Jaws of the Tiger Read online

  “Fair enough, Admiral. Now let’s get back to Sleeping Beauty.” The President turned to Winters. “Nick, once the press grabs this, they’ll crucify us. What about damage control?”

  “Mr. President, we took the calculated risk of using the gas in order to save the lives of the majority of the passengers and crew. I think we can positively affirm we succeeded in doing just that. I’ve prepared a series of press releases for your approval.”

  “I agree,” interjected West. “We had no other option. After they murdered Peterson and Dickinson’s wife, we simply could not take the risk they would kill other passengers.”

  “Twenty seven lives and counting is a pretty high price. The President eyed Lombardi. “I’m sure some folks will say the use of the gas wasn’t necessary. Especially our British friends.”

  “Hindsight is always perfect, Mr. President,” said West.

  “Tell that to the ratings people.” The President addressed the Attorney General. “Calvin, what is our legal situation?”

  “Mr. President, apparently the class-action boys are already racing to Lajes in their private jets to sign up the passengers and crew. Since the US government has the deepest pocket in the world, I’d say we can expect a couple of billion dollars’ worth of lawsuits minimum for starters.”

  “Any news from the British?”

  “Just confirmation of what they told Admiral West.” Smith eyed the Admiral briefly. “They hold the US entirely responsible for this action. No complaints from the Russians or anybody else about a breach of the Chemical Weapons Convention.”

  “Not even the Russians?” said Winters. “After the accusations we levelled on them for the Moscow situation, surely they’re about to scream bloody murder.”

  The President shot a quick glance at West, then to Winney, then to Smith.

  He turned to Winters. “Not really, Nick.”

  Chapter 38

  Southampton, P & W Headquarters

  Bolding called a meeting of his senior officers to weigh the full measure of the catastrophe. Tie askew, jacket unbuttoned, he rushed into the conference room, where sat Dirk Owens, VP Operations, David Winston, VP Security, Jane Davies, VP Personnel and Communications, and Allister Mills, VP Finance and Administration, their somber expressions testimony to the gravity of the situation.

  “Now then, let’s see what we can salvage from all this.” Bolding eyed Davies. “Jane, how many casualties?”

  Davies looked at her report. “We have 21 confirmed passenger deaths, and 6 crew members. Their bodies are being flown to London first. Then they will be flown to the appropriate destinations. All next of kin have been notified.”

  “I want a representative of P & W to accompany every one of those coffins,” said Bolding. “The least we can do is to show compassion here.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Bolding turned to Owens. “Dirk, what’s the situation with the Star?”

  Owens cleared his throat. “We’ve left a skeleton crew aboard to take care of essentials, and to make sure the bilge pumps keep working. According to information received this morning, the Star has an 11 degree list to starboard, and she’s wedged between two reefs. Initial damage report indicates a 20 foot long gash on the port side, one foot wide, just below the waterline but above the double bottom. Right now the pumps are keeping up, but if she lists any further, all bets are off. The insurance marine surveyors are scheduled to arrive in Corvo this afternoon.”

  “So it’s too early to know if she can be salvaged?” said Bolding.

  “Correct. We’ll have a better idea by this evening.”

  Bolding eyed Mills. “Allister, what’s the financial impact of this so far?”

  Mills looked uncomfortably at Bolding, then the others. “As expected, sales have dropped, but frankly I didn’t think they’d slide this much. Yesterday alone, we had 12 tour operators cancel. I’ve tried to stop the hemorrhaging by offering discounted tours but no one is interested.” Mills paused for an instant, then continued. “Also, we have a serious cash flow issue.”

  “How serious?” said Bolding.

  “Our lines of credit are fully used up. We need five million pounds by next week.”

  “What about our insurers?” interjected Owens. “Any news from them?”

  “I can answer that,” said Bolding. “They’re about as cooperative as a bull in a rodeo. They mentioned something about a late premium payment issue.” Bolding looked at Mills. “Do you know anything about that?”

  Mill’s face flushed. “We, we might have dragged our feet a little.”

