.

attempt was a disaster: the rebel officers, themselves arrogant and remote, never established how much support they would have, either within the army or outside it.

      In the event, they had none. They took the entire cabinet hostage, shot most of them in an attempt to force the army into co-operation, and when they saw failure staring them in the face, scattered. Two killed themselves. Their corpses were strung up on a gallows in the centre of Addis. A third was captured and hanged. The fourth was Yufru. He drove over the border into Kenya, where he had been wise enough to bank his income, and surfaced a year later in London. Now, after a decade in business, mainly handling African art and supervising the investment of his profits, he had volunteered his services to the revolutionary government, seeking some revenge on the Imperial family and rightly guessing that his experience of the capitalist system might be of use.

      He stood and looked round with admiration. Then, as Cromer invited him with a gesture to sit, he began to speak in suave tones that were the consequence of service with the British in 1941–5.

      As Cromer knew, Ethiopia was a poor country. He, Yufru, had been lucky, of course, but the time had come for all of them to pull together. They faced the consequences of a terrible famine. The figures quoted in the West were not inaccurate – perhaps half a million would eventually die of starvation. Much, of course, was due to the inhumanity of the Emperor. He was remote, cut off in his palaces. The revolutionary government had attempted to reverse these disasters, but there was a limit imposed by a lack of funds and internal opposition.

      ‘These are difficult times politically,’ Yufru sighed. He was the ideal apologist for his thuggish masters. Cromer had met the type before – intelligent, educated, smooth, serving themselves by serving the hand that paid them. ‘We have enemies within who will soon be persuaded to see the necessity of change. We have foolish rebels in Eritrea who may seek to dismember our country. Somalia wishes to tear from us the Ogaden, an integral part of our country.

      ‘All this demands a number of extremely expensive operations. As you are no doubt aware, the Somalis are well equipped with Soviet arms. My government has not as yet found favour with the Soviets. If we are to be secure – and I suggest that it is in the interests of the West that the Horn of Africa remains stable – we need good, modern arms. The only possible source at present is the West. We do not wish to be a debtor nation. We would like to buy.

      ‘For that, to put matters bluntly, we need hard cash.’

      Cromer nodded. He had guessed correctly.

      ‘The money for such purposes exists. It was stolen by Haile Selassie from our people and removed from the country, as you have good cause to know. I am sure you will respect the fact that the Emperor’s fortune is officially government property and that the people of Ethiopia, the originators of that wealth, should be considered the true heirs of the Emperor. They should receive the benefits of their labours.’

      ‘Administered, of course, by your government,’ Cromer put in.

      ‘Of course,’ Yufru replied easily, untouched by the banker’s irony. ‘They are the representatives of the people.’

      Cromer was in his element. He knew his ground and he knew it to be rock-solid. He could afford to be magnanimous.

      ‘Mr Yufru,’ he began after a pause, ‘morally your arguments are impeccable. I understand the fervour with which your government is determined to right historic wrongs…’ – both of them were aware of what the fervour entailed: hundreds of corpses, ‘enemies of the revolution’, stinking on the streets of Addis – ‘and we would naturally be willing to help in any way. But insofar as the Emperor’s personal funds are concerned, there is really nothing we can do. Our instructions are clear and binding…’

      ‘I too know the instructions,’ Yufru broke in icily. ‘My father was with the Emperor in ’24. That is, in part, why I am here. You must have written instructions, signed by the Emperor, and sealed with the Imperial seal, on notepaper prepared by your bank, itself watermarked, again with the Imperial seal.’

      Cromer acknowledged Yufru’s assertion with a slow nod.

      ‘Indeed, and those arrangements still stand. I have to tell you that the last such communication received by this bank was dated July 1974. Neither I nor my associates have received any further communication. We cannot take any action unilaterally. And, as the world knows, the Emperor is now dead, and it seems that the deposits must be frozen…’ – the banker spread his hands in a gesture of resigned sympathy – ‘in perpetuity.’

      There was a long pause. Yufru clearly had something else to say. Cromer waited, still confident.

      ‘Sir Charles,’ Yufru said, more carefully now, ‘we have much work to do to regularize the Imperial records. The business of fifty years, you understand…It may be that the Emperor has left among his papers further instructions, perhaps written in the course of the revolution itself. And he was alive, you will remember, for a year after the revolution. It is conceivable that other papers relating to his finances will emerge. I take it that there would be no question that your bank and your associated banks would accept such instructions, if properly authenticated?’

      The sly little bastard – he’s got something up his sleeve, thought Cromer. It may be…it is conceivable…if, if, if. There was no ‘if’ about it. Something solid lay behind the question.

      To gain time he said: ‘I will have to check my own arrangements and those of my colleagues…there is something about outdated instructions which slips my mind. Anyway,’ he hastened on, ‘the instructions have always involved either new deposits or the transfer of funds and the buying of metals or stock. In what way would you have an interest in transmitting such information?’

      Yufru replied, evenly: ‘We would like to be correct. We would merely like to be aware of your reactions if such papers were found and if we decided to pursue the matter.’

      ‘It seems an unlikely contingency, Mr Yufru. The Emperor has, after all, been dead six months.’

      ‘We are, of course, talking hypothetically, Sir Charles. We simply wish to be prepared.’ He rose, and removed a speck from his jacket. ‘Now, I must leave you to consider my question. May I thank you for your excellent coffee and your advice. Until next time, then.’

      Puzzled, Sir Charles showed Yufru to the door. He was not a little apprehensive. There was something afoot. Yufru’s bosses were not noted for their philanthropy. They would have no interest in passing on instructions that might increase the Emperor’s funds.

      It made no sense.

      But by tonight, it damn well would.

      ‘No calls, Miss Yates,’ he said abruptly into the intercom. ‘And bring me the correspondence files for Lion…Yes, all of them. The whole damn filing cabinet.’

      That evening, Sir Charles sat alone till late. A set of files lay on his desk. Against the wall stood the cabinet of files relating to Selassie. He again reviewed his thoughts on Yufru’s visit. He had to assume that there was something behind it. The only idea that made any sense was that there was some scheme to wrest Selassie’s money from the banks concerned. It couldn’t be done by halves. If they had access – with forged papers, say – then he had to assume that the whole lot was at risk.

      And what a risk. He let his mind explore that possibility. Two thousand million dollars’ worth of gold from three countries for a start. If he were instructed, as it were by the Emperor himself, to sell every last ounce, it would be a severe blow to the liquidity of his own bank and those of his partners in Zurich and New York. With capital withdrawn, loans would have to be curtailed, profits lost. When and if it became known who was selling, reputations would suffer and rumours spread. Confidence would be lost. Even if there weren’t panic withdrawals, future deposits would be withheld. The effects would echo down the years and along the corridors of financial power, spreading chaos. With that much gold unloaded all at once, the price would tumble. And not only would he fail to realize the true market value, but he would become a pariah within Rothschild’s and in the international banking community. Cromer’s, renowned for