Master of the Game (28 page)

The following day, Tony took an apartment in Greenwich Village. There were no more sociable dinners with his mother. He kept his relationship with Kate on an impersonal, businesslike basis. From time to time Kate made conciliatory overtures, which Tony ignored.

Kate’s heart ached. But she had done what was right for Tony. Just as she had once done what was right for David. She could not have let either of them leave the company. Tony was the one human being in the world Kate loved, and she watched as he became more and more insular, drawing deep within himself, rejecting everyone. He had no friends. Where once he had been warm and outgoing, he was now cool and reserved. He had built a wall around himself that no one was able to breach.
He needs a wife to care for him
, Kate thought.
And a son to carry on. I must help him. I must
.

Brad Rogers came into Kate’s office and said, “I’m afraid we’re in for some more trouble, Kate.”

“What’s happened?”

He put a cable on her desk. “The South African Parliament has outlawed the Natives’ Representative Council and passed the Communist Act.”

Kate said, “My God!” The act had nothing to do with communism. It stated that anyone who disagreed with any government policy and tried to change it in any way was guilty under the Communist Act and could be imprisoned.

“It’s their way of breaking the black resistance movement,” she said. “If—” She was interrupted by her secretary.

“There’s an overseas call for you. It’s Mr. Pierce in Johannesburg.”

Jonathan Pierce was the manager of the Johannesburg branch office. Kate picked up the phone. “Hello, Johnny. How are you?”

“Fine, Kate. I have some news I thought you’d better be aware of.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve just received a report that the police have captured Banda.”

Kate was on the next flight to Johannesburg. She had alerted the company lawyers to see what could be done for Banda. Even the power and prestige of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., might not be able to help him. He had been designated an enemy of the state, and she dreaded to think what his punishment would be. At least she must see him and talk to him and offer what support she could.

When the plane landed in Johannesburg, Kate went to her office and telephoned the director of prisons.

“He’s in an isolation block, Mrs. Blackwell, and he’s allowed no visitors. However, in your case, I will see what can be done…”

The following morning, Kate was at the Johannesburg prison, face to face with Banda. He was manacled and shackled, and there was a glass partition between them. His hair was completely white. Kate had not known what to expect—despair, defiance—but Banda grinned when he saw her and said, “I knew
you’d come. You’re just like your daddy. You can’t stay away from trouble, can you?”

“Look who’s talking,” Kate retorted. “Bloody hell! How do we get you out of here?”

“In a box. That’s the only way they’re going to let me go.”

“I have a lot of fancy lawyers who—”

“Forget it, Kate. They caught me fair and square. Now I’ve got to get away fair and square.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I don’t like cages, I never did. And they haven’t built one yet that can keep me.”

Kate said, “Banda, don’t try it. Please. They’ll kill you.”

“Nothing can kill me,” Banda said. “You’re talking to a man who lived through sharks and land mines and guard dogs.” A soft gleam came into his eyes. “You know something, Kate? I think maybe that was the best time of my life.”

When Kate went to visit Banda the next day, the superintendent said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Blackwell. We’ve had to move him for security reasons.”

“Where is he?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.”

When Kate woke up the following morning, she saw the headline in the newspaper carried in with her breakfast tray. It read:
REBEL LEADER KILLED WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE PRISON
. She was at the prison an hour later, in the superintendent’s office.

“He was shot during an attempted prison break, Mrs. Black-well. That’s all there is to it.”

You’re wrong
, thought Kate,
there’s more. Much more
. Banda was dead, but was his dream of freedom for his people dead?

Two days later, after making the funeral arrangements, Kate was on the plane to New York. She looked out the window to take one last look at her beloved land. The soil was red and rich and fertile, and in the bowels of its earth were treasures beyond man’s dreams. This was God’s chosen land, and He had been
lavish in his generosity. But there was a curse upon the country.
I’ll never come back here again
, Kate thought sadly.
Never
.

One of Brad Rogers’s responsibilities was to oversee the Long-Range Planning Department of Kruger-Brent, Ltd. He was brilliant at finding businesses that would make profitable acquisitions.