  “Well, that’s moot anyway. If we need cash, I’m going to make them an offer they can’t refuse.”

  * * *

  The next day, Bolding sat in the offices of Lloyd’s. P & W’s Solicitor Andrew Toombs, of the firm of Avery, Hawkins and Toombs, sat beside him. Philip Dunmore, Lloyds’ VP Maritime, and Lloyd’s solicitor James Brett sat across the table facing them.

  Four copies of P & W’s maritime insurance policies, bound in metal coils and plastic transparent covers, lay spread out on the conference room table. All four copies were earmarked with yellow and red stickers.

  “We won’t need those,” said Dunmore. “We have our own.” He smiled and pulled out three documents from his briefcase.

  “Suit yourself,” said Bolding. “I’ve asked you to come because P & W wants to make sure we settle this matter quickly. At least the portion of the claim that can be evaluated now.”

  “I must say this is most unusual, Mr. Bolding,” said Dunmore, “as your policy states at page 104 that the insurer retains the right to fully assess all damages before—”

  “I’m aware of that,” said Bolding.

  Dunmore eyed Brett quickly before returning his gaze upon Bolding. “Then I’m not quite sure I understand.”

  “It’s quite simple. We’re prepared to make a deal in exchange for fast payment.”

  “I see,” said Dunmore, “but we have a firm corporate policy to—”

  “I’m willing to knock off five million pounds from Lloyd’s last payment in exchange for a payment of the same amount now. That’s a substantial reduction from what you owe us under contract anyway.” Bolding glanced at Toombs. “If you agree, Mr. Toombs here has drafted the appropriate waiver and sign off for the five million pounds.”

  Dunmore looked unimpressed. He turned to Brett. “I believe you have something to say, Mr. Brett?”

  Mr. Brett instantly submerged himself in his file. He flipped through documents rapidly. “According to our records, P & W is late on three premiums of the building insurance policy for P &W’s headquarters here.” Brett looked up. “Are you aware of this, Mr. Bolding?”

  Bolding regained his composure quickly. “I’ll have it corrected immediately.” He leaned forward to grab the phone.

  “I’m not sure that will do any good.” said Brett. “You see, Sir Adrian, there are cross- default clauses on both of our maritime and building policies, meaning if an insured defaults on one, it automatically suspends the other policy until payment of the defaulting policy is made. If an incident occurs before the default has—”

  “Come now, Mr. Brett,” interrupted Toombs. “We both know that these clauses have been stricken down by the courts as unconscionable and unreasonable.”

  “On a case-by-case basis,” said Brett.

  Bolding flung an angered look at Dunmore. “Are you telling me that Lloyds won’t pay?”

  Dunmore’s expression hardened. “I never said that, Mr. Bolding. But you see, I’d be rightly criticized by our people if I were to comply to your demand of five million pounds up front, with Lloyd’s later taking a position that your company, after three warnings of non-payment, has in fact defaulted not only on the building policy but on the maritime policy also.”

  “Christ!” said Bolding.

  Bolding turned and glanced expectantly at Toombs.

  Toombs pushed away from the table. “I’d like to discuss this in private with my
client.”

  Bolding rose, throwing a glacial glower at Dunmore. “Excuse us.” Bolding and Toombs left the room and headed to a secluded spot across the hall.

  “Bastards. I knew something was wrong when Dunmore showed up with Brett.”

  “I’m assuming what they said about the non-payment is—”

  “Probably true,” said Bolding.

  “I’m at a loss here.”

  “We’re facing serious financial issues. We’ve been dragging our feet a little with non-pressing creditors. I never thought to look at the cross-default clauses.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  Chapter 39

  Santo Espirito Hospital, Azores

  Dulac took the elevator up to the ER on the third floor.His mind kept replaying the nurse’s synopsis of what to expect. She’s very weak. She is under heavy sedation. And she may not recognize you.

