When she paused, Hamed answered, going on at length. When she responded, he smiled. The conversation went on in this manner for a couple of minutes.
For all I knew, they could have been making a dinner date for this evening. I found it interesting that at the end of their little exchange, neither one made any attempt to tell me what they’d said to each other.
Then Hamed said, “Tomorrow evening I can provide you with the information you seek.” He pointed to Shah Mahmood’s letter on his desk. “But I will first have to verify the authenticity of Shah Mahmood’s wishes.”
“Of course,” Corley said.
He paused. “I’m afraid your government will find this information of only minimal value. The stolen money is largely unrecoverable.”
“Why?” I asked.
“What you will find are transactions, legitimate business transactions, made by scores of people. In many cases people acquiring or selling property and shares in stock markets around the world. Some transactions are currency exchanges.”
I said, “None of these transactions and business arrangements are in the auditors’ reports. Is that true?”
Hamed said, “You will be the only person with complete knowledge of the Kabul Bank fraud. The crucial point is, I was not indicted or charged. The trial is going on without me. I was an official of the bank, a highly placed official, someone in a position to know precisely what was happening during the time it was happening.”
“And you wrote it all down.”
“Something I must concede. You have done a surprising job of picking up where Colonel Hansen left off. This letter is extraordinary. You know, Mr. Klear, when you first asked me for information about the collapse of the Kabul Bank, I knew you were following the trail Colonel Hansen had been following. I was of the opinion you would not be successful.”
Finally and without a word, Hamed got to his feet, an obvious signal that he’d made up his mind and that the meeting was over.
Standing at the door of his office, he put out his hand, first to Corley, then to me. “Tomorrow, in the lobby of the hotel. Shall we say five p.m.?” He hesitated. “I assume that will be satisfactory. You won’t have to return here. You can spend the day sightseeing. There’s much to see here in Dubai.”
“What’s the name of the big mall?” Corley asked, trying to show only a superficial understanding of what had been discussed in the previous half hour. “I like to shop.” I noticed her putting the card Hamed had given her in her bag.
“My favorite is the Wafi Mall. I wish you a pleasant day.”
The beefy gentleman whom I’d met on my first visit to Hamed accompanied us on our elevator trip down to the lobby. He gallantly held the elevator door, a gesture for which I naturally thanked him.
Back out on the street, we walked for a couple of minutes in silence, both of us thinking over the meeting with Hamed.
I said finally, “I’m wondering . . .”
“Whether he will deliver his document?” When I nodded, Corley said, “You don’t know the tribe’s mind-set. For a man in Hamed’s position to violate the traditions of the Korengalis is . . . inconceivable. He follows the code of Pashtunwali.” She paused. “Like Shah Mahmood.”
“Hamed is different from Shah Mahmood.”
“It would be fatal for him to violate the values of his people.”
“Fatal in what way?”
“In every way. Professionally, socially . . . and in perhaps other ways. Believe me, he’ll deliver his document.” She paused at a shop window, then said, “He has no choice.”
“Before we went, I never thought he’d change his mind.”
“That’s because you don’t understand the Afghan culture.”
“I’m still skeptical,” I said. I didn’t add that I may not understand Afghan culture, but I understand human nature. And no matter how you slice it, twenty-five million euros is a lot of loot.
When I said that, Corley pretended to smile.
CHAPTER 28
TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 2013
AT FOUR THIRTY on Tuesday evening, after Corley and I found places on a sofa in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, she placed her laptop between us. On my lap I had a copy of The Financial Times but had only given the front page a quick glance. We sat silently for forty minutes, neither of us saying what we were both thinking.
When was Hamed’s guy going to arrive?
“Should I call him?” Corley asked finally. The time was five twenty. When I said, “Do you think it will do any good?” she shook her head and answered her own question.
“I counsel patience,” I said, trying to sound authoritative but not knowing what else to say.
After another twenty minutes, I said, “Do people believe in punctuality in this part of the world?” I knew they didn’t.
She shook her head.
I looked longingly in the direction of the Café Belge, which was now well filled, most of the customers obviously European, all jabbering in their own languages.
Then, at a few minutes after six, a beefy individual with a familiar face pushed his way through the revolving door. I recognized the individual with whom I’d ridden up and down in the elevator in Hamed’s building. Today he was wearing a brown sports jacket over a white and blue shirt and was carrying a slim leather case. He gazed quickly around. When I stood up, we made eye contact. He approached, said, “Your name?”
I nodded. “I’m Alex Klear.”
He was carrying a slim attaché case. After sitting down next to Corley, he placed the case on his lap, opened it, and removed a small box. “I’ve been told to give you this.”
Corley took the box, snapped it open. Inside was a USB drive. She placed the drive in her laptop, hit some keys. We waited for close to five minutes as she went over the document.
She shrugged, frowned. Finally, after another five minutes, she nodded.
He gave us a paper to sign. It described the contents of the document in a general way. The time, date, and place. When I looked at Corley, she nodded approval, and we signed.
