To Save a Son (33 page)

The bastard didn't believe him, Franks realized at once. All the crap about unblemished character and reputation was exactly that: so much crap. Franks worked at controlling himself. Podmore was a man who existed within the square mile of the city of London and who depended upon his own reputation within that stiflingly enclosed environment remaining absolutely unquestioned. Considering it objectively—which it was essential that he do—Podmore was merely suggesting insurance to protect that reputation. It would be wrong to become annoyed—offended even—at a man doing in effect no more than he was attempting to do himself. He couldn't argue against anything except the time limit, but he had to argue with that. Franks waited, too experienced a negotiator to rush in with offers and arguments before he'd heard all the opinions.

“I think those observations have a lot to commend them,” said Hunter. At once Phillips and Wise nodded agreement. “I think so, too,” said the first man, and the second added, “My feelings, exactly.”

Kenham refused to commit himself, for the same reason as Franks. The solicitor said, “I'd like to hear the reaction from our chairman and managing director.”

Shit, thought Franks. He said, “The reason I've come back here today”—he gestured beyond the doors, to where Waldo and Schultz were waiting—“at considerable awkwardness and inconvenience is, as I've already attempted to make clear, to protect what is controlled from here and what exists in Spain and France and in Italy and in the Caribbean, with the cruise ship. If it is the feeling of these assembled boards that such protection is best provided by what Podmore has suggested—and I acknowledge and commend the sound business logic of those suggestions—then of course I would agree to them. Agree to them formally, upon a properly recorded vote and with the proxy of my wife committed also.”

“It would seem that there is no disagreement among us, then?” said Kenham. “I'm personally in favor of Podmore's proposals.”

“I hadn't finished the point I was making,” said Franks quietly.

There had been a discernible relaxation in the room, but now the six men came abruptly back to him. “What?” demanded Podmore, the leader.

“The time limit,” said Franks. “I agree entirely that I cannot expect you to carry on with the arrangement I have suggested today for an indeterminate time. I never intended that it should be for an unlimited period; that would have been unrealistic. Equally, I think it is unrealistic for you, today, to expect me to commit myself to a schedule as
tight
as six months from today's date. I've told you I have to appear before a grand jury. After that there has to be a trial. And the protection in the immediate aftermath that I've already spoken to you about.”

“How long?” insisted Podmore. “I will not agree to anything open-ended.”

Franks realized he'd been backed into a corner, with little room to maneuver or escape. He said, “Six months from the conclusion of the trial.”

The men all deferred to Podmore, the emerging leader and spokesman. Podmore said, “I had a further point to make, as well.”

“What?” asked Franks apprehensively.

“Although they are not public, the companies have public responsibilities. There are a great number of employees, both English and foreign nationals. There is the crew of the cruise liner. Our contracted suppliers, to which reference has already been made. And the many thousands of holiday makers and tourists who have relied upon us in the past and rely upon us for the future.”

“What's the point?” pressed Franks. The damned man was posturing, playing to a suddenly unexpected audience.

“That any agreement we reach today allows the newly constituted boards to offer the companies to public subscription and public directorship to continue their running and the obligations that I believe all of us recognize.”

Franks knew the visual impression was a misleading one, but the grouping around the conference table made it appear to him that he was alone, confronting an opposing force led by Podmore. The response came to him automatically—instinctively—because it was in direct contradiction to the basic principle by which he'd always worked. It took a great effort of will to hold back the rejection, but he managed it. Instead he said, his voice surprisingly even, “You, all of you, know how I feel about opening the companies to any sort of public subscription or involvement.” He paused and added bitterly, “And after the American experience, I feel that way even more strongly. I can, however, see and appreciate the argument that is being advanced. I have a question. What would your reaction be if I refused the condition of going public, as I have always refused it in the past?”

It was a demand to all of them but Franks spoke directly to Podmore.

“We are hypothesizing extremes,” said Podmore. “Your demise—which all of us here obviously and sincerely hope doesn't occur—or your inability to return here to pick up the running of the companies. We've already decided upon a formula for access to their affairs in the event of your assassination. Without you, the companies would
have
to go public, to ensure their continuance. Just as they would if you were unable, for whatever reason, to come back here. I imposed a time limit—and concede it from the conclusion of the trial—because I am not prepared to make the commitment necessary for me to be involved in the full-time running of the companies in your absence.
You
insist upon private companies; I don't. Unless we have an agreement here today, including the public offering, then I do not consider myself able to continue in the directorial capacity that I hold. I would today have to tender my resignation, from each and every company.”

Bastard, thought Franks again. With the controlling shareholding provided by Tina's proxy he didn't need any of their agreements to form the holding company and do what he intended to do. But he did need them—desperately needed them—to continue running the companies in his absence. There had to be board control over the managers, and there wasn't anyone else who understood the companies like these men did. And they knew it; at least Podmore did. Franks said, “We've had the benefit of Podmore's views. What about the rest of the directors?”

“We're considering an unusual situation,” said Kenham. “Bizarre. I don't think I'd be prepared to continue without the agreements that Podmore has set out.”

“Or me,” came in Hunter.

“I think they're precautions we've got to take,” said Dore.

“The last thing we can sustain—if we can even sustain what's going to happen when the American situation becomes public—is split boards,” said Phillips. “I agree with the rest.”

“So do I,” concluded Wise.

