BOOK THREE                                       
AUGUST, 1953

A SECRET TO KILL FOR

The white SS Christina shimmered in the bright morning sun like an apparition. It was anchored between the tiny green islands in the bay of Cannes Three hundred and twenty feet in length, it had been built originally by Canada in 1943 as a warship to escort convoys across the Atlantic. After the war ended Onassis, had bought it at war surplus prices and, lavishing $4 million on it, he had transformed it into a floating palace that could transport him in absolute luxury to any port in the wor rld. He had then re-named it to honor his first child, Christina.

Onassis leaned on the rail of the upper deck, a white towel wrapped around his waist and sun-glasses wrapped around his eyes. A Cole Porter song could be heard on the radio playing in his office.

He glanced down at the time on his Patek Phillipe wrist watch. It was 11:45 AM. The Riva speedboat was returning from Cannes with freshly-baked croissants, the Financial Times and a Professor Jacob Foxx from Harvard.

Christina II, as he now called his new art consultant, had prevailed on him to listen to a business proposition that her Professor had for him, a minor tanker charter deal. It sounded like a ludicrous waste of his time at a time when his whole shipping empire was teetering on the verge of collapse. He had initially turned down her suggestion, saying he had more pressing matters, but she answered provocatively "That would be a mistake: He knows a secret that others would kill for." When she put it that way, he could not say no to her. He had always believed that the secret to success is to know something nobody else knows. He would hear Foxx out.

Onassis' eyes followed Foxx as he climbed from the mahogany prow of the Riva speedboat onto the Christina's hanging stair-way. Onassis could see that the professor was not appropriately dressed for the world's most luxurious yacht or, for that matter, a hot August day on the Riviera. He wore a straw hat, a badly crumpled seersucker jacket, stained charcoal grey slacks, a button-down shirt with a rep tie, argyle socks and battered loafers. The boatman, providing a helping hand, took his small suit-case and led him up the canopied stairway. When he emerged on the pool deck, he looked around agog. Where was Christina?

Foxx had not seen Christina in nearly seven months. During his long flight from America, he had thought about little else than her. He had longed to be with her again and make love to her again. It had been almost surrealistic when the Riva arrived at the pier in Cannes, its crew members all wearing shirts with her name emblazoned them, as if they could read his mind.

He heard a flutter of nearby splashing. He turned towards the pool, squinting to see through the blazing sun. He saw the glistening back of Christina, half-emerged from the pool on the ladder. Her long hair covered her shoulders like a mermaid. Her tan bathing suit clung so tightly to her tanned body that, for a brief moment, he thought she was not wearing one. Step by step, she ascended out of the pool, then turned to him, "Jake, I knew you would make it."

He rushed around the pool, wanting to sweep her into his arms, but, like a playful water nymph, she lithely evaded his embrace, "You'll get all wet."

A pool man handed her one towel, which, with a deft motion, she wrapped around her one-piece bathing suit, and another which she dried herself with. "Ari will be right down."

On his way down the spiral steps to the pool deck, Onassis almost collided with Jean Noel, his factotum, who was rushing up, two stairs at a time, to find him. Noel had a look of urgent concern on his face.

Sorry Sir," Noel said, "Chapelle, our security man in the port, just called. It seems that the police are inquiring about your guest, Professor Foxx."

"The police? On a Saturday, no less?"

"Their not exactly the police. Chapelle knows one them. He worked with him in SDECE."

"SDECE, in Cannes, no less," Onassis mused. The French counter-espionage service was supposed to be pursuing spies outside, not inside, of France. Why would they be asking about the Professor. Christina's words "a secret that others would kill for" suddenly took on a new plausibility to him. "Have Chapelle discretely find out from his friend why SDECE is involved."

By time Onassis arrived at the pool, Foxx and Christina were deep in conversation in lounge chairs under a white canopy. Foxx had given the steward his jacket, tie and hat in exchange for an ice tea.

"Christina has told me a great deal about you Professor..."

"Call me Jake." Foxx rose to shake hands with Onassis.

"Jake, I hope you can stay for lunch," Onassis took a seat across from him, his towel parting to expose his leg. "I want to hear about this incredible game you designed."

"That is very kind of you, Mr. Onassis." he couldn't quite bring himself to say Ari. "I wanted to talk to you about tankers."

