THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS (Volume 1 of The King Trilogy)

CHAPTER 15

 July 21, 1968.

At one minute before midnight, at North York General Hospital, Mike and Barbara celebrated the arrival of their first child, a beautiful seven pound, six ounce girl. By unanimous agreement, they named her Kerri Elizabeth.

The arrival of Kerri was a defining moment for Mike. His daughter was such a precious gift, and she needed a perfect world to grow up in. He strengthened his resolve to do whatever he could to make his marriage work.

Three days later, Mike and Barbara relaxed on the rear lawn of their new bungalow, twenty miles north of Toronto, watching the sun set over pine colored hills. Kerri slept in her crib between them. Mike separated the business section from his Saturday paper and began to search for something that might warrant careful attention. He reached the back page without finding anything of note, and was about to fold the whole section into the rest of the paper when a brief glimpse of an article caused him to stop. He bolted upright.

Barbara frowned. "What's so interesting?" she asked, continuing to stare at the horizon.

Mike was excited. "I think this company is looking for me."

"Do you know anything about them?"

"I sure do. International Fuel Brokers is a great company and extremely well respected in the industry. It imports petroleum products from all over the world and sells them in North America."

"What makes you so sure they're looking for you?" Barbara asked.

"I have exactly what they're looking for," Mike explained. "But what's far more important is that International Fuel Brokers has what I'm looking for."

"What's that?"

"A box seat. I could learn more about the oil business in one year with that company than I could in ten at Canam."

The response to Mike's letter and resume was swift. He received a telephone call at his home on Wednesday evening. "May I speak to Mike King, please?" a woman asked.

"Speaking," Mike said, struggling to conceal his excitement.

"Mr. King, my name is Evelyn Wells. I'm the secretary of Mr. Owen Christian, the president of International Fuel Brokers. I'm calling to advise you that we have received your letter and resume. Mr. Christian has asked me to invite you to have lunch with him at the Dominion Club at noon this Friday. Would that be convenient for you?"

"Yes, that would be convenient."

"Fine. Mr. Christian would like to meet you in his office at eleven forty-five. I presume you have our address." From her lips, it wasn't a question.

"I do."

"Thank you very much, Mr. King. I'll look forward to seeing you on Friday."

Christian was a tall thin man with extremely fine features and a mosaic of facial wrinkles spanning from the dark circles under his eyes. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored black, pinstriped suit. His thinning brown hair was graying at the sides and combed so that not one hair was out of place. His matching tie and handkerchief—in fire engine red—were over the top.

Christian wasted no time. "Mike, I invited you here today to meet you and to offer you a job, if I like you. Your resume told us a lot about yourself, and I liked what I read. You appear to be eminently qualified to fill the position."

"Thank you," Mike said.

"I see that you're currently employed by Canam," Christian continued, staring at Mike with his almost penetrating green eyes. "It's a fine company. It does a wonderful job of training people. Sometimes I envy Canam's program, but I think they take far too long to develop talent."