Enemy of My Enemy (23 page)

Nadim looked through the rest of the items in the envelope: a copy of the demand by the Syrian government's foreign office to Rome for the immediate arrest and extradition of Angelli Tire Company executives named Mario Leonardo and Paulo Pentair. There was a response by the Italian foreign minister:
We have discussed the matter with the Angelli Tire Company. They have informed us that they don't have employees with those names.

So the men's passports and other identifying papers were false. Nadim wasn't surprised. It had all been done in a very sophisticated way. Even the items left in the men's hotel rooms had been carefully selected to be consistent with the story. An Italian novel. Articles from economic journals about the tire business. A brochure for the next year's season at La Scala.

There were only two intelligence agencies capable of doing that, which might have the inclination: the CIA and the Mossad. Nadim found one possibility more ominous than the other.

He had to assume that the timing wasn't coincidental.

Whoever had sent the men pretending to be the two Italians knew or suspected that Robert McCallister was in Syria. They had sent the phony Italians to find out where McCallister was in order to plan a rescue, or to find out what Nadim intended to do with the pilot.

All of that worried Nadim. What was good, however, was that the phony Italians had undoubtedly failed. Nadim was confident that Yasef didn't have either item of information. If Hussein had not followed the phony Italians and paid for it with his life, Yasef might have been able to obtain what they wanted. But Yasef was dead. From the statement of the guards along the Jordanian border, at least one of the phony Italians had crossed into Jordan. The other one could have been hiding in the car. Those guards were so incompetent. Even if the other one was still in Syria, the most he could do was find out where the pilot was being held. No one in Syria, even Ahmed, knew what Nadim had in mind for the pilot.

None of this should foil his plan, Nadim decided. He would view it as a good warning. He would have to be even more vigilant.

The intercom buzzed. "Your visitor is here," Nadim's secretary announced.

"Show him in."

Ali Hashim didn't simply walk into a room. The Iranian intelligence chief acted as if he owned the office and everyone inside, including Nadim. It wasn't merely that he was a large, powerfully built man with a bald head and a thick, bushy brown beard. It was how he carried himself. Notwithstanding his country's rule by clerics, Ali Hashim managed to find the money to shop at Turnball and Asser on Jermyn Street in London.

Nadim found the man's haughty arrogance unbearable, reflecting his country's view of itself in the region. Today Nadim had to endure it. What made it tolerable was his confidence that Hashim didn't like Nadim any more than Nadim liked the Iranian. Still, when Nadim had reached Hashim on the telephone in London, where he was conducting other business, and said, "I want to meet you about a matter of mutual benefit," the Iranian had agreed to stop in Paris on his way back to Tehran.

"Your words were enticing," Hashim said as he sat down on a chair facing Nadim. "What could you offer me that would be of mutual benefit?"

The implication to Nadim was infuriating. It was as if Hashim were dealing with an insect. What could a lowly Syrian offer one of Allah's select? Nadim stiffened. His eyes bore in on Hashim. "What do you most want from the Americans right now?"

Now the Iranian's eyes blazed with interest. Nadim knew that he had Hashim's attention. He should have suppressed the smile that was breaking out on his face, but he decided not to.

"Access to their advanced technology," Hashim responded immediately. "They've blocked us from obtaining their electronic and computer technology by a presidential order. Also other high-tech items. If we had those, we could modernize our economy. We have the money from oil. If we had the technology, we could become a real player in the global economy. Israel wouldn't be the only economic power at the crossroads between East and West." Hashim narrowed his eyes. "But why do you ask me this?" His tone was suspicious.

"Suppose that the American pilot shot down over Turkey were the son of an important—"

Hashim interrupted him. "I know he's Robert McCallister, and who his father is." Hashim detected the surprise on Nadim's face, and he sneered. "You think that you're the only one who does good intelligence work?"

Nadim didn't want to endanger his plan by goading Hashim. He tried to retreat gracefully. "I didn't mean that. I simply wasn't aware that you knew."

"Well, anyhow, you were saying?"

"Suppose that you were able to get possession of Robert McCallister, and you could turn him over to the Americans. Would that permit you to obtain the technology you want?"

Hashim scoffed and shook his head. "Kendall would never submit to blackmail like that."

Nadim shifted in his chair. "Not blackmail. It would be a goodwill gesture on the part of your government. You would say that you obtained the pilot to help the Americans and defuse the situation. They're seeking a thaw in relations with your government. This would be a good way to begin. It could be subtly orchestrated so that you would obtain certain technology, but it would never be viewed as blackmail. There are ways of doing these things with Washington. You know that."

Intrigued by Nadim's words, Hashim wrinkled his broad forehead, thinking. "You don't need me. Let the Turks do this themselves."

"The Turkish government's not involved. Kemal was flying solo."

The comment evoked a smile from Hashim. "Why doesn't your government do the deal itself?" the Iranian asked suspiciously.

"Two reasons. First, the Americans don't respect us. They view us as a peanut of a country. Also, Washington's close relationship with the Israelis precludes them from doing anything that involves us without Israeli approval. You're different."

That made sense to Hashim. He nodded. "And the second reason?"

"You have money. To pull off my plan will take lots of it. Kemal obviously can't come up with it, and my government doesn't have that kind of hard, cold foreign currency."

Hashim looked distrustful. "If your plan's that good, let your president borrow it. There are plenty of people who would be willing to finance an operation like this. Yet you come running to me when you need money."

