Читать книгу Bahama Crisis - Desmond Bagley, Desmond Bagley - Страница 9

Billy Cunningham was a scion of the Cunningham clan; his father, uncle, brother and assorted cousins jointly owned a fair slice of Texas – they ran beef, drilled for oil, were into shipping, newspapers, radio and television, hotels, supermarkets and other real estate, and owned moderate tracts of downtown Dallas and Houston. The Cunningham Corporation was a power to be reckoned with in Texas, and Prince Billy was in the Bahamas to see what he could see.

I had first met him at Harvard Business School where, like me, he was being groomed for participation in the family business, and we had kept in touch, meeting at irregular intervals. When he telephoned just before Christmas asking to meet me on my own ground I said, ‘Sure. You’ll be my guest.’

‘I want to pick your brains,’ he said. ‘I might have a proposition for you.’

That sounded interesting. The Cunningham Corporation was the kind of thing I was trying to build West End Securities into, though I had a long way to go. I had a notion that the Cunninghams were in a mind for expansion and Billy was coming to look over the chosen ground. I would rather cooperate than have them as competitors because they were a tough crowd, and I hoped that was what Billy had in mind. We fixed a date.

I met him at Freeport International Airport where he arrived in a company jet decked in the Cunningham colours. He had not changed much; he was tall, broad-shouldered and blond, with a deep tan and gleaming teeth. The Cunninghams seemed to run to film star good looks, those of them I had met There was nothing about him to indicate he was American, no eccentricity of style which might reasonably be expected of a Texan. Texans are notorious, even in the United States, for their unselfconscious and nostalgic frontier rig. If he ever wore them, then Billy had left his ten-gallon hat, string tie and high-heeled boots at home, and was dressed in a lightweight suit of obviously English cut. Being a Cunningham he would probably order them casually by the half-dozen from Huntsman of Savile Row.

‘How’s the boy?’ he said as we shook hands. ‘I don’t think you’ve met Debbie – this is my little cousin.’

Deborah Cunningham was as beautiful as the Cunningham menfolk were handsome; a tall, cool blonde. ‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Cunningham.’

She smiled. ‘Debbie, please.’

‘Tell me,’ said Billy. ‘How long is the runway?’

That was a typical Billy Cunningham question; he had an insatiable curiosity and his questions, while sometimes apparently irrelevant, always had a bearing on his current train of thought. I said, ‘The last time I measured it came to 11,000 feet.’

‘Just about handle everything,’ he commented. He turned and watched the Cunningham JetStar take off, then said, ‘Let’s move.’

I drove them through Freeport on my way to the Royal Palm Hotel. I was proud of the Royal Palm; for my money it was the best hotel in the Bahamas. Of course, it had been my money that had built it, and I was looking forward to seeing Billy’s reaction. On the way I said, ‘Is this your first time in the Bahamas, Debbie?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mine, too,’ said Billy. That surprised me, and I said so. ‘Just never gotten around to it.’ He twisted in his seat. ‘Which way is Freeport?’

‘Right here. You’re in downtown Freeport.’ He grunted in surprise, and I knew why. The spacious streets, lawns and widely separated low-slung buildings were like no other city centre he had seen. ‘It shows what you can do when you build a city from scratch. Twenty years ago this was all scrubland.’

‘Oh, look!’ said Debbie. ‘Isn’t that a London bus?’

I laughed. ‘The genuine article. There seems to be a mystique about those all over the English-speaking world – I’ve seen them at Niagara, too. I think the London Transport Board makes quite a profit out of selling junk buses as far-flung tourist attractions.’

In the foyer of the Royal Palm Billy looked around with an experienced eye. The Cunningham Corporation ran its own hotels and knew how they ticked. He glanced upwards and gave a long, slow whistle. The foyer rose the entire height of the hotel, a clear eight storeys with the bedrooms circling it on mezzanines. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘Isn’t that a lot of wasted space?’

I smiled; even the Cunninghams had a lot to learn. ‘It might be in a city hotel, but this is a resort hotel. There’s a difference.’

