Last Line of Defense

PRELUDE

Thoughts of prayer turned back to the rush of war as, far in the distance, the sky brightened, just for an instant, and then collapsed into darkness. Again, it gleamed as if the sun had risen early. Then, it was black, the light enveloped and hidden once more.

Jacov Pelsner, piloting his Phantom-F4 and in combat for the first time in his short life, could almost believe that he was home in Haifa, watching the best display of fireworks that the municipality could provide. As the sky brightened again in an explosion of fire, grim reality returned.

David, he called through his intercom to his navigator, sitting behind him in the two-man aircraft, how much longer until we reach our target?

I have it on the radar screen. Keep avoiding the anti-air guns and we will be there in one minute and a half, came the reply.

Jacov kept the aircraft on a straight heading at a height of 30,000 feet. The anti-air guns were ineffective at the height and speed he was travelling, he thought, comforting himself. The Phantom would shortly be escorting a bomber over the border into Egypt. There, they would hit the Arab radar tracking station that had been identified as their target. They would return to base, mission completed. Straightforward task. Twenty-two years old and in charge of a Phantom. It had been his dream to fly since he was a child. His parents would be proud of him. They would be back in the temple tomorrow, making up for the Yom Kippur prayers that were interrupted when the Arabs attacked only yesterday. This time, they would be praying for his safe return, with tears in their eyes.

Nanoseconds later, contact was established with the bomber and they drew alongside. He could see the crew. Both planes were now well over enemy territory. A few seconds more until the mission would be . . .

Jacov! We are under attack. Missile, one kilometer at 12.00. We need to take evasive action, now!

Without thinking of the maneuver, Jacov banked the aircraft hard to its left, away from the bomber, which had also diverted but to its right. As the F-4 screwed left, Jacov and his navigator were hit hard by the G-forces that began to tear at the muscles in their face. Too hard a turn and the oxygen would leave their brains and they would black-out; too soft a pull and they would not escape.

Jacov! David screamed, it’s coming straight for us. The missile has locked. Now, a half a kilometer and still closing.

Jacov pulled the plane jerkily upwards as it straightened. Almost into vertical, both its crew felt the pull of nausea as the excitement of the escape vanished behind the fear of death. Use the chaff, now, Jacov called, demanding that his navigator start the process of confusing the missile that had locked on to its radar signature. Now, the flare. A flash of light erupted as the fireball was emitted by the Phantom. Every option was being taken as the pilot’s evasive actions continued, hoping they had not seen the missile too late to deflect its course.

In the distance, the missile’s flares could be seen clearly through the darkness as it sped to its target, locked, unknowing and uncaring like a raging bull, nostrils flared. As the aircraft changed direction, so did the missile, single-minded and purposeful. It was silently closing and ready to end its own life along with the lives of two young men.

Through the intercom, Jacov heard David begin to pray: Shamar Yisrael, shamar . . .

FIRST MOVEMENT:

TRANSFORMATION

CHAPTER 1: CONNECTIONS

They say that when you die, your life flashes before you in an instant. He was not dying, but he was witnessing a fast-forward movie of his life. A myriad of events filled his waking, aching head. He had stirred from sleep with his recent life circling maddeningly around his brain. It was as though he was seeing from the outside. He could almost touch the signals that should have warned him not to start something this new. He could hear his closest friends warning him not to take risks with his life. He could observe the events and analyze them at the same time and he could feel them dragging and pulling him towards their end. He was powerless against that force.

The movie stopped. At home, lying in bed on a cold Sunday in mid-October, watching the rain fall outside his window and the footage finishing inside his head, Lionel Curtis was mentally and physically restless. He audibly groaned as he rotated and peered through almost-closed eyes at his wife, snoring contentedly alongside him. Her sleep mirrored the contented life he had led: a life that seldom changed. Married for twenty five years and still living in this house in Southampton after fifteen, they had become used to taking few risks and felt content. As the whirling fog in his mind began to subside and he wandered through the mist between dreams and wakefulness he wondered why, when Long Island was getting colder as the year drove on and he could have easily afforded a winter home in Florida something had held him back? Intuition must have weighed upon his wallet. If they had been in Florida, a life-change of the magnitude he now contemplated would not have been possible.

