garuda Airlines to Djakarta, then Thai
International to London via Bangkok. He could be back here in Memphis by
Saturday afternoon.'
'Did he give you any idea of why he has decided to come back so soon?'
Neil put down his briefcase as if it hadn't really been worth carrying anyway.
'He said that he'd been having some fresh thoughts about the Sun-Taste
contract and that he'd probably found a way to solve our problems, that's
all.'
'Sun-Taste expects him to make up the shortfall by tomorrow, doesn't it?'
That's correct according to the contract. But Randolph must have spoken to
Sun-Taste's president direct from Bali. Randolph's given them his personal
guarantee that he can make up the shortfall by the end of next week, and he's
also promised that any tonnage that arrives later than originally contracted
for will be free of charge.'
'Now, let's hold on here,' Waverley said, raising his hand to his fine-boned
chin. 'You've been giving me your personal guarantee that Raleigh won't be
back on line until Friday at the very earliest.'
'That's correct,' Neil insisted. 'There is no way that even one barrel of
processed cottonseed oil can be produced by that plant until three o'clock
Friday afternoon. No way at all. They don't even have the new valves assembled
yet.'
'So how can Randolph possibly suggest that he can make
261
up the shortfall? And how in hell can he offer any tonnage for free? He'll put
himself straight out of business.'
Neil took a sharp breath. 'Waverley,' he said, 'I really don't know, and
that's why I'm here. I mean, there's always a possibility that grieving over
his family has turned Randolph's mind a little. Maybe he's gone over the edge. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