Jack Fletcher, the hotel manager, was standing by and I introduced him to the Cunninghams. He booked them in with as few formalities as possible, then said, ‘Here are your room keys – Mr Cunningham, Miss Cunningham.’ He gave Billy another key. ‘Your car’s in the garage.’

I said, ‘Find another car for Miss Cunningham; she might like to do some sightseeing by herself.’

‘Hey!’ said Billy. ‘No need for that.’

I shrugged. ‘No sweat; we run a car hire company and the season hasn’t topped out yet. We have a few cars spare.’

He took me by the elbow and led me to one side. ‘I’d like to talk with you as soon as possible.’

‘You always were in a hurry.’

‘Why not? I get things done that way. Say, fifteen minutes?’

‘I’ll be in the bar.’ He nodded in satisfaction.

He was down in ten minutes and strode into the bar at a quick clip. After ordering him a drink I said, ‘Where’s Debbie?’

Billy smiled crookedly. ‘You know women; she’ll take a while to prettify herself.’ He accepted the bourbon on the rocks. ‘Thanks.’

‘Your room all right?’

‘Fine.’ He frowned. ‘But I still say you’re wasting a hell of a lot of space.’

‘You’re thinking in terms of city downtown hotels. Space is cheap here and the clientèle is different.’ I decided to push. ‘What are you here for, Billy? You mentioned a proposition.’

‘Well, we have a few dollars going spare and we’re looking for somewhere to invest. What’s your idea of the future of the Bahamas?’

‘My God, Billy, but you have a nerve! You want to come in here as a competitor and you’re asking my advice?’

He laughed. ‘You won’t lose out on it. You’ve already said a couple of things that have set me thinking. We think we know how to run hotels back home, but it might be different here. Maybe we could set up a partnership of sorts and use your local expertise.’

‘A consortium?’ He nodded, and I said contemplatively, ‘A few dollars. How few would they be?’

‘About forty million few.’

The bartender was standing close by, polishing an already over-polished glass. I said, ‘Let’s go and sit at that corner table.’ We took our drinks and sat down. ‘I think the future of the Bahamas is pretty good. Do you know much of our recent history?’

‘I’ve done my homework.’ He gave me a swift and concise résumé.

I nodded. ‘That’s about it. You Americans are now coming to the realization that Pindling isn’t an ogre and that he runs a fairly stable and conservative government. He’s safe. Now, let’s come to your hotels and the way you run them. Your clientèle consists of businessmen and oil men, fast on their feet and on the move. They want fast service and good service, and they’re here today and gone tomorrow. Because your land values in the city are so enormous you pack them in tight and charge them the earth because you have to. If you didn’t the operation wouldn’t pay; it would be more profitable to sell up and move into some other business. Have I got it right?’

‘Just about. Those guys can pay, anyway; we don’t get many complaints.’

I waved my arm. ‘What do you think of this place?’

‘Very luxurious.’

I smiled. ‘It’s intended to look that way; I’m glad you think it succeeds. Look, Billy; your average tourist here isn’t a jet-setter and he doesn’t have all that many dollars to spend. He’s a man and his wife, and maybe his kids, from Cleveland, Ohio. Perhaps he’s done one trip to Europe, but he can’t go again because Europe is too damned expensive these days and the dollar is bloody weak. So he comes here because he’s going foreign and economizing at the same time. Big deal.’

‘What about the Europeans? Lots of those about here.’ Billy jerked his thumb towards the lobby. ‘Out there I heard German, French and Spanish.’

‘The Spanish would be coming from the Argentine,’ I said. ‘We get lots of those. They, and the Europeans, come for the same reason – because it’s cheaper here. But they don’t come first class or even tourist. They come on charter flights in package deals organized by the travel agents – mostly German and Swiss. Neither the Americans nor the Europeans, with few exceptions, have a lot of money to throw around. So how do we handle the operation?’

‘You tell me.’