The blanket had drifted, ghostlike, to his wife’s side of the bed and he watched it slide as the fog slipped out of his eyes. The sheet had followed, as if it and the blanket were attracted to her body, just as he had once been. He lay half covered and cold, but ignored the sensation, almost reveling in it as reality slowly conquered his subconscious. Despite the cold, perspiration covered his forehead and, forgetting the complex dream sequence, he turned on the radio beside his bed, quietly, so that Sylvia would not wake up. A newsreader whispered the latest on Richard Nixon and the President’s fight to stem the wave of mistrust that was building against him. This was closely followed by the news on the Arab-Israeli War and the calls for peace being orchestrated by the Secretary of State.

1973 was turning into a year of astonishing complexity, he thought, with his mind now clear. History would record it as the year an American President was almost impeached, should have been. Now, on top of everything else that was important to him, there was war in the Middle East: turning points. Ominous or portentous, all connected.

He sank into the pillow behind him. Was this an auspicious time for a man like him, stable to the point of boredom, to consider seriously the prospect of changing his whole lifestyle and take the risk he was about to take? A financier was expected to be more calculating and reserved. Lionel Curtis did not have the reputation for being any different and the thought of drastic change made his heart pump erratically and loudly, so noisily that he could hear its sound as the blood rushed around his head. He reached for the glass of water beside his bed and swallowed. He felt the liquid slide cold into his empty stomach. The feeling made him shiver involuntarily and he sat up.

It was only two weeks before when Joe Raban, his friend and the founder of the Mulberry Fund, had called him. Lionel!, he had shouted, thick, high-pitched, New York, I have something really big to talk with you about. Meet me in my office, say, 10 o’clock tomorrow?

Lionel had, from his earliest days, always been fascinated by whatever Joe had to say. He was an unusual and stimulating man. He had this special ability to be intuitive and coldly logical at the same time. Mix this with a wide-ranging knowledge of almost everything and he could find links, connections where no-one else would dream of them. He made bridges link ideas where none had existed before. Joe had investment theories that confounded all those that knew him. They succeeded often, but it had always been a hard sell to investors who could not understand the connections or did not know Joe well enough to take him at his word.

Usually, Joe asked Lionel to sit and listen to his ideas as a drama. He acted it out as much to hear himself speak as it was to develop the thought further but, fortunately for Joe, Lionel could be a good listener. He had learned a great deal (and how to make a great deal) from Joe. If Joe wanted to speak to him, then Lionel would be there.

Joe’s office was, naturally, on Wall Street. Even a lateralist had to conform sometimes.

As Lionel walked into his fifth floor office, Joe, who never stood up for anyone, suddenly rose from his chair and began to pace the room as if Lionel’s entrance had electrified him. Lionel had never seen Joe so activated. His small legs darted like a pigeon and his head moved back and forth spasmodically. He didn’t acknowledge Lionel’s presence yet started to talk as soon as he entered.

On Joe’s desk was a TV set at which Joe pointed vigorously. A news report was being relayed. Lionel looked at the black and white screen and saw an aircraft flash by through a cloudless sky. Every few seconds, a missile seemed to flash towards the earth from the aircraft. Joe repeatedly pointed his fore-finger at the screen.

The Arabs are winning the air war. The Israelis have never done so badly. Do you know that they are pleading with the US for spares and more equipment? What do you think is going on?

Curtis was silenced. He had not expected a discussion on the Egyptian-Israeli war (already becoming known as the Yom Kippur War). If there was a Raban connection, he could not find it. Joe often discussed abstracts. What was this all about?

The answer was circumspect, delivered in Lionel’s educated tones: Well, Joe . . .there are likely to be a number of reasons. But, I thought you had asked me here for something specific. What is it?

Lionel, Lionel, what do you do when you are not poring over those accounts? Think, my friend, think. The Arabs are not trained one-tenth as well as the Israelis. They are certainly not more intelligent. They do not have better planes. So, what is happening?

