Elephant Song - Smith Wilbur - Страница 64

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They would provide everything that you require.  You need only ask and there would be military transport, helicopters, lake patrol boats, at your disposal.  You could go anywhere, even into the closed area of the forest reservations.  You could speak to anybody.  . To political prisoners?  Daniel could not help himself.  It slipped out.  Political prisoners?  Harrison repeated.  What the Hell would you want to speak to politicals for?  This will be a documentary on the environment and the develoPment of a backward society.  Just suppose I did want to talk to political detainees, Daniel insisted.  Look here, young man.

Taffari is a progressive leader, one of the few honest and committed leaders on the continent.  I don't think he is holding any political prisoners.  It isn't his style.  What happened to Omeru?  Daniel asked, leaning forward intently, and Harrison laid the duelling pistol on the blotter in front of him.  its barrels were pointing at Daniel's chest.

Do I detect hostility towards the Ubomo government?  He asked softly.

Towards my proposition?  No, Daniel denied it.  I just have to know what I'm getting myself into.  I'm a businessman, like you, Tug.  I want the hard facts, not the hard sell.  You understand that.  I'm sure you'd want the same, if you were in my position.  If I'm going to put my name to something, I must know what it is.  All right.  Harrison relaxed.  He understood that explanation.  Omeru was an obstinate old man.  Taffari had no option but to hold him incommunicado during the transition period.  He was under house-arrest, being treated well.  He had access to his lawyers and his doctor when he died of a heart attack.  Taffari has not announced his death yet.  It would seem to point in undesirable directions.  Like summary execution without trial, Daniel suggested.  He felt a pang of mourning for the old president.

It might look like that, Harrison agreed, although I am assured by Taffari, and I have every reason to believe him that it was not the case.  All right, I accept your assurance on that point, Daniel said.

Now what about the costs of this production?  it wouldn't be cheap.

Off the top of my head, I would estimate.  the cost at a couple of million.  I take it that you would want a first-rate job.

Who pays for that?  BOSS?  That would be a little obvious, Harrison demurred.  It would reduce the stature of your production to a simple piece of company propaganda.  No, I would arrange outside finance.

The money would come through a far eastern company.  Although it is a member of the consortium, it is not openly associated with BOSS at this stage.  They own a film company in Hong Kong which we would use as a front.  What is the name of the parent company?  And where is it based?

Daniel asked.  He felt the first tiny premonition, that sense of predestination that had disturbed him before.  The parent company is Taiwanese, not well known but very rich, very powerful.  First-class people to deal with, I assure you, but of course, I won I'd personally underwrite any contract that you have with them.  What is the company's name?  It's a rather flamboyant name, but typically Chinese.  The Lucky Dragon Company.  Daniel stared at him, unable to speak for a moment.

In some strange fashion Ning Cheng Gong's destiny had been linked with his by the murder of Johnny Nzou.  He knew that it had to be played out to the very end.  Is something worrying you, Danny?

Harrison looked concerned and Daniel realised that he had allowed his agitation to show.  No.  I was just considering your proposal.  On principle I accept the assignment.  He took a grip on himself.  Subject to contract, of course.  There would be many items to negotiate.  I would want a percentage of the total gross, an agreed advertising budget, choice of my own crew, especially the cameraman, and I'd want final cut.  I am sure we'll be able to come together on the details.

Harrison smiled, and with one finger rotated the duelling pistol until the barrels were no longer pointed at Daniel's chest.  Ask your agent to call me as soon as she can.  And now I think the sun is definitely over the yard-arm.  We can drink to our arrangement in something a little more substantial than Darjeeling.  Look here, Bonny, it would be much easier if you had an agent, Daniel told her seriously.

I don't enjoy haggling with you.  I believe an artist's job is to be creative, not to waste talent examining the fine print in a contract.

You've been honest with me.

I'll be frank with you, Danny.  I don't like shelling out twenty percent of my hard-corned gelt to a middleman.  Besides which, I don't agree with you.  Writing a contract of employment can be as creatively satisfying as painting a picture or setting up a camera angle.  She kicked off her shoes.  Her bare feet were strong and shapely as her hands.  She twisted her long denim-clad legs under her and settled back on his buttoned leather sofa.  Let's talk business.  Okay, let's do it, he capitulated.  On principle I won't pay a crew by the hour, and I don't recognize overtime.  We work whenever there is work to do, and for as long as it takes.

We go wherever I say, and we live off the land.  No five-star accommodation.  That sounds to me like two thousand a week, she said sweetly.  Dollars?  This isn't New York, brother Dan.  It's London.

Pounds.  That's stiff.  I don't get anywhere near that myself, he protested.  No, but you probably get twenty percent of the gross, whereas I will have to be content with a lousy five percent.  Five percent of the gross on top of two thousand a week.  Daniel looked horrified.  You have to be joking.  If I were joking, I'd be smiling, wouldn't never given a cut to a cameraman, forgive me, a camera person before.  Once you get used to the idea, you won't find it unbearably painful.  I tell you what, let's call it twelve hundred a week, and forget about any percentage.  The acoustics are terrible in here.  I can't believe what I thought I just heard.  I mean, you wouldn't want to insult me, would you, Danny boy?  Would you do me a favour, Miss Mahon?

Would you do up the top button of your shirt while we talk?  The upper part of her chest was freckled like her face.  It showed in the deep ! of her open neck, but below a clear line where the sun had not stained it, her skin was as white as buttermilk.  Under the thin cotton shirt her breasts, unfettered by any brassiEre, were tight and firm.

She glanced down into her deep cleavage.  Is there something wrong with them?  She grinned slyly.  No.  Nothing at all.  That's what I'm complaining about.  She closed the button.  Did I hear you say seventeen-fifty and four percent?  she asked.  You are right.  There is something wrong with the acoustics, he agreed.  I said fifteen hundred and one and a half percent.  Two percent, she wheedled him, and when he sighed and agreed, she added craftily, And a hundred a day location allowance.  it took them almost three hours to hammer out the terms of her employment and at the end he found his liking for her tempered by respect.  She was a hard lassie.  Do we need a letter of intent?  he asked.  Or will a handshake do?  A handshake will do fine, she answered.

As long as I have a letter of intent to back it up.  He went through to his office and tapped out a draft of their agreement on his word-processor, and called her through to check the text on the screen.

She stood behind him and leaned over his shoulder to read it.  One of her breasts pressed taut and weightily on his shoulder.  It was warm as a tsama melon that had lain in the desert under the Kalahari sun.  You didn't put in the bit about first-class air tickets, she pointed out.

And the salary to commence from date of signature.  The smell of her skin that he had noticed on their first meeting was more pronounced.

He inhaled it with pleasure.  It reminded him forcefully that he had been celibate for almost a year.  Good boy, she complimented him as he made the alterations she requested.  That will do very nicely indeed.

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