‘Okay.’ I spread my hands. ‘We give them the semblance of luxury – stuff they can’t get at home. Palm trees are cheap to buy, easy to plant and grow quickly; and you don’t get many of those in Cleveland or Hamburg. And they look damned good. We have a few bars dotted about the place; one on the beach, one by the pool, a couple inside. We hire a local guitarist and a singer to give the live mood music – Bahamian and Caribbean calypso stuff – very romantic. We have a discothèque. We have a place to serve junk food and another for gourmet dining – both are equally profitable. We have shops in the lobby; jewellery, clothing, local handicrafts, a news-stand and so on. So far those have been concessions, but now we’re tending to operate them ourselves; I’ve just started a merchandising division. And, as I said, we run a car hire outfit; that’s part of the tours division. On the beach we have a few sailboats and wind-surfing boards, and we hire a beach bum to act as life-guard and to show the clients how to use the stuff. That’s free. So are the tennis courts. There’s also use of an eighteen-hole golf course for a concessionary fee. There’s a marina linked to the hotel so we also pull in the boating crowd.’

‘It seems a customer can get most of what he wants on his vacation without ever leaving the hotel,’ Billy hazarded.

‘That’s it,’ I said. ‘That’s why they’re called resort hotels. But what we don’t have in the lobby is a liquor store; if a tourist wants his booze he pays bar prices. We want to squeeze as many dollars and cents out of these people as we can while they’re in our tender care. And they are in our care, you know; they have a good time and they’re not cold-decked. We have a crêche and a children’s playground – that’s more to keep the kids out of people’s hair than for anything else – and we have a doctor and a nurse. And there’s no drill or razzmatazz – they’re just left alone to do as they please which seems to be mostly roasting in the sun.’

Billy grimaced. ‘Not the kind of vacation I’d fancy.’

‘Neither would I, but we’re not tourists. So what happens when our man goes home? His friends look at that deep tan and ask him about it. “Gee!” he says. “I had the greatest time. Free sailboating, free tennis, cheap golf on the most superb course you can imagine. It was marvellous.” Then he does a hip shimmy around the office. “And, gee, that calypso beat!” That’s what he tells his friends when the snow is two feet deep in the street outside the office, and they like the idea, so they come, too. Maybe the year after.’

Billy mused. ‘Fast turnover and small margins.’

‘That’s the name of the game,’ I said. ‘That’s why room occupancy is critical; we keep filled up or go broke.’

‘Any trouble in that direction?’

I smiled. ‘We’re doing just fine,’ I said lightly.

He grunted. ‘I’d like to see your profit and loss account and your balance sheet.’

‘If you come up with a firm offer I might give you a quick look.’ I thought for a moment. ‘I’ll introduce you to a few people and you can get a feel of the place. David Butler is a good man to talk to; he’s top man in the Ministry of Tourism here on Grand Bahama.’ I hesitated. ‘There might be a problem there.’

‘What problem?’

‘Well, you’re a southerner. Would you have any problem dealing with a black on equal terms?’

‘Not me,’ said Billy. ‘Billy One might, and Jack certainly would; but they won’t be involved out here.’ Billy One was Billy’s father, so called to distinguish him from Billy. Jack was his uncle and head of the Cunningham clan. ‘Is this guy, Butler, black?’

‘He is. There’s another thing. Any hotels you build here must be Bahamian-built and Bahamian-staffed.’

‘The Bahamas for the Bahamians – is that it?’

‘Something like that. No one else can hold down a job here if it can be done by a Bahamian.’

Billy jerked his head towards the lobby. ‘Your hotel manager – Fletcher; he’s white.’

‘So am I,’ I said evenly. ‘We’re both white Bahamians. But the manager of the Sea Gardens – that’s our hotel on New Providence – is black.’

Billy shrugged. ‘It doesn’t worry me as long as we have an efficient operation.’

‘Oh, we’re efficient.’ I looked up and saw Debbie Cunningham coming into the bar. ‘Here’s your cousin.’

She was wearing a halter top and a pair of shorts which were well named – a long-stemmed American beauty. ‘I hope this is okay,’ she said, and looked down at herself. ‘I mean, do you have rules?’

‘Not so as you’d notice. Our visitors can dress pretty much as they like – up to a point.’ I inspected her. ‘I don’t think you’ve reached the point yet, though. Will you have a drink?’