He sat down. Lionel had only taken a few steps into the room and was standing close by the door, which was still open. He was waiting for his friend to say something else, give him a clue, maybe, but Joe looked as though he had finished. He looked at him: Joe was a small man and overweight. As he sat, perspiring with excess effort, both physical and mental, he appeared like a clothed Buddha without the smile. Lionel closed the door. Joe, I am sorry but I must have had a bad night. I must be missing something obvious. He stroked his chin. So, the Israelis are having a bad time. The attack was a surprise—it was on Yom Kippur. No-one expected it. The Arabs got a head start and, from what I read, Israeli intelligence was sleeping. The Israelis still believe they will win through, but it will take time. They are on the back foot. That is as much as I have read.

Yes, yes, Lionel, I know all that. Everyone can read the newspapers or watch TV. I have been investigating the situation more deeply. The Egyptians and Syrians must have been planning this for months. With the Soviets pulling out, they had to do something quickly. Their missile barrages have been severe. This is the clue to the one discriminator that I did not mention.

Lionel, still standing, still massaging his chin, waited for the obvious truth to dawn.

Joe sighed as if exhausted by the thought of having to explain everything to a child: We are living in a high-tech world, Lionel. On the West Coast, new companies are producing amazing things—semiconductors that are expected to perform twice as well next year compared to this year at half the cost; closer to home, computer companies are producing computers using these semiconductors that are cleverer all the time. High technology systems are developing so rapidly that we cannot keep up. He breathed in deeply and paused. Joe turned away from Lionel and walked towards the window, behind his desk. Turning rapidly he blurted out the words: Who funds most of the research at the leading edge? The military! His fist banged hard into the palm of his left hand. Where is the highest of high-tech? On an aircraft. Again, fist into hand. Yet, the Egyptians are downing a large number of Israeli aircraft. Why? Who supplies the Egyptians? Each syllable of the last word was accented by the fist, fist, fist.

Lionel wanted to react quickly: I guess the Soviets supply the Egyptians and we supply the Israelis. Are you saying that their equipment is better than ours?

In a way. Think this through. This time, his hands were behind his back. We are involved in a cold war with the Soviets. A hot, surrogate war is being fought out in the Middle East right now and what is happening? We, or our allies, are getting our asses kicked because the aircraft we are supplying (or the electronics aboard) are not man enough to do the job. In the first three days of the war, Moshe Dayan said that the Israelis lost 50 aircraft. They only have around 350 to start with.

Lionel was listening as intently as he could, but his head began to hurt with the excessive pounding it was receiving. OK, it may herald that something new is going on. Maybe the missiles being fired are new or the countermeasures technology aboard the Israeli planes is poor when compared to the Russians’ missiles’ capability. I still do not . . .

Joe roared: Listen! This is gonna lead to some changes. If I am right, we will see some pretty big moves coming from the Pentagon. This is going to be big and we are going to be in at the start. Lionel, I want you to do something for me. Find out all you can about the last ten years’ defense spending numbers—especially spending on electronic countermeasures systems. See if you can find out where the US military gets their equipment, who the companies are and whether the Israelis have them on board their aircraft. You and I need this data yesterday. This is between us. OK?

Lionel nodded in affirmation. Joe was already sitting down and looking at the TV screen in front of him. His orders given, he was thinking his next move and did not notice Lionel leave the way he came. As he walked the steps to the first floor exit, Lionel thought carefully about the speech he had just been given.

The Egyptian-Israeli war was not going all the Israeli’s way, especially in the air. It had been a surprise to all but, while it had been reviewed in the news reports that he had read, the analysis had been patchy. The war had only been under way a few days, yet Joe had seen something in the results that he planned to use to make money. Defense electronics for aircraft was a potential that maybe was just about to become big business. Very few businesses were engaged in electronic countermeasures and electronics itself was still in its infancy. There was no better market than one that was just beginning. This is what Joe had seen. Yet there were but a few, flaky start-ups on the West Coast producing semiconductors, flaky people in flaky places. He had no idea who used those chips or how. This is what Joe was going on about, investing in that type of high-technology, risk-laden business.

