Montaro Caine A Novel - By Sidney Poitier Page 0,118

to discuss the offer we are making.”

Hargrove got up and returned to join Fritzbrauner, Gabler, Richard Davis, and the others at his table. Franklyn smirked slightly, then shook his head in disbelief before leaning in toward Whitcombe. “You mind if I ask you something?” he said.

Whitcombe nodded. “No, go right ahead.”

“If we take the money,” said Franklyn, “then these guys own the coins, am I correct?”

“If the coins can, in fact, be owned, that is correct,” said Whitcombe. “Montaro has filled me in on the coins’ unusual properties.”

“Tell me about these guys. How rich are they?”

“Very.”

“All that money probably wouldn’t make much of a dent in their assets, right?”

“That’s a reasonable assessment.”

“But if they own the coins, in a sense they’ll also own a part of my wife and me?”

“You could put it that way,” said Whitcombe.

“What other way could you put it?” Franklyn asked, then looked up to pose a more general question. “Where are the coins right now?” he asked to the room at large.

Matthew Perch spoke up. “In my possession,” he said.

Franklyn looked at Perch, then looked at his wife, who smiled at him.

“What do you think?” Whitney asked Franklyn.

Franklyn whispered something to Whitney, who whispered something back to him before Franklyn addressed a question to Kritzman Fritzbrauner.

“Mr. Fritzbrauner,” he said. “Millions of men and women are inspired by the accomplishments of individuals such as yourself and the other men at your table. People hold you in high regard. You’re known for your generous contributions to worthy causes. You and your families live, as do my wife, my child, and I, on planet Earth. Our ongoing survival depends totally on this particular planet. This is our only home. Let me ask you this—why do you and Mr. Gabler seek to own the coins?”

“Well, Mr. Walker,” Hargrove began.

“Forgive me,” Franklyn interrupted—his manner was polite, but his voice was firm. “I would like to hear what Mr. Fritzbrauner has to say.”

A swift glance passed between Fritzbrauner and Hargrove before Fritzbrauner spoke. “Because they are rare, Mr. Walker,” Fritzbrauner said, “and I collect rare objects. It would be a great honor for me to have them, or even one of them, in my collection. It’s as simple as that. No mystery. No hidden agenda.”

“The same goes for you, Mr. Gabler?” asked Franklyn.

“Same,” said Gabler.

“Now, let me ask you this,” Franklyn continued. “You have offered us a great deal of money for these coins, more money than I ever thought I would see in my life. And yet, from what we have learned, these coins seem to have their own minds. Say we sell these coins to you and they once again disappear. Would you then ask us to repay you?”

Fritzbrauner had no immediate answer to this question. Briefly, Hargrove huddled with Gabler and Fritzbrauner. “The risk will belong entirely to my clients,” Hargrove finally told Franklyn. “Once the sale is made, that will be the end of the matter from your perspective.”

Franklyn whispered something to his wife, then gestured to Montaro, asking him to join them. For some minutes, they spoke in confidence with Gordon Whitcombe. When they were done, Franklyn nodded to Montaro, who stood and walked toward the center of the room. He moved as if in a trance, thinking back over the events of the past months—the difficulties with Fitzer; his daughter’s precarious situation; the strange appearance of the coins, which had brought him to this private room in an elegant restaurant with an odd assortment of people he was now connected to in ways he could not even explain. He thought of the model of the Seventh Ship that had hovered before him, filling his room and vision with breathtaking, colorful images.

Montaro knew that he had to speak, but he still did not know what he would say. Speak what is inside you, he heard his grandfather’s voice telling him. You have been listening as best you have been able, with your inner ear, with all your senses. You have opened yourself to the world and the people around you. You have been paying attention, hearing the words beneath the words, hearing the words unspoken. And then, as he listened to the voice of his grandfather inside, Montaro found his own voice.

“Franklyn and Whitney reject your offer,” he said. “But we would like you to join us in a major endeavor—one that, we believe, will prove rewarding not only for myself or my company but for everyone in this room and for those beyond this room