Rashid said, “I trust you understand. My people expect this. They have their traditions, Baron.”
“Max,” von Berger told him. “Please call me Max.” He reached for a dish of some sort of lamb chops a woman offered, took one with his bare hand and tried it. “Delicious.” He turned to Paul Rashid. “One old soldier to another: I was in the Winter War in Russia and this is infinitely better.”
Paul Rashid smiled. “Then enjoy, my friend.”
Much later, they sat, the three of them, by a blazing fire, guards sitting close by, drinking coffee, AK47s across their knees.
Rashid said, “So, this Yemeni arms affair. Of course we’ll broker it for you. No big deal. But let’s be frank. What my sister said to you was true. This Yemeni thing is nothing to you, we know that. What you are interested in are oil concessions in the Empty Quarter perhaps and certainly in the Dhofar.”
“Absolutely. I know that the Russians are after it, the Brits, the Americans, but your influence with the Bedu confounds them all.”
“That’s true.”
There was silence. The Baron said, “Would you happen to have a cigarette?”
“Of course. I’ll have one with you.” He called in Arabic, a youth ran forward, and cigarettes were provided, and a lighter.
“They got me through the Winter War, these things,” the Baron said.
“And me the Gulf War,” Rashid replied. “We have much in common.”
Von Berger turned to Kate. “Listen to what I say. I would value your opinion.”
“Of course.”
“Right. If I try to obtain concessions in the Dhofar, the great powers would put in place as many roadblocks as they could. Even now, the Russian government isn’t happy with my holdings in their country. Any extension of my power would displease them.”
“That would seem obvious,” she said.
“And the Americans have always distrusted me. The Hitler business never goes away.” He turned to Rashid. “You, on the other hand, they are stuck with. That intrigues me. Why haven’t you used those concessions in the Dhofar?”
Rashid drank his coffee. “Tell him,” he said to Kate.
“Cash flow,” she said. “Rashid Investments is worth billions, but it’s all tied up. Capital investment, mainly. I don’t need to tell you that oil exploration is an expensive business.”
“But if you had the resources, you could go ahead in the Dhofar. America and Russia could do nothing.”
She looked at him calmly. “We’d need a lot of money. And I wouldn’t want it tied up by the banks.”
“What she means is we’d need something like one billion in cash, nice and fluid in our own account, to get started,” Paul Rashid said.
Von Berger nodded. “Two billion would be better.”
They both stared at him. “Two billion?” Kate said.
“Yes. Let’s see, today is Tuesday. I’ll set the wheels in motion, you could have it by Friday.” He smiled. “And then you would be developing oil in the Dhofar, not me. The White House, the Kremlin, Downing Street – they wouldn’t know a thing.”
It was Kate who answered. “Oh, God, that would be beautiful.”
Her brother held up his hand. “This is not a joke. You’re not that kind of man.”
“No, I’m not renowned for my sense of humor where money is concerned.”
“But the manipulations necessary to raise such a sum on the international finance scene would be very obvious. There is no way the Americans, the Russians and the Brits would not be aware of it.”
“No, there you’re wrong. There would be no need for anything unusual to happen. I have access to unlimited cash funds.”
Kate was astonished. “In that amount? But from where?”
“Oh, Swiss banks. I’m what is known as cash-rich. There’ll be no wheeler-dealing on the stock exchanges, no haggling for loans or investments in the financial markets. Just healthy injections of cash into Rashid Investments, as you choose.”
They looked at each other. Kate was excited and clutched at her brother’s arm. “Paul, we’ll never have such a chance again. We can confound them all.”
“I know, little sister.” Rashid turned to von Berger. “And in return?”
“In return, I would expect to be made a silent partner in Rashid Investments.”
“On what terms?”
“Nothing onerous, nothing unreasonable. We can work it out together, here, and I’ll step back. In fact, we shouldn’t even meet socially, not ever again.” He turned to Kate. “Which will be a great deprivation.”
Paul Rashid sat brooding. After a while, he said, “Those international oil cartels, they’d love to drill anywhere they damn well pleased in the Dhofar and walk all over the Bedu in the process. Rape the desert.”
“And you would do it differently?”
“It can be done differently, Max, no one knows that better than you. You are right, by the way. We can’t be seen together in the future.”
“So, we have a deal?”
“Subject to our agreement on the partnership, yes. I’ll arrange all the necessary documentation and you will arrange the funding.”
“By Friday.”
“We have an ancient Bedu custom, more binding than any contract.” Rashid took a small razor-sharp knife from his belt. “Your thumb, Baron, the left hand.” Von Berger held out the hand, Rashid touched the end of the thumb and drew a spot of blood. He did the same to his own, then touched it to von Berger’s, their blood mingling.
Kate held out her left hand. “Me too. It is my right. I brought him.”
He smiled. “And you did well, little sister.” He pricked her thumb also and she touched his and then von Berger’s. Paul Rashid leaned forward and put an arm around both of them. “This bond that will last for life itself.”
“I swear it on my honor,” von Berger said.
Kate smiled and something glowed in her eyes. “What a pity, Max, that we can’t meet again, but Paul is right.”
“No more Piano Bar.” He spread his hands. “I’m desolate.”
Little did he know, but some two years later, he was to meet her again and under the most dramatic of circumstances.
January 2000, to be precise. Von Berger was approached through his Berlin offices by Iraqi government sources. They wanted exploratory talks regarding arms supplies. Von Berger wasn’t surprised. Arms dealers all over the world had been approached. There wasn’t much chance of keeping quiet about it with the Israeli Mossad so closely allied to American and British intelligence.
He wasn’t certain why he went to Iraq at all. He didn’t approve of Saddam Hussein or his regime. The lift that Kate Rashid had given to his life had been only temporary. Since the meeting in Hazar, he had not had any overt contact with the Rashids. The business dealings in the Dhofar, in which he had invested so much, had prospered hugely. The truth was that he was seventy-eight years old, and the only people he had cared about were dead and gone. He had accomplished so much and there was nothing left that was worth doing. He was also bored, so he went to Baghdad.
The city seemed immense, ancient and yet modern, hot and dusty, crowded with humanity. He flew into the airport in a Gulfstream and was received with extreme courtesy by a young intelligence major called Aroun, immaculate in a khaki uniform that looked as if it had been tailored in London’s Savile Row. Sporting medals and the wings of a paratrooper, he was handsome, intelligent and spoke good English. He eased von Berger through the usual formalities and escorted him out to a limousine, a Lincoln. He joined him in the rear seat.
“Do you smoke, Baron?” He offered his cigarette case.
“Why, thank you.” Von Berger accepted a light and leaned back, peering out at the crowded streets. “Fascinating.”
“Yes, well, I think it will rain later.”
“Is that good?”
“In this city, yes. The smell can be overpowering, and Baghdad was not created to fit in with the invention of the motor car. I’m taking you to the Al Bustan, Baron, a five-star modern hotel.”