The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,146
they won’t know how to prove it. And then there is the other facility, at Mashad. Will they suspect that, or not? There’s really no way for them to know.”
“The Iranians certainly will know when they find the device Karim was carrying.”
“Ah yes. The device.”
Atwan called out something in Arabic to Al-Majnoun, who rose from his chair in the corner and tiptoed across the room. When he reached Atwan, he put his hand in his black jacket and removed a rectangular object and gave it to his patron.
“Do you mean this device, Mr. Pappas? Recovering this was a major reason I decided to involve my friend Majnoun in the first place. That and to cover over any other tracks that might be left by, you will forgive the term, your tradecraft. My faithful Majnoun took it from the Iranian boy’s coat and planted a piece of plastic. I have learned that when it comes to details, it really is best not to leave anything to chance. Or to the secret services of the United States and Britain, which is roughly the same thing. So in answer to your question, no, I do not think that the Iranians will ‘have a clue,’ as you like to say.”
“So what will the Iranians do? They’re certainly not going to give up.”
“They will keep trying. The UN will have new sanctions, and the IAEA will have new inspections. But the Iranians will come back. They will make new plans. Buy new equipment. And I will be there to sell it to them. Or, I would like to think, we will be there to sell it to them. I have come to admire you, Harry. Despite your Americanisms, you would make a quite suitable associate. Adrian, while he has many virtues, has gone a bit soft around the edges. But I sense you are made of stronger stuff.”
“No fucking way,” said Harry.
“Such an unattractive way of speaking. But it is part of your style, so I suppose I have to accept it in a prospective business partner.”
“I am not your partner. I’m not anyone’s partner. I’m out.”
“Nobody is ever ‘out,’ my dear Harry. That is another of your illusions.”
“Sorry, Kamal, but I’m a black-and-white guy. I don’t do gray. I’m ‘in’ or ‘out,’ and in this case, I’m out.”
Atwan shook his head. “You Americans really should stay at home, where these quaint monochromatic notions of yours have some meaning. I really do not think you understand our part of the world, my dear. There are no endings. Which side of the coin is heads or tails? What time is it? Where is the train going? Who can say, my friend? Who can say? Will Iran get the bomb? Not today, but there are so many tomorrows. And suppose that somehow they succeed and build the little nuclear monster. They will never know if it will work. Never.”
Harry had stopped appreciating the subtlety of it all. He felt something like revulsion.
“Why did you do it, Kamal? Why did you set this murderer Al-Majnoun in motion? You killed a young man I made a promise to. You killed brave British officers. You’re the crazy one. What is wrong with you?”
“I was protecting my investment, my dear. It is not enough to be on one side of a transaction. To be really safe, you must be on both sides. That was why I had Al-Majnoun watching from the first moment you put your little man Molavi in play. To protect, to control. If I had not done so, someone else far more dangerous might have taken my place.”
“Bullshit. You’re an arms dealer. You just wanted to keep selling more crap to Iran, and making more money.”
Atwan shrugged. He gathered the velvet lapels of his smoking jacket so that they were aligned. If Harry didn’t appreciate what he was trying to do, well, so much the worse.
“I am in the ambiguity business, Mr. Pappas. I stand for uncertainty. I stand for the artifice of business, which is the essential reality in our part of the world. I seek to foster the ambiguity that allows each side to continue along its way, without ever coming to a point that we could call the end of the road. Endings are dangerous.”
“You are out of your fucking mind, Kamal. And your friend Mr. Potato Head should spend the rest of his life in a dark cell picking at his scabs.”
Harry didn’t bother to shake hands, make an appropriate phrase, say goodbye. He