  That third possibility scared him most. He got off the elevator and followed the signs towards room 328. Peering through the open doorways of rooms on the way, he could see the occasional unoccupied bed, recently vacated by occupants either now on the road to recovery, or in the morgue. He hastened his pace, trying to suppress his fleeting bursts of curiosity mixed with morbidity. He reached room 328. The door was slightly ajar, so he took a deep breath and entered.

  He hardly recognized her. Her gaze was fixed toward the ceiling, her complexion a deathly gray. Neither the deep black pockets under her eyes or the drawn lines rising from the corners of her open mouth did a thing to reassure Dulac she’d recover from this. For a second he feared the worse, until he saw the barely perceptible rise and fall of the sheets on her torso.

  He stood back in shock, wondering if he should intrude further, when Karen turned her head slowly towards him. She stretched out her left hand in invitation to his, her eyes a silent expression of pleading and resignation.

  Dulac fought back tears as he took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed it.

  “Hello Thierry,” she whispered through a faint smile, the muted sound coming from deep within her chest.

  “Don’t speak. I just came to say hello. You’re doing fine.” She smiled again and nodded slightly. She squeezed his hand with both of hers. “You’ve got to rest for now. Then we’ll get you home. If it’s ok, I’ll just stay here awhile.”

  She nodded.

  Dulac sat down in the worn leather seat, looking at the monitors. After a while, a nurse came by and whispered it was best to let Karen rest alone.

  Dulac looked at Karen as she slept peacefully. He backed out of the room slowly and headed to the elevator. As he waited for the doors to open, pangs of guilt overtook him. He was the reason Karen was here. He shouldn’t have left her and Hank alone. He’d acted on impulse instead of reason. Had he stayed and defended her, chances were she wouldn’t have been hurt at all.

  Chapter 40

  Lyon, France, five days later

  Dulac had visited Karen every day, and after the third day, she’d been moved from Intensive Care to Recuperation. She was out of danger and the doctor’s prognosis for a complete recovery was most encouraging. After four days, Dulac had shown no significant after-effects from the gas and had been discharged from the hospital.

  He’d taken the Thursday flight from Ponta Delgada to Paris, then the next morning’s TGV train to Lyon. Forty minutes after his arrival at the Gare de St Exupéry, he entered the Interpol General Secretary’s office.

  Its present occupant was Annette Arlberg, a svelte Norwegian with finely chiseled facial features bare of makeup and blond hair cut shoulder length, who looked every bit the ideal of Scandinavian good looks and great health. Disillusioned by the crassness of the legal world, she’d jumped ship from the prestigious family law firm of Arlberg and Olafsson thirteen years before and through her father’s connections, gotten a job at Interpol in Lyon. Gradually she’d climbed the ranks, starting as research assistant legal, then agent, and finally to General Secretary a year ago when the previous incumbent had lost the confidence of the General Assembly.

  In some ways, Dulac felt a kinship with Arlberg. He too could have practiced law in his native Montpellier instead of choosing a vocation in law enforcement. He too had forsaken a lucrative career path for the bringing to justice of international criminals. In other ways, Arlberg was an enigma. An unknown quantity. Somehow he knew the feeling was mutual, or at least devoid of the outright hostility he’d experienced with her immediate predecessor Richard Harris. A cold shiver ran up his spine as he consciously blocked further thoughts about Harris.

  “Please.” She motioned Dulac to one of the Art Deco seats across from her desk.

  Dulac sat down.

  Arlberg flipped a strand of hair back behind her left ear.

  “How do you feel?”

  Dulac shrugged. “Tell you in a month. The quacks at Lajes say my early symptoms should eventually disappear.”

  “Symptoms?” A small frown creased Arlberg’s tanned forehead.

  “They say the first month is critical. Memory loss, dizzy spells may occur.”

  “I see. And so far?”

  “Nothing much. Just a bit of dizziness in the morning.”

  “That’s encouraging. Tell me, can you…?”

  “Get back to work?”

  Arlberg put up her right hand defensively. “I don’t want to push you.”

  “As a matter fact, they said the sooner the better.”

