Skin in the Game, page 30
“Everybody’s watching him: the British, the Americans, some spies for the prince. I get the impression that everyone’s a little concerned about what he’s going to do.”
Frank Clemens turned to Joe and Sofi.
“Matta’s maintained surveillance on Samarrai.”
“Why would the prince keep an eye on him?” said Sofi.
Matta stood and leaned against the railing next to the bench. He looked over the railing down to the lower deck of the yacht, an aging gin palace with fishing gear, boat covers and surveillance equipment strewn about the deck. Beer cans littered the corners.
“He’s a religious man. Idealistic. Wants to make the world a better place. The prince is well-educated, has royal etiquette, but is as corrupt and spineless as they come. Samarrai’s his cover, but he wouldn’t hesitate before throwing him to the dogs.”
“We have to get in to see Samarrai before the meeting,” said Joe. “We have to trust him. He’s our only hope. Fight from within.”
Sofi stood and walked over to the opposite railing. She stared out across the crystalline sea. A diffuse noonday sun beat down on them through the haze. She turned around enough for Joe to catch her profile.
“How can Samarrai help us if he answers to the prince?”
“What other choice do we have, Sofi?”
There was a moment of silence.
“What else do we know about this meeting?” asked Matta.
“Marlon Freeman will be there,” said Frank. “Former CIA senior exec. He’s done some time in Defense as well. Mercenary through and through. Went private, used his military contacts. He’s back and now he’s at State. I haven’t got access to the disclosure, but I’m willing to bet he has significant personal interest. This Baexter merger—he’s worried about leaks. Let’s be clear, there’s no moral conscience at work here.”
“The prince and the British will follow his agenda,” said Matta.
Joe observed Matta as he began to pace the deck. Hafez wasn’t government. But he’d been around. A contractor for hire. Jordanian. A spoiler, foiling the plans of others. And small ops, a bomb expert.
Clemens nodded to Matta.
“They call Freeman the ‘drone master.’ It’s not such a well-guarded secret. He’s always going on about stock prices.”
Sofi held her hair back as she gazed down at the wake.
“If we fight from within, we become them.”
“Government has been co-opted,” said Joe. “We have no choice but to play their game.”
“Why are we here, Joe? To guide the hand of international capital? No. To save innocent lives? Why are we here?”
“We’re here to stop the deal from closing, to stop them from agreeing, stop the destruction and killing. Let’s go talk to him.”
Sofi turned toward the stairs to the lower deck.
“I’m going to lie down for a while.”
*
Abdullah Samarrai observed Joe and Sofi from behind his desk as they sat in the chairs in front of him. Qasim Qadi sat behind and to the left of Samarrai. He kept his eyes steady on both of them as Joe explained Density’s plans. Only when he was finished did Qadi relax and blink.
“Why should I believe you?” said Samarrai.
“Because we are here, risking our own lives, to try and prevent this atrocity from happening,” said Sofi. “What could be more proof of—”
“Why should I believe in your desire to help the people of Uzbekistan? You know nothing of these people. What do you stand to lose?”
“Our lives … I can only appeal to a common-sense understanding of what is human and what is not.”
Sofi held his stare. Samarrai looked straight into her eyes as an oppressive silence filled the room. Qadi shifted in his seat.
“We have the evidence,” said Joe. “This isn’t a matter for speculation.”
“You are asking a lot from me. I need more than these supposed facts to go on. I need to know who you are.”
“Are we asking a lot? Do you really think so?” said Sofi. “You have a strong sense of justice. We know that. You deal in great matters everyday, but you are vocal about responsible investment in the region. Are we not simply asking you to act in accordance with what you already believe?”
Samarrai stared down at his desk in silence. Joe heard the chair behind Samarrai rub against the wooden floor. Qadi sat up.
“Doctor, do you not think we should give Density the opportunity to challenge the story that has been presented to you?”
Samarrai turned his head slowly to face Qadi.
“I think we have given Density several opportunities to be candid. Qasim, have you no suspicions that all is not right in Cadan Blake’s house?”
“Doctor, I simply mean we should—”
“No. We are beyond debate now.”
Qadi eased back in his chair into a shadow that hid his face from view. Samarrai turned to Joe.
“And what about you? Should I also believe in your sense of humanity?”
“I have an additional motive. I stand before you as a man struggling to right the wrong of his brother’s death.”
Samarrai nodded, then held his hands together on the desk. He cracked his knuckles.
“I’ve had my suspicions for some time. Density’s plans are threatening to undermine everything I am trying achieve, to offend everything I believe in. I am shamed, knowing I did not see this for myself sooner.”
Qadi held his position in the shadow. Joe leaned forward and looked up at Samarrai.
“We need your help. Only you can stop this man. Government can only lose if this were ever to be made public. If the deal goes through, your position will be compromised, your ability to stop the bloodshed will expire.”
Samarrai closed his eyes and bowed his head.
“Yes. I will fight for what I believe in. But now you must trust me. I will contact you after the meeting.”
