The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,144

operate. Just a word to the wise, that’s all. The facts are that Al-Majnoun was working for you, and that you were working with us—and the Iranians are just naturally going to figure it all out. They’ll realize he killed our guys, and their guys, and they’re going to be pissed off. I would hate to see your business ruined, after all the good work you’ve done.”

Atwan rose and walked to the mantel. Over the fireplace was a pastel by Edgar Degas showing a group of ballerinas preparing for class. Pappas wondered if it was real. The Lebanese businessman stared at the picture for a few moments, composing himself, and then returned to his chair.

“And what do you propose, Mr. Pappas?”

There it was, inevitably: the solicitation of a bid. Atwan was a dealmaker, first and last, and now he was looking to make a bargain.

“I don’t propose anything. Except that you better move quickly to get your man Al-Majnoun out of Iran. To London, probably, where you can keep an eye on him. I think you better do that before he takes you down, and a lot of other people with him. That’s not a threat, obviously. I’m not in the threat business. Just a suggestion. Otherwise, I would have to say that, as we Americans so vulgarly like to put it, you are fucked.”

Atwan looked away, to mask his expression. He was a man in absolute control, always. He was thinking about his options, evidently, weighing what he had to lose, depending on what options he chose. They say there are chess players who can calculate many dozens of moves ahead that flow from the exchange of one piece on the board. Atwan had that facility. He had worked as hard as possible to take risk out of the world’s riskiest business. He turned back toward his guest.

“You’re being quite aggressive, I see,” he said stiffly. “Well then, message received.”

Atwan rose from his chair, still lost in his own private calculations. He didn’t take Harry’s hand this time, just led the way out of the library and back down the stairs. The show was over. That was the virtue of crude speech. It broke through the false layer of politeness that covered the facts, and got down to the bare reality of things. Atwan walked slowly, one step at a time. You might have thought he would be eager to get Harry out of his house, but he was taking his time, weighing another bid.

He stopped at the bottom of the stairs in the entrance hall. It was raining outside now. You could hear the beating of the raindrops against Atwan’s leaden windows. He took Harry’s hand again.

“It is not a nice evening out, I think. Beastly, as the British would say. Why don’t you stay a bit longer, Harry, until the clouds have passed.”

Atwan led Harry into a sitting room off the main entrance hall and closed the double doors. Harry took a seat while Atwan went to the intercom. He rang his chief of staff, waited a moment, then said a few words in Arabic.

“I would like a drink tonight,” said Atwan. “I rarely drink, you know, but tonight I think that I should make an exception, with you, my dear. Is that all right?”

“Of course,” said Harry. “I’ll have a whiskey.”

Atwan went to a mirrored bar, set in an alcove of the room, and poured two glasses of whiskey, neat. He paused, and then poured a third.

“Another guest coming?” asked Harry.

“Yes, I think so. A little party. A reunion, you could say. Why not?”

Atwan brought the whiskey to Harry and sat down on the couch next to him. The host took a sip and then a large gulp that nearly drained the glass. There was a knock at the double door. Harry expected that they would be joined by Adrian Winkler, the partner in this bizarre enterprise, but he was mistaken.

The double door swung open, and a man in a black suit entered the room. He walked with a quick, erratic step, almost a scampering. His head was down as he entered the room, and black sunglasses covered his eyes, but when he reached Harry, he stood up straight and removed the shades. It was the oddest human face Harry had ever seen. The eyes were tight at the corners and tilted up slightly, as an Asian man’s might be. The nose was bulbous, as if a new infusion of flesh had been added. The lips