He was trapped, Franks realized, desperation churning through him. Just like he'd been trapped by the FBI investigation and then by the ultimatum presented by the district attorney. Which was exactly what it was: an ultimatum, not a choice. All he wanted was a fucking choice that didn't involve him risking everything! He might have promised Tina that he intended to get out—maintain only a token presence—when everything had been resolved, but he'd wanted it to be on his terms; in his way. Not dismissed by these grey-suited, grey-faced, grey-existing upstart clerks whose biggest risk was trying a second glass of punch at the office Christmas party. Jesus, he'd have liked a drink of his own! Franks determined against letting them see how bitterly he felt their insistence. He said, his voice still controlled and even, “I repeat once more what I've already made clear: the continuance of the companies is of paramount importance. For me to agree to what you've demanded amounts to a concession. I feel justified, then, in seeking undertakings from each of you. We've already talked of the period when I am going to be absent. My managers and their managers run efficient enterprises; if they didn't, they wouldn't be my managers. But I've always—until the last few moments—insisted on the tightest final control; not interference. Control. I am aware of your other interests. I would ask you today to enter with me into the same sort of contractual agreement you are seeking from me—written, binding contracts—that for the period under discussion you are prepared to relegate your other interests so that these companies can become your primary consideration.”

It didn't amount to much of a demand; it was the sort of posturing of which he'd earlier considered Podmore guilty. But it would be something, if they agreed. And he
did
want the tight control to be retained in his absence.

“We're salaried directors,” reminded Podmore quietly.

The man
was
a bastard, decided Franks. When he was back in control he'd sack the man and replace him with somebody who didn't peck and pull like some vulture trying to strip clean a carcass. “Ten percent of whatever increase is shown over the previous year's comparable period,” he said, in further unavoidable concession.

“I'm prepared to enter into such an undertaking on that condition,” accepted Podmore at once, which further upset Franks; the quickness indicated that the man would have done it for less. There was a follow-my-leader acceptance from everyone else in the room.

Headed by Kenham in his role as company secretary, the four lawyers drew up the provisional documentation for immediate agreement while they sat in the conference room, and when Franks gave that, they promised the properly prepared contracts within two days. Franks realized it would mean his having to return from Switzerland to London on his way back to America, but did not consider that a major detour. After he'd initialed the draft agreements, Podmore said, “How are we going to be able to get into contact with you?”

Franks nodded toward the head-bent Kenham. “He's made the Swiss arrangements. He's got all the details.…” He hesitated as the thought came to him. “And you will have the name of my attorney in New York,” he added. Would it have been an idea to bring Rosenberg with him? The idea hadn't occurred until now, but Franks wished he'd thought of it earlier. He didn't know how Rosenberg would have confronted the demands—there wasn't anything with which he could logically have resisted them—but Franks would have liked to have had someone on his side. He'd expected more support from Kenham. Why was it—in practically everything he did—he felt increasingly isolated?

Franks made an appointment to see Kenham after the meeting the following day with the managers, and the six men assured him they would be immediately available upon his return from Switzerland.

It was already dark when Franks emerged once more into the embarrassing protective custody of Waldo and Schultz. Franks realized he'd kept the FBI men waiting for more than four hours, and although he knew the feeling to be juvenile Franks hoped they were annoyed at the length of time. Neither gave any indication of being so.

By the time Franks reached the hotel he was at last feeling the tiredness of the journey, so he would have eaten in his rooms anyway. He delayed ordering, first putting in a call to Tina. He asked her how she was, and she said fine and asked him how he was, and he said fine and asked her how the children were, and she said fine. Franks hesitated and decided it would appear strange if he didn't mention Maria, so he asked how things were working out with her and Tina said that was fine, too. He told her that he'd met the nonvoting directors, and she asked how it had gone, and Franks hesitated once more. The honest answer was that it had gone badly, but there was no point in her knowing that, not yet.

“There have had to be some changes in the arrangements,” he said.

“Like what?”

“Provisions for them to run things more actively when I'm unable to,” said Franks. They were hardly nonvoting directors anymore, he thought. Damn them!

“You don't intend to be as active in any case,” said Tina, seizing an immediate point. “That's what you've promised. So the changes would have had to be made.”

“You're right,” conceded Franks, too weary to get into any sort of dispute. Podmore was definitely a change that was going to be made, he thought.

“So everything's all right, then?” she pressed.

“Sure. Everything's fine.” Except for a guard outside in the corridor and another next door and another opposite and a contingent of antiterrorist police God knows where, and a perpetual feeling of being a criminal. Franks supposed he should tell her of his appointments with the schools but couldn't be bothered. Better to wait until after the meetings, when he'd have something positive to talk about. He gave her his suite number in case she needed to contact him, and promised to call again, and put the telephone down gratefully.

Franks poured another drink, looked at the menu, and decided he wasn't really hungry. When was the last time he'd eaten? Last night, with Tina and Maria. It was too much trouble to calculate in hours just when that had been. What would Maria be doing now? He frowned, concentrating more fully on the menu. Hungry or not, he should eat something. He decided, disinterested, upon steak, paying more attention to the wine list. He picked at the meal and drank the wine and when he went to bed he slept the deep sleep of drunken exhaustion.

Waldo and Schultz were waiting for his call the following morning. Franks emerged from the hotel, blinking in the strong sunlight, regretting the previous day's intake and hoping the headache would soon go. He was sure it wasn't just the booze; there was the jet lag to consider, too. They'd conceded to his demands about the hotel; he should have insisted upon the Concorde as well.

There was a following car and Waldo was as attentive as ever, gazing around, never still. As he looked from the front seat into the rear of the vehicle the American said, “I know, Mr. Franks, that you consider all this to be a fatuous waste of time, but do you really think it was such a good idea to give your wife your room number? She knew the hotel, didn't she?”