Текст книги "Eagle in the Sky"

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EAGLE IN THE SKY [047-066-4.9]

BY WILBUR SMITH

Synopsis:

With a dull but awful roar, the Mirage bloomed with dark crimson flame

and sooty black smoke, the wind ripped flames outwards in great

streamers and pennants that engulfed all around them, and David

staggered onwards in the midst of the roaring furnace that seemed to

consume the very air.

Drawn to the sky as though to his natural element, young David Morgan

spurns the boardroom future mapped out for him by his family for the

life of a jet pilot.  Then he meets Debra the beautiful Israeli writer

for whom he will fight, in another country's war, at the controls of his

Mirage.  Yet the breathless action which brings them together is also

the very tragedy that will threaten to tear them apart.

The novels of Wilbur Smith

The Courtney Novels:

When the Lion Feeds

The Sound of Thunder

A Sparrow Falls

The Burning Shore

Power of the Sword

Rage

A Time to Die

The Ballantyne novels:

A Falcon Flies

Men of Men

The Angels Weep

The Leopard Hunts in Darkness

Also:

The Dark of the Sun

Shout at the Devil

Gold Mine

The Diamond Hunters

The Sunbird

Eagle in the Sky

The Eye of the Tiger

Cry Wolf

Hungry as the Sea

Wild Justice

Golden Fox

Elephant Song

Eagle in The Sky

Wilbur Smith was born in Central Africa in 1933.  He was educated at

Michael-house and Rhodes University.

He became a full-time writer in 1964 after the successful publication of

When the Lion Feeds, and has since written twenty-three novels,

meticulously researched on his numerous expeditions worldwide.

He normally travels from November to February, often spending a month

skiing in Switzerland, and visiting Australia and New Zealand for sea

fishing.  During his summer break, he visits environments as diverse as

Alaska and the dwindling wilderness of the African interior.  He has an

abiding concern for the peoples and wildlife of his native continent, an

interest strongly reflected in his novels.

He is married to Danielle, to whom his last nineteen books have been

dedicated.

WILBUR SMITH A Mandarin Paperback

EAGLE IN THE SKY

First published in Great Britain x974 by William Heinemann Ltd

This edition published 11992 by Mandarin Paperbacks an imprint of Reed

International Books Limited Michelin House, 8i Fulham, Road, London SW3

6RB and Auckland, Melbourne, Singapore and Toronto Reprinted 1993

(twice), 1994 (twice), 1995 (three times), i996 (three times)

Copyright C Wilbur Smith 1974

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British

Library

ISBN 0 7493 o622 X

Photo-type-set by Intype, London

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Cox &Wyman Ltd, Reading, Berkshire

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of

trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated

without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover

other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition

including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Acknowledgements

While writing this story I had valuable help from a number of people.

Major Dick Lord and Lieutenant Peter Cooke gave me advice on the

technique and technicalities of modern fighter combat.  Dr. Robin

Sandell and Dr. David Davies provided me with the medical details.  A

brother angler, the Rev.  Bob Redrup, helped with the choice of the

title.  To them all I am

sincerely grateful.

While in Israel many of the citizens of that state gave help and

hospitality in generous measure.  It grieves me

that I may not mention their names.

As always my faithful research assistant gave comfort,

encouragement and criticism when it was most needed.

This book is dedicated to her son, my stepson, Dieter Schmidt.

Three things are too wonderful for me, four I do not understand, The way

of an eagle in the sky, The way of a serpent on a rock, The way of a

ship on the high seas,

And the way of a man with a maiden.

Proverbs, 30, -8-2o

There was snow on the mountains of the Hottentots, Holland and the wind

came off it, whimpering like a lost animal.  The instructor stood in the

doorway of his tiny office and hunched down into his flight jacket,

thrusting his fists deeply into the fleece-lined pockets. He watched the

black chauffeur-driven Cadillac coming down between the cavernous

iron-clad hangars, and he frowned sourly.  For the trappings of wealth.

Barney Venter had a deeply aching gut-envy.

The Cadillac swung in and parked in a visitors slot against the hangar

wall, and a boy sprang from the rear door with boyish enthusiasm, spoke

briefly with the coloured chauffeur, then hurried towards Barney.

He moved with a lightness that was strange for an adolescent.  There was

no stumbling over feet too big for his body, and he carried himself

tall.  Barney's envy curdled as he watched the young princeling

approach.

