He smelled her before he saw her, and then Diane’s arm was over his shoulder and she was kissing his ear.
‘Hello Mr Grumpy Pants,’ she whispered. ‘Still sulking?’
Before he could reply, she ordered her own drink. ‘I’m having what he’s having, thank you, Mr Clyde.’
She had changed into white tennis shorts, navy tank top, fl at espadrilles and lots of tan. She looked stunning and as she folded her arms and cleared her throat, Mac found her a barstool, dragged it over and Diane sat down as her Tiger arrived. She clinked glass with Mac and drank from the bottle.
Diane had been annoying with the whole bra-and-panties act, but they made up over a few drinks, and attempted to bore Mr Economist into leaving with a louder-than-necessary marital conversation about mortgage rates and mobile phone plans.
At 11.43, Mr Economist left without looking at anyone. He’d been made and was hitting the hay.
Mac had forgotten how funny Diane could be when she drank.
She kept trying to order more Bundys and he made the mistake of asking her if she was trying to get him drunk.
‘I’m trying to loosen you up, Richard,’ she said, prodding him in the chest. ‘Emotionally, you’re like a fucking oyster.’
Clyde kept the drinks fresh and Mac and Diane agreed to take turns having their whinge about events of the past, and then never mention it again. Diane wanted him to start, but Mac said, ‘Ladies fi rst.’ She rolled her eyes so Mac suggested they fl ip a coin to which she said, so the whole poolside area could hear her, ‘You are such a child!’
‘Keep it down,’ mumbled Mac into her ear, and Diane whispered that this was perfect husband-and-wife cover - a drunken dis-agreement about something petty.
‘Rock, paper, scissors?’ asked Mac.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ said Diane and grabbed a coin from Clyde.
She lost the toss and went fi rst, reminding him of a night in Jakarta when they’d got drunk at the old harbour, and they’d slept in Diane’s cottage in the British residential compound.
‘You remember?’ she asked. Mac nodded, looking into his beer and hoping she wasn’t playing him.
‘You said you had been going to ask me to marry you, when we were at that restaurant in Sydney, a few days before,’ she said.
‘Yep,’ said Mac. ‘I remember.’
‘And I said, “Really? ” , and you said, “Yes“?’
Mac nodded, a little unsettled by the memory.
‘Do you realise, Richard, that I lay there in the dark, waiting for you to ask me? I thought that was the point of the fucking conversation,’
she said in a low, hissing tone of anger and hurt that only women can do.
Mac stared into his Tiger, thinking, and when he turned to face her she was looking into his eyes.
‘Look, Diane, I was scared. You were very new, very different.’
‘It could have changed our lives, if you’d asked me,’ she whispered.
‘What?’ he laughed. ‘You’d have said yes?’
The hardness came back into her face. ‘You’ll never know that, will you, Richard?’
CHAPTER 31
Mac sat against the far wall of the breakfast restaurant. He’d been taught in craft school always to arrive early when courting an asset, and to sit where there is the greatest vision available to you and the least to the other bastard. Wincing through his headache, he asked for a cooked breakfast and a pot of coffee.
Mac counted three black goldfi sh bowls in the ceiling and he had a quick look at the Asian Wall Street Journal, taking the opportunity to scan for eyes, see if a bit of counter-surveillance was called for. Around him were tables of networking, jabbering business types who were in town for the conference but were really hoping to be introduced to the type of person who could make them a lot of money. Waiters and fl oor staff wafted about and by the time the waitress came back with the coffee Mac had found no reappearance of the surveillance team from the previous evening, and no encore from Mr Economist.
Alex Grant came in with Michael Vitogiannis at 7.04, greeted Mac and they all headed for the bain-maries.
Back at the table, Mac poured coffee all around and let Grant drive the discussion to where he wanted it to go. One of the reasons Mac was a relative natural at what he did was that he was a good listener.
People who talked more than they listened made terrible spies, and there were a lot of them.
‘So, I brought Michael up to speed on our discussion,’ said Grant, wearing offi cial leisure clothes that looked new. ‘You know, from last night?’
Mac nodded, and Grant cleared his throat. ‘And I suppose we’ve agreed that we’d like to have a chat about your services, Mr Davis, with a view to … umm … bearing in mind …’
‘We have to move quickly,’ said Vitogiannis, leaping in with certainty but not arrogance. ‘These deals are like vapour - you think it’s all go, and then poof -‘ he opened his hands as he widened his eyes,
‘it’s gone. Up here the game moves fast.’
Taking a long draught on the coffee, Mac thought about what he was going to say. He wanted to keep the discussion away from the sensitivity of the uranium-enrichment code, or even the secret provisions of the deal with NIME. The way to steer around that issue was to make the entire discussion about Mac and the money. If he could do that then Bennelong Systems might do all the hard work for him.