He collected his thoughts as he started the car and it began to crawl along the road. When he started across the George Washington Bridge, his heart started to pump. It must have been a bad night, his heart was racing. He set to thinking about the situation in the Middle East again. The Soviets had just backed out of Egypt after the death of Nasser and Sadat’s increasing demands on them. The USA had not yet filled the gap that had been left. Sadat’s surprise attack on Israel had been a huge risk. He had obviously believed that before long Israel would be too strong ever to attack again. If he succeeded now, it would not be just a blow to Israel, but another blow to the might of the USA, still reeling from the horror of Vietnam.

The music from the tape machine in his car took control. The flow of Mahler’s 6th Symphony marched through his brain. As he cruised down the narrow roadway, Lionel realized that he had missed the turning to his office and was almost home. No matter, he would go home and find the information that Joe had demanded. As the car reached his driveway, the Symphony came to its tragic climax. Lionel’s heart was pumping with its splendor mixed with the thrill that Joe had presented.

Within minutes of entering his house, he was on the telephone. Being a paid-up and active member of the Democratic Party had not offered him too many rewards to date but he did have access to party staffers who could be of help with issues he knew nothing about. He called a friend who suggested that he contact the Pentagon directly. They would be sure to tell him as much detail as the Freedom of Information Act would allow and maybe more. The friend told him cryptically that he was calling at a good time.

He called The Pentagon. He was not sure what it was that he really wanted and explained as well as he could that he needed data on defense spending, especially on airborne electronics. Eventually, he was put into contact with a Colonel Farrish at the Budget Office, who was very friendly but did not sound interested.

I represent someone who runs a large mutual fund, Lionel exaggerated for effect. He is carrying out research on a number of companies involved in the defense sector. We could use the normal lines of research, but he is considering a large investment and needs some advice. Obviously, your help may well lead to the strengthening of our key defense establishment at this time.

May I ask precisely what it is that you want? Farrish enquired, in a long-vowelled Southern accent.

Well, to be precise, we are interested in electronic countermeasures and want to find out as much as we can about it.

Farrish remained very cautious over the telephone but suggested that Mr Curtis visit him at the Pentagon at which time he would be happy to discuss any questions that Mr Curtis would like to raise. How about coming to DC? I could see you tomorrow, suggested the Colonel.

A meeting was arranged for 3pm the following day. Lionel thought that Joe should come along. Joe was getting very excited about this. The Mulberry fund was still just a small investment fund for a few, privileged clients. It had existed for the past two years without yet getting top ratings or many clients.

Lionel had known Joe from college days and he thought back to when both had been top performers in their New Jersey school.

As Lionel began a career in finance that led to him becoming a senior partner in a middle ranking East Coast firm which now included his name Franklin Curtis, Joe had joined a firm of Investment Bankers on East 52nd. Pearl Harbor happened too soon for Joe. Just as he was beginning to understand what he was doing, the Army called and in no time he was at war. His four years had been a frustration and an anguish. He still suffered from the bullet wounds he had picked up in Italy in 1945. It was the next year before he was able to resume a stockbroking career. Four years of wheeling and dealing in Europe and South East Asia had given him an edge that was sharper than any he would have gained on 52nd Street—or even on the Bronx where he and Lionel had grown up.

It was another twenty years before the Mulberry Fund began. Meanwhile, he had risen through the ranks of the brokerage firm, staying on as the markets rebounded after the war and remaining there throughout the fifties and into the sixties. Johnson poured so much money into the economy that it was hard not to get rich quick. The seventies showed that everything that goes up must come down. In the midst of the downturn, Joe turned his back on the firm and started his own Fund. The Mulberry Fund was based on Joe’s special skills. He did not just believe in charts, or even the stars. He believed in the power of the brain. Not for him the instinct of the herd, the normal attitude of the investor. Using all of the brain was the key. It is no use the left side not knowing what the right side is doing, he would always say.

Deduction was, he believed, his key to success. Using the right side of his brain gave him the fundamental edge. In the search for answers, he found Taoism and he had been led into the workings of Eastern mysticism as he sought to understand how the right hand side of his brain worked. Joe studied the teachings of Taoism, the way. He developed an understanding of people, how they act, their herd instinct, and through that of the markets to such a degree that he believed he could use it to pick stocks and market turns—the doorway to success.

