The Increment: A Novel - By David Ignatius Page 0,99
at his sleek British friend. “You look like you won the lottery.”
“We both won the lottery, Harry. My team is on the way out of Iran. Our team, I should say. And they have our boy.”
“Thanks be to Allah. Where are we going to meet them?”
“Well, well, well. That’s the question, isn’t it? And I have an answer, most certainly do. But first we have a little bit of business to do, on our way into Vauxhall Cross.”
“I’m kind of tired, Adrian. Can I get some sleep?”
“’Fraid not, old boy. This is an appointment we don’t want to miss. Not really a choice, actually. We all have to pay the piper, you see.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Adrian? I don’t have any piper, and I hope you don’t.”
But the SIS chief of staff wouldn’t answer. He patted Harry on the back and escorted him to his Rover sedan, parked in the garage alongside Terminal 3.
Harry fell asleep in the car, so he didn’t know the destination until they had arrived at the townhouse on Mount Street. It was only then that he understood that the particular piper they were coming to pay was the Lebanese businessman Kamal Atwan.
A servant opened the door and led them upstairs, past the Renoir and the Monet and into the businessman’s magnificent library. Atwan was sitting in a chair looking at a Bloomberg terminal and occasionally punching numbers on his keyboard. He looked up when he saw his two visitors, and then back at the screen.
“A moment, please,” said the Lebanese. “This is an opportunity I really should not miss.” He picked up the phone to call a trading floor somewhere, to confirm that his buy order had been executed. When the business was done, he rose to greet them.
“It’s easy to be smart when other people insist on being stupid,” said Atwan. “If people persist in mispricing assets, well then, you take advantage of that, don’t you?”
“Most definitely,” said Adrian Winkler. “I hope you saved a little piece of the deal for me and Harry.”
The British intelligence officer laughed, and so did Atwan. Harry wanted to believe that Adrian had been joking.
Atwan ushered them to the couches at the far end of the library and rang for a servant to bring coffee. The Lebanese was wearing his black velvet slippers, monogrammed with his initials, a velvet smoking jacket, and an ascot. Harry had never seen anyone dressed in an outfit like that, except in old movies.
“Mr. Fellows and I are about to go on a trip,” said Adrian. “We thought we should stop by and see you first.”
“Well, that’s very kind of you, my dear. I must say. And where are you going?”
“Somewhere on the Caspian coast,” said Adrian. “I was thinking of Turkmenistan. They say it’s quite nice this time of year.”
Harry shot his British partner a dirty look. What was he doing telling this Lebanese businessman their operational plan? And why was he telling Atwan before he had even briefed Harry? Adrian didn’t even glance at him.
“Ashgabat is especially nice,” said Atwan. “And quiet. One can work there without fear of being disturbed. If one knows the local customs. And the headman, of course. I was rather good to the old baschi, and the new one realizes he is in my debt.”
“So you’ll tell him we’re coming?”
“Of course. I’ll have someone call with the tail number of your plane. As we say in the East, you are most welcome.”
“Thank you, Kamal Bey. I am most particularly grateful. And so is Mr. Fellows, though he is only now learning of our destination.”
“Don’t mind me, boys,” said Harry. “I’m just here to clean up the mess.”
Atwan laughed. “Oh, very good, yes. Clean up the mess. But Mr. Winkler assured me there won’t be a mess, will there? No! Of course not.”
The coffee arrived, along with some pain au chocolate and muffins and jam. Harry hadn’t eaten much on the plane, and he devoured what was before him. The coffee roused him, so that he began to focus more clearly. He had the odd sense, sitting in Atwan’s library, that he and Adrian were subcontractors, and that the real chief of this mission was the Arab gentleman seated across from them and dressed in the manner of Fred Astaire.
“Well now,” said Adrian, “we do have a bit more business before we go.”
“Ah yes. There is always more business in your business. And what are we talking about in particular?”