Heartland by David Hagberg Page A

Second World War, when many nations had suddenly found themselves very dependent upon their neighbors’ food supplies, the business had become even more fiercely competitive.
    â€œIt is the survival of the fittest, Kenneth,” Jorge had once told him. “The strong survive, the weak perish. As it should be.” It was a lesson Newman had learned all too well.

    The car pulled up by the front hatch of a 707. The plane was painted a muted gold color, with the Newman Company logo—twin eagles holding stalks of grain in their talons—in bright red on the tail.
    â€œWe’re not staying in Mexico City?” Lydia asked, realizing what was happening.
    Newman smiled. “How about Monaco?”
    For a moment it seemed as if Lydia would flare again, but then she laughed. “Father will be furious,” she said. “He wanted us in Mazatlán under his control for a couple of weeks. He probably had our bedroom bugged.”
    â€œI wouldn’t put it past him,” Newman said.
    â€œOr me?”
    Newman wanted to laugh, but something in her eyes held him back. Or her? It had happened before. Industrial espionage through a carefully arranged marriage. The lady doth protest too much, methinks . The vagrant line crossed his mind. It wasn’t beyond Jorge. But Lydia?
    The chauffeur opened the rear door on Newman’s side, then stepped back respectfully. Saratt turned around in his seat.
    â€œI’m going to hitch a ride with you two, and then take the plane. I have some business to take care of.”
    Newman started to ask where, but then held back as Saratt’s eyes narrowed. Lydia caught the exchange of looks between the two men, but said nothing.
    â€œAre we just going to sit here for the remainder of the day?” she asked.
    â€œI hope not,” Newman said, and helped her out. Saratt followed them up the boarding stairs.
    â€œGood afternoon, sir,” Jacob, Newman’s steward, said, greeting them just within the cabin. He was a small, dark-skinned Arab.

    â€œAre we about ready to take off?” Newman asked.
    â€œWhenever you and Mrs. Newman are ready, sir.” Jacob had been the chief steward aboard the grain ship Pamplonas , owned by one of Newman’s subsidiaries, until Newman had been so impressed by the man’s grace and abilities that he had hired him off the ship for personal service. Jacob had proved to be even better than Newman had hoped he’d be.
    Saratt went forward onto the flight deck as Newman led Lydia back into the luxuriously appointed main cabin, equipped with several easy chairs, a couch and coffee table, and a wet bar. An aft cabin contained a bedroom with a queen-sized bed and a large bathroom.
    When they had strapped into easy chairs, Jacob went forward, and moments later the jet’s engines whined into life.
    â€œI have a feeling something is going on,” Lydia said.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œDon’t play games with me, Kenneth. I saw the look between you and Paul. He’s got something cooking. You forget, I know the business too.”
    Newman nodded. “He probably does,” he said. “But I’m on my honeymoon.”
    As the aircraft began to move slowly away from the terminal, Lydia reached out for Newman’s hand, an intense expression on her face. “It’s not going to be easy between us, Kenneth. We both know that. But …” She hesitated a moment.
    â€œBut what?”
    â€œThese next two weeks may be the only nearly normal time we’ll ever have.”
    Newman started to protest, although he knew she was correct, but she held him off.
    â€œNo, listen to me, darling. I don’t want anything to
spoil these next few days. I was going to suggest we not go on to Mazatlán, that we go someplace else. But whatever it is that Paul is going to tell you once we take off, don’t let it change anything. At least not now.”
    Newman didn’t know what