‘So, you’ve checked me out?’ asked Mac, friendly, nothing to hide.
‘Well, actually, Richard, that’s why we were late down here -
making some calls,’ said Vitogiannis.
‘Gotta do it, guys - mad if you don’t,’ said Mac.
Vitogiannis shrugged at Grant as if to say I told you, and looked back at Mac. ‘Your accounts person was helpful about how we might initiate an agreement. It sounds like a solid set-up.’
Mac gave Terri - the accountant at the Southern Scholastic offi ce in Sydney - an inward high-fi ve. Depending on which line was used into the switchboard, it would trigger a computer screen with all the details of that operative and his commercial cover. The Davis Associates cover had been set up only recently and Terri had brought herself up to speed nice and fast, probably set Vitogiannis back on his heels with a few basic credit inquiries of her own. To most business people, a grumpy fi nancial controller was the mark of a good operation.
‘Well, Michael,’ said Mac, laughing, ‘may I start by revealing how comfortable I am with a man who starts at the most important point
- and that is how I’m going to get paid!’
Vitogiannis hooted and slapped his leg while Grant smiled, probably amazed that someone could be so forthright. It was an old spy technique: be disarmingly honest about something people were furtive about - like The Money - and people would tend towards trusting you. The Bennelong guys had the Australian Commonwealth chewing on one ear and a bunch of Indonesian businessmen on the other. They needed someone to trust.
‘So, how do we play this?’ asked Grant.
‘We decide whether I’m on retainer and expenses, or if you prefer to pay me on capital raised,’ said Mac. ‘The capital-raising rate is one and a half per cent of the agreed value of the deal, with overages of travel outside of Sydney or Canberra. Straight charge-back on hotels, cars and fl ights - no per diems. Sound fair?’
‘I like the second option,’ said Vitogiannis, looking at Grant, who was nodding back. ‘One and a half per cent is fair.’
‘And the transaction? What are we talking about here?’ asked Mac, keeping it light yet professional. ‘I mean, so I can work out if it’s worth it for me.’
‘The initial phase is a thirty-million-dollar supply contract - that’s what we wanted EFIC for,’ said Vitogiannis, measuring every word.
‘Okay,’ said Mac, pulling a bunch of papers from his document satchel, ‘let’s do the MOU and we’ll get started.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ said Vitogiannis, raising his hand. ‘This is going a bit fast, isn’t
it? I mean, you don’t even know what’s required.’
Mac looked at him. ‘Michael, I made some calls this morning too, and I think I’ve found your problem, and maybe also a way through.’
Vitogiannis leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. His body language said, This bloke is a hard case. He looked at Grant. ‘You hear that, Alex? Mr Davis thinks he’s found a way through.’
‘I heard,’ said Grant, glancing at his watch. ‘Let’s get to work. We have a lunch meeting with our partners and I need some good news.’
They worked out of Grant’s Horizon Club suite on the twenty-second fl oor, looking north over Jakarta and out to the Java Sea. It had its own fax machine and executive desk, so Mac sent the engagement MOU
on the machine while Vitogiannis pulled out fi les and Grant fi red up a black Apple laptop.
Taking a seat in front of the desk, Mac laid it out for the Bennelong team. ‘My discussions were brief this morning, guys, but the person I spoke with basically summed it up.’
‘Yes?’ asked Grant, plugging the internet cable into the back of the machine and leaning back from the laptop.
‘You see, Alex, government loan guarantees are knocked back for basic reasons: either the customer is in a nation or market considered viable for a bank or other commercial fi nancier, so the deal doesn’t need Johnny Taxpayer reaching into his pocket.
‘Or the deal itself makes a couple of the principals very rich but has got fuck-all to do with jobs or encouraging innovation or building national competitive advantage. With me?’
‘Sure,’ said Grant, nodding, ‘but I think we qualify under those two and I believe we’re also a company with a trading track record, if that’s something else you were going to mention.’
Holding up three fi ngers, Mac smiled. ‘That’s three pluses for Bennelong. But my person - and he was risking his job just to give me this small piece - he tells me that the weak link is the end-user certifi cate.’
‘What?!’ burst out Grant, a frustrated man. ‘We make control systems for power stations and public water companies! Shit! ‘
‘You know,’ said Mac, drawing it out, ‘the candidate always thinks that the end-user certifi cate is about him. But when you think about it, it’s really about -‘
‘The end user,’ said Vitogiannis. ‘I agree, Richard - but I thought we’d provided a full dossier on NIME? Certainly everything we had.’
Mac put his fi ngers into cathedral position, pushed his nose into the gap. ‘My guy tells me that there’s worries about the - what did you call it?’
‘NIME,’ said Vitogiannis. ‘It’s an acronym, in Bahasa. Basically means something like national electricity consortium of Indonesia.’