Now, at 52, the same age as Lionel, he began to believe that he may, at last, have found the key.

Lionel was not a devotee of Joe’s beliefs, but was a reasonably religious man. Also a man of logic, he had strained for many years to understand the basis of Joe’s convictions. The yin and yang approach that Joe preached was something he could not yet acknowledge or comprehend. As a result, only a small part of Lionel’s investments were placed with Joe’s Fund. Most of the rest of his investments had actually performed better. He still believed that Joe would, one day, hit the big time (as he believed that he would, too). Why he believed Joe would succeed was down to pure intuition, nothing more—so much for logic. Time was running out for both of them.

As he boarded the plane to Washington, he wondered why he bothered to follow Joe’s demands? Maybe, because being part of Joe’s wild schemes was the only part of his life that was different.

CHAPTER 2: COMBAT

While the war continued to rage over Israel, Lionel and Joe were sipping coffee in the Pentagon waiting-room. They were surprised to have been seen at all when so many in the military were waging their surrogate war. As they drank, they read the newspaper reports recounting their stories that the Israelis were no longer merely holding their positions but beginning to fight back. Egyptian warplanes were being blown out of the sky now that the Israelis had recovered from the shock of the surprise attack on Yom Kippur (The Day of Atonement). The Israeli planes were beginning to atone. Lionel and Joe wondered whether they had been premature in making this visit. They finished their coffee just as a young lieutenant told them that Colonel Farrish was ready to receive them. As they walked along the Pentagon corridor towards the Colonel’s office, Lionel was unsure why they were there at all.

Entering the office, he was to become even more uncertain. Seated around a circular table were eight or nine uniformed officers plus a woman poised with pen and paper and, in the background against the window opposite the door, two civilians. They looked particularly unusual, dressed in ill-fitting suits. As the light blew in behind them, their silhouette spoke only of hints of the sinister. Joe squinted through the light at the apparitions in front, but could see merely ghosts.

Ah, Mr Curtis?

The two visitors spun round as they heard what must have been Colonel Farrish. His Southern accent was easily recognizable to Lionel from the telephone conversation.

Good afternoon, Colonel. May I introduce my colleague, Joe Raban, Lionel responded as he gave his hand in response to Farrish’s upraised arm.

Welcome, gentlemen. I am delighted that you could make it and make it so quickly. Let me introduce you to the rest of us.

One by one, he named those present. They were all Captains and Lieutenants and staffers that worked, presumably, for Farrish. None were Air Force. Farrish did not introduce the two civilians. Gentlemen, shall we begin? The two nameless ones stood motionless as the rest settled around the table. Two seats were secured for the new visitors.

Mr Curtis, perhaps you can expand on the reasons behind your visit? Farrish asked.

Lionel looked slowly around the table. Well, I feel almost embarrassed. We did not expect so many of you. Joe and I are interested in asking some questions concerning electronics aboard our aircraft in the Middle East and maybe here in the US. Mr Raban is the President of a mutual fund that is actively considering its investment position. In fact, he is considering the movement of over 50% of the fund to the defense electronics industry. This would, I am sure you will agree, boost those corporations substantially. Investor confidence will mean increased confidence within those businesses. However, there are details that we need to understand and information we require. He paused to make sure his audience was still with him. For example, the war that is taking place right now appears to show that our, I mean the Israelis’, aircraft are not committing themselves..er…adequately when we should be clearing the skies of Russian made equipment. I hope you do not think my point is too naive.

No sir! sang one of the younger members of the group in a high-pitched voice. Your point is right on the button. We have been saying this for a long time now. The cutbacks that the military have faced are a problem that no-one appears to be listening to. It must be realized by those that are actively promoting our crewmen’s welfare and our country. Those that can make the decisions should be increasing what we spend on our equipment.

It’s worse than that, interrupted another. The Soviets are flying Migs that are not faster than our planes and cannot move better. But, they have electronic systems aboard that can infuriate the hell out of what we fire at them and missiles that can get through our aircraft defenses.

