The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,76
lips were colored and glossy. When they sat down in the back room, Jackie unbuttoned her manteau. Underneath she was wearing a low-cut silk blouse in a vivid print that resembled the spots of a leopard.
“Work clothes are great, you lot,” said Adrian. “Just right.” He turned to the Pakistani, who was sitting humbly on the arm of a chair, not permitting himself to slump down the way the others had.
“Hakim, your papers will have you on a temporary visa working a construction project in Shiraz that’s supposed to be completed in six months. You’re in Tehran to purchase supplies; it’s all backstopped with the Pakistani construction company in Lahore. They have your name and passport number at the site manager’s office in Shiraz, if anyone needs it. But they won’t.”
“Tight,” said Hakim. “What languages do I speak?”
“Urdu, English, and a little Farsi and Arabic. You worked in Dubai before this. That’s backstopped too, if anybody gives a shit. Try to eat a little less over the next week, lad. You look too healthy.”
“South Asian starvation diet has commenced, sahib,” said Hakim with a little wobble of his head.
“Marwan, you look sleazy as hell, man. Just the kind of low-life Arab who would be in Tehran trying to rub two tomans together. Where did you get that appalling tie? You will be using a Yemeni passport—not your real one but the one with the Saleh identity that you used the last time in Iraq. Okay?”
“Yes, boss. For sure. You want to make business with me? I give you very good price. What you like? I buy carpet, pistachio, used car, as you like. Best price.”
“Down, boy. You’re giving me a headache. You have any more bad suits like that one?”
“Yes, boss. Three. All dirty.”
“Perfect. Your identity is backstopped, too. You have a letter of credit on a Yemeni bank that will allow you to draw up to one hundred thousand dollars, in the unlikely event that you should need to do any actual business. You have a multiple-entry commercial visa. You work for a trading company in Sanaa with a branch office in Muscat, and the managers in both offices will vouch for you. That work?”
“You are too kind, habibi.”
“You’re right. I am. So Jacqueline will be running the show. She’ll have the command post at an apartment hotel in Vali Asr. We’ll have the main communications module there, hidden in a makeup kit. There’s a rooftop restaurant with some flower pots where she can put a little relay antenna, so the transmission quality should be good. You’ve all got your gear?”
“Not yet,” said Marwan.
“Tomorrow,” said Hakim.
“Well, once you get it, do some dry runs with Jackie. Different parts of London, different propagation characteristics. If there are any problems, Jackie will get onto us.”
“What passport am I using?” asked Jackie.
“Same German identity as last time. Working girl, femme fatale, lady with a past. All backstopped. As if you needed a legend. Only joking, love.”
The boys laughed. They liked Jackie taking the piss out of the boss.
“How do we get in-country?” asked Jackie. “Nobody had decided that last week. Waiting for you to decide, they said.”
“Each of you different, to fit your cover. I was thinking of bringing you all in together across the Turkish border, and then having you find your ways separately to Tehran. But I don’t like it. Our Turkish friends have gotten so squirrelly lately. What is their problem anyway? I don’t trust their intelligence boys, and I don’t even trust the army anymore. So better to come in separately. Right?”
Everyone nodded.
“So, Hakim, you will come in overland from Pakistan, crossing the border at Mirjaveh. Then take Iranian buses to Shiraz. Sorry, mate. Not exactly business-class, but it can’t be helped.”
“Don’t worry about me, boss. I like traveling rough.”
“Famous last words.” He looked down at a notebook he had brought, which listed the logistical details. “You’ll be staying at the Hotel Shams, right in the bazaar in South Tehran. Lots of Pakis. No showers, I am afraid.”
Hakim sniffed his armpits and laughed.
Adrian turned to the Arab.
“Marwan, I want you to fly in from Qatar. There’s a daily flight to the new airport. Imam Khomeini International. Doesn’t sound quite right, does it? So you’ll fly from Sanaa to Doha, then Doha to Tehran. Back of the plane. Discounted economy, bought from a bucket shop in Saana.” He looked at his paper again. “We’ve got you staying at