“Nuts,” Cletus said. “Talk English, will you? I can hardly understand your outlandish language. Or, speak Persian.”
“My knowledge of your native tongue is not good, but I’m quite at home in English or Amerikaner. A Russian invented—”
“Yeah, he knows,” Nick cut in. “Forget the malarkey, Bronco. This lad is here on business and has no time for our phoney hooptedo. From his grandfather, the old Shah, he inherited fifty of the richest oil wells in Asia, and he’s giving us a chance to bid on them instead of carrying on a, quote, cold, unquote, war, and steal—”
“I understand,” Broncov said through his big teeth. His lips tightened in his rage over Volonsky’s direct speech, but he managed to say fairly suavely: “Your Highness, we appreciate your giving us a chance to buy your wells. Surely, a banquet is in order.”
“No, I want to get out of this place. It’s too cold.”
Nick peered over his Volonsky nose-glasses. “How much, kid? No fooling.”
“Volonsky!” Broncov barked. “Mind your speech. I’ll handle this little deal. You’re excused.”
“Uh-uh.” Nick grinned. “I stay for my cut.”
“You both look like a couple of crooks to me,” said the young prince. “I want two hundred million dollars—in gold.”
Broncov’s hand shook as he reached for a row of buttons. “How about a bit of tea and cakes, or, perhaps something stronger before we discuss this matter with the Council? They’re waiting just below us, and I’d like to present the deal already consummated.”