One day in early May, he walked into Kate Blackwell’s office. “I’ve come across something interesting, Kate.” He placed two folders on her desk. “Two companies. If we could pick up either one of them, it would be a coup.”

“Thanks, Brad. I’ll look them over tonight.”

That evening, Kate dined alone and studied Brad Rogers’s confidential reports on the two companies—Wyatt Oil & Tool and International Technology. The reports were long and detailed, and both ended with the letters
NIS
, the company code for
Not Interested in Selling
, which meant that if the companies were to be acquired, it would take more than a straightforward business transaction to accomplish it.
And
, Kate thought,
they’re well worth taking over
. Each company was privately controlled by a wealthy and strong-minded individual, which eliminated any possibility of a takeover attempt. It was a challenge, and it had been a long time since Kate had faced a challenge. The more she thought about it, the more the possibilities began to excite her. She studied again the confidential balance sheets. Wyatt Oil & Tool was owned by a Texan, Charlie Wyatt, and the company’s assets included producing oil wells, a utility company and dozens of potentially profitable oil leases. There was no question about it, Wyatt Oil & Tool would make a handsome acquisition for Kruger-Brent, Ltd.

Kate turned her attention to the second company. International Technology was owned by a German, Count Frederick Hoffman. The company had started with a small steel mill in Essen, and over the years had expanded into a huge conglomerate, with shipyards, petrochemical plants, a fleet of oil tankers and a computer division.

As large as Kruger-Brent, Ltd., was, it could digest only one of these giants. She knew which company she was going after.
NIS
, the sheet read.

We’ll see about that
, Kate thought.

Early the following morning, she sent for Brad Rogers. “I’d love to know how you got hold of those confidential balance sheets,” Kate grinned. “Tell me about Charlie Wyatt and Frederick Hoffman.”

Brad had done his homework. “Charlie Wyatt was born in Dallas. Flamboyant, loud, runs his own empire, smart as hell. He started with nothing, got lucky in oil wildcatting, kept expanding and now he owns about half of Texas.”

“How old is he?”

“Forty-seven.”

“Children?”

“One daughter, twenty-five. From what I hear, she’s a raving beauty.”

“Is she married?”

“Divorced.”

“Frederick Hoffman.”

“Hoffman’s a couple of years younger than Charlie Wyatt. He’s a count, comes from a distinguished German family going back to the Middle Ages. He’s a widower. His grandfather started with a small steel mill. Frederick Hoffman inherited it from his father and built it into a conglomerate. He was one of the first to get into the computer field. He holds a lot of patents on microprocessors. Every time we use a computer, Count Hoffman gets a royalty.”

“Children?”

“A daughter, twenty-three.”

“What is she like?”

“I couldn’t find out,” Brad Rogers apologized. “It’s a very buttoned-up family. They travel in their own little circles.” He hesitated. “We’re probably wasting our time on this, Kate. I had a few drinks with a couple of top executives in both companies.
Neither Wyatt nor Hoffman has the slightest interest in a sale, merger or joint venture. As you can see from their financials, they’d be crazy even to think about it.”

That feeling of challenge was there in Kate again, tugging at her.

Ten days later Kate was invited by the President of the United States to a Washington conference of leading international industrialists to discuss assistance to underdeveloped countries. Kate made a telephone call, and shortly afterward Charlie Wyatt and Count Frederick Hoffman received invitations to attend the conference.

Kate had formed a mental impression of both the Texan and the German, and they fitted her preconceived notions almost precisely. She had never met a shy Texan, and Charlie Wyatt was no exception. He was a huge man—almost six feet four inches—with enormous shoulders and a football player’s body that had gone to fat. His face was large and ruddy, and his voice loud and booming. He came off as a good ol’ boy—or would have if Kate had not known better. Charlie Wyatt had not built his empire by luck. He was a business genius. Kate had talked to him for less than ten minutes when she knew that there was no way this man could be persuaded to do anything he did not want to do. He was opinionated, and he had a deep stubborn streak. No one was going to cajole him, threaten him or con him out of his company. But Kate had found his Achilles’ heel, and that was enough.