Joe and Sofi left Samarrai, descending from his office towering in the sky, through the clouds, back to dry heat and flat land. Joe breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the lobby. Sofi kept her head down and said nothing.
In the center of the lobby, Laith Khaldoun stood waiting, standing between Sofi and Joe and the exit. He folded his arms in front of his chest.
“Whatever it is you think you have, I can assure you, you do not.”
“We have the truth,” said Joe.
“Only God can know the truth.”
“We know about the corruption,” said Sofi. “We know your plans. We have evidence.”
“You have nothing.”
“We know who you are,” said Joe.
“You know nothing about me.”
“We know you are guided by faith,” said Sofi.
Sweat formed a layer above Khaldoun’s skin, and the late-afternoon light shining through the lobby windows made it look as if he was shedding it for another to take its place.
“You know nothing about faith. You think you are here to save the world. Another crusade. You are here to save your ego, nothing more.”
Sofi stepped forward.
“Are you going to let innocent people die? Will that lead to your salvation?”
Khaldoun ignored her, staring straight at Joe.
“Do you think you can begin to understand me? Ask yourself this.”
“We’re on the same side.”
“No, we are not. We never could be.”
*
As they walked out into the heat, Joe turned to Sofi.
“Samarrai understands right and wrong, and he is practical—he knows progress will come to Central Asia. The form it takes is the only open question.”
“I think Samarrai sees the world in twos, extremes pulling in opposite directions. You have to admit that there’s a little of that tendency in you.”
“Black and white?”
“He believes a new world order is the only alternative to chaos, to dislocation, violence, savagery.”
“Is there a third alternative?”
“Non-intervention. Support. Understanding.”
“Perhaps in the long run, but that’s not really an option now.”
“The spirit that lives in us, that’s the only thing that’s real.”
“A national awakening of a people who share custom and culture, geography, religion and race can only lead back in time.”
“No, Joe. It can move forward.”
Sofi stepped up to the street and held her hand up to flag a cab. Two men in traditional robes stared at her. They turned to Joe and scowled. Joe felt his head pound and approached Sofi’s side.
Chapter 31
Twenty men sat around the large elliptical-shaped table in the conference room of the Burj Al Arab. The shades were pulled down to block out the glare of the sun over the Persian Gulf. Cold dry air pumped through the room.
The room was appointed with gold trim on the walls, and ornate chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A golden nameplate lay on the table in front of each man: Barrendt Trace, Mandrake Resources; Lincoln Covington, Baexter Technologies; Harold Sallow, British Foreign and Commonwealth Office; Marlon Freeman, US Department of State; Cadan Blake and Laith Khaldoun, Density Capital; Dr. Abdullah Samarrai and Qasim Qadi, DIA. And at the head of the table, in a chair slightly wider and heavier than the others, Prince Nasid, Dhatan Emirate. Each was flanked by various aides and advisors. The murmurings around the room were broken as the prince rose to speak.
“We mark this day as a milestone for the expansion of international development into Central Asia. The gravity of our proceedings is the assured stability of Uzbekistan, which in retrospect will be viewed as pivotal to the future of Central Asia. I welcome the very important members of our congregation today and bid they hold close all resolve for a speedy agreement in principle. Time and money wait for no one.”
The meeting proceeded in its due course: agendas, introductions and the identification of the key issues to be agreed; the rustling of papers; deliberations on individual points; propositions and rebuttals. As time wore on, compromise gradually overtook disagreement.
Blake paced around the table behind the chairs of the others, corralling them closer to the finish line. He loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. From behind the prince and Samarrai, he gazed across the table to Covington and Trace and, seated in the chair next to his own, Laith Khaldoun.
“The development of emerging markets will have the greatest long-term impact on the globalization of capital markets. Political stability and economic prosperity will come hand in hand with the responsible extraction of natural resources.”
Blake stared at Lincoln Covington.
“Every country has the sovereign right to defend itself and maintain civil order.”
Covington nodded in agreement. A few men raised points on financial terms. But Blake refused to delve into detail, at all times keeping the parties focused on the value of the transaction. As he turned to speak, he noticed Khaldoun fidgeting, his eyes on the exit, repeatedly raising his hand to his breast pocket.
“With the recent merger creating the largest arms producer in history, the world has become a smaller place. We now have the decision-making capacity in one room to obliterate all opposition to the order and stability we seek.”
Blake nodded to Sallow and Freeman, who had remained silent throughout the proceedings. They nodded back. Blake reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a stick of chewing gum. As he unwrapped it, he glanced again over to Khaldoun. Khaldoun’s eyes shifted from side to side. He pulled on the knot in his tie and raised his hand again to his breast pocket. The pocket bulged with what appeared to be a mobile phone. Blake squinted his eyes, then relaxed them. He walked slowly over to the window and pondered the view of the sea from between the blinds.
Samarrai stood to speak.
“While DIA is generally in agreement with the terms of the transaction, I am compelled to raise what I see as issues that must be resolved before moving ahead. After the financial soundness of the deal, my concern is primarily one of social development and stability for the region. Conscientious investment, progress with local autonomy in mind, is the only form of progress worth chasing.”
