The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,109

asked. Is that right?”

“Yes, certainly. His name is Reza. He doesn’t like the big bosses very much, either. Nobody does.”

“Sweet Jesus.” Harry shook his head.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Nothing,” said Harry. “Let’s take a break. I need to think.”

He walked out of the room with a buzz he couldn’t have explained. It was like a logic cloud coming together, all the disparate shapes fitting together into something that didn’t have words yet, but felt like an idea; a plan, even. But to make it real, he would need help in a hurry from someone he did not fully trust.

ASHGABAT, TURKMENISTAN

Harry eventually found Adrian Winkler. He was out walking with Jackie in the garden on the other side of the villa. He was whispering something in her ear, and she was giving him a little paddle on the fanny. Adrian had a flushed look on his face. Harry hoped it was from sex, rather than from drinking. Jackie pulled back from her boss as Harry approached. She was in control of him. Every gesture and movement said that.

“How’s it going, old boy? Is the young Iranian doctor all that we dreamed about? Worth the effort? Do tell.”

“Don’t give me the ‘old boy’ stuff, thank you very much,” Harry barked. “We need to talk, right now. So tell Miss Moneypenny to get lost for a while. Eh what?”

Adrian shrugged. He looked back at Jackie and gave her a wink, and walked inside with Harry. He really didn’t give a shit. That was the measure of his debauchery, that he didn’t care whether his friend Harry knew that he had been fucking his brains out with a woman who was nominally his subordinate.

“Don’t say anything, Harry, because it would be tedious. And it would be irrelevant. We all have our weaknesses. You just haven’t been creative enough to discover yours.”

“Shut up, Adrian. And get your nose out of that woman’s pussy for long enough to sober up. We have work to do. I think I just figured out what the game is here.”

“Oh, jolly good. So pleased. I would hate to think that this was just a dirty little weekend in Ashgabat.”

They walked into the villa and found the anteroom where Jeremy was sitting at his monitoring station. Molavi had gone back to his bedroom to take a nap, the young officer said. Harry asked Jeremy to leave the room, and then closed the door. He poured some coffee for Adrian and told him to drink it. The British officer took a few gulps, and then helped himself to a piece of a Toblerone candy bar that was sitting next to Jeremy’s computer.

“Are you back among the living?” asked Harry.

“Yes, more or less. And don’t pay too much attention to my extracurriculars, Harry. That’s always been part of my operational style.”

“No apology necessary,” said Harry.

“That’s lucky, because I’m not apologizing. What’s up? Did you break the bank with our Iranian friend? Hope so.”

“I got a lot of good stuff. So much, actually, that I have a question for you. Can you make a secure call to Kamal Atwan if we need to?”

“Sure. That shouldn’t be a problem. What do you need to know?”

“I want to know if he has shipped any equipment to Mashad, for starters. How would we make the call? Can you use the communications suite at the embassy? Because I want this done in a SCIF, or someplace just as tight. For real.”

“I’m sure Her Majesty’s Government would oblige. But there’s no need to use the embassy gear to contact Atwan.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s right here in Ashgabat. He wanted to come along in case we needed anything. Turkmenistan is one of his accounts, shall we say. He keeps a villa here. He has so many strings tied around the leadership, he might as well be Edgar Bergen. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Christ! You are out of control, do you know that?”

“Possibly, Harry. But it’s too late to do anything about that now. And besides, so far everything is working out dandy. So settle down, if you please. I will see if I can raise Brother Atwan. He’s probably sticking hundred-dollar bills in the baschi’s trouser pockets right now.”

Harry and Adrian traveled to Atwan’s villa, a few doors down from the presidential palace. That seemed to Harry the most secure alternative, or to be more accurate, the least insecure. The house was furnished less elegantly than Atwan’s place in Mayfair, but only slightly so. There were fine carpets on the floors and paintings on