After closing the attaché case, he stood up and said, “Good evening.” Seconds later, he was pushing his way through the revolving door.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I said, anxious to examine the contents of Hamed’s document.
Corley shook her head and stood up. “I’ll go upstairs.” Again, it was obvious who was running this little show. Although I was irritated, I didn’t see any sense in showing it. She pointed toward the Café Belge at the end of the lobby. “You go relax.”
I drank a Stella Artois, then a second. After an hour, still at the bar, I was gazing out at the lobby when I saw Corley emerge from the elevator and cross the lobby. Page had said she was a knockout when she got dressed up. He hadn’t exaggerated.
A raincoat was draped over her arm. She wore a royal blue sheath dress, which highlighted the contours of her frame. The dress, adorned with beads and sequins, barely made it to her knees. Her long hair was styled with a dramatic sweep. A string of what appeared to be diamonds circled her neck and more dangled from her ears. A pair of stiletto heels accented the curves of her ankles and long legs.
Before she left the lobby, she slipped on the raincoat. I could see why.
I had an idea where she was going, and I didn’t like it. She was decked out like an expensive whore. I leaped off the barstool and ran across the lobby. I caught up with her in front of the hotel, where she was about to climb into a taxi.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I said, grabbing her arm.
“Leave me alone. I know what I’m doing. Get away!” She shook off my hand.
“I’ll go with you. You’ll need backup.”
The driver held the door of the cab open for her. “I don’t need backup. I can handle this.” When she climbed into the taxi, the driver stepped in front of me and shut the door. I pulled the door handle, thinking I could drag her back out. It was locked. I banged on the window, but she continued to ignore me. The ca
r pulled away from the curb; I stood watching it disappear into traffic.
“Damn!” I said and stormed back inside.
When I got to my room, I saw that Irmie had called. Emotionally, for me, this may not have been the best moment, but I called her anyway.
“Hello, Alex. I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you—” Before I could interrupt, she said, “About us, actually.”
“I’ve been thinking about us, too—”
“Please let me finish. About the future. I don’t feel I’m making you happy. I know things are difficult for you where you are. I feel I’m only . . . well, being a nuisance or whatever.”
“Irmie! That’s not true. You are everything to me.”
“Living like this isn’t right, Alex. It really isn’t. Married people should be together. They have to be. There’s no other way. We’ve already talked about that, and I don’t want to say anything more. I don’t like to have to say it, but I’ve come to the conclusion—”
“What conclusion?”
“I don’t think things would be that different if we were married. The way you left leaves me with no other choice but to believe that. I just think you’d always be going off somewhere.”
“Irmie, if you’d let me say a word—”
“I can’t escape the feeling that I’d be alone most of the time.” After a brief hesitation, she said, “I may be wrong, but I’ve thought about it for a long time, and I can’t escape that feeling.”
“Irmie, this was—”
“I realize you have your work, but I don’t think I can fit into your life. I want you to know that. I’m ending our engagement. You can forget any feelings you ever had for me.”
“Can’t we wait and talk . . . before we decide to make this decision?”
“No, it’s over, Alex.”
“Honey, I understand how you feel, but this is not the right thing.”
“Alex, we’re no longer engaged. You’re free to do whatever . . . you want to do.” Irmie paused and I thought I could hear a sob. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now. Good-bye, Alex.”
I stood for a long time in the middle of my Ritz-Carlton hotel room holding the telephone in my hand. I supposed I could have stormed around, kicked a table, or reached for a whiskey bottle. I remained calm. I have to admit I’d sensed what was coming. I understood Irmie’s feelings. I had promised that I wouldn’t be taking any more assignments from the United States government. If it had been anyone else besides Pete who’d been killed, I wouldn’t have accepted this assignment.
We’d talked about our future. If she wanted, I’d move to Germany. With my knowledge of English, I wouldn’t have any difficulty landing a job with a European firm. There was also the possibility of starting my own business. With Irmie continuing to work, our future together looked bright.
And now I faced living the rest of my life without the woman I loved. After an hour of doing my best to put my broken engagement—my broken life—out of my mind, I decided to see if Corley was back. I walked down the hall to her room and knocked. No answer.
There was no answer when I knocked an hour after that. And none an hour after that.
I tried again at a few minutes after midnight with the same result.
Two hours later, at 0210 hours, there was a gentle tap at my door. At first, I didn’t recognize the woman in the corridor: Leslie Corley. No longer decked out in the provocative dress. She had on a black burqa, which revealed only her eyes. Once inside the room, she drew the face veil aside so I could see the abrasion on her cheek. Shabby sandals replaced the stilettos on her feet, making her ankles look chubby.
Her first words: “Why did I listen to you? I hate you!”
“What did I say?”
“You said the document he’d given us wasn’t complete. I believed you. You said he would never sacrifice the twenty-five million euros just because of a letter. You recall he gave me his card when we left his office?” When I nodded, she said, “The card contained the address of a villa in the Jumeirah Lake District. It also had a time, 7:30 p.m., written on it.”
“So you accepted his invitation and went out there. You shouldn’t have.”