He hated these pampered darlings, and it was his particular fate that he

must spend so much of his working day in their company.  Only the very

rich could afford to instruct their children in the mysteries of flight.

He was reduced to this by the gradual running down of his body, the

natural attrition of time.  Two years previously, at the age of

forty-five, he had failed the strict medical on which his position of

senior airline captain depended, and now he was going down the other

side of the hill, probably to end as a typical fly-burn, steering tired

and beaten-up heaps on unscheduled and shady routes for unlicensed and

unprincipled charter companies.

The knowledge made him growl at the child who stood before him.  Master

Morgan, I presume?

Yes, Sir, but you may call me David.  The boy offered his hand and

instinctively Barney took it, immediately wishing he had not.  The hand

was slim and dry, but with a hard grip of bone and sinew.

Thank you, David.  Barney was heavy on irony.  And you may continue to

call me "Sir".

He knew the boy was fourteen years old, but he stood almost level with

Barney's five-foot-seven.  David smiled at him and Barney was struck

almost as by a physical force by the boy's beauty.  It seemed as though

each detail of his features had been wrought with infinite care by a

supreme artist.  The total effect was almost unreal, theatrical.  It

seemed indecent that hair should curl and glow so darkly, that skin

should be so satiny and delicately tinted, or that eyes possess such

depth and fire.

Barney became aware that he was staring at the boy, that he was falling

under the spell that the child seemed so readily to weave, and he turned

away abruptly.

Come on.  He led the way through his office with its fly-blown nude

calendars and handwritten notices carrying terse admonitions against

asking for credit, or making right-hand circuits.

What do you know about flying?  he asked the boy as they passed through

the cool gloom of the hangar where gaudily coloured aircraft stood in

long rows, and out again through the wide doors into the bright mild

winter sunshine.

Nothing, Sir.  The admission was refreshing, and Barney felt his mood

sweeten slightly.

But you want to learn?

Oh, yes Sir!  The reply was emphatic and Barney glanced at him.  The

boy's eyes were so dark as to be almost black, only in the sunlight did

they turn deep indigo blue.

All right then, let's begin.  The aircraft was waiting on the concrete

apron.

This is a Cessna 150 high-wing monoplane.  Barney began the walk-around

check with David following attentively, but when he started a brief

explanation of the control surfaces and the principle of lift and

wingloading, he became aware that the boy knew more than he had owned up

to.  His replies to Barney's rhetorical questions were precise and

accurate.

You've been reading, Barney accused.

Yes, Sir, David admitted, grinning.  His teeth were of peculiar

whiteness and symmetry and the smile was irresistible.  Despite himself,

Barney realized he was beginning to like the boy.

Right, jump in.  Strapped into the cramped cockpit shoulder to Shoulder,

Barney explained the controls and instruments, then led into the

starting procedure.Master switch on.  He flipped the red button.

Right , turn that key, same as in a car.

David leaned forward and obeyed.  The prop spun and the engine fired and

kicked, surged, then settled into a satisfying healthy growl.  They

taxied down the apron with David quickly developing his touch on the

rudders, and paused for the final checks and radio procedure before

swinging wide on to the runway.

Right, pick an object at the end of the runway.  Aim for it and open the

throttle gently.

Around them the machine became urgent, and it buzzed busily towards the

far-off fence markers.

Ease back on the wheel.

And they were airborne, climbing swiftly away from the earth.

Gently, said Barney.  Don't freeze on to the controls.

Treat her like, he broke off.  He had been about to liken the aircraft

to a woman, but realized the unsuitability of the simile.  Treat her

like a horse.  Ride her light Instantly he felt David's death-grip on

the wheel relax, the touch repeated through his own controls.

That's it, David.  He glanced sideways at the boy, and felt a flare of

disappointment.  He had felt deep down in his being that this one might

be bird, one of the very rare ones like himself whose natural element

was the blue.  Yet here in the first few moments of flight the child was

wearing an expression of frozen terror.  His lips and nostrils were

trimmed with marble white and there were shadows in the dark blue eyes

like the shape of sharks moving beneath the surface of a summer sea.

Left wing up, he snapped, disappointed, trying to shock him out of it.

The wing came up and held rock steady, with no trace of over-correction.

Level her out.  His own hands were off the controls as the nose sank to

find the horizon.

