The Scarletti Inheritance - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,126

twelve slender manila envelopes. They were sealed, and as the men passed them down, the investors taking one apiece, it was apparent that each found it difficult not to rip open the top and withdraw the contents at once. But none wished to betray such obvious anxiety.

Finally, as each of the twelve held his envelope in front of him, one by one the men began to open them.

For nearly two minutes the only sound was the rustling of pages. Otherwise, silence. Even breathing was seemingly suspended. The men from Zurich were mesmerized by what they saw. Elizabeth spoke.

'Yes, gentlemen. What you hold in your hands is the scheduled liquidation of the Scarlatti Industries... So that you have no illusions of doubt concerning the validity of this document, you will note that after each subdivision of holdings is typed the names of the individuals, corporations, or syndicates who are the purchasers... Every one of those mentioned, the individuals as well as the organizations, are known to each of you. If not personally, then certainly by reputation. You know their capabilities, and I'm sure you're not unaware of their ambitions. Within the next twenty-four hours they will own Scarlatti.'

For most of the Zurich men Elizabeth's sealed information was the confirmation of the whispered rumors. Word had reached them that something unusual was taking place at Scarlatti. Some sort of unloading under strange circumstances.

So this was it. The head of Scarlatti was getting out.

'A massive operation, Madame Scarlatti.' Olaffsen's low Swedish voice vibrated throughout the room. 'But to repeat Daudet's question, what is it you prepare us for?'

'Please take note of the bottom figure on the last page, gentlemen. Although I'm quite sure you all have.' The rustle of pages. Each man had turned swiftly to the final page. 'It reads seven hundred and fifteen million dollars - The combined, immediately convertible assets of this table, placed at the highest figure is one billion, one hundred and ten million... Therefore, a disparity of three hundred and ninety-five million exists between us... Another way to approach this difference is to calculate it from the opposite direction. The Scarlatti liquidation will realize sixty-four point four percent of this table's holdings - if, indeed, you gentlemen could convert your personal assets in such a manner as to preclude financial panics.'

Silence.

A number of the Zurich men reached for their first envelopes. The breakdowns of their own worth.

One of these was Sydney Masterson, who turned to Elizabeth with an unamused smile. 'And what you're saying, I presume, Madame Scarlatti, is that this sixty-four point plus percent is the club you hold over our heads?'

'Precisely, Mr. Masterson.'

'My dear lady, I really must question your sanity - -'

'I wouldn't, if I were you.'

'Then I shall, Frau Scarlatti.' I. G. Farben's von Schnitzler spoke in a disagreeable manner, lounging back in his chair as if toying verbally with an imbecile. 'To accomplish what you have must have been a costly sacrifice... I wonder to what purpose? You cannot buy what there is not to sell... We are not a public corporation. You cannot force into defeat something which does not exist!' His German lisp was pronounced, his arrogance every bit as unattractive as reputed. Elizabeth disliked him intensely.

'Quite correct, von Schnitzler.'

'Then, perhaps' - the German laughed - 'you have been a foolish woman. I would not wish to absorb your losses. I mean, really, you cannot go to some mythical Baumeister and tell him you have more funds than we - therefore, he must drive us out into the streets!'

Several of the Zurich men laughed.

'That, of course, would be the simplest, would it not? The appeal to one entity, negotiating with one power. It's a shame that I can't do that. It would be so much easier, so much less costly... But I'm forced to take another road, an expensive one... I should put that another way. I have taken it, gentlemen. It has been accomplished. The time is running out for its execution.'

Elizabeth looked at the men at Zurich. Some had their eyes riveted on her - watching for the slightest waver of confidence, the smallest sign of bluff. Others fixed their stares on inanimate objects - caring only to filter the words, the tone of her voice, for a false statement or a lapse of judgment. These were men who moved nations with a single gesture, a solitary word.

'At the start of tomorrow's business, subject to time zones, enormous transfers of Scarlatti capital will have been made to the