The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,54

this will come as a shock, Harry, but he doesn’t trust you. He thinks the CIA is incompetent. He thinks America doesn’t protect its friends. I can’t imagine where he got such an idea, but there you are. So let’s just make you an honorary British agent for the day, shall we? No harm in that.”

“I guess not,” said Harry. He didn’t even think about it, really.

LONDON

Kamal Atwan lived in a Regency townhouse on Mount Street, just behind Berkeley Square. To another wealthy Arab, it would have been a convenient spot to bring guests after a night carousing at Annabelle’s, around the corner. But Atwan was an altogether more serious man. A burly servant opened the door—by the looks of him, he was more bodyguard than butler. He nodded to Adrian, whom he seemed to know, and invited the two into an elegant parlor. The first thing that caught Harry’s eye was the dazzling color of the painting hanging on the far wall. It appeared to be one of the Water Lilies series by Monet, but that couldn’t be right.

“Is that what I think it is?” whispered Harry, nodding toward the painting.

“Uh-huh,” answered Adrian. He pointed across the room to a bright canvas of a dewy-lipped young woman. “And yes, that’s a Renoir.”

Atwan was waiting for them upstairs in his library. It was lined with bookshelves on three sides, with a ladder to reach the upper shelves. The books appeared to be organized and catalogued, much like a small college library. The fourth wall of the room was glass, looking out on an indoor pool.

Atwan rose to greet them. He was a tidy man, slim and carefully dressed. His hair was a burnished silver-gray, the color of pewter. He was wearing velvet slippers monogrammed with his initials, and a cashmere sweater under a tweed jacket. On the table next to his chair he had placed the book he had been reading when he was interrupted. It was a collection of essays by Isaiah Berlin. Harry noted the book. In his experience Arabs didn’t read much—certainly not books by Jewish philosophers. Beside the Berlin book was a well-thumbed copy of the latest survey published by the International Institute of Strategic Studies.

Adrian Winker approached the host and kissed him on the cheeks, three times, Lebanese-style. He introduced Harry, not by his real name, but as “William Fellows.” He hadn’t told Harry he was going to give him a work name.

Harry extended his hand to Atwan, who shook it limply.

“Mr. Fellows is American, but you can trust him,” said Adrian. “He’s one of us. Reliable.”

“I am certain of it, my dear,” said Atwan, smiling up at Harry. He took notice of the American’s size and demeanor. “You might almost be Lebanese, if you were not so big.”

“I’m Greek,” said Harry.

“Fellows is not a Greek name, I think.”

“The name was changed. At Ellis Island.”

Atwan motioned them to sit in a sumptuous leather couch and chairs by the far wall. A bottle of white wine was sitting in a silver cooler. A servant arrived to open it and pour them each a glass. It was a 1996 Bâtard-Montrachet; next to it was an open bottle of 1990 La Tâche, breathing a bit before the main course. The two bottles of Burgundy would have cost Harry a month’s salary.

“Perhaps Mr. Winkler has told you about my business?” said Atwan.

“Not at all,” said Harry. “I know only what I can see with my own eyes. Which is that business seems to be pretty good, whatever it is.”

“Good boy, Adrian,” said the Lebanese, patting Winkler on the hand. It was a gesture of such familiarity, almost as if Adrian were a member of the family. Harry pondered the nature of the relationship between Adrian and Atwan, and then put the thought out of his mind.

Atwan tasted the white wine and pronounced it adequate, and glasses were poured for the two guests. The host, it turned out, didn’t drink himself—except to make sure that what he was serving was of the required quality. A servant brought him a Diet Coke. Adrian took a sip of his wine, wet his whistle, so to speak.

“I thought perhaps you might tell my friend Mr. Fellows about some of your recent dealings with Iran,” said Adrian. “He is working with us, as I mentioned to you, and I think it’s important that he learn a bit about some of the transactions that are under way.”

Atwan arched his eyebrows. “How much detail would you