Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less Read Online Free PDF

Harvey’s
chief executive in Britain, Bernie Silverstein, was only too aware of what the
boss was up to–he had been involved in past operations of this kind. His main
task was to ensure that nobody could prove a direct connection between Metcalfe
and Discovery Oil.
    In January 1974 the shares stood at six
dollars. It was then that Harvey was ready to move on to the third part of his
plan, which was to use Discovery Oil’s new recruit, a young Harvard graduate
called David Kesler, as the fall guy.

Chapter 2
    D avid pushed his glasses back onto the bridge
of his nose and read the advertisement in the Business Section of the Boston Globe again to be sure he was not
dreaming. It could have been tailor-made for him.
    Oil Company based in Canada, carrying out
extensive work in the North Sea off Scotland, requires a young executive with
experience in the stock market and financial marketing. Salary
$20,000 a year. Accommodation supplied. Based in
London. Apply Box No. 217 A.
    “Fantastic,” said David to himself, “that
sounds a challenge, and it must lead to other openings in an industry that
large.” He recalled what his tutor in European affairs used to say:
    “If you must work in Great Britain, better
make it the North Sea. Nothing else great about the country. Lots of oil in lots of places equals lots of business opportunities for those
who have the guts to invest with their balls.”
    David Kesler was a lean, clean-cut young
American with a crew cut which would have been better suited to a lieutenant in
the Marines, a fresh complexion and an unquenchable earnestness, who wanted to
succeed in business with all the fervour of the new graduate from Harvard
Business School. He had spent five years in all at Harvard, the first four
studying mathematics, and the last two over the river Charles, at the Business
School. He had just graduated and, armed with an M.A. and an M.B.A., he was
looking round for a job that would reward him for the exceptional capacity for
hard work he knew he possessed. He had never been brilliant and envied the
natural academics among his classmates who found post-Keynesian economic
theories more fun than hard work. David had worked ferociously, only lifting
his nose far enough from the grindstone for a daily workout at the gymnasium,
and the occasional weekend watching Harvard jocks defending the honour of the
university on the football field or in the basketball court. He would have
enjoyed playing himself, but that would have meant another distraction.
    He read the advertisement again.
    David’s parents had not found him an easy
child to bring up. His father, a Calvinist priest from Oregon, was almost as
naive about the real world as his homely, apron string mother. Quite early on,
they had stopped loving and protecting him and contented themselves with
admiring his string of school and college successes. “David must not cry if he
does not come in at the head of the class,” said one report of the ten year old
arithmetician. Later, he learnt not to cry at failure, but it still cut him
deep. That was why at Harvard he had shut himself up with textbooks and nothing
more yielding than a bar and some weights for relaxation. He had seen quite a
few Harvard men who might have made it but for some dumb blonde. That wasn’t
going to happen to him.
    He read the advertisement again.
    For five years he had been as cloistered as
a monk and as dull as a celibate and now it was time to gather the honey. He
would apply for the job. He was young, of course, but that might count in his
favour. The integrity of his self-confidence was unbreached by failure: people
liked that.
    He read the advertisement again, and typed a
neat letter to the box number. A few days later, back came a questionnaire of a
sort familiar to him from Harvard days, which asked:
     
    Name, age, address, marital status.
    Brothers/sisters, age, address, list of
schools, colleges, universities attended with all dates.
    List of high school,