The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,110

the walls, including what looked to Harry like a Degas watercolor of racehorses at the track. And there was a British staff in place as well—a butler, maids, a cook. They seemed to live here permanently and maintain the place in perfect Atwanian order—all the foods and wines and sundries that the chief preferred, always ready for his arrival, no matter how infrequent or unlikely that might be. Harry wondered how many of these well-appointed bolt-holes Atwan had secreted around the world.

“My dear Mr. Fellows, always such a pleasure.” Atwan kissed Harry thrice on the cheek. “I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of joining you here. I do like some adventure, you know.”

“I’m actually glad to see you here, Kamal Bey. I prefer to travel a little more anonymously, normally. But under the circumstances it makes things easier. I need your help, in a hurry.”

“How nice. I cannot think of a greater pleasure than being useful to someone who really needs my help.”

“Can we go somewhere private? I’m sure you trust your people. But in a country like this, the walls have ears.”

“Quite so. I have a room that’s used for my private business. It’s swept every day when I am here. I brought one of my London technicians along for just that purpose. He made a check a few hours ago.”

Atwan led Harry past a library, which from the look of it had nearly as many volumes as the one in London. Down a hallway was a door that led into a windowless room equipped with several computers, a Bloomberg terminal, and a flat-screen television tuned to Fashion TV. The models, stunning young girls from Siberia and Belarus and God knows where, were prancing down the runway, planting their high heels in a way that made their tiny torsos pivot as if they were on cocktail skewers.

“My favorite program,” said Atwan, switching off the television. “When I see a woman I particularly like, I place an order. I have a friend at one of the modeling agencies, you see. And many of these dear girls are available, for a price. You wouldn’t think so, but there it is. They are exotic caged animals, and they know it. Peacocks on promenade. When I find the right girl, available, you know, I will send her as a special gift to a friend. Or send him, where that is appropriate. The boys are not so expensive. I will ship them abroad all tied up in ribbons and bows. It’s so much nicer than the usual sort of gift. The personal touch.”

“Not my problem,” said Harry, taking a seat in one of the black leather chairs in Atwan’s little hideaway. “It’s just business.”

“I am so glad to hear you say that, my dear. That’s a very enlightened attitude. Just business indeed, and how can we afford to make value judgments when it comes to business? Now, my dear, how can I help you do business? Please. I am at your service.”

Harry looked around the room. The door was closed tight. The only people inside were him, Adrian, and Atwan. He hated to share secrets with people he didn’t fully trust, but he had no choice.

“The Iranians have a secret weapons laboratory in Mashad. At least it was unknown to me until a few minutes ago. Its cover name is Ardebil Research Establishment. Have you ever heard of it?”

Atwan paused and thought a moment. “I don’t think so. We have shipped to Jamaran, and Esfahan, and Parchin, and Natanz, and Shiraz. But never to Mashad.”

“We know about those other places. But Mashad is new to you, too?”

“I can check, if you would like. I took the liberty of bringing my records with me. They are very portable.”

The Lebanese businessman reached into his pocket and removed a computer flash drive monogrammed with his initials. He turned to the bank of computers and plugged the little drive into the USB port of one of the processors. He clicked open the drive, and in a few moments the screen displayed a spread sheet of business records.

“You’re good,” said Harry. “The normal billionaire arms dealer would have someone else do that for him.”

“I couldn’t afford to hire such a person, my dear. The only assets I truly possess are the secrets I keep. I cannot entrust those to anyone.”

Atwan studied the screen, looking for Ardebil Research Establishment among dozens of Iranian company names to which his far-flung affiliates and hidden fronts had shipped equipment

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