“A guard admitted me at the gate. Hamed was waiting for me at the front door, smiling, very friendly. We talked for a while, then he gave me a tour of his villa. It’s luxurious, beautiful, the furniture alone is breathtaking, worth millions. The villa has everything, even a swimming pool.”
“I assume the tour ended in his bedroom.”
“Of course. I was ready for that. I had a switchblade. When I knew he was defenseless, I snapped it open, showed it to him. I told him if he didn’t give me the complete document I was going to cut off his ears. I told him he could guess what else I would cut off.”
“Were you serious?”
“Yes. Yes, I was serious.”
“That was crazy, stupid.”
“He had a bodyguard in the closet. Before I knew it, this big man grabbed my knife, lifted me off the bed, and threw me on the floor.” She shook her head. “Naked, humiliated.”
“What happened then?”
“They watched as I crawled to my clothes and dressed.”
“Nice guys.”
“For men like Hamed, women have no rights, they’re subservient, and I understand that. I also realized that I’d insulted him. Then, Hamed and I went into a dinette off the kitchen. One of his people had prepared a meal, a delicious meal. Truly.” She paused. “First falafel. Then a servant brought esh asarya.”
“Cheesecake?”
“Yes. He reached out and touched me. He said he wanted to see me on my next trip to the Emirates.”
“Confusing. I don’t get it.”
“He was treating me kindly now. He wanted to be nice, but as we ate, he lectured me, saying I had been a fool to listen to you. He said the people of the modern world are materialistic and not to be trusted. He spoke of Pashtunwali and of the importance of keeping this belief alive in the modern world.” She paused. “And then he said something else. He said he knew my reason for coming was to force him to hand over the real document. He said he knew that I would listen to you rather than give him izat, the respect he was entitled to.”
“You’re saying we already had the complete document?”
“Yes, he’d given us the complete document. He’d done what he said he would do. By questioning him in that way, I’d insulted him. He told me I deserved the humiliation.”
“But how were you supposed to know that we had the real document?”
“That’s what I said, trying to defend myself. I should never have said that. He became very angry. He said if I’d properly understood my place, I would never have doubted him. He yanked off my jewelry, told me to undress, and made me watch as he ripped my dress to small shreds with a pair of scissors. All this to further humiliate me. Then he gave me this, a burqa. A lesson, he said, to make me understand how proper beliefs are more potent than the false beliefs of the modern world—and that I could only understand it if dressed appropriately.”
“I see.”
“You were very wrong about him, horribly wrong. I should have known. By this time, all his servants had left, even his bodyguard. When he showed me to the door, I turned on him. I’d been able to steal a knife from the kitchen. I forced him to the floor. Again I threatened him physically.”
“Why?”
“I wanted to humiliate him the way he humiliated me.”
“Was that smart?” I already knew one of Corley’s failings was an uncontrollable desire to indulge her emotions. Standing in the middle of the room, she stared sullenly at the floor, her head bowed.
I said, “What did Hamed do?”
“When he got to his feet, he only said I was ajex, pathetic. Then he took me to the door.”
“So you’re now convinced we already had the complete document?”
“Yes. He’d given us the complete document.”
“So I was wrong. Is that it?”
<
br /> “You were horribly wrong.” As I watched, she emptied her glass of scotch with a trembling hand.
I was becoming more and more uncomfortable with this woman. Still wearing the burqa while pouring out another scotch, she seemed like a totally different person.
Trying to change the subject, I said, “But you know for sure this USB drive contains the complete story of the fraud, and you know also that it’s accurate.”
“Yes, I’m satisfied.”
I’d given up the hope she might ever reveal who she was and what she was attempting to accomplish. She had the rank of captain in the U.S. Army, but she was obviously no ordinary military officer. Whoever she was, I was now more eager than ever to break off our relationship and disassociate myself from whatever new schemes she might have in mind. I just wasn’t completely sure how to go about it.
Alone in my room, I ran over all that in my mind for a good hour while drinking more scotch. I did my best not to think about Irmie, but I thought about her anyway. A great deal of time elapsed before I was finally able to fall into a troubled sleep.
* * *
After a quick breakfast the following morning, Corley, her expression still empty, silently pointed the way upstairs. At least she wasn’t wearing the burqa. She had on a tan blouse and today her skirt reached her knees. In her room, we seated ourselves opposite each other, neither of us saying anything. Finally, room service arrived with a silver pot of coffee and a platter of cookies and cake.
As I poured coffee, I said, “Hamed’s document has the answer, doesn’t it? It contains what Pete was looking for.”
As I handed her the cup, she stared at me with her dark eyes. “Yes.”
“That means my job is over. For me at least, this op is history. I can book a flight for this afternoon to JFK. I’m looking forward to returning home and getting back to work.” I took a sip. “Good coffee, maybe a little weak.”
“Yes, you may book a flight—but not to New York, to Dulles. I expect you to remain in D.C. until you hear from me. And you’ll not be communicating with friends or business partners—”
“I have a business to run.”
“The op is not over.” She began nibbling on a cookie.
On Edge Page 26