The Fourth Estate

“The Ambassador is at his ranch, Mr. Townsend, and I know he’s due at the country club in twenty minutes for his weekly golf lesson. But I’ll see if I can catch him before he leaves.”

Tom put his hand over the mouthpiece and said quietly, “Call him Ambassador. It’s obvious that everyone else does.”

Townsend nodded as a voice came on the line and said, “Good morning, Mr. Townsend. Henry Sinclair here. How can I help you?”

“Good morning, Ambassador,” said Townsend, trying to remain calm. “I wanted to have a word with you in person, so as not to waste unnecessary time dealing through lawyers.”

“Not to mention unnecessary expense,” suggested Sinclair. “What is it that you felt you had to speak to me about, Mr. Townsend?”

For a moment Townsend wished he’d spent a little more time discussing tactics with Tom. “I want to make a bid for Multi Media,” he said eventually, “and it seemed sensible to deal with you direct.”

“I appreciate that, Mr. Townsend,” said Sinclair. “But remember that Mr. Armstrong, with whom I believe you are acquainted, has already made me an offer I was able to refuse.”

“I’m aware of that, Ambassador,” said Townsend, wondering how much Armstrong had really offered. He paused for a moment, not looking in Tom’s direction.

“Would it be too much to ask the figure you have in mind, Mr. Townsend?” said Sinclair.

When Townsend replied, Tom nearly dropped the phone on the floor.

“And how would you intend to finance that?” asked Sinclair.

“In cash,” said Townsend, without any idea how he would raise the money.

“If you can come up with that amount of cash within thirty days, Mr. Townsend, you have yourself a deal. In which case perhaps you would be kind enough to ask your lawyers to get in touch with mine.”

“And the name of your lawyers…?”

“Forgive me for cutting this conversation short, Mr. Townsend, but I’m due on the driving range in ten minutes, and my pro charges by the hour.”

“Of course, Ambassador,” said Townsend, relieved that Sinclair couldn’t see the look of disbelief on his face. He put the phone down and looked across at Tom.

“Do you know what you’ve just done, Keith?”

“The biggest deal of my life,” replied Townsend.

“At three billion dollars, it’s possibly the last,” said Tom.

* * *

“I’ll close the damn paper down,” shouted Armstrong, thumping his fist on the desk.

Russell Critchley, who stood one pace behind his client, felt the words might have carried a little more conviction if Sean O’Reilly hadn’t heard them every day for the past three months.

“It will cost you a whole lot more if you do,” replied O’Reilly, his voice quiet and gentle as he stood facing Armstrong.

“What do you mean by that?” hollered Armstrong.

“Just that by the time you put the paper up for sale, there might not be anything left worth selling.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I guess you might interpret it that way.”

Armstrong rose from his chair, placed the palms of his hands on the desk and leaned forward until he was only a few inches away from the trade union leader’s face; but O’Reilly didn’t even blink. “You expect me to settle for $320 million, when only last night I found eighteen names listed on the checking-in sheets who have retired from the company, one of them over ten years ago?”

“I know,” said O’Reilly. “They get so attached to the place they just can’t stay away.” He tried to keep a straight face.

“At $500 a night,” shouted Armstrong, “I’m not surprised.”