Throttle back.  The boy's right hand went unerringly to the throttle.

once more Barney glanced at him.  His expression had not altered, and

then with a sudden revelation Barney recognized it not as fear, but as

ecstasy.

He is bird.  The thought gave him a vast satisfaction, and while they

flew on through the basic instruction in trim and attitude, Barney's

mind went back thirty years to a battered old yellow Tiger Moth and

another child in his first raptures of flight.

They skirted the harsh blue mountains, wearing their mantles of

sun-blazing snow, and rode the tail of the wild winds that came down off

them.

Wind is like the sea, David.  It breaks and swirls around high ground.

Watch for it.  David nodded as he listened to his first fragments of

flying lore, but his eyes were fixed ahead savouring each instant of the

experience.

They turned north over the bleak bare land, the earth naked pink and

smoky brown, stripped by the harvest of its robes of golden wheat.

Wheel and rudder together, David, Barney told him.Let's try a steep turn

now.  Down went the wing and boldly the nose swept around holding its

attitude to the horizon.

Ahead of them the sea broke in long lines of cream on the white beaches.

The Atlantic was cold green and ruffled by the wind, flecked with

dancing white.

South again, following the coastline where small figures on the white

sand paused to look up at them from under shading hands, south towards

the great flat mountain that marked the limit of the land, its shape

unfamiliar from this approach.

The shipping lay thick in the bay and the winter sunlight flashed from

the windows of the white buildings huddling below the steep wooded sides

of the mountain.

Another turn, confident and sure, Barney sitting with his hands in his

lap and his feet off the rudder bars, and they ran in over the Tygerberg

towards the airfield.

Okay, said Barney.  I've got her.  And he took them in for the

touch-down and taxied back to the concrete apron beside the hangars.  He

pulled the mixture control fully lean and let the engine starve and die.

They sat silent for a moment, neither of them moving or speaking, both

of them unwinding but still aware that something important and

significant had happened and that they had shared it.

Okay?  Barney asked at last.

Yes, sir, David nodded, and they unstrapped and climbed down on to the

concrete stiffly.  Without speaking they walked side by side through the

hangar and office.  At the door they paused.

Next Wednesday?  Barney asked.

Yes, sir.  David left him and started towards the waiting Cadillac, but

after a dozen steps he stopped, hesitated, then turned back.

That was the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me, he said

shyly.  Thank you, sir.  And he hurried away leaving Barney staring

after him.

The Cadillac pulled off, gathering speed, and disappeared round a bend

amongst the trees beyond the last buildings.  Barney chuckled, shook his

head ruefully and turned back into his office.  He dropped into the

ancient swivel chair and crossed his ankles on the desk.  He fished a

crumpled cigarette from the pack, straightened and lit it.

Beautiful?  he grunted, grinning.  Crap!  He flicked the match at the

waste bin and missed it.

The telephone woke Mitzi Morgan and she crept out from under her pillows

groping blindly for it.

"Lo.

Mitzi?

Hi, Dad, are you coming up?  She came half-awake at her father's voice,

remembering that this was the day he would fly up to join the family at

their holiday home.

Sorry, baby.  Something has broken here.  I won't be up until next week.

Oh, Dad!  Mitzi expressed her disappointment.

Where's Davey?  her father went on quickly to forestall any

recriminations.

You want him to call you back?

No, I'll hold on.  Call him, please, baby.

Mitzi stumbled out of bed to the mirror, and with her fingers tried to

comb some order into her hair.  It was off-blonde and wiry, and fuzzed

up tight at the first touch of sun or salt or wind.  The freckles were

even more humiliating she decided, looking at herself disapprovingly.

You look like a Pekinese, she spoke aloud, a fat little Pekinese, with

freckles, and gave up the effort of trying to change it.  David had seen

her like this a zillion times.

She pulled a silk gown over her nudity and went out into the passage,

past the door to her parents suite where her mother slept alone, and

into the living area of the house.

The house was stacked in a series of open planes and galleries, glass

and steel and white pine, climbing out of the dunes along the beach,

part of sea and sky, only glass separating it from the elements, and now

the dawn filled it with a strange glowing light and made a feature of

the massive headland of the Robberg that thrust out into the sea across

the bay.

The playroom was scattered with the litter of last night's party, twenty

house guests and as many others from the big holiday homes along the

dunes had left their mark, spied beer, choked ashtrays and records

thrown carelessly from their covers.