Samarrai looked over to the prince. The prince, who had been distracted for most of the meeting, scowled at him.
“Gentlemen, it has come to my attention, there are elements of this deal that have been assembled with complete disregard to the principles of fair dealing.”
Prince Nasid kept his eyes trained on Samarrai. Samarrai glanced back, then looked down at the papers in front of him. He gripped the side of the table with his palms. Covington and Trace looked over to Blake, and Blake to the prince. The prince took a sip from his glass of water.
“I think what Dr. Samarrai means is we must obtain some assurance from the government of Uzbekistan that this transaction has been duly approved in accordance with their rule of law.”
He smiled.
“That should be quite easy to verify.”
“No, Prince. I have—”
“You will stand down. I have known you a long time, Abdullah. Never have I witnessed such, how shall I put it, digression in your thinking.”
The prince stood, his belly resting on the edge of the table.
“You will stop there.”
Samarrai’s shoulders slouched forward.
“I must insist the Uzbekistan administration set up a parliamentary committee to oversee the implementation of the works planned.”
Blake spun around.
“With all due respect, Dr. Samarrai, I believe incorporating such terms in the deal would simply delay matters and deprive the people of Uzbekistan of the economic benefits they will derive from this transaction. The interim president has informed us of his interest in proceeding as soon as possible on the terms we have outlined today. I see no reason to question the laws and governmental apparatus of the sovereign state of Uzbekistan.”
Trace and Covington nodded in agreement. Sallow and Freeman kept their heads down, occasionally glancing up with blank faces.
“We have good reason to believe there is too much instability in Uzbekistan to not take extra precautions,” said Samarrai.
Blake turned to see Khaldoun’s reaction. But there was none. Khaldoun was clearly preoccupied. Blake leaned his weight on one leg and scratched his chin.
“Enough,” said the prince.
He locked eyes with Samarrai. Samarrai placed his hands flat on the table as his legs appeared to be giving way. His shoulders seemed scarcely able to bear his own weight. He lowered himself slowly, then stared, unfocused, toward the center of the table. Harold Sallow and Marlon Freeman eased back in their chairs.
“Allow me to recap, gentlemen,” said Blake. “What we are striving to achieve here is a balanced, orderly and fair arrangement for the responsible extraction of natural resources in Uzbekistan. And we’re determined to do it in such a way as to provide political stability and economic prosperity for the people of Uzbekistan, people who currently suffer from tragic, ongoing social disruption. We will furnish the means for their government to maintain order.”
As Blake spoke, Khaldoun rose from his chair. Blake watched as he buttoned his suit jacket and made his way around the table. As Khaldoun passed, Blake made every attempt to make eye contact. But Khaldoun’s eyes had darkened and he seemed incapable of absorbing anything around him.
“Over time, the people of Uzbekistan will reap the rewards of this deal, through the inherent stability that follows international economic expansion,” said Blake. “What we are aspiring to do is harness the forces of globalization so as to create a level playing field.”
Khaldoun stumbled slightly through his final stride before reaching the doorway, then regained his composure. He turned to look back before leaving. His stiff disposition gave way to unease as he realized that Blake was staring straight at him, smiling, unblinking. He glanced over to Qasim Qadi, who looked as if he was going to pass out. As Khaldoun was about to push one of the conference doors open, both of them swished back from him. He looked up and found himself surrounded by eight men dressed in black, wearing black berets. Each man had a handgun, holstered at the waist, and carried a truncheon.
Two of them seized Khaldoun, dropped him to his knees and handcuffed him. He briefly struggled, then fell helpless and immobile in their grip. They removed the device from his breast pocket and rushed him out of the room before he had a chance to say a word. As the others looked on in confusion and surprise, trying to understand what the commotion was, Blake spoke. The six remaining guards stood behind him. He stared at Qasim Qadi.
“Gentlemen, my apologies. We’ve had a little problem to clear up, inopportune as the timing might be. Please rise from your seats and exit the room immediately. The security officers will escort you. Keep calm. There is no need for panic. I will explain everything later this afternoon.”
Two men approached Qadi. Qadi turned to Samarrai, his face flushed.
“Wait, wait, let me explain, please!”
The men covered his head with a black hood and forced his arms behind him, walking him out of the room. Samarrai’s face was expressionless. Two men flanked him and steered him to the door. The aids and advisors looked around in confusion, but the main players walked out as if nothing had happened. Just then, Zakhar Kurst walked into the center of the conference room. He held Khaldoun’s device in his hand. He pressed the green button at its center. Nothing happened. He turned to Blake, smiled, and whispered in his ear. They grinned and made for the exit.
Chapter 32
“No word from Samarrai?”
“He’s not picking up,” said Joe.
Sofi sat on the floor of the hotel room, her arms curled around her legs. Joe leaned up against the side of the bed. He held his head in his hands.
“I was sure he was the best chance we had. Perhaps I should have listened to you.”
“We’re running out of time. We need to do something.”
“We will. Let’s hold on a little longer.”
