The Money Stones by Ian St. James

Author:Ian St. James [St. James, Ian]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Sixty Forty Publishing
Published: 2012-01-22T11:00:00+00:00

Seven

'So you're the young man with the mining deal?' Vince Pickard pumped my arm. 'Say, am I glad to meet you.'

'Mike's not in commodities, Vince,' Hallsworth corrected, anxious to protect me from technical questions. 'He's a money man.'

'Shit, when wasn't money a commodity? Get me a bundle at a discount will you, Mike?'

Pickard's office two days later. Except office is misleading. But then everything about Marlborough House was misleading - including its name. A pile of Victorian red brick standing in fifty acres of Hertfordshire, just north of St Albans. From the outside, a well preserved country house set amidst manicured lawns and rhododendrons, protected from public gaze by twelve foot walls, wrought iron gates and security guards. And from the inside the most impressive display of corporate muscle I've ever seen.

The first hint of it being a meeting out of the ordinary came when Hallsworth announced us at the gate-keeper's lodge and Pickard's security men took the car apart with stares like lasers.

'I'll vouch for him,' Hallsworth grinned at one of the men and nodded at me before explaining: 'Normally you're asked for identification - and even the most respectable submit to having their briefcases searched.'

I passed mine out of the car door for inspection but the man shook his head: 'Pardon me but that won't be necessary, Mr Townsend.' To which I said 'thank you,' and he; answered 'you're welcome,' in that unexpectedly gracious manner Americans have. After which we crunched the car wheels over the hundred yards of gravel drive to the front door.

The oak panelled reception hall was bigger than centre court Wimbledon and smothered with the trappings of the British aristocracy. But the rooms behind were a revelation, stuffed with Cape Canaveral electronics and operated by men talking fluent Harvard Business to girls listening with the fluid poise of MGM. The entire staff of fifteen were American and the offices buzzed with the business of U.S. Steel. Yet no one would have known, from the outside.

I asked Pickard why the secrecy.

'Politics,' he said. 'With you Brits its always politics.'

He answered my puzzled look with a pitying one of his own: 'We have to keep a low profile. If your unions even suspected we were here you'd have a General Strike on your hands. And why, for Chrissakes? To protect British Steel.' He shook his head as if the puzzle baffled him. 'We could supply this country with all the steel you need and then some. But no - your politicians have to be in the steel business. Not for money - hell no - but for what they call the national interest. But can you tell me what kind of interest allows. British Steel to piss away two million bucks a day?'

The hired help might be Ivy League but Pickard himself was plain, old-fashioned American business. He was also just about the fastest thing I've ever seen outside a race track. Rapid fire speech, a jerky laugh and quick darting eyes. I ducked the political debate in favour of a feigned interest in the electronics.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.