Mitzi picked her way through the debris and climbed the circular

staircase to the guest rooms.  She checked David's door, found it open,

and went in.  The bed was untouched, but his denims and sweat shirt were

thrown across the chair and his shoes had been kicked off carelessly.

Mitzi grinned, and went through on to the balcony.  it hung high above

the beach, level with the gulls which were already dawn-winging for the

scraps that the sea had thrown up during the night.

Quickly Mitzi hoisted the gown up around her waist, climbed up onto the

rail of the balcony and stepped over the drop to the rail of the next

balcony in line.  She jumped down, drew the curtains aside and went into

Marion's bedroom.

Marion was her best friend.  Secretly she knew that this happy state of

affairs existed chiefly because she, Mitzi, provided a foil for Marion's

petite little body and wide-eyed doll-like beauty, and was a source of

neverending gifts and parties, free holidays and other good things.

She looked so pretty now in sleep, her hair golden and soft as it fanned

out across David's chest.  Mitzi transferred all her attention to her

cousin, and felt that sliding sensation in her breast and the funny warm

liquid sensation at the base of her belly as she looked at him.  He was

seventeen years old now, but already he had the body of a grown man.

He was her most favourite person in all the world, she thought.  He's so

beautiful, so tall and straight and beautiful, and his eyes can break

your heart.

The couple on the bed had thrown aside their covering in the warmth of

the night, and there was hair on David's chest now, thick and dark and

curly, there was muscle in arm and leg, and breadth across the

shoulders.

David, she called softly, and touched his shoulder.Wake up.  His eyes

opened, and he was awake instantly, his gaze focused and aware.

mitz?  What is it?Get your pants on, warrior.  My papa's on the

line."God.  David sat up, dropping Marion's head on to the pillow.  What

time is it?  Late, Mitzi told him.  You should set the alarm when you go

visiting.  Marion mumbled a protest and groped for the sheets as David

jumped from the bed.

Where's the phone?  In my room, but you can take it on the extension in

yours.  She followed him across the balcony railing, and curled up on

David's bed while he picked up the receiver and with the extension cord

trailing behind him began pacing the thick carpet restlessly.

Uncle Paul?  David spoke.  How are you?  Mitzi groped in the pocket of

her gown and found a Gauloise.  She lit it with her gold Dunhill, but at

the third puff David turned aside from his pacing, grinned at her, took

the cigarette from between her lips and drew deeply upon it.

Mitzi pulled a face at him to disguise the turmoil that his nakedness

stirred within her, and selected another cigarette for herself.

He'd die if he knew what I was thinking, she told herself, and derived a

little comfort from the thought.

David finished his conversation and cradled the receiver before turning

to her.

He's not coming.  I know.

But he is sending Barney up in the Lear to fetch me.

Big pow-wow.

It figures, Mitzi nodded, then began a convincing imitation of her

father.  We have to start thinking about your future now, my boy.  We

have to train you to meet the responsibilities with which destiny has

entrusted you.

David chuckled and rummaged for his running shorts in the drawer of his

bureau.I suppose I'll have to tell him now."Yes, Mitzi agreed.  You sure

will have to do that.David pulled up his shorts and turned for the

door.Pray for me, doll.

You'll need more than prayer, warrior, said Mitzi comfortably.

The tide had swept the beach smooth and firm, and no other feet had

marked it this early.  David ran smoothly, long strides leaving damp

footsteps in a chain behind him.

The sun came up casting a soft pink sheen on the sea, and touching the

Outeniqua mountains with flame, but David ran unseeing.  His thoughts

were on the impending interview with his guardian.

It was a time of crisis in his life, high school completed and many

roads open.  He knew the one he had chosen would draw violent

opposition, and he used these last few hours of solitude to gather and

strengthen his resolve.

A conclave of gulls, gathered about the body of a stranded fish, rose in

cloud as he ran towards them, their wings catching the low sun as they

hovered then dropped again when he passed.

He saw the Lear coming before he heard it.  It was low against the dawn,

rising and dropping over the towering bulk of the Robberg.  Then

swiftly, coming in on a muted shriek, it streaked low along the beach

towards him.

David stopped, breathing lightly even after the long run, and raised

both arms above his head in salute.  He saw Barney's head through the

Perspex canopy turned towards him, the flash of his teeth as he grinned

and the hand raised, returning his salute as he went by.