At this point, one of the two silhouettes appeared out of the shadows. He looked Middle Eastern, and was Israeli, which became apparent as soon as he spoke. I can confirm, he said in a low-pitched almost whispering voice, that we are losing lives despite that we are one hundred times better pilots. We always believed that American technology was the best. The key problem is that the Soviet-made surface-to-air missiles—the SAMs are penetrating our aircrafts’ defenses too often. We have good pilots and they take evasive action but this is not always enough. The electronic countermeasures capability on the aircraft is inadequate.

Joe sat up very straight and raised his left arm. I am sorry to interrupt. As you know, I run . . .

The Mulberry Fund. We know, of course. You’ve been fully checked out. remarked one of the many.

Well, you know why we are here, so, if I may be so bold, why the show? I don’t mean to be rude, but you are here in force. We expected one, maybe two people.

Farrish left his seat and marched to a blackboard. He chalked up a range of numbers showing Defense spending from the 1960’s to date. This speaks for itself. This is what we believe the Soviets are spending. He drew up a second list. This showed a rapidly rising trend. We are looking to those like you, those who run major businesses and funding agencies, to lobby and to create the environment for our country to win back its technological lead. I would like to show you how this can be done and who the corporations are that can do this.

Lionel and Joe listened, their mouths open. They were being given information that they could only have dreamed about. Three corporations that supplied aircraft electronics were singled out. They were the three that supplied the bulk of the aircraft electronic combat systems for the US Air Force. Details about their systems and their R&D programs were shown. Comparisons with the Soviets were given. More than this, future procurement programs were shown and the discussion centered on the specifications of the equipment required and who was most likely to win.

The second civilian came forward. He was Eastern European, short and stocky, he looked Polish—built very much like Joe. When he talked, he looked only at Joe, obviously feeling comfortable doing so. His voice was thick and accented: We are at the beginning of a period when electronics and sophisticated technology will advance rapidly. I know that the Soviets are investing very heavily in high-technology for military use. The Soviet economy is a military economy. They care nothing for computers for civilian use but are placing all their investment into military requirements. He coughed loudly and took out a cigarette. Surprisingly, he was allowed to light it and breath in its smoke. He coughed again and then said: Look, we are here in force because we are part of a series of reviews currently being carried out into military electronics. It coincided with the start of this war and, lucky for you, you asked to talk about this question just as we were meeting. You see before you some of the experts in this area.

For non-technical experts, Lionel and Joe were able to ask some good questions. They began to have a feel for counter measures and the nakedness of the allied aircraft that had been supplied by the Americans to the Israelis. Flying in those dangerous skies were F-4’s of a similar vintage to those that had flown in Vietnam, but they were facing a much improved foe.

Over an hour later, Joe and Lionel were escorted from the room and a final few words from Farrish, in private. This was not simply a free lunch, gentlemen. I hope you can do your work now. I want these companies to prosper and I want you to prosper. If you prosper, then I will prosper in ways that are mine to know. Go back and do some digging, but when you have finished, there is one of those businesses that will be seen to be the best for investment. Play the field if you want to spread your risks but treat that one very seriously. With that, Farrish gave an envelope to Raban and left. His secretary escorted both to the exit, where they were duly searched and then they exited.

Four hours later, their plane was landing at La Guardia. As it touched down, they realized that they had not spoken for the whole trip. For Joe, this was an unprecedented experience. The right side of his brain must have been working overtime. Lionel, can you spare me some time tomorrow? he yawned.

I know, you want to research the companies that will gain by an increase in Defense spending. With particular emphasis on electronics and special emphasis on Airborne electronics and one business in particular.

Lionel, you have read my mind.

CHAPTER 3: THE BEST ONE

3.1.

Farrish had identified three corporations that were the most likely to benefit from any increase in Defense spending, if that spending was to be in airborne electronics. One was a major defense player already and any increase in such spending would be but a small bonus. Of the other two, Lionel felt drawn to Global Electronics Corporation.