Frederick Hoffman was Charlie Wyatt’s opposite. He was a handsome man, with an aristocratic face and soft brown hair tinged with gray at the temples. He was punctiliously correct and filled with a sense of old-fashioned courtesy. On the surface, Frederick Hoffman was pleasant and debonair; on the inside Kate sensed a core of steel.

The conference in Washington lasted three days, and it went well. The meetings were chaired by the Vice-President, and the President made a brief appearance. Everyone there was impressed
with Kate Blackwell. She was an attractive, charismatic woman, head of a corporate empire she had helped build, and they were fascinated, as Kate meant them to be.

When Kate got Charlie Wyatt alone for a moment, she asked innocently, “Is your family with you, Mr. Wyatt?”

“I brought my daughter along. She has a little shoppin’ to do.”

“Oh, really? How nice.” No one would have suspected that Kate not only knew his daughter was with him, but what kind of dress she had bought at Garfinckel’s that morning. “I’m giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor Friday. I’d be pleased if you and your daughter would join us for the weekend.”

Wyatt did not hesitate. “I’ve heard a lot about your spread, Mrs. Blackwell. I’d sure like to see it.”

Kate smiled. “Good. I’ll make arrangements for you to be flown up there tomorrow night.”

Ten minutes later, Kate was speaking to Frederick Hoffman. “Are you alone in Washington, Mr. Hoffman?” she asked. “Or is your wife with you?”

“My wife died a few years ago,” Frederick Hoffman told her. “I’m here with my daughter.”

Kate knew they were staying at the Hay-Adams Hotel in Suite 418. “I’m giving a little dinner party at Dark Harbor. I would be delighted if you and your daughter could join us tomorrow for the weekend.”

“I should be getting back to Germany,” Hoffman replied. He studied her a moment, and smiled. “I suppose another day or two won’t make much difference.”

“Wonderful. I’ll arrange transportation for you.”

It was Kate’s custom to give a party at the Dark Harbor estate once every two months. Some of the most interesting and powerful people in the world came to these gatherings, and the get-togethers were always fruitful. Kate intended to see to it that this one was a very special party. Her problem was to make sure Tony attended. During the past year, he had seldom bothered to show up, and when he did he had made a perfunctory appearance
and left. This time it was imperative that he come and that he stay.

When Kate mentioned the weekend to Tony, he said curtly, “I c-can’t make it. I’m leaving for C-canada Monday and I have a lot of w-work to clean up before I go.”

“This is important,” Kate told him. “Charlie Wyatt and Count Hoffman are going to be there and they’re—”

“I know who they are,” he interrupted. “I t-talked to Brad Rogers. We haven’t got a p-prayer of acquiring either one of those companies.”

“I want to give it a try.”

He looked at her and asked, “W-which one are you after?”

“Wyatt Oil and Tool. It could increase our profits as much as fifteen percent, perhaps more. When the Arab countries realize they have the world by the throat, they’re going to form a cartel, and oil prices will skyrocket. Oil is going to turn into liquid gold.”

“What about International T-t-technology?”

Kate shrugged. “It’s a good company, but the plum is Wyatt Oil and Tool. It’s a perfect acquisition for us. I need you there, Tony. Canada can wait a few days.”

Tony loathed parties. He hated the endless, boring conversations, the boastful men and the predatory women. But this was business. “All right.”

All the pieces were in place.

The Wyatts were flown to Maine in a company Cessna, and from the ferry were driven to Cedar Hill House in a limousine. Kate was at the door to greet them. Brad Rogers had been right about Charlie Wyatt’s daughter, Lucy. She was strikingly beautiful. She was tall, with black hair and gold-flecked brown eyes, set in almost perfect features. Her sleek Galanos dress outlined a firm, stunning figure. She had, Brad informed Kate, been divorced from a wealthy Italian playboy two years earlier. Kate introduced Lucy to Tony and watched for her son’s reaction. There was none. He greeted both the Wyatts with equal courtesy
and led them into the bar, where a bartender was waiting to mix drinks.

“What a lovely room,” Lucy exclaimed. Her voice was unexpectedly soft and mellow, with no trace of a Texas accent. “Do you spend much time here?” she asked Tony.

“No.”

She waited for
him
to go on. Then, “Did you grow up here?”