"Jake has a very tempting business proposition," Christina chimed in. She then turned on her stomach on the lounge. She adjusted her bathing suit, she could sun her back down to the coccyx.

"What sort of business proposition? I didn't know Harvard professors got involved in business speculations?"

"It is very straight-forward. I want to charter three fifteen-thousand oil tankers for service in for one month. I would need them delivered in the Persian Gulf in six days." Foxx looked at Onassis, trying to appear business-like, though he was disconcerted by Onassis's opaque sun glasses. He could not tell if his eyes were focused on him or on Christina.

"Getting 3 ships would be no problem. As you undoubtedly know, Jake, the charter market is at rock bottom. Near Zero."

"How near zero?"

"Prices have never been lower in history. $100,000 a month for a fifteen- thousand ton ship. Another $20,000 to deliver it to the Gulf. Where in the Gulf?"

"Abadan."

"Iran?" Onassis studied Foxx. He tried to assess whether he was insane or merely ignorant. Didn't he know Abadan had been closed by the British? Didn't he know that the British would seize any cargo taken from Abadan on the theory that it belonged to the Anglo-Iranian Oil Company, not the Iranian government? Didn't he know that the British were using the RAF to stop suspected ships? He maintained a polite tone of voice he always did with guests, but he also subscribed to the maxim that a fool and his money are soon parted.

"It would cost you $360,000," said Onassis. "Short term charter fees have to be paid in advance. Is that a problem?"

"I've only have $30,000."

"And so who would pay the other $330,000?"

"I assumed I could borrow it from a bank once the ship took on a cargo of oil. The oil would certainly be collateral..."

"I'm afraid Abadan is closed. No bank would lend a penny on a cargo of Iranian oil. Any oil you took on in Iran would be seized. I see lunch is ready. Do you like langouste?"

Onassis clapped his hands and three waiters rushed over. Two carried a table, and the third a menu.

"Langouste sounds divine," said Christina, flipping herself over on her back and, covering herself with a towel, changing her bathing suit. She transformed herself with the eye- numbing speed of a magician. Presto. The towel disappeared and she was now wearing a white "Bikini," as it had been recently nicknamed from a crude joke about the recent nuclear bomb tests vanishing two atolls in the pacific. "Certainly Ari you can spare three ships for a month?" She asked, sitting up.

"Unfortunately, I can't do that. If I chartered these ships out for the month, I would lose the opportunity to sell them, and I cannot afford to do that." He knew that, even if this fool professor had the money to pay for the crews and captains, he might not have any ships to charter by the end of the day. Earlier that week, he had made verbally agreed to sell his entire fleet to the Satrap syndicate in Luxembourg. Even though the price was abysmally low hardly more than the scrap value of the ships he had no other offers. If he didn't sell, his creditors could bring down his entire financial structure like a house of cards. Making the Satrap deal even more onerous was that he knew virtually nothing about Satrap. Even with his formidable private intelligence sources, he had been unable to find out even the name of its principals. Now Satrap's lawyers were haggling over every petty detail.

"Wouldn't those ships be worth a lot more if the blockade of Iran ended Maybe ten times more?" Foxx suggested, desperately trying to keep alive Onassis's interest.

"If a man had wings, he could fly," Onassis standing up, waved his arms like a bird. "Unfortunately, he could also go bankrupt waiting for the blockade to end.. Perhaps you missed the twelve o'clock news on the BBC. The Shah has abdicated. He has flown to Switzerland. Mossadeq is in total control of Iran. Mossadeq will never give into the oil cartel. The blockade will go on. I wish it was different."

"It is different," Foxx spoke with a confidence that he had not shown before. "The Shah has not abdicated or gone to Switzerland. Actually, he is in Baghdad, waiting. Mossadeq may think he is in total control, but he is not. The Shah has left behind a few sunrises for him, including a royal decree."

"The news may be wrong, it often is." Onassis shrugged, "if you will excuse me for a moment, I have a few phone calls to make before lunch." He walked up to the stairs.

Noel jumped up from the papers on his desk when Onassis, still wearing only a towel, strode into the ship board office. "I have not been able to get through to the Satrap lawyers. They are an elusive bunch," Noel said, picking up the note book, he used to keep track of his tasks. "But Chapelle has cast a little light on the SDECE manhunt. SDECE is looking for Foxx on behalf of the CIA. Their agents are scouring the south of France."