Global was a business that he already knew something about. Global was based in New York State, with its main manufacturing operation in the Bronx. It was an important employer there although its size was not great. Lionel did some research. Global was publicly traded, its stock price stood at $2, where it had been for around a year. Global’s sales stood at around $40m and they made a small profit. On the surface, they were not an exciting prospect. Indeed, a case could be made for staying very clear of Global. Then, Lionel noticed that Global’s auditors were Whindle Marston, a respected firm of East Coast accountants. Coincidentally, James Whindle was a good friend of Lionel Curtis. Another connection.

While Joe Raban was, no doubt, busy working out how to buy into the three companies without driving up their stock price too fast, Lionel was drinking tea with James Whindle in his office on 3rd Street.

Frankly, they are too diversified to be of much use to anyone. They have a good facility, though: probably the only thing of worth. Shame its in such a poor area, murmured Whindle as he sipped his Earl Grey tea.

James Whindle was an accountant through and through and had always failed to have a feel for any business that he audited. He was excited by very little and his staff was placed to find fault, not to find anything worthwhile. That is the auditor’s job. Lionel had some questions ready: James, I want this conversation to be strictly private. Not a word of this must pass to anyone.

Whindle enjoyed intrigue: it may have been his only interest and Lionel knew this. Whindle nodded favorably: he was willing. Well, began Lionel, I have reason to believe that Global is in a serious financial mess and that it will file for Chapter 8 in the near future. I have a client that has stock and wants to know whether there is any truth in the rumor.

Whindle shifted to the edge of his seat and looked Lionel in the eyes. He answered in his acquired English accent Lionel, I could not tell you even if I knew. I am their auditor as you know. Everything I see is strictly confidential. He looked at his feet and coughed quietly as if to clear his throat and conscience at the same time. He rubbed his hands together and bent forward to be nearer his co-conspirator: Strictly in confidence, though. It is clear that Global is spending a fortune on research. Their sales probably do not justify it. Their Chairman, Jack Sanderson, is getting pretty old and the stress is probably getting to him. They have a feisty Chief of Operations, Montello, new to the business, who is driving the corporation hard and deserves someone better to develop the strategy. Their bankers are a little nervous, to be honest. Montello makes them nervous and the rate of investment does, too. However, I did not know that they were in serious trouble. Last year’s accounts did not seem too bad. The collapse must have been very recent. I had better check whether they owe us any money.

Lionel smiled to himself. Jack would not sit quietly on this information. He would ensure that those of his acquaintances that needed to know, would know. Jack, what is the product that they are putting so much effort into?

Goodness, I am probably not the one to ask about products, you know. I do know that it is for an aircraft, they call it the RWR 50 countermeasures system or something close to that. Apparently, it defends an aircraft against incoming attacks. They are very excited about it. Seems that they are shipping some out to Israel now. Shame if they cannot benefit from it.

Lionel looked his colleague directly in the eyes. It is only hearsay, James. Let’s hope that things are not as bad as feared.

On the way to the Parking Lot, Lionel wondered at himself. He was not a liar by nature, yet there seemed to be no other way. He was beginning to feel a surge of excitement similar to what he had experienced in the past only when he played a winning shot at tennis or watched the tennis greats at play on Flushing Meadow or Wimbledon, or when his son graduated. He had never felt this exhilaration from his work. This was a new experience and the fact that it was happening made Lionel promise himself that he was not going to allow it to be the last time. I spend more than half my life working and for what? he whispered to himself. It is about time I started to enjoy what I do.

A few hours later, Lionel made his way to a telephone pay booth and called Joe. Hi, Raban. snapped Joe at the other end.

Joe, it’s Lionel. I have some information on Global that I think will be very useful to us.

Well, something’s happening, replied Joe. Their stock price has fallen to $1.70 just today—that’s 15% in a few hours in a steady market. I cannot understand it."

Joe, I hope I didn’t have anything to do with that. I do want to buy some stock, though: say, $100,000, on my own account. Can you do this for me? It may be the time for Mulberry, too.

"Ha! I never thought you would be giving me advice on investments. I suggest we wait this out for an hour or two. Leave it to me. We’ll all be in Global this evening. While we are on the subject, I have arranged for us to visit there tomorrow. Can you make it? They suggested lunch—around noon. We’re gonna meet with Montello, their Chief Operating