The Kiwi Target

urn was in place, and a plate of tempting-looking Danish had been set out.
    When the men had served themselves, they sat down together in a comfortable grouping.
    “I’ve known since you arrived here that you wanted to see me, and why,” Emerson began. “I haven’t been trying to keep you dangling, but I had to get certain information before we could talk about Pricane and my stock position in Swarthmore and Stone. I invited you to my home last night so that we might meet without business intruding.”
    “I enjoyed it very much,” Peter said.
    “Good,” Emerson continued. “You might as well call me Bishop, because everyone does. I carry some of the things in my portfolio under the name Alfred Bishop to protect my privacy. Everything having to do with overseas investments is filtered through Ray, who’s shielded me from all kinds of unwanted pressures.”
    Peter kept still.
    “Now, Peter, are you aware how much Pricane has offered me for my stock in your company?”
    “No, sir,” Peter answered.
    “Cut out the bullshit—you don’t have to “sir” me. For your information, they’ve offered me eighty dollars a share, which is well above the current market, and that’s for openers. They have a man here who’s been in touch with Ray. His name’s Kincaid. He advanced the offer and hinted at the same time that they’d go higher if they have to. Can you match that?”
    Peter knew the answer to that at once: after all of the purchases that Swarthmore and Stone had already made of their own stock, there was no way they could raise that kind of money. “My first answer has to be no,” he said, “Because we don’t have anything like that in the till. We’ve extended ourselves almost to the limit buying up every share we could. But let me ask you this: if we could match it, would you then be willing to let us be the buyers?”
    Bishop shifted in his chair. “I get all the usual corporate reports,” he said. “So I know pretty well where you stand. Kincaid also suggested letting me keep my stock if 1 would sell him my proxy.”
    Peter said with a new positiveness in his voice, “Frankly, I’ve never heard of buying and selling proxies. If it comes to matching dollars with Pricane, we’re out of the ball game. But if you stay with us, you’ll hold a strong position in a damned good company and one you can be proud of. In fact, we have some significant contracts pending for new projects here in New Zealand.”
    “I wonder how that came about,” Bishop said.
    “You know we specialize in building to fit the ecology,” Peter added.
    “Of course. That’s why I bought into S & S in the first place. That and your sound management, plus your track record.”
    Peter knew it was time to ask the direct question. “Will you give us a chance?” he asked. Then an inspiration hit him. “If we’re short, I’ll put up a mortgage on my station until we can buy it back.”
    Bishop shook his head. “I’m not that hard up for dollars, Peter. But I’ve got a counterproposition for you. The Honorable Warren Cooper, one of the cabinet ministers, is going to be here in Queenstown shortly. He had suggested that I set up an appointment for the three of us to meet with him. There is something pending where he feels you might be able to help us. It may take quite a bit of your time. But if you accept whatever assignment he may offer to you, then I’ll go along and give you my proxy if by doing so it will save your company.”
    “And yours,” Peter was quick to add.
    “Good point. Is it a deal?”
    Peter could hardly contain himself. “I don’t know what the hell he wants, but he’s got it,” he said.
    At the end of four days Peter was beginning to feel almost at home at his station. He had been over the terrain in detail with Jack McHugh and learned how each section of the property was being used and what was planned for it in the future. The first two days of his orientation were by Jeep, which was a convenient means of travel although bone-jarring at times.
    On the third day he came down to breakfast to discover that Jack had returned to his own station. In his place Louise had come over to continue what her father had started. She was dressed in a well-worn pair of jeans, what was essentially a work shirt, and a large hat that hung down over her back. She had her hair fastened up in some manner on the top of her head with no pretense of artifice, but a casual look told Peter that she had sacrificed