Mightier Than the Sword

“His only solace was in his writing, which he knew could never be published until after Stalin’s death, and probably not until after his own death. But Anatoly wanted the world to know that Stalin was every bit as evil as Hitler. The only difference being that he’d got away with it. And then Stalin died.

“Anatoly became impatient to let the world know what he knew. He should have waited longer, but when he found a publisher who shared his ideals, he couldn’t stop himself. On the day of publication, even before Uncle Joe reached the shops, every copy was destroyed. So great were the KGB’s fears of anyone discovering the truth that even the presses on which Anatoly’s words had been printed were smashed to pieces. The next day he was arrested, and within a week he’d been tried and sentenced to twenty years’ hard labor in the gulag for writing a book that no one had ever read. If he’d been an American who’d written a biography of Roosevelt or Churchill, he would have been on every talk show, and his book would have been a best seller.”

“But you managed to escape.”

“Yes, Anatoly had seen what was coming. A few weeks before publication, he sent me to my mother’s in Leningrad and gave me every ruble he had saved, and a proof copy of the book. I managed to get across the border into Poland, but not until I’d bribed a guard with most of Anatoly’s life savings. I arrived in America without a penny.”

“And the book, did you bring it with you?”

“No, I couldn’t risk that. If I’d been caught and it had been confiscated, Anatoly’s whole life would have served no purpose. I left it somewhere they will never find it.”

*   *   *

The three men who had been waiting for her all rose as Lady Virginia entered the room. At last the meeting could begin.

Desmond Mellor sat opposite her, wearing a brown-checked suit that would have been more in place at a greyhound track. On his left was Major Fisher, dressed in his obligatory dark blue pinstriped double-breasted suit, no longer off-the-peg; after all, he was now a Member of Parliament. Opposite him sat the man who was responsible for bringing the four of them together.

“I called this meeting at short notice,” said Adrian Sloane, “because something has arisen that could well disrupt our long-term plan.” None of them interrupted him. “Last Friday afternoon, just before Sebastian Clifton traveled to New York on the Buckingham, he purchased another twenty-five thousand of the bank’s shares, taking his overall position to just over five percent. As I warned you some time ago, anyone in possession of six percent of the company’s stock is automatically entitled to a place on the board, and if that were to happen, it wouldn’t be long before he discovered what we’ve been planning for the past six months.”

“How much time do you think we’ve got?” asked Lady Virginia.

“Could be a day, a month, a year, who knows?” said Sloane. “All we do know for certain is that only needs another one percent to claim a place on the board, so we should assume sooner rather than later.”

“How close are we to getting our hands on the old lady’s shares?” inquired the major. “That would solve all our problems.”

“I have an appointment to see her son Arnold next Tuesday,” said Des Mellor. “Officially to seek his advice on a legal matter, but I won’t tell him my real purpose until he’s signed a nondisclosure agreement.”

“Why aren’t you making him the offer?” Virginia asked, turning to Sloane. “After all, you’re the chairman of the bank.”

“He’d never agree to do business with me,” said Sloane, “not after I got Mrs. Hardcastle to waive her voting rights on the day of her husband’s funeral. But he hasn’t come across Desmond before.”

“And once he’s signed the nondisclosure agreement,” said Mellor, “I’ll make him an offer of three pounds nine shillings a share for his mother’s stock—that’s thirty percent above market value.”

“Surely he’ll be suspicious? After all, he knows you’re a director of the bank.”

“True,” said Sloane, “but as the sole trustee of his father’s estate, it’s his responsibility to get the best possible deal for his mother, and at the moment, she’s living off her dividend which I’ve kept to the minimum for the past two years.”

“After I’ve reminded him of that,” said Mellor, “I’ll deliver the coup de grâce, and tell him that the first thing I intend to do is remove Adrian as chairman of the bank.”

“That should clinch it,” said the major.

“But what’s to stop him getting in touch with Clifton and simply asking for a better price?”

“That’s the beauty of the nondisclosure agreement. He can’t discuss the offer with anyone other than his mother, unless he wants to be reported to the Bar Council. Not a risk a QC would take lightly.”

“And is our other buyer still in place?” asked the major.

“Mr. Bishara is not only in place,” said Sloane, “but he’s confirmed his offer of five pounds a share in writing, and deposited two million pounds with his solicitor to show he’s serious.”