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Nubar Gulbenkian
carefully placed a one-hundred-thousand-franc plaque
on each of four numbers: 1, 8, 9, 6. Those were the
four numbers he always played at roulette. Four numbers
he could never forget; combined they were his birth
year, 1896. For the past two hours, he had been the
only player at this table in the private salon at the
Hotel de Paris in Monte Carlo that night.
The croupier
set the magnificently balanced wheel in motion. He handed
the ivory ball to his sole patron. "Votre jeu, Monsieur"
Although he had known Gulbenkian for some twenty years,
he never called him by name which was forbidden by the
casino. Gulbenkian stroked his beard for a moment,
fascinated by hr spinning numbers. Then he dropped the
ball, and watched with satisfaction as it bounced from
number to number. It stopped for a moment in the one-slot,
and he thought he had won, but it then rolled out.
"Zero," the croupier called as he raked in Gulbenkian's
chips. Gulbenkian showed no concern. He always lost
at roulette. His monetary losses were meaningless so
long as his family got a five percent cut of the crude
pumped from Iraq. Money, he believed, should be his
servant, not his master. It should provide him with
room for living, not weight him down with commitments.
He had usually come to Monte Carlo either to gamble
in the casino or, if roulette bored him, pigeon-shoot
from the boxes on the terrace below the casino. This
time he had come on a mission for his father, a mission
of deception. The pretext for his trip was to attend
later that evening a meaningless ceremony on Onassis'
white yacht, the Christina. A few papers would be signed
in front of a hundred or so guests of Onassis to formalize
the exhibition of paintings from the Gulbenkian Collection
at the Casino that summer. Onassis owned the casino
and believed the display of these priceless pictures
would add to his stature as a man who got whatever trophy
he wanted. Nubar whistled the "The Man Who Broke the
Bank at Monte Carlo" as he placed his next bet. It was
the same numbers. When the wheel stopped spinning, the
ball was in the 6 slot one of lucky numbers. The croupier,
without showing an emotions, counted out 36 plaques,
in three neat stacks, and passed them over to him with
his rake. He had won over 3 million francs. Nubar hardly
noticed. He was reviewing the real purpose of his visit.
His father had instructed him to make Onassis an offer
that he expected Onassis to refuse. It concerned three
oil tankers that the Gulbenkian interests had chartered
from Onassis In 1951, when oil was still flowing from
Iran. They were on long-term three-year leases. As part
of the deal, the Gulbenkian interests had paid up front
the full amount of the leases, $1 million per tanker
per year or, in total, $9 million. During this three
year period, the Gulbenkian interests were also responsible
for paying the expenses of these ships. Without oil
to transport, the tankers were losing money every day,
costing the Gulbenkian interests nearly $100,000 a month
in crews, maintenance and insurance. And the leases
had another year to run. It was these empty ships, and
the responsibility for paying for them, that Nubar would
offer to return to Onassis. Nubar's thoughts were interrupted
by Jean Noel, a casino functionary in dark glasses.
He had silently come behind Nubar and discretely waited
for the wheel to complete its turn before speaking.
"M'sieur Gulbenkian," Noel said, "Mr. Onassis would
like you to join him for tea" Gulbenkian threw a hundred-thousand
plaque as a pourboire to the croupier. He gave his winnings
to the cashier, confident they would be credited to
his account. He then followed Noel to a door guarded
by two security men. Without a word, they parted for
him, and the door was buzzed open from inside. Onassis
was waiting for him at the end of the corridor. With
the gesture of a head waiter welcoming in a long-absent
patron, he beckoned Nubar into the richly-appointed
sitting room that served as his private office. "I understand
you had a good day in my casino, Nubar." Aristotle Onassis
said. He had had received a full account of Gulbenkian's
winnings at roulette but he did not refer to it as "luck."
To cite a person's luck, he believed, offended the god
of luck his favorite god. So he used terms like "good
day." "I was just dallying in the casino, Ari." Nubar
said. He noted with a discerning eye the pieces of Empire
furniture in the room. It amused him that Onassis choose
to live in the Napoleonic era. The upholstered chair
he sat in had gilded animal paws that clawed their way
into the thick Aubisson carpet. Through the large window,
which he knew was bullet-proof, he could see Onassis'
8,000 ton yacht, Christina. It flew the Liberian flag,
like all his tanker fleet. Onassis, he thought, is a
man without a country. He knew some of his history.
He had been born in the Greek city of Smyrnia in Turkey
in 1906. When the Turks began massacring of Greeks,
he fled alone to Buenos Aires. He was 17 years old with
a total capital of $60. He took a job as a night telephone
operator, where he learned by listening to speculators
converse with their European brokers. He found somehow
no one knows how enough money to manufacture cigarettes.
Within ten years, he was a tobacco millionaire. He left
Argentina in the world depression and went to Canada.
He bought six freighters at distressed prices and heavily
insured them. They sunk or were scuttled at a propitious
time during the war, and he emerged a very rich man.
He consolidated his position in the shipping business
by marrying into the Livanos family in Greece, which
owned a vast fleet of tankers. To avoid taxes, and the
entanglements of conventional citizenship, he bought
the Societe des Bains de Mer in Monte Carlo, which owned
the casino. Prince Rainier then granted him citizenship
in Monaco. Onassis took the seat across from Nubar.
