“Cathy will agree. She’s a lot tougher and a lot smarter than people realize,” van Damm noted. “You know what Kealty said last week?”
“What’s that?”
“On national health care. Some local TV crew in Baltimore interviewed her. She must have had a weak moment and said that she didn’t think government health care was a very good idea. Kealty’s reaction was, ‘What the hell does a doctor know about health-care issues?’”
“How come that didn’t make the papers?” It was delightfully juicy, after all.
“Anne Quinlan is Ed’s Chief of Staff. She managed to talk the Times out of putting it in print. Anne is no dummy. The managing editor up in New York is an old friend of hers.”
“How is it that they always bagged me when I put my foot in it?” Ryan demanded.
“Jack, Ed is one of them. You, on the other hand, are not. Don’t you ever cut your friends some slack? So do they. They’re human beings, too.” Arnie’s demeanor was more relaxed now. He’d won his main battle. It was time for magnanimity.
Having to think of reporters as human beings was enough of a stretch for Ryan at the moment.
26
NEARLY A QUARTER of the world’s supply of heavy-lift cranes, Badr thought, staring out over Port Rashid. Thirty thousand of the world’s 125,000 cranes, all gathered in one place and for one purpose-to turn Dubai into the jewel of the planet and a paradise for the wealthiest of its inhabitants.
From where he stood he could see offshore the Palm and World islands-vast man-made archipelagoes, one in the shape of the tree itself, the other the earth-as well as the Burj Al Arab hotel, a 1,000-plus-foot-tall spire in the shape of a giant sail.
Inland, the city was a sea of skyscrapers and crisscrossing highways and construction equipment. And in another five years, attractions would continue to pop up across the landscape: the Dubai Waterfront, a crescent extending some fifty miles into the ocean; the Hydropolis Underwater Hotel; the Sports City and ski dome complexes; Space Science World. In less than a decade, Dubai had gone from what many considered little more than a desolate backwater speck on the map to one of the world’s top resort destinations, a playground for the super-rich. Before long, Badr thought, Dubai’s amenities and attractions would outpace even those of Las Vegas. Or perhaps not, Badr reminded himself. The global economic crisis had hit the UAE as well. Many of the cranes looming over the city were, in fact, still, as construction projects had ground to a halt. Badr suspected this was the hand of Allah. Such decadence in an Arab country was unthinkable.
“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Badr heard behind him, and he turned around.
“My apologies for being late,” the real-estate agent said. “As you’ve probably noticed, construction can be something of a nuisance. Mr. Almasi, yes?”
Badr nodded. It was not his name, of course, and the agent probably suspected as much, but another of Dubai’s many admirable traits was a universal respect for discretion and anonymity among its army of bankers, brokers, and agents. Business was business and money was money, and each was held in greater esteem than arbitrary and wholly subjective codes of conduct.
“Yes,” Badr replied. “Thank you for meeting me.”
“Not at all. This way, please.”
The agent walked to a nearby electric golf cart. Badr got in, and they started down the pier.
“You probably noticed the dock is not concrete,” the agent said.
“I did.” In fact, the surface had a slightly terra-cotta hue to it.
“It’s a composite material-something akin to synthetic decking material, I’m told, but much stronger and durable, and the color will hold for a lifetime. The designers thought it a more attractive alternative to standard gray concrete.”
They stopped before a warehouse at the far end and got out. “You mentioned the need for privacy,” the agent said. “Will this do?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“As you can see, it’s a corner unit, with water-access points at the front and the side. Enough to accommodate two ships of three hundred feet each. Of course, tracked derricks are available for lease, should you require them.”
The truth was, Badr knew little about his client’s requirement beyond the size and layout of the warehouse and the period of time it would be needed. Access and privacy, he’d been told, were paramount.
“May I see the inside?” he asked.
“Of course.”
The agent produced a card key and slid it through a reader beside the door. There was a soft beep. The agent pressed his thumb onto a pad beside the reader. A few moments later the lock clicked open.
“The card keys and biometric reader are fully programmable by the lessee. You and you alone would control who has access to the facility.”
“How is that done?”
“Through our secure website. Once your account is created, you simply log on, program the cards, and scan in the fingerprint records. All the data is encrypted with what’s called TLS, or Transport Layer Security, and digital certificates.”
“Very good. And the police?”
“In the last ten years I can count on one hand the number of times the police have asked for warrants to search our facilities. Of those, all but one were denied by the courts. We pride ourselves on providing security and anonymity-both within the legal bounds of the Emirates, of course.”
They stepped inside. The space, which measured two thousand square feet, was empty. The floor and walls were made of the same composite material as the dock but tinted off-white. No windows, either, which had been an item on his client’s wish list. Not a must but certainly a plus. The air was cool, hovering in the low seventies, he judged.
“Comfortable, yes?” the agent asked.
Badr nodded. “Fire- and theft-control systems?”
“Both. Monitored by our control center less than a mile away. In case of fire, a halon suppression system is activated. In case of unauthorized breach, the lessee is contacted for further instructions.”
“Not the police?”
“Only on the lessee’s approval.”
“What about your company? Surely you have access to-”
“No. If a lessee’s rent is found to be overdue by seven days, we make every attempt to contact them. At the fourteen-day mark, if contact still hasn’t been established, the card reader and biometric scanner are removed and the locking system dismantled-an expensive and time-consuming process which would, of course, be charged to the lessee’s account, as would any reinstallation of these systems. Similarly, all contents of their warehouse would be forfeit.”
“You won’t have that problem with us, I assure you,” Badr replied.
“I have no doubt. We do have a minimum one-year contract, with six-month increments beyond that.”
“A year should do.” A month would do, actually, he’d been told. The warehouse would sit empty after that, its purpose-whatever that was-having been served. In fact, within days of his client’s departure, the financial artifices put in place to affect the lease would be the only thing left for the authorities to find, and even those would lead only to more closed accounts and front companies. The “money trail,” which the American intelligence community was so good at following, would be ice-cold.
“We can also provide assistance in streamlining the customs process, should you have cargo to offload,” the agent said. “Export licenses would be your responsibility, however.”
“I understand,” Badr replied with a barely suppressed smile. Something told him the last thing his clients were concerned about was export licenses. He took a final look around, then turned to the agent. “How soon can you have the lease drawn up?”