The meeting ended on that upbeat note, with Masrov already impatient to hear. He extracted a promise from Sanjoors to call him as soon as the discussion with the owner had occurred.
But now the Russian’s mind was occupied with other pursuits. The bartender at Vu’s brought him a bowl of mixed snacks along with his Crown and seven. Masrov took a sip, trying to figure out why sesame sticks were always mixed in with the peanuts in every bar. He motioned the bartender back to him. When the young Emirati came over, Masrov extended a folded $100 bill pressed between the forefinger and second finger of his right hand. The bartender smiled broadly.
“Yes, sir. What can I do for you?” His English was quite good. It was the language most widely used at Vu’s — even more than Arabic.
“I am going to move to this table right here.” Masrov pointed to a table just a few feet away. “I have a friend joining me and I want you to be very attentive.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Excellent. Now I want you to get a bottle of Cristal Brut and keep it on ice behind the bar.” The Russian handed over the American banknote with Ben Franklin’s portrait on it.
“Yes, sir. It will be ready when you let me know.”
Masrov nodded his head. “Very good.” He stood up, lifting his glass and his small snack bowl to walk a few steps over to the table.
It was almost an hour before Kara Livingston walked up to the table. “You look lonely,” she said as she pulled out the chair to the left of Masrov. “Mind if I join you?”
He cocked his head to his right and waved his left hand toward the chair. “My pleasure.” He looked her over as she sat. She had changed from earlier in the afternoon and had correctly guessed that Masrov had not. She was now wearing a black cocktail dress. Masrov couldn’t quite decide if she looked better now or before, but he knew that either way, she was still very attractive to him.
“Can I get something for you?” he asked.
“Yes. My favorite drink here is called the Hibiscus.”
Masrov turned and signaled to the bartender with his right hand. The young Arab came over from behind the bar and the Russian ordered the drink, a specialty of the house. He turned back to her. “You look very beautiful.”
“Thank you. Mukhtar told me you are here to form a new airline.”
Masrov looked puzzled.
“Your new banker,” she said to prompt his memory.
“Ah, yes. Of course.” Masrov took a sip from his Crown and seven. “No, not an airline. An air cargo carrier.”
“Is that any different?”
“Yes, of course. We won’t carry any passengers, just cargo.”
“I understand that. I meant from a regulatory perspective.”
Masrov looked at her, mentally noting that she was more inquisitive than he expected. “So you’re an airline attorney now?”
Kara shifted uncomfortably, not wanting to come across as too probing. She always wanted to make the right initial impression. “Well I’m a businesswoman. I find this stuff to be fascinating.”
The bartender walked up to the table with a glass filled to just under the rim with a reddish mix of tequila, hibiscus syrup, agave syrup and lime. Vu’s was known for not scrimping on the alcohol, very unlike most Dubai bars. But with a well compensated bartender, nothing would be spared. “Our world-famous Hibiscus for the lady.”
“Thank you,” said Kara. She took the glass and immediately raised it in salute to her date for the night. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” replied Gennady. The pair clinked their glasses.
Kara took a sip. “Wow. That’s strong.”
“This is the first time I have had a drink in Dubai. I thought alcohol would be banned here.”
“Many people think that. But the Emiratis are really quite liberal and tolerant as Muslim nations go. As long as you don’t flaunt it. Alcohol is limited to bars like this that are associated with a hotel. Just don’t go out in public drunk and absolutely don’t drive — even after a single drink.”
“That’s more like what I thought.”
“Still, it is completely different than being in the Kingdom.” She was referring to Saudi Arabia.
“Aren’t there any extreme preachers here?”
“You mean Imams? There are certainly conservative Imams here, but really not much in the way of extremism. This is a wealthy country as you can see.”
“So is Saudi Arabia. But that is where bin Laden is from, along with most of al Qaeda.”
“Yes, but the Saudis let Wahhabi clerics preach freely before nine-eleven. They made a mistake.”
“A mistake that they aren’t making here?”
“That’s right.”
Masrov took a short sip before continuing. “How have they avoided it?”
“The Sheikh has spent freely.”
“Ah, but now you are in a circular argument.” Masrov smiled the type of smile that a chess master gives to a beaten opponent.
Livingston took a big gulp and swallowed. She leaned forward toward her date. “Is this how you do it in Russia?”
Masrov could not deny his Russian heritage. He slammed back the balance of his Crown and seven. “Nyet. That is how we do it in Moskva.”
Kara smiled and lowered her voice. “Okay, I will admit what you want to hear. The police are active here. The clerics who stray too far across the line get arrested. Keep pushing it and you will get deported.”
The Russian leaned forward, their heads now only a foot apart. “As a Russian, I understand the necessity of harsh measures.” He softly ran his left forefinger along Kara’s exposed right forearm. “Now we enjoy what we came here for.” He abruptly leaned back in his chair and turned toward his new friend behind the bar. The young man came over quickly and Masrov ordered his champagne. He turned back to the British expatriate and smiled.
“So how does a Russian wind up in Dubai starting an airline?” Livingston asked.
“I go where my employer tells me.”
“And your employer is?”
“I never mention who my employer is. He does not like when the people who work for him talk about him.” Gennady shrugged his shoulders. “But I am always happy to admit that I am a big fan of the Chelsea Football Club.”
“You work for Roman Abramovich?” Her voice was excited.
“No, I did not say that. I just said I am a fan of Chelsea. I like Didier Drogba.” Masrov gave his date a sly smile, making sure she understood his point.
Kara leaned back in her chair as the bartender approached the table. “In that case,” she said with a smile, “we are done. My side is Liverpool.” She laughed at her own joke.
“Excuse me, sir,” said the bartender as he presented the cold bottle of Cristal to Masrov. The Russian nodded his approval. The bartender opened the bottle, filled two crystal flutes and left with the bottle. He returned in seconds with a silver champagne bucket full of ice and the bottle of Cristal inside of it. “Anything else I can get for you, sir?”
“No.” Masrov raised his crystal flute and the pair clinked the flutes together, the sound created being the perfect ping that only fine crystal produces. “To new and lasting friendships.”