"What is SDECE supposed to do when they find him?"

"They have been asked to hold him absolutely incommunicado for six days. Not even a phone call to the embassy. Pretty weird."

Onassis left the office and went to his private suite to change for lunch. He slipped on cream slacks and a short-sleeved shirt. But he kept thinking about Christina's odd choice of words, "A secret people would kill for." Was it the CIA's secret? Was that why they had SDECE hunting Foxx? Did their secret concern something that was going to happen in the next six days? Was that why they wanted Foxx held incommunicado? He didn't like to be tormented by a mystery. Picking up the phone, he had the ship's operator call a friend of his in Greek Foreign Ministry, Dimitri Vakalo. Dimitri's job was to track of developments in the Middle East. He asked Dimitri, "Is it true that the Shah abdicated today?"

"That was the news report from the BBC out of Teheran at noon," Dimitri answered, "but apparently it is not true. I just came from a NATO briefing. The Shah's plane landed at Baghdad. No one knows why."

"And are the Americans involved?"

"They are keeping their cards pretty close to the chest. The only thing we know for sure is that American military planes are flying out of Athens with their markings blacked out."

Onassis sat at the head of the table under the canopy. Christina sat on his right, wearing a diaphanous robe over her bikini, Foxx sat on his left, wearing the a SS Christina crew shirt. One waiter placed a huge tray of grilled Langouste on the table and three dishes of melted butter, another waiter poured chilled Chablis wine.

"So you want to risk all your savings on a political event in Iran," Onassis probed. "Do you think that is a prudent gamble, Jake?

"Gamble? Why assume it is a gamble, Ari," Christina cut in. She picked up a Langouste with her hands, ripped it apart. And dipped the white meat in the butter. The sea air made her very hungry.

"Politics may be much less of a gamble than other enterprises," Foxx said, adopting the style he used in his lectures on Political Pathology. "Nation A has oil, but a vacuum of power. Nation B has power but not enough oil to keep its cities lit and it cars running. It is inevitable that Nation A will get the oil it needs from Nation B."

"I agree but the issue is when. Timing, as you know, is everything," Onassis had skillfully dismantled his Langouste. "Sorry I can't help you. Your proposition is not without intriguing possibilities. But, Jake, I am not a gambler. "

"I am sorry to interrupt your lunch, Sir," Noel interrupted, a notebook ready in his hand. He spoke in a quiet voice, but not quiet enough for Foxx not to overhear. " Satrap's lawyer is on the phone. The contract is ready for signing..."

Foxx's mind, was whirling around like a roulette wheel, trying to put in its precise place what he had read about satrap in the document that Christina had sent him. Suddenly, the bouncing ball fell into the slot. He had a trump card. "Satrap is not a gambler either."

Onassis who had half-risen, sat back down again. "Are you familiar with Satrap?"

"The Luxembourg syndicate that was formed last march by Sir Anthony Raven?

"Go on," Onassis said in a commanding voice. He was familiar with Raven.

"Its principal shareholders, aside from Raven, is Calouste Gulbenkian."

"I see. And they are not gamblers because they know that there will be oil for the tankers? In six days?"

"That is correct. Iran will re-open for selling oil after Mossadeq is overthown. As a face- saving device, The Shah will use independently-owned tankers for the first shipments." Foxx answered.

Onassis lifted his glass to his lips and sipped the cool Chablis. He now understood why Gulbenkian had made him an offer he knew he would refuse. He had known all along about the American coup d'etat. So had Raven. They wanted to mislead him into selling his ships. They stood to make an enormous fortune anonymously, in Luxembourg.

Onassis said to Noel. "Tell the Captain that we will be leaving for Italy immediately after lunch." Noel started to go. "One more thing: I want you to draw up a contract between me and Professor Foxx. Three tankers, 15,000 tons, to be delivered at Abadan next Thursday. $360,000. The sum need not be paid in advance. Is one month sufficient credit, Jake?"

"Thank you," Foxx said, knowing that in a month, the charters would be worth ten times what he was paying.

"What about Satrap. What should I tell them?" Noel asked.

"Tell them I'll will call them back. Let them twist slowly in the wind. Wind is all they will get from me."

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