THE FOURTH ESTATE BY JEFFREY ARCHER

CHAPTER ONE THE GLOBE 5 NOVEMBER 1991 Armstrong Faces Bankruptcy THE ODDS WERE stacked against him. But the odds had never worried Richard Armstrong in the past. “Faites vos jeux, mesilames ct niessieurs. Place your bets.” Armstrong stared down at the green baize. The mountain of red chips that had been placed in front of him twenty minutes earlier had dwindled to a single stack. He had already lost forty thousand francs that evening-but what was forty thousand francs when you had squandered a billion dollars in the past twelve months? He leaned over and deposited all his remaining chips on zero. “Les jeux sontfaits. Rien ne va plus,” the croupier said as he flicked his wrist and set the wheel in motion. The little white ball sped around the wheel, before falling and jumping in and out of the tiny black and red slots. Armstrong stared into the distance. Even after the ball had finally settled he refused to lower his eyes. “Vingt-six,” declared the croupier, and immediately began scooping up the chips that littered every number other than twenty-six. Armstrong walked away from the table without even glancing in the direction of the croupier. He moved slowly past the crowded backgammon and roulette tables until he reached the double doors that led out into the real world. A tall man in a long blue coat pulled one of them open for him, and smiled at the well-known gambler, anticipating his usual hundred-franc tip. But that wouldn’t be possible tonight. Armstrong ran a hand through his thick black hair as he walked down through the lush terraced gardens of the casino and on past the fountain. It had been fourteen hours since the emergency board meeting in London, and he was beginning to feel exhausted. Despite his bulk – Armstrong hadn’t consulted a set of scales for several years – he kept up a steady pace along the promenade, only stopping when he reached his favorite restaurant overlooking the bay. He knew every table would have been booked at least a week in advance, and the thought of the trouble he was about to cause brought a smile to his face for the first time that evening. He pushed open the door of the restaurant. A tall, thin waiter swung round and tried to hide his surprise by bowing low. “Good evening, Mr. Armstrong,” he said. “How nice to see you again. Will anyone be joining you?” “No, Henri.” The head waiter quickly guided his unexpected customer through the packed restaurant to a small alcove table. Once Armstrong was seated, he presented him with a large leather-bound menu.