‘Something soft; a Coke, maybe.’ I signalled a waiter and she sat down. ‘Isn’t this quite a place? Have you seen the pool, Billy?’

‘Not yet.’

I checked the time. ‘I’m going to be busy for the next hour. Why don’t you give the place the once-over lightly and I’ll meet you at the desk. We’ll have lunch at home. If you need to know anything ask Jack Fletcher.’

‘That’s fine,’ said Billy. ‘You’ve told me enough already so I know what to look for.’

I left them and went to my office to do some hard thinking. When Billy had told me the size of his proposed investment it had given me quite a jolt, although I had tried not to show it. Forty million dollars is a hell of a lot of money and that much injected into West End Securities could provide for a lot of expansion. The problem would be to avoid being swamped by it, and it was going to be quite a puzzle to put together a suitable package which would keep both me and the Cunningham Corporation happy.

If Billy had been surprised by the Royal Palm Hotel he was equally surprised by my home and he showed it. I took him through into the atrium where the swimming pool was. He looked around and said, ‘My God!’

I laughed. ‘Ever been in Rome in August?’

‘Who goes to Rome in August?’ He shrugged. ‘But yes, I have – once,’ and added feelingly, ‘Goddamn hot. I got out of there fast.’

‘And humid – just like here. When I built this place I had an architect dig into the plans of Roman villas; the ancient Romans, I mean. I had a feeling they’d be building for the climate. This is not a reproduction of a villa – more an adaptation. With modern conveniences, of course; air-conditioning included. But my air-conditioning costs less to run than any of my neighbours’ because the building design helps. We used some of that know-how when we built the Royal Palm; that big, tall lobby is a natural cooling tower.’

Billy was about to say something when Julie walked out of the house. I said, ‘Here’s Julie now. Julie, you’ve met Billy, but I don’t think you know Debbie, his cousin.’

‘Hi, Billy, welcome to Grand Bahama. Glad to meet you, Debbie.’

‘You have a beautiful home,’ said Debbie.

‘We like to think so.’ Julie turned and called, ‘Come out of there, Sue. We have guests; come and meet them.’

My elder daughter emerged from the pool as sinuously as an otter. ‘Say “hello” to Mr Cunningham,’ commanded Julie.

‘To Billy,’ I amended.

Sue shook hands gravely. She had an impish look as she said, ‘Hello, Mr Billy Cunningham.’

Billy laughed. ‘A regular little towhead, aren’t you?’

‘And this is Debbie.’ Sue curtsied, something that would have looked better done in a crinoline instead of a minimal bathing suit.

‘How old are you, Sue?’ asked Debbie.

‘Eleven years, two months, three weeks and six days,’ said Sue promptly.

‘You swim very well,’ said Debbie. ‘I bet you swim better than I can.’

Julie looked pleased – Debbie had said exactly the right thing. ‘Yes, she swims well. She came second in the Marathon in her class.’

I said, ‘It’s a two-mile course in the open sea.’

Debbie was visibly startled and looked at my daughter with new respect. ‘That’s really something; I doubt if I can swim a quarter-mile.’

‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ said Sue airily.

‘All right, fish,’ I said. ‘Back into your natural element.’ I turned to Julie. ‘Where’s Karen?’

‘She’s running a temperature. I put her to bed.’

‘Nothing serious?’

‘Oh, no.’ Julie looked at Debbie. ‘She’s been having school problems and might even be faking it. Come and see her; it might buck her up.’

The women went into the house, and I said to Billy, ‘I think drinks are indicated.’

‘Yeah, something long and cold.’

‘A rum punch, but easy on the rum.’ As I mixed the drinks I said, ‘Air-conditioning in hotels is important if we’re to have a year-round season. We don’t want the tourists frying even if it is good for the bar trade.’

Billy took off his jacket and sat in a recliner. ‘You forget I’m a Texan. Ever been in Houston in summer? You know what Sherman said about Texas?’ I shook my head. ‘He said, “If I owned Hell and Texas, I’d rent out Texas and live in Hell.”’

I laughed. ‘Then you’ll see the problems, although we’re not as bad as Texas. There’s always a sea breeze to cut the heat.’

