The Predators by Harold Robbins

over.”
    “You know the agreement we have made with her. Besides, I do not want my grandson in the company of that whore.” He shook his head. “No, she would never agree to Jean Pierre living with her. She only agreed to bear the child, not to raise the child.”
    “The Rothschilds still have family in England. Maybe we should ask them to take Jean Pierre,” Jacques suggested.
    Maurice shook his head. “The only thing the Rothschilds are interested in is money.”
    “We have money, too,” Jacques answered arrogantly. “Don’t forget we own all the bottling plants for our water. That’s more valuable than all of the Rothschilds’ assets!”
    “And don’t forget that the Rothschilds are Jews,” his father said.
    Jacques also remembered that his father’s name was Maurice, and he always felt uncomfortable because he thought it looked too Jewish. Maurice had tried to have his name changed to François, but his father, Jacques’s grandfather, refused. He would not allow it because Maurice’s wife’s father was named François. He was a lowly drayman, who worked for Plescassier driving a wagon. The only reason there had been a marriage was because Maurice needed a strong lower-class girl who could breed a healthy son for him. The marriage was made because of the inheritance laws. Plescassier must always remain in the family. When Jacques married, he too married for the same reasons. His wife had given him two sons, Jean Pierre and Raymond. Jacques gave her and her family twenty thousand louis for a divorce. They parted amicably. His wife was not unhappy; at the time she married Jacques she knew he was homosexual, as his father and grandfather had been. She also knew that she could never be satisfied until she found a real man.
    She agreed to relocate in Switzerland with twenty thousand louis for herself and five thousand louis for her family. She soon found many companions and opened a bar and café.
    “No, not the Rothchilds,” Maurice boomed, his voice echoing in the high ceilings of the room. “We will send him to Quebec, where I have distant cousins,” Maurice said. “With a little money, they will care for him.”
    “But what about Raymond?” Jacques asked. “The boy is only three years old.”
    “There is no problem with Raymond,” Maurice said coldly. “The boy is physically and mentally retarded. You know what Dr. Meyer said. The best thing we could do for him is to place him in a nursing facility that cares for children of his kind.”
    “But, Papa,” Jacques pleaded. “He is our family. We can’t desert him like that.”
    “Again you don’t remember what Dr. Meyer and all the other specialists said. He will not live more than nine or ten years at the most. The kindest thing we can do is give him the best care available.”
    Jacques sat quietly. He felt small in the big chair. Tears filled his eyes. “He’s still just a baby,” he said. “Only God can know his future. A miracle could happen and he could be healed.”
    “There’s always hope, Jacques. If a miracle occurs, the nurses can help and he can come home to us,” Maurice said. “The child is a problem for us. We cannot show him in society—they would insult us behind our backs. Our business would slowly go down. I know these bastards. They can be cruel.”
    “But Jean Pierre loves his little brother,” Jacques said.
    “Jean Pierre will be going to Canada until the end of the war. He will be told that Raymond is too small to send away. By the time Jean Pierre comes home he will have completely forgotten about him.”
    Jacques looked up at his father. “ Vous êtes vraiment dur, Papa,” he said.

2
    It was not the Queen Mary or the Normandie, but it was a large and comfortable ship, even if it was Irish. Its name was the Molly Machree out of Dublin. Jean Pierre sighed and looked up at Armand as he leaned on the railing. “Why didn’t Papa book us on one of the big French boats?”
    “The war,” Armand said. “The