The Lear turned out to sea, one wingtip almost touching the wave crests,

and it came back at him.  David stood on the exposed beach and steeled

himself as the long sleek nose dropped lower and lower, aimed like a

javelin at him.

Like some fearsome predatory bird it swooped at him and at the last

possible instant David's nerve broke and he flung himself on to the wet

sand.  The jet blast lashed him as the Lear rose and turned inland for

the airfield.

Son of a bitch, muttered David as he stood up brushing damp sand from

his bare chest, and imagined Barney's amused chuckle.

I taught him good, thought Barney, sprawled in the copilot's seat of the

Lear as he watched David ride the delicate line of altitude where skill

gave way to chance.

Barney had put on weight since he had been eating Morgan bread, and his

paunch peeked shyly over his belt.  The beginning of jowls bracketed the

wide downturned mouth that gave him the air of a disgruntled toad, and

the cap of hair that covered his skull was sparser and speckled with

salt.

Watching David fly, he felt the small warmth of his affection for him

that his sour expression belied.  Three years he had been chief pilot of

the Morgan group and he knew well to whose intervention he owed the

post.

It was security he had now, and prestige.  He flew great men in the most

luxuriously fitted machines, and when the time came for him to go out to

pasture he knew the grazing would be lush.  The Morgan group looked

after its own.

This knowledge sat comfortably on his stomach as he watched his protege

handle the jet.

Extended low flying like this required enormous concentration, and

Barney watched in vain for any relaxation of it in his pupil.

The long golden beaches of Africa streamed steadily beneath them,

punctuated by rock promontories and tiny resorts and fishing villages.

Delicately the Lear followed the contours of the coastline, for they had

spurned the direct route for the exhilaration of this flight.

Ahead of them stretched another strip of beach but as they howled low

along it they saw that this one was occupied.

A pair of tiny feminine figures left the frothy surf and ran

panic-stricken to where towels and discarded bikinis lay above the

high-water mark.  White buttocks contrasted sharply with a coffee-brown

tan, and they laughed delightedly.

Nice change for you to see them running away, David, Barney grinned as

they left the tiny figures far behind and bore onwards into the south.

From Cape Agulhas they turned inland, climbing steeply over the mountain

ranges, then David eased back on the throttles and they sank down beyond

the crests towards the city, nestling under its mountain.

As they walked side by side towards the hangar, Barney looked up at

David who now topped him by six inches.

Don't let him stampede you, boy, he warned.  You've made your decision.

See you stick to it.  David took his British racing green M.G.  over De

Wool Drive, and from the lower slopes of the mountain looked down to

where the Morgan building stood four-square amongst the other tall

monuments to power and wealth.

David enjoyed its appearance, clean and functional like an aircraft's

wing, but he knew that the soaring freedom of its lines was deceptive.

It was a prison and fortress.

He swung off the freeway at an interchange and rode down to the

foreshore, glancing up at the towering bulk of the Morgan building again

before entering the ramp that led to the underground garages beneath it.

When he entered the executive apartments on the top floor, he passed

along the row of desks where the secretaries, hand-picked for their

looks as well as their skill with a typewriter, sat in a long row. Their

lovely faces opened into smiles like a garden of exotic blooms as David

greeted each of them.  Within the Morgan building he was treated with

the respect due the heir apparent.

Martha Goodrich, in her own office that guarded the inner sanctum,

looked up from her typewriter, severe and businesslike.

Good morning, Mister David.  Your uncle is waiting and I do think you

could have worn a suit You're looking good, Martha.  You've lost weight

and I like your hair like that.  It worked, as it always did.

Her expression softened.

Don't you try buttering me up, she warned him primly.  I'm not one of

your floozies.  Paul Morgan was at the picture window looking down over

the city spread below him like a map, but he turned quickly to greet

David.

Hello, Uncle Paul.  I'm sorry I didn't have time to change.  I thought

it best to come directly That's fine, David.  Paul Moron flicked his

eyes over David's floral shirt open to the navel, the wide tooled

leather belt, white slacks and open sandals.  On him they looked good,

Paul admitted reluctantly.  The boy wore even the most outlandish modern

clothes with a furious grace.

It's good to see you.  Paul smoothed the lapels of his own dark

conservatively-cut suit and looked up at his nephew.  Come in.  Sit

down, there, the chair by the fireplace.  As always, he found that David

standing emphasized his own lack of stature.  Paul was short and heavily

built in the shoulders, thick muscular neck and square thrusting head.