Nadim felt as if he had been slapped in the face. Hashim always made him feel like a poor relation. Did he dare trust his life to the Iranian? He decided that the benefits justified the risk. If he succeeded, the rewards would be great. "President Ahmed doesn't know," he said softly.

Hashim gave a wry smile and tapped his finger on the side of the chair. "Well, well. So you have personal ambitions."

"Don't we all?"

"You're living on the edge."

Nadim knew the Iranian was right. He tried lamely to smile. "Life in both of our countries is constantly on the edge. You and I could find ourselves in jail or worse at any time with no warning." Hashim nodded. "But if you convince your government to accept my plan," Nadim continued, "you will be a hero. You will be the one who obtained the American technology and other benefits."

Hashim raised his hand and pointed a thick finger at Nadim. "Only if it succeeds."

"Agreed. But it will succeed."

"Tell me what you have in mind. I'll decide for myself about the chances for success."

For the next twenty minutes, Nadim laid out his proposal in detail. Hashim's only reaction was a snort and two grunts. At the end, Nadim said, "Well, what do you think?" He was holding his breath.

"I don't like it," Hashim said coldly.

"Why not?"

"My government will refuse to pay money to you and to Kemal."

Nadim decided to try a different tack.

"That's a small part of the operation. If the plan succeeds, you will not only be receiving American technology, but we will be striking a mighty blow at Israel."

Hashim rose to leave. "Do it without us."

"But I want you to enjoy the fruits of this effort."

Hashim gave him a haughty smile. "I have a keen sense of the geography involved in the plan. Iran's participation is critical."

Nadim was trying to decide if the Iranian was merely bargaining in the manner of the souk, seeking to make the best deal he could, or whether he was really opposed to the concept. "We could come up with another alternative."

"With great difficulty... perhaps." Hashim said it in the arrogant manner of someone who knew he held a key card.

"At least take it back to your foreign minister in Tehran," Nadim said. "With what's at stake, let him decide."

"He'll laugh at me. I don't even have any proof that you hold the American pilot."

Nadim reached into one of the brown envelopes on his desk and removed a photograph of Robert McCallister. "Take it," he said. "That's your proof."

Hashim snatched the photograph from Nadim, studied it for a moment, then handed it back. "I can't risk being caught with this now. It would mean a death warrant for me." Hashim paused. "In the unlikely event the foreign minister is interested, I will need the photograph before we go to our president with your plan."

Nadim was worried that the Americans might find out where the pilot was and undertake some military action to rescue him before he could implement his plan. If that happened, it would all go up in smoke. "We don't have much time," Nadim said anxiously.

Hashim smiled. "I won't be rushed."

"Fine. I'll give you the photograph the next time we meet about this. Call me when you're ready. I'll be there. Any time or place."

Hashim was walking toward the door. "I doubt very much there will be any more meetings on this subject. The foreign minister will throw me out of his office before I complete my presentation."

Nadim didn't respond. Inside he was thrilled. He was confident that he had hooked his fish. He attributed Hashim's negative words to his unwillingness to sound positive about something his government might not accept. Hashim would lose face with Nadim if that happened. And then there were the terms. If the Iranians agreed in principle, those rug merchants would insist on at least one round of haggling.

When Hashim left, Nadim told his secretary, "No interruptions," and he closed the door to his office. Time was short. He had to assume Hashim would bring his government around. The political benefits were too great for them, the costs too small in comparison. Nadim's plan was brilliant. Now he had to turn his attention to the next steps. Everything had to be plotted carefully. He began making notes on a pad. Later he would burn the page.

As he scribbled, he heard a gentle tapping on the door. "I told you no interruptions," he barked to his secretary.

She hesitated, trying to guess which way she would be more severely criticized—for disturbing him or for failing to alert him about the messenger. Knowing how deeply passionate he was about food and wine, she decided that the better course was to risk his wrath with the interruption. She opened the door a crack.

"A messenger's here from Chateau Latour," the cowering secretary said. "He has a note, and he needs an immediate reply."

At the name of the famous Bordeaux chateau, Nadim covered up the photographs with the morning
Le Monde
and held out his hand. The secretary breathed a deep sigh of relief. She had made the right decision.

Nadim ripped open the envelope and read the handwritten note.
We regret that through an oversight you were not invited to the vertical tasting of Chateau Latour this evening at 20:00 hours at L'Ambroise. You would do us honor by coming, and you may, of course, bring a guest.

It was signed,
Hubert.

Under any other circumstances Nadim would have eagerly accepted, though he didn't believe for an instant that there had been an oversight. They must have had a last-minute cancellation. That didn't bother Nadim. What did concern him was that he was so engrossed in planning the operation with the American pilot. Could he afford to take an evening off? Wanting to attend because it was a plum of an invitation, Nadim rationalized: Once he made his initial calls for the next moves about the pilot, there was little else he could do today.

Another thought popped into his mind: Layla. She was so heavily involved in buying, selling, and financing Bordeaux properties that she was now well connected in the area. There were rumors that Chateau Latour was considering a major expansion, and her bank was on the short list of possible lenders. With all of that, there was a good chance she might be there at the tasting. Her presence opened up new possibilities. That made the decision for Nadim.

He scribbled a note:
I'll be pleased to come with a guest.

Then he handed it to his secretary. "Give this to the messenger."

When she was gone, Nadim moved aside the newspaper and glanced down at the photos of the American pilot again. He knew what the next step was for his plan. He picked up the phone to make the first call.

 

 

 

Chapter 18