We chatted while Luke Bailey, my general factotum, laid the table for lunch. Presently the women came back and accepted cold drinks. ‘You have two very nice girls,’ said Debbie.

‘Julie must take the praise for that,’ I said. ‘I get any of the blame that’s going.’

Talk became general over lunch and I was pleased to see that Julie and Debbie got on well together. If the womenfolk of business associates are bitchy it can upset things all round, and I have known several sweet deals fall down because of that.

At one point Julie said, ‘You know Mom and Pop are coming for Christmas.’

‘Yes.’ It was an arrangement that had been made earlier in the year.

‘I thought I’d do my Christmas shopping in Miami and meet them there.’

I said, ‘Why don’t you give them a sea trip? Take Lucayan Girl and bring them back by way of Bimini. I’m sure they’d enjoy it.’

She said, ‘It’s a good idea. Would you come?’

‘Afraid not, I’ll be too busy. But I’ll have a word with Pete; he’ll need an extra hand for that trip.’

‘Still a good idea,’ said Julie meditatively. ‘I think I’ll take Sue – and Karen, if she’s better.’

‘Take me where?’ Sue had joined us draped in a towel. She helped herself to ice-cream.

‘How would you like to go to Miami to meet Grandma and Grandpop? We’d be going in the Girl.’

Ice-cream went flying and Sue’s squeal of delight was an adequate answer.

After lunch Julie took Sue back to school and Debbie went along because Julie said she would show her the International Bazaar where you can walk from France to China in one stride. When they had gone Billy said, ‘How big is your boat?’

‘Fifty-two feet. Come and look at her.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘You have her here?’

‘Sure. This way.’ I led him through the house to the lagoon on the other side where Lucayan Girl was moored at the quayside. Pete Albury was on board and when he heard us talking he appeared on deck. ‘Come and meet Pete,’ I said. ‘He’s skipper, but sometimes he thinks he’s the owner.’

‘Tom, I heard that,’ called Pete, his face cracking into a seamed black grin. ‘But I’ll allow you on board anyway.’

We went aboard. ‘Pete, this is Billy Cunningham, an old friend from the States.’

Pete stuck out his hand. ‘Glad to know you, Mr Cunningham.’

I was watching Billy carefully. He did not know it, but this was a minor test; if he had hesitated, even fractionally, in spite of what he had said I would have been worried because no one who is a nigger-hater, even in a minor way, can get along successfully in the Bahamas. Billy grasped Pete’s hand firmly. ‘Glad to know you, Mr … er …’

‘Albury,’ said Pete. ‘But I’m just Pete.’

‘I’m Billy.’

I said, ‘Julie wants to go to Miami next week to do the Christmas shopping and to pick up her parents. She’ll be taking Sue and maybe Karen, and you’ll be touching in at Bimini on the way home. Is everything okay for that?’

‘Sure,’ said Pete. ‘Are you comin’?’

‘Sorry. I can’t make it.’

‘Then I’ll need a hand. Don’t worry; there’s always youngsters around the marinas. I’ll pick a good one who’ll be glad of the ride for a few dollars.’

‘That’s it, then,’ I said.

Billy was looking at the lagoon. ‘This is artificial,’ he said abruptly.

‘I hoped you’d notice.’ I pointed. ‘The channel out to sea is there – by the Lucayan Beach Hotel. That’s where the BASRA Marathon begins.’

‘BASRA?’ he said interrogatively.

‘The Bahamas Air-Sea Rescue Association. The Marathon is run by and for BASRA to raise funds. It’s a voluntary organization – a good crowd. If you’re coming in here it wouldn’t do you any harm to donate a few dollars or offer facilities.’

‘Do you do that?’

‘Yes. We have the company planes …’ I broke off and laughed. ‘Not big jets like yours, but we have four Piper Navajos – seven-seaters we use to take tourists to the Out Islands, part of our tours division. And they’re used on other company business, of course. But if a boat is lost and BASRA wants an air search the planes are available.’

He nodded. ‘Good public relations.’ He switched his attention back to the lagoon. ‘So this has been dredged out?’