  “Good.” Arlberg crossed her legs and reclined in her seat. “By the way, I heard your friend wasn’t so lucky.”

  “One of the hijacker’s bullets grazed her spine.” Dulac felt a tinge of guilt returning.

  “How is she doing?”

  “Better. The doctors are saying there’s a good chance she’ll recover completely.”

  Arlberg took a pencil from her desk and started twiddling it between her fingers.

  “Any thoughts on the hijacking?” she said.

  “Very simple. Those hijackers couldn’t have pulled it off alone. They must have had inside help.”

  Arlberg crossed her arms on her chest and walked back and forth, gathering her thoughts. “That seems to be the position of Scotland Yard and the Americans as well.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve had a call from Nancy Lombardi, Director of Homeland Security.”

  “Oh?” Dulac’s interest rose sharply.

  “She says she’s still responsible for the case on their side.”

  “I’m surprised. Why not the CIA, or the FBI?”

  “Because of the deal they’ve struck with Scotland Yard. Problem is there is no way the Brits are going to let the CIA, or the FBI for that matter, roam their pastures, possibly pick up info on sensitive, confidential data along the way. As a compromise, Lombardi suggested to the Yard that Interpol get involved instead, which the Yard has reluctantly agreed to.”

  “I’m assuming you have also.”

  “Yes. Scotland Yard has put a certain inspector Harry Wade in charge at their end. They’ve put out a warrant for the arrest of the missing security officer, Tajar Singh. “

  “Who are you thinking of assigning at our end? Lescop is due for something challenging.” Before the phrase was complete his brain told Dulac he shouldn’t have asked. From the way Arlberg looked at him, he knew that suggestion wasn’t going to fly.

  “I would prefer you took the case.”

  Dulac looked askance at Arlberg. No way I’m working with the Yard again! “Why me? Just because I was on the ship?”

  “I have my reasons. Besides, you know the territory, so to speak, you’ve worked with the Yard before.”

  “Not the most pleasant of experiences.”

  “Really? And how is that?” Arlberg leaned slightly back towards the wall.

  “You weren’t around then, but the Hidalgo case comes to mind. The Yard took, shall we say, a more bureaucratic approach to the case than we did. That nearly lost us the case
. I got the distinct impression they were paying lip service to my being there. And the cherry on the cake was when they took all the credit. Didn’t even mention Interpol.”

  “I’d be lying if I said say this is looking any different, but at least we’ll be in the front row.” Arlberg went to her desk, picked up a file and handed it to Dulac. “Here is what we have on Wade.”

  Dulac opened the file. From the photo, Wade looked middle-aged, mid-fifties at a guess, with a dour expression probably acquired through years of working with and around criminals. His mouth was only a slit but he had a remarkably rosy complexion for a man his age, with disproportionately large ears for his smallish head. Dulac started to glance through Wade’s history, professional and personal.

  “… 47 years old, divorced, three children, indeterminate sexual orientation…”

  Dulac emitted a guffaw and eyed Arlberg. “Indeterminate sexual orientation? What the hell does that mean?”

  “Well, we can’t really put on paper that he’s switched from sail to steam, so to speak, now can we?”

  “Delicate subject.”

  “Yes. But every bit of information helps.”

  Dulac read on. “So he has a gambling problem also.”

  “I would call it an issue. So far, he’s been able to settle his debts with the London bookies without having to remortgage his house or sell major assets.”

  “Great.”

  “Read on. He has a crime-solving rate of eighty-nine percent.”

  “Almost as good as mine. Dulac smiled wryly, knowing full-well Wade had a file on him and was going through the same exercise.

  “Don’t expect a warm welcome, but do try to be a bit diplomatic, Dulac.”

  “Diplomacy was my father’s profession. Not mine.”

  * * *

  Dulac left Arlberg’s office and took the elevator down to the third floor. He got out, turned left and walked briskly past the open offices. He stopped before his assistant’s desk, smiled at Kim Young Soo and asked the young Korean woman to summon Lescop to his office.