He was sun-tanned and trim, black hair streaked with
silver. He looked and felt younger than his 46 years.
He waited for two white-jacketed servants to finish
the tea ritual, then spoke. "I do not know how I can
ever repay the kindness of the Gulbenkian family for
the loan of this art. Up until I saw your pictures,
I had never realized how much beauty and passion can
be evoked in two dimensions." " I thought your passions
were more aroused by opera," Nubar said, with a wicked
smile. He had heard that Onassis had been pursuing a
married diva. "Arias come in three dimensions." "Of
course," Nubar sais, impressed by Onassis Cobra-like
speed in answering his innuendo, "I am glad we can provide
the two-dimensional variation. If there are any problems,
..." "There are none. Your art consultant...?" "Christina
Winchester." Nubar filled in the moment of hesitation.
"Christina," Onassis continued, has been most helpful
in organizing the show. You have a great eye for talent.
I invited her to the ceremony on the yacht tonight."
That is a very kind of you." Nubar marveled at how Christina,
who had just been in Monte Carlo for five days, had
already charmed Onassis sufficiently to get a place
on his yacht. Christina aboard the Christina, he smiled
to himself. "It is the least I can do to show my appreciation
for the exhibition. As you know, there is nothing I
would not do for the Gulbenkian family." "I understand,
Ari. Now that you mention it there something my father
suggested might be mutually beneficial." Onassis eyes
sharpened. He knew from experience that Calouste Gulbenkian,
rarely, if ever, offered bargains that were mutually
beneficial. "How could I help the Gulbenkians?" "We
no longer need the three tankers we chartered from you.
The leases have a few months to run..." "Twelve months,"
interjected Onassis. "We would like to return them to
you. You of course would keep the full fee we paid for
them. That way, we don't have to worry about them, and
you can recharter them at a profit." "Recharter them
to who? With Iran closed, the charter market is dead.
Tankers are being broken up for scrap these days. Just
maintaining three empty ships would cost me over a million
dollars. I can see how it would be beneficial to your
father to be relieved of that cost but not how it could
be beneficial for me to assume it" "But the shut-down
in Iran is only temporary. It could ends any day. Those
tankers will then be in demand...." "It will not end
so long as Mossadeq is in power." "That will not be
forever." Nubar tried to maintain his most naive look
intact. It would not do for him to let it slip that
he knew that a plane load of arms was about to be delivered
to the Qashqai. "I am a businessman. I lack the expertise
in geopolitical intrigue to gamble a million dollars
on Mossadeq's tenure in Iran." Onassis suppressed his
incredulity at the brazenness of the Gulbenkians. No
one not even the American CIA had a better network of
informers in high places in the Middle East than Calouste
Gulbenkian. If there really was any chance that Mossadeq
would be overthrown before his leases, he would not
be offering to give the tankers back. He stood up and
embraced Nubar. "I wish I could help in this matter
but the crisis in Iran has already strained my resources
to the breaking point." "I fully understand, Ari,"
Nubar said, "We thought you might be able to make use
of the tankers. But, as you don't need them, it is not
a problem for us." He smiled to show that there were
no hard feelings, and, looking at his pocket watch,
excused himself, saying "I'd better get ready for tonight.
See you on the Christina, with Christina." On his way
out, Nubar stopped in the public salon. Even though
it was only 7 PM, men in tuxedos and women in evening
gowns were already pressing themselves around a kidney-shaped
tables. They peered down at the clicking wheel as if
looking into an open grave. He watched them throw their
chips on the table. Do they think they could break the
bank at Monte Carlo,? he thought to himself, whistling
the catchy tune, as he proceeded to a velvet lined phone
booth in the lobby of the Hotel de Paris. At the Hotel
Aviz in Lisbon, Calouste Gulbenkian was lying on his
stomach naked on a specially-built massage table. His
head rested in a pillow-lined hole in the table. Nicole,
a seventeen year old masseuse, who had been flown in
from Paris two days earlier, stood over him, applying
scented oils to his body. He had a two hour evening
before retiring. The phone rang in another room in the
suite. Korkik, his coffee waiter, brought him the telephone
on a long chord. Gulbenkian raised his head to hear
the message, then said "So Onassis turned down our offer.
I expected no less of him. You've done well, Nubar.
Very well." Calouste Gulbenkian gave the phone back
to Korkik, who backed out of the room. Nicole dug her
fingers into the muscles of his upper back. He could
now relax. He knew Onassis a very clever man who would
assume from Nubar's offer that Mossadeq's position was
secure in Iran for the foreseeable future. If so, Iran's
oil would remain shutdown, and the charter market for
tankers would continue to plunge. That was what he wanted
Onassis to conclude. He wanted him to believe by summer
that his empty ships, the only significant fleet not
owned by the oil companies, faced the imminent prospect
of bankruptcy. Then, just before the CIA coup took place
in Iran, Onassis would receive a bid for his entire
fleet from the financial syndicate that he, with Raven's
had anonymously set up in Luxembourg. The price would
be just above the scrap metal value of the ships. It
would, if things went as planned, an offer that Onassis
would accept.
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