Yet when it came down to basics, all Riley managed to find was that Al-Bashir — rich, powerful and seemingly paranoid — was no worse than many other rich, powerful businessmen. He had more money than most and, if rumour in the city was true, backers with unlimited resources to help fund his various business ventures. But in that he was hardly unique.
One of those ventures, verified in the on-line city pages of the nationals, concerned Al-Bashir’s desire to become a leading player in the telecoms market. He had bid for a share of an imminent release of licences across Central and Eastern Europe, effectively seeking to supply, equip and run the entire cellular network across a vast land base. According to the Financial Times, Al-Bashir already had a share in the huge new Batnev satellite system which, once hooked up, would control a substantial amount of mobile phone and wireless connections. It was rumoured that the low cost of the new system would allow him to mop up subscribers across an even wider area, including parts of the Middle East and even sections of the hugely profitable European subscriber base, where subscribers were no longer troubled by brand loyalty.
Riley turned to the folder Varley had given her. She had deliberately left this to one side until she had formed opinions based on her own research. Much of it merely confirmed what she had already discovered, probably culled from the same public domain sources. Al-Bashir, it said, was after some very big fish indeed, and could, if successful, change the face of a large part of the communications world across Eastern Europe.
A note on a single sheet of paper in the file caught Riley’s eye. Folded in on itself, it was snagged between two other documents. There was no indication where the information had come from or where it was supposed to fit. Although typed, it read almost like an afterthought.
Apart from the established providers (already bidding), there could be other obstacles in Al-Bashir’s way. These amount to a number of previously unidentified wealthy individuals or equal-interest groups with a strong desire to keep control of the market in local hands while taking advantage of the enormous potential offered. Although largely resident abroad, these emigres (oligarchs?) still command substantial resources and considerable influence in the region from local (state) up to national level, in some cases capable of outstripping bids from the more impoverished national treasuries. Singly or as a group, they should not be discounted.
Oligarchs. Riley sat back. That word again. Coincidence? It must be. She forged on, her thoughts drifting to whether Al-Bashir had considered how unpopular his bid was going to make him if he succeeded. Commercial enemies were one thing and to be expected. But consumer resentment of one man’s grandiose schemes was something else entirely, and very unpredictable. If he had thought it through, he was evidently unconcerned by it.
Reading further, she found other disturbing questions coming to the surface. They concerned Asiyah, Al-Bashir’s young and beautiful — but rarely seen — wife. A gifted musician and artist from a traditional Alexandrian family, she had walked into his store one day, and by the time she was ready to leave, Al-Bashir had proposed.
Some of the press speculation and reports included mention of Asiyah’s alleged taste for the high life, free of the restrictions of her family and homeland. But why not? She was the wife of a wealthy man who clearly liked to indulge her. There were reports that he was protective of her, some suggesting to a degree beyond the merely reasonable. One of Al-Bashir’s security men had been dismissed for allegedly looking at Asiyah too openly, while another had been sacked, subsequently accusing Al-Bashir of having him beaten up for disagreeing with Asiyah over a question of her personal safety.
Yet again, nothing startling, given the kind of life these people led. Mildly eccentric behaviour came with the territory. But press reports fed eagerly on the mundane, turning it as if by magic into something else, coloured and re-packaged for public consumption.
It was only when Riley was well over halfway through Varley’s notes that she found the personal detail began to outstrip the commercial. Wading through documents similar to the ones she had discovered, she found additional allegations which, if true, meant Asiyah Al-Bashir wasn’t just merely extravagant, but unfaithful, too. If the allegations were false, they were opening up the publishers of the magazine — and by implication, anyone putting their name to them — to legal action. And funded by Al-Bashir’s vengeful millions, that would mean personal and professional ruin. But what if they were true?
She read through an impressive looking report prepared by a high-level security company, looking for weaknesses in the detail. Asiyah, it was stated, had formed a secret liaison with a non-Egyptian national. She had been followed to several meetings in London, Paris and Athens, where compromising photographs had been taken. From the angle of some of the photos, Riley could only surmise that the photographer had been standing on a balcony right outside the woman’s hotel room, and that Asiyah was criminally careless when it came to drawing the curtains.
It was bad enough that Asiyah’s lover was allegedly Israeli — heinous indeed for the wife of a staunchly proud Egyptian. But there was worse to come — at least, from Al-Bashir’s point of view.
His wife’s alleged lover was another woman.
16
‘You said nobody would come… that we would remain undisturbed here. You guaranteed it!’
Grigori’s eyes were flat and grey like the early morning sky outside, his voice dulled with anger. Emotion had brought an unusual level of colour to his cheeks, but it was not a good sign. He stared for several seconds at the two men before him with all the friendliness of a snake, waiting for an answer. ‘Well?’
‘We don’t know why they came, boss. It was not a scheduled visit.’ His assistant, Radko, was the spokesman, which was his job.
The man beside him, named Pechov, squat as a dumpster and blank-eyed, seemed impervious to the vitriolic atmosphere. He had the disinterest of a junior employee, and chewed rhythmically on a toffee. He remained silent, which was his job.
‘How, not scheduled? You said the supervisor, Goricz, would warn you. Yet suddenly, last night, two people come up here and ask to look around. Did we not pay him enough?’ He leaned forward over the desk strewn with the papers he’d been working on. ‘Or perhaps you did not frighten him enough? What happened — is he taking money from someone else?’
‘No, boss. I don’t think so. It was a genuine visit. Two people — a man and a woman — came with an agent to view the empty floor. It was short notice, Goricz said, and he couldn’t turn them away. They were from out of town, and couldn’t see the place any other time. They went in, looked round, then left.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders and gave a soothing smile. ‘It was nothing, I promise.’
‘You promise?’ Grigori’s words were coated with sarcasm, wiping the smile from his assistant’s face. ‘Like you promised the Bellamy woman would be dealt with properly? Like you promised we would remain secure in this building? Like you guaranteed the German woman would do what we wanted?’
‘The German was not my fault.’ Radko’s face went pale beneath his tan, his eyes flinty with resentment at being taken to task in front of Pechov. But he remained polite, wary. ‘She was not my choice. As for Bellamy, she is already forgotten. The police have found nothing and nor will they. Her place has been cleared, her briefcase and work records destroyed.’ He paused for a moment, before adding softly, ‘As for Goricz, I will deal with him.’