‘That’s it. This lagoon, and others like it, stretches for about three miles up the coast.’

Billy looked at the lagoon and then back at the house. ‘Not bad,’ he said, ‘having a house with a water frontage. And it’s protected, too; no big waves.’

‘You’ve got it. Now I’ll show you something weird. Let’s take a drive.’ We said farewell to Pete, left the house, and I drove about four miles east into Lucaya. ‘Notice anything?’

Billy looked around. ‘Just trees – and the traffic is light.’

That was an understatement; there was no traffic. I had not seen a car for the last two miles. But there were many trees. I pointed. ‘That’s a street. See the name plate? Now keep your eyes open.’

I drove on and presently the trees thinned out and we came on to a plain dotted with mounds of limestone. I said, ‘We’re coming to the Casuarina Bridge. It crosses the Great Lucayan Waterway.’

‘So?’

‘So we’re going to cross it.’

‘I don’t get it,’ said Billy.

I said, ‘We’ve been passing streets, all named and paved. Those poles carry power lines. Now, I don’t know how it is in the States where any wide place in the road can call itself a city, but to me a road is something that goes from one place to another, but a street is a place, and it usually has houses on it.’

Billy was momentarily startled. ‘Houses!’ he said blankly. ‘No goddamn houses! Nary a one.’

‘That’s it. But I’ve more to show you or, rather, not show you. We’ll get a better view from Dover Sound.’ I carried on driving, following the signposts to Dover Sound and Observation Hill. It is not really a hill – just a man-made mound with the road leading up and a turning circle at the top. I stopped the car and we got out. ‘What do you think of that?’

Billy looked at the view with a lack of comprehension. I knew why because I had been baffled by the sight when first I saw it. There was land and there was water and it was not easy to see where one stopped and the other began. It was a maze of water channels. Billy shrugged helplessly. ‘I don’t know. What am I supposed to think?’

I said, ‘Think of my house and the lagoon. This is the Grand Lucayan Waterway – it cuts right across Grand Bahama, nearly eight miles from coast to coast. But it has forty-five miles of water frontage.’ I flapped open the map I held. ‘Look at this. You can see where the streets and waterways fit together like fingers in a glove.’

Billy studied the map then took out a calculator and began punching buttons. ‘At a hundred feet of water frontage to a house that’s nearly 2500 houses. Where the hell are they?’

‘There’s more. Look at the map.’ I swept my hand over an area. ‘Twenty square miles of land all laid out in paved streets with utilities already installed – the unfleshed skeleton of a city of 50,000 people.’

‘So what happened?’

‘An election happened. Pindling got in and the investors ran scared. But they’re coming back. Take a man who runs his own business in Birmingham, Alabama, or Birmingham, England, come to that. He sells out to a bigger company at, say, the age of fifty-five when he’s still young enough to enjoy life and now has the money to indulge himself. He can build his house on the canal and keep his fishing boat handy, or he can take one of the dry land plots. There’s sun and sea, swimming and golf, enough to keep a man happy for the rest of his life. And the beauty of it is that the infrastructure already exists; the power station in Freeport is only working to a tenth of its capacity.’

Billy looked over the expanse of land and water. ‘You say the investors are coming back. I don’t see much sign.’

‘Don’t be fooled.’ I pointed back the way we had come. ‘You can see the landscaping has begun – tree planting and flower beds. And that big parking lot, all neatly laid out. It looks a bit silly, but it’s probably earmarked for a supermarket. There are houses being built right now, but you don’t see them because they’re scattered over twenty square miles. Give this place a few years and we’ll have a thriving community. That’s one answer to a question you asked – what’s the future of the Bahamas?’

He rubbed his jaw. ‘Yeah, I see what you mean.’

‘Don’t take my word for it – look for yourself. I’ll lend you a plane and my chief pilot, Bobby Bowen, and you can do some island hopping. Go to Abaco; we have a hotel there – the Abaco Sands at Marsh Harbour. Go on to Eleuthera where we’re building a hotel. Have a look at some of the other islands and don’t leave out New Providence. I’ll give you a list of people you can talk to. Then come back and tell me what you think.’

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’ll do just that.’