Like his daughter, his hair was coarse and wiry and his features

squashed and puglike.

All the Morgans were built that way.  It was the proper course of

things, and Davids exotic appearance was out side the natural order.  It

was from his mother's side, of course.  All that dark hair and flashing

eyes, and the temperament that went with it.

Well, David.  First off, I want to congratulate you on your final

results.  I was most gratified, Paul Morgan told him gravely, and he

could have added – I was also mightily relieved.  David Morgan's

scholastic career had been a tempestuous affair.  Pinnacles of

achievement followed immediately by depths of disgrace from which only

the Morgan name and wealth had rescued him.

There had been the business with the games master's young wife.  Paul

never did find out the truth of the matter, but had thought it

sufficient to smooth it over by donating a new organ to the school

chapel and arranging a teaching scholarship for the games master to a

foreign university.  Immediately thereafter David had won the coveted

Wessels prize for mathematics, and all was forgiven, until he decided to

test his house-master's new sports car, without that gentleman's

knowledge, and took it into a tight bend at ninety miles an hour.  The

car was unequal to the test, and David picked himself up out of the

wreckage and limped away with a nasty scratch on his calf.  It had taken

all Paul Morgan's weight to have the house-master agree not to cancel

David's appointment as head of house.  His prejudices had finally been

overcome by the replacement of his wrecked car with a more expensive

model, and the Morgan group had made a grant to rebuild the ablution

block of East House.

The boy was wild, Paul knew it well, but he knew also that he could tame

him.  Once he had done that he would have forged a razor-edged tool.  He

possessed all the attributes that Paul Morgan wanted in his successor.

The verve and confidence, the bright quick mind and adventurous spirit,

but above all he possessed the aggressive attitude, the urge to compete

that Paul defined as the killer instinct.

Thank you, Uncle Paul, David accepted his uncle's congratulations

warily.  They were silent, each assessing the other.  They had never

been easy in the other's company, they were too different in many ways,

and yet in others too much alike.  Always it seemed that their interests

were in conflict.

Paul Morgan moved across to the picture windows, so that the daylight

back-lit him it was an old trick of his to put the other person at a

disadvantage.

Not that we expected less of you, of course, he laughed, and David

smiled to acknowledge the fact that his uncle had come close to levity.

And now we must consider your future.  David was silent.

The choice open to you is wide, said Paul Morgan, and then went on

swiftly to narrow it.  Though I do feel business science and law at an

American University is what it should be.  With this obvious goal in

mind I have used my influence to have you enrolled in my old college,

Uncle Paul, I want to fly, said David softly, and Paul Morgan paused.

His expression changed fractionally.

We are making a career decision, my boy, not expressing preferences for

different types of recreation."No, sir.  I mean I want to fly, as a way

of life."Your life is here, within the Morgan group.  It is not

something in which you have freedom of action I don't agree with you,

sir.

Paul Morgan left the window and crossed to the fire place.  He selected

a cigar from the humidor on the mantel, and while he prepared it he

spoke softly, without looking at David.

Your father was a romantic, David.  He got it out of his system by

charging around the desert in a tank.  It seems you have inherited this

romanticism from him.  He made it sound like some disgusting disease. He

came back to where David sat.  Tell me what you propose.  'I have

enlisted in the air force, sir.  'You've done it?  You've signed?  'Yes,

sir.  'How long?  'Five years.  Short service commission.  Five years -

Paul Morgan whispered, well, David, I don't know what to say.  You know

that you are the last of the Morgans.  I have no son.  It will be sad to

see this vast enterprise without one of us at the helm.  I wonder what

your father would have thought of this 'That's hitting low, Uncle Paul.

I don't think so, David.  I think you are the one who is cheating.  Your

trust fund is a huge block of Morgan shares, and other assets given to

you, on the unstated understanding that you assume your duties and

responsibilities, if only he would bawl me out, thought David fiercely,

knowing that he was being stampeded as Barney had warned him.  If only

he would order me to do it so I could tell him to shove it.  But he knew

he was being manipulated by a man skilled in the art, a man whose whole

life was the manipulation of men and money, in whose hands a

seventeen-year-old boy was as soft as dough.

You see, David, you are born to it.  Anything else is cowardice, self

indulgence, the Morgan group reached out its tentacles, like some

grotesque flesh-eating plant, to suck him in and digest him, – we can

have your enlistment papers annulled.  It will be the matter of a single