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Authors: Antony Trew
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unco-operative as the Zurich consortium. Urgent attempts to raise finance in Paris,London, Frankfurt, New York, Tel Aviv and Bahrain had all met with the same chilly response. Bankers were in no mood to rescue tanker owners in a faltering economic climate and with so much tonnage unemployed.
‘It seems,’ said the chairman despondently, ‘that we have come to the end of the road. Short of a miracle we face the unpleasant reality of liquidation.’
Le Febre, having expressed his customary concern that the caution he’d so long advocated had been flouted, finished with, ‘The disastrous results of that disregard are now plain for all to see.’ He sat back with the injured dignity of a prophet without honour in his own country.
The chairman forced an astringent smile. ‘No one likes liquidation, my dear le Febre, but it is not the end of the world. Your personal shareholding is no more than nominal, if I remember correctly?’
‘The holdings of those I represent are anything but nominal‚’ rasped the Frenchman. ‘And much of the institutional money comes from the savings of small investors.’
‘Then I suggest you leave the grief to them.’ The chairman gathered his mobile features into the affected smile of a man who knows he’s made a quick kill. ‘And now‚’ he said, ‘I would like to get on with the business of the meeting.’
That business was fairly quickly dealt with: one, Ocean Mammoth was to return to the United Kingdom in ballast for laying-up in a Scottish loch, her crew to be paid off on arrival in the Clyde and informed that there were no prospects of re-employment in the foreseeable future. Two, there was to be another meeting in a week’s time when the Board would consider the liquidation report to be drawn up by Raustadt in consultation with the company’s auditors and legal advisers.
On this gloomy note they had broken up, the chairman and deputy-chairman remaining in the boardroom after the others, including the staff, had left.
‘Shall we go through to my office?’ suggested the managing-director.
‘Of course, Kurt‚’ said the chairman, ‘Let us do that.’
In a bay window on the south side of the managing-director’s office, the three men sat in leather easy chairs, their faces pallid in the light from green shaded lamps on tall stands behind them.
The chairman leant forward, hands grasping the arms of the chair, his lined features troubled. ‘Is he sure he’s picked the right man, Kurt?’
‘Yes. Quite sure.’
The deputy-chairman, bald, hunched, came upright with the sudden jerk of a glove puppet. ‘I dare say. But are we sure?’
Kurt Raustadt smoothed his thick black hair with what was intended as a reassuring gesture but which his listeners took to be nervousness – it was in fact both. ‘How can we be sure? We have to be guided by those on the spot.’
‘You are absolutely certain we cannot be involved?’ The chairman’s gathered brow and narrowed eyes reflected a concern which went to the marrow of his being.
‘Yes. Absolutely. Only he knows who has been selected. No one else. Not us. Not even Kostadis. The matter will be handled by three different Swiss banks. He will send instructions to them as from three different clients. From Cairo, Barcelona and Algiers. In no way can they be traced to us.’
The chairman drew on his cigar, expelled the blue-grey smoke and watched it absent-mindedly on its slow climb to the ceiling.
‘The deposit,’ he said. ‘Is that in hand?’
‘Yes. He has a bearer receipt with him. To be completed and handed over on acceptance.’
‘That’s no guarantee of fulfilment.’ The deputy-chairman’s tone was belligerent.
‘True enough,’ conceded Raustadt. ‘But it buys confidence. That’s an important ingredient.’
‘A great deal of money is involved,’ said the chairman. ‘He must be successful.’ He unclasped his hands, sat upright, drumming on his knees with his fingers. ‘Now let’s change the
‘It seems,’ said the chairman despondently, ‘that we have come to the end of the road. Short of a miracle we face the unpleasant reality of liquidation.’
Le Febre, having expressed his customary concern that the caution he’d so long advocated had been flouted, finished with, ‘The disastrous results of that disregard are now plain for all to see.’ He sat back with the injured dignity of a prophet without honour in his own country.
The chairman forced an astringent smile. ‘No one likes liquidation, my dear le Febre, but it is not the end of the world. Your personal shareholding is no more than nominal, if I remember correctly?’
‘The holdings of those I represent are anything but nominal‚’ rasped the Frenchman. ‘And much of the institutional money comes from the savings of small investors.’
‘Then I suggest you leave the grief to them.’ The chairman gathered his mobile features into the affected smile of a man who knows he’s made a quick kill. ‘And now‚’ he said, ‘I would like to get on with the business of the meeting.’
That business was fairly quickly dealt with: one, Ocean Mammoth was to return to the United Kingdom in ballast for laying-up in a Scottish loch, her crew to be paid off on arrival in the Clyde and informed that there were no prospects of re-employment in the foreseeable future. Two, there was to be another meeting in a week’s time when the Board would consider the liquidation report to be drawn up by Raustadt in consultation with the company’s auditors and legal advisers.
On this gloomy note they had broken up, the chairman and deputy-chairman remaining in the boardroom after the others, including the staff, had left.
‘Shall we go through to my office?’ suggested the managing-director.
‘Of course, Kurt‚’ said the chairman, ‘Let us do that.’
In a bay window on the south side of the managing-director’s office, the three men sat in leather easy chairs, their faces pallid in the light from green shaded lamps on tall stands behind them.
The chairman leant forward, hands grasping the arms of the chair, his lined features troubled. ‘Is he sure he’s picked the right man, Kurt?’
‘Yes. Quite sure.’
The deputy-chairman, bald, hunched, came upright with the sudden jerk of a glove puppet. ‘I dare say. But are we sure?’
Kurt Raustadt smoothed his thick black hair with what was intended as a reassuring gesture but which his listeners took to be nervousness – it was in fact both. ‘How can we be sure? We have to be guided by those on the spot.’
‘You are absolutely certain we cannot be involved?’ The chairman’s gathered brow and narrowed eyes reflected a concern which went to the marrow of his being.
‘Yes. Absolutely. Only he knows who has been selected. No one else. Not us. Not even Kostadis. The matter will be handled by three different Swiss banks. He will send instructions to them as from three different clients. From Cairo, Barcelona and Algiers. In no way can they be traced to us.’
The chairman drew on his cigar, expelled the blue-grey smoke and watched it absent-mindedly on its slow climb to the ceiling.
‘The deposit,’ he said. ‘Is that in hand?’
‘Yes. He has a bearer receipt with him. To be completed and handed over on acceptance.’
‘That’s no guarantee of fulfilment.’ The deputy-chairman’s tone was belligerent.
‘True enough,’ conceded Raustadt. ‘But it buys confidence. That’s an important ingredient.’
‘A great deal of money is involved,’ said the chairman. ‘He must be successful.’ He unclasped his hands, sat upright, drumming on his knees with his fingers. ‘Now let’s change the
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