“You know who the ISI are, don’t you Paniz?”
“Yes, I do. They’re an Iranian boy band. Not my sort of thing. But I must admit, they’re fit.”
“Every time you don’t answer my questions, I’ll leave the room for an hour and you’ll have to wait an extra hour for food and drink.”
She grinned.
“And I thought you liked me. You did offer to rub my bare ass.”
“Paniz. Are you what I think you are? Are you in The Mossad?”
Anupa smirked.
“Is that an Iranian girl band? I didn’t think you had them.”
“That’s one hour.”
“I didn’t say I was or wasn’t.”
“Are you?”
“I can’t sing.” He swore in Farsi.
“One hour.” He left the room.
They kept her up all night asking questions. She did her best to avoid giving them an answer.
Anupa knew it was a game. They were trying to break her. She’d hold out as long as possible. It was a futile exercise, but it gave her something to think about.
Hours later a man walked in, overweight, stocky with cold baleful eyes. He placed a pair of pliers, a hammer, nails and an electric drill on the table. He stood there and glared at her. His face angry, cold and vengeful, He left without saying or doing anything. Anupa knew it would be another long session, both men would be from the MOIS, the Ministry of Intelligence and Security.
Chapter 9
CASSIDY SAT AT HER desk in The Deutsche Bank’s Wall Street headquarters. Three large monitors displayed the current trading and market status. They were mostly a sea of numbers. Colors displayed the direction of stocks and metals. Futures, puts and calls. Green up, red down.
“Miss Cassidy?”
“Ok, set it down there.” The delivery boy placed a Subway footlong on her desk. She fished out a ten dollar bill.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks Miss Cassidy.”
She picked up the phone and waited to be put through.
“Hi, Mr Minlezz. You asked me to call it for you. Your fund B. I want to go long on Oasis Petroleum Inc, it’s showing the signs. Ok, you’ve made a good move Sir.” She replaced the phone and watched the trades. Oasis moved up as she’d said. Cassidy smiled, Mr Minlezz had made six million bucks in ten minutes by following her call.
“Hey Cass,” a guy from across called over. “Just look at Aramco. Some volume going on there.”
She checked her screen, a lot of selling was going on. She watched for a few minutes, buying some Aramco, nothing wrong with its market position.
“Holy fuck, holy fuck,” said her colleague from across.
“Saudi’s just taken a dump, increased production to 14.9 million barrels a day. That’s huge man.”
She watched as the red spread over the screens. The oil price fell twenty two points. Good for some, bad very bad for others.
“Shit.” She’d have to call Mr Minlezz. She knew that Goddamn billionaires didn’t like losing money.
“Shit,” she picked up the phone.
THE MAN ENTERED JULIUS Baer Bank and walked up to the reception. He had swarthy skin and a moustache. The man dressed in sunglasses and a waistcoat. He placed a card on the table.
“Mr Horstolz please.”
The interior was all marble and starkly clean. Behind two glass screens were old paintings that you just knew were very valuable. An ornate bronze woman lay on a platform behind the desk. The place reeked of old money.
He was led away to a side room where Mr Horstolz awaited his client.
“Hello Mr Johnson, how can I help?” He knew the man’s name wasn’t Johnson but ignored the fact. Mr Johnson with his Arabic accent was a good customer, a very good customer.
“This account,” he slid over a paper. “I’d like to access it.”
“Yes Sir.” The personal banker opened up a screen on a spare laptop on his desk. Mr Johnson accessed the account, entered the password along with access security details and transferred out four billion US Dollars.
“It’s done Mr Horstolz. You need to verify it.”
Mr Horstolz did as his visitor asked.
“Will that be all Mr Johnson?”
“Yes, thank you, it will be for now.” The man in sunglasses and a waistcoat got up and left the bank. Once outside he couldn’t supress a smile at the shit storm he’d just let loose.
AT THE HASTILY CONVENED meeting of the General Council, the Supreme Leader wanted answers and wanted them now. Two guest organisations were summonsed. He demanded a report from The Management and Planning Organisation of Iran; the MPO. A form of fusion between the US Federal Reserve and the US Federal Government. It reported that the massive fall in the oil price was a catastrophe. The impact on the economy and budget was devastating.
The Supreme Leader’s blood boiled at the predicted impact. He knew of course it was the Saudi’s doing. His country was now at war. Not a shot had been fired, but it was nothing short of war.
Then in a report by the leadership of Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps, the nation’s armed forces, it happened.
A bombshell was dropped.
THE SUPREME LEADER asked for clarification by the MPO and they confirmed the details. He looked at the gathering, one by one he stared them in the eyes.
“So, let me summarise. The oil price fall will have, no, is having devastating effects on our economy. This will impact the Military too. Our ultimate defence is the nuclear guarantee deal with North Korea. This is initiated by a transfer of funds to them before our weapons can be released. They’re not released to us until we pay.
The secret fund that we set up to make that payment has been thieved. Some dog withdrew four billion Dollars.”
“Supreme Leader, enough funds remain for…”
“I know that,” he lashed out. “But the bastard who withdrew the four could withdraw whatever he wanted, and we’d sit here with our thumbs up our asses. Our Government and Military funding is under threat by this oil price fall. Somebody has stolen from the fund we set up to initiate our nuclear guarantee.” He paused and lowered his voice.
“Gentlemen, the survival of The Islamic Republic is at stake. We have one course of action. I will tell you what you must do.”
Chapter 10
THEY’D CHOSEN TO MEET at a small estate on the slopes of Mount Apo around twelve miles west of the city. It was quiet, secluded, away from any population centres.
The two men sat at a table under the shade of the trees in a forest glade. They’d been driven there by two separate Toyota vehicles, each carried three aides with them. One of the aides poured out glasses of fruit juice from ice filled jars.
One of the men had the almond eyed oriental look, he could be Japanese, Korean or Chinese. The other looked Arabic Middle Eastern, Egyptian or Saudi perhaps.
“I saw the report from the Production group, all seem to be complete,” said the oriental.
“Yes, my friend, it’s cleaned up now apparently,” said the Arab. “How is your side progressing?”
The oriental took a draft of the cold fruit juice.
“I don’t know how they can live in this humidity. Manufacturing and processing are underway. Some are ready, others will be soon. How are the consignments you are supplying?”
“Ready, we’ve arranged the transport by two separate third parties.”
“Can you trust them?” The Arab nodded.