reluctance, inaction, incompetence and plain running-scared vacillation of a State Department which will be responsible for the loss of a hundred-million-dollar oil rig, the stopping of cheap supplies of fuel to the American people, the biggest oil slick in history, and the possible—no, I would say probable—beginnings of a third major war. In addition to holding this news conference, I shall buy TV and radio time, explain the whole situation, and further explain that I am forced to go to those extraordinary lengths because of the refusal and inability of the State Department to protect me." He paused. "That was rather silly of me. I have my own TV and radio stations. It's going to be such a burning-hot topic that the big three companies will jump at it and it won't cost me a cent. By tonight I'll have the name of the State Department, particularly the names of you and your boss, if not exactly blackened, at least tarnished across the country. I'm a desperate man, gentle-
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men, and I'm prepared to adopt desperate methods."
He paused for their reactions. Facially they were all he could have wished. Howell, his assistant and the general all too clearly realized that Lord Worth meant every word he said. The implications were too horrendous to contemplate, But no one said anything, so Lord Worth took up the conversational burden again.
"Finally, gentlemen, you base your pusillanimous refusal to act on the fact that I have no proof of evil intent. I do, in fact, possess such proof, and it's cast iron. I will not lay this proof before you because it is apparent that I will achieve nothing here. I require a decision-maker, and the Secretary has the reputation for being just that. I suggest you get him here."
"Get the Secretary?" HowelTs ears were clearly appalled by this suggested l$se majeste. "One doesn't 'get' the Secretary. People make appointments days, even weeks, in advance. Besides, he is in a very important conference."
Lord Worth remained unmoved. "Get him. This conference he'd better have with me will be the most important of his life. If he elects not to come, then he's probably holding the last conference of his political career. I know he's not twenty yards from here. Get him." "I—I don't really think—" Lord Worth rose. "I hope your immediate successors—and the operative word is 'immedi-
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ate'—win, for the country's sake, display more common sense and intestinal fortitude than you have. Tell the man who, through your gross negligence and cowardly refusal to face facts, will be held primarily responsible for the outbreak of the next war, to watch TV tonight. You have had your chance—as your stenographer's notebook will show—and you've thrown it away." Lord Worth shook his head, almost in sadness. "There are none so blind as those who will not see— especially a spluttering fuse leading to a keg of dynamite. I bid you good day, gentlemen."
"No! No!" Howell was in a state of very considerable agitation. "Sit down! Sit down! I'll see what I can do."
He practically ran from the room.
During his rather protracted absence—he was gone for exactly thirteen minutes—conversation in the room was minimal.
Zweicker said: "You really mean what you say, don't you?"
"Do you doubt me, General?"
"Not any more. You really intend to carry out those threats?"
"I think the word you want is 'promises/ "
After this effective conversation-stopper an uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Only Lord Worth appeared hi no way discomforted. He was, or appeared to be, calm and relaxed, which was quite a feat, because he knew that the
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appearance or nonappearance of the Secretary meant whether he had won or lost.
He'd won. The Secretary, John Benton, when Howell nervously ushered him in, didn't look at all like his reputation—which was that of a tough, shrewd-minded, hard-nosed negotiator, ruthless when the situation demanded and not
121
Alislair MacLean
men, and I'm prepared to adopt desperate methods."
He paused for their reactions. Facially they were all he could have wished. Howell, his assistant and the general all too clearly realized that Lord Worth meant every word he said. The implications were too horrendous to contemplate, But no one said anything, so Lord Worth took up the conversational burden again.
"Finally, gentlemen, you base your pusillanimous refusal to act on the fact that I have no proof of evil intent. I do, in fact, possess such proof, and it's cast iron. I will not lay this proof before you because it is apparent that I will achieve nothing here. I require a decision-maker, and the Secretary has the reputation for being just that. I suggest you get him here."
"Get the Secretary?" HowelTs ears were clearly appalled by this suggested l$se majeste. "One doesn't 'get' the Secretary. People make appointments days, even weeks, in advance. Besides, he is in a very important conference."
Lord Worth remained unmoved. "Get him. This conference he'd better have with me will be the most important of his life. If he elects not to come, then he's probably holding the last conference of his political career. I know he's not twenty yards from here. Get him." "I—I don't really think—" Lord Worth rose. "I hope your immediate successors—and the operative word is 'immedi-
122
Seawit«h
ate'—win, for the country's sake, display more common sense and intestinal fortitude than you have. Tell the man who, through your gross negligence and cowardly refusal to face facts, will be held primarily responsible for the outbreak of the next war, to watch TV tonight. You have had your chance—as your stenographer's notebook will show—and you've thrown it away." Lord Worth shook his head, almost in sadness. "There are none so blind as those who will not see— especially a spluttering fuse leading to a keg of dynamite. I bid you good day, gentlemen."
"No! No!" Howell was in a state of very considerable agitation. "Sit down! Sit down! I'll see what I can do."
He practically ran from the room.
During his rather protracted absence—he was gone for exactly thirteen minutes—conversation in the room was minimal.
Zweicker said: "You really mean what you say, don't you?"
"Do you doubt me, General?"
"Not any more. You really intend to carry out those threats?"
"I think the word you want is 'promises/ "
After this effective conversation-stopper an uncomfortable silence fell on the room. Only Lord Worth appeared hi no way discomforted. He was, or appeared to be, calm and relaxed, which was quite a feat, because he knew that the
123
Alistair MacLean
appearance or nonappearance of the Secretary meant whether he had won or lost.
He'd won. The Secretary, John Benton, when Howell nervously ushered him in, didn't look at all like his reputation—which was that of a tough, shrewd-minded, hard-nosed negotiator, ruthless when the situation demanded and not
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