Pike's Pyramid. Michael Tatlow

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СКАЧАТЬ had sparked the divorce.

      Pike abominated Argo’s brain washing and social engineering, which was on a scale that would hearten Hitler.

      As a waiter delivered the bottle of non-alcohol cider he had ordered, the loudspeaker above him crackled. Frank Sinatra and Celeste Holm stridently broke his reverie: Who wants to be a millionaire? I don’t. And go to every swell affair? I don’t…

      This had to be organised by puppeteer De Groote! They had sung that song over and over at the late-night celebration at the Pike home after their first open pitch meeting at the Stanley Town Hall. Richard, dressed like a grazier, had played the canny congregation with flair and wit.

      That, and the maestro’s glowing edification of Alex Dvorak and Blarney Pike, had scored a clamouring twenty-four recruits, with more about to commit.

      Back at the Pike home early in the celebrations, Richard had said their success was awesome—the Pikes’ first of many awesomes from him. Over a rivulet of champagne and later claret, he had bragged and fantasised to a core of recruits until the stormy dawn. Singing that song. Changing it to I do!

      Pike had woken after the celebration with a headache, his mouth like a bag of dried fish bait. Alex had clattered dishes in the kitchen. He ruefully recalled looking out at the Nut; the freak monolith, sheer and dark and looming over his home. Perched precariously at the edge of the precipice was a lump of basalt as big as the bedroom.

      He called it Brinky Bill. It began to fall towards him. It took him a bewildered half minute to realise the clouds were rushing north, over the Nut. Brinky Bill was not crashing south, to demolish him and the house.

      CHAPTER 5

      His part of the restaurant had rotated around its core to the elevator as Richard De Groote strode from it. His timing was flawless; 8.05, ten minutes after Pike. Diners and staff stared, as if royalty had arrived.

      A customary red rose bud decorated his grey suit. Australian Merino, no doubt, Pike mused, tailored in Italy. De Groote’s generous blond mane was swept back to the collar. Pike already felt a lesser being. They embraced warmly.

      ‘Hail the conquering hero!’ De Groote beamed. ‘How many millions have you made lately, Blarney?’ The group at the next table gawked.

      ‘Oh, just a few,’ Pike countered, grinning effacingly at the onlookers. ‘You’re looking well, fearless leader.’

      At forty-six, De Groote had thirteen years on Pike but looked about the same age. He was big-boned and muscled, a head shorter and less sturdy than Pike.

      ‘Must be our vitamin program,’ De Groote smiled. Selling, selling. ‘And go to every swell affair,’ he sang with Sinatra.

      ‘The song’s a thoughtful touch, you old showman. Smoother than the Stanley Mixed Choir at my place after your show at the town hall.’

      De Groote ordered a bottle of riesling. ‘Join me?’

      ‘No, thanks, Richard. I’m driving to Stanley tonight. This tarted-up apple juice is a lusty little number. Non-alcoholic.’

      ‘You’re on the wagon then?’ De Groote asked earnestly.

      ‘I’ve had a few grogs lately. Jack’s death didn’t help.’ Not even a frown. ‘And I couldn’t resist the overwhelming hospitality of Alex’s family at Christmas time. I weakened in Petrov, their little village in Moravia. The folk there make plonk fit for the gods. They call the best stuff altar wine, which doesn’t get to priests.’

      …Who wants to wallow in champagne? I don’t, ’cause all I want is yooo. The song ended. The Vienna Strings took over.

      ‘Their hospitality is marvellous,’ Pike persisted. ‘We set up a little downline there. They’re looking forward to seeing you.’

      De Groote picked up the menu. He was not interested in Czech hick villagers.

      Pike prepared a salvo. He lowered his voice so it did not carry to the next table. ‘Even in thriving little Petrov, they said our stuff was too costly.’

      De Groote interrupted tersely. ‘If people can’t afford the hundred-dollar starter kit and buy twice that value in initial product, you don’t want them in your network. They’re clutter.’

      Pike ignored it. ‘We were clobbered again just before the national opening date when the prices our recruits pay for products jumped by thirty percent overnight.

      ‘It was a disaster!’ Pike pressed. ‘People we’d recruited reckoned we’d conned them. A few demanded their money back. I gave it to them, of course. They left, probably to bad-mouth us.’

      De Groote looked unmoved. ‘You shouldn’t do that. Giving money back to them is a violation of the system.’

      Prod him harder. ‘What a time for a price hike! Some people around the Republic couldn’t afford to buy even the damned soap powder or toothpaste for themselves, let alone find people to sell cameras and jewellery and computers to.’

      The professor kept his eyes on the menu. ‘Prices are determined in New York, with contracted manufacturers all over the world. It’s top-class stuff. Marvellous value.’

      ‘I suppose on top of Argo’s product profits, the high rollers with networks in Prague, including you now, Richard, take thirty percent from product sales there. As you do here.’

      ‘You don’t know that,’ the professor declared bluntly. ‘It’s privileged information. Never, ever peddle that to your downline.’

      Yes, master. Pike nodded his head in mock adulation. He had seen proof of the secret thirty percent. ‘And then there were the bloody Czech registration charges. We didn’t know a damn thing about that when we left Australia. A lovely little bloke called Pavel was our first Czech downline. He found out about the registration and taxes, and came back to me stunned.

      ‘He’s about forty, owns a little shop selling cakes his wife and mother make. You’ll love them. The future of Pavel’s family depends on us.

      ‘Pavel simply didn’t have the money to pay that rego tax and he was upset we hadn’t told him about it.’

      Looking concerned now, De Groote nodded. Pike finished his cider. He pined for a cigarette.

      ‘Alex and I will keep faith with our Czechs,’ Pike said. ‘Pavel and Elishka have even got that article about you in Argo Life stuck up on the wall in their shop. They have five young kids, living in a four-room flat in a grey building that looks like a bloody great concrete brick. We want to give them the chance to get out of it!’

      De Groote sipped his riesling, gazing out at the city lights through rain on the window. ‘Jerry happened to ring me after you called from Melbourne. He sends you and Alex his love. And he told me about Jack Sussoms’ death.

      ‘A horrid business. Abe Harbek’s top boys have had a good look at it. There’s no way that Argo people are involved.’

      What else would they officially decide? Pike asked himself. ‘I’m not so sure,’ he replied. ‘Old Jack reckoned there’s a gang of network crooks who stood to СКАЧАТЬ