‘Yeah, that’s it, NIME,’ Mac continued. ‘He says the principals look like rent-a-directors - you know, fronts, accountants, lawyers. Faces to put on the prospectus. But they have nothing to do with the equity.’
Vitogiannis nodded, swapped a look with Grant. ‘Okay, so …?’
Mac decided to pull back. ‘Look, guys, it’s not my deal, I know nothing about this. But if we have an NIA logjam around an end-user certifi cate, then either you tell me who these people are so I can resell it, or the minister’s own people are going to be in his ear about these people, right?’
‘Yeah,’ said Grant. ‘It’s perhaps not so simple.’
‘Okay,’ said Mac. ‘The other part of the end-user certifi cate is something to do with defence? Nuclear research?’ said Mac, shrugging at Grant, asking him to take it from there.
‘Okay, that makes sense,’ said Grant, relieved not to have to talk about NIME. ‘When we did the buy-out from Betnell, fi fteen years ago, we inherited algorithms for uranium enrichment, for their Type-3 reactors. The management buy-out was for the control systems, but when it came to settlement they had listed these algorithms in the acquisition manifest. Our real aim was to get the naval C and C
systems and the public utility control systems, but we got this bonus that, frankly, has turned into a curse.’
‘You knew what they were?’
‘Only in the broadest sense - they’re part of the control systems for a Type-3 reactor which is not even built anymore. I have no idea how valuable they are. I only know they still work because a few years ago I had a visit from CSIRO,’ said Grant, referring to the Commonwealth’s peak science body. ‘But I always suspected they were ASIO because they asked more about my new partner, Michael, and our future plans than they did about the algorithms.’
‘Well, that’s part of the logjam right there,’ said Mac, quietly impressed with Australian intelligence for doing the footwork. ‘If we can take that out of the deal - make it transparent for Canberra
- then all we have to do is get a better picture of the end user, and I’ll massage it from there. As long as they’re not crooks or terrorists, we can probably get you over the line.’
‘Actually,’ said Grant, looking pleased with himself, ‘we’re spinning all those enrichment algorithms - and all the navy C and C
codes - into a separate company. We’ll be a cleanskin by the time we do the NIME deal.’
Mac’s ears pricked up. ‘Spinning off? You mean, selling the code?’
‘Well, a staged buy-out, really,’ said Vitogiannis. ‘Naveed has a deal -‘
Grant and Vitogiannis stared at one another. Grant broke the stare, threw his pen on the desk, looked at the ceiling. ‘Okay, Mr Davis, we signed a non-disclosure agreement with the guy representing the NIME group. He didn’t want his identity revealed, but I guess that really means to the banks and the government, right?’
‘So, who’s Naveed?’ said Mac, expressionless.
‘He acts for NIME, and put the deal together for the code,’
said Grant.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah,’ said Alex Grant. ‘It’s fortuitous, I mean the timing and everything.’
‘Timing?’
‘Yeah - we’re signing all the code stuff over at lunch. It’ll clear the way for the main NIME deal, right?’
Stunned, Mac fought for composure. ‘It might clear the way, guys, but we still have the end-user issue. Tell me something about Naveed.’
‘Not much to say,’ said Grant, looking at his watch. ‘He’s a former banker who manages an infrastructure fund.’
‘So he’s connected with the Indonesian government?’ probed Mac.
‘No,’ smiled Grant. ‘He’s a foreigner. Pakistani, I think.’
CHAPTER 32
Mac rang Davidson as soon as he got away from the meeting and they tossed around several spellings for ‘Naveed’. Davidson said he’d make some inquiries and get back on the Naveed connection, but he didn’t want Mac trying to intercept either of the NIME deals.
‘I know what your instincts are, mate,’ drawled Davidson. ‘But the gig is surveillance, right? Mainstreet is about who’s behind NIME.
That’s all you need to do, okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Mac. ‘But just so you know what’s happening up here.’
‘Roger that.’
Mac signed off and turned to Diane, who sat cross-legged on the sofa reading an in-hotel magazine.
‘I need more on Vitogiannis - sorry, I mean Michael,’ he said.
‘Really, Richard?’
‘Yeah, he looks sporty. You might like to lure him into some ten nis perhaps? Maybe nine holes of golf? I’ll even let you win; that might fascinate him.’
‘It’ll have to be tennis. I haven’t played golf for eighteen months because of my shoulder.’
‘He’s having a lunch meeting with NIME right about now,’ said Mac, checking the time. ‘And I said I’d catch up with them for pre-dinners at the lagoon bar.’
‘So I’m doing the afternoon shift?’
‘Pre-dinners too, if that’s how it’s heading,’ said Mac, smiling.
‘What do we want from him?’ asked Diane.
Mac thought about it. ‘Dreams and ambitions. I’m interested to know where
he sees himself in fi ve years’ time.’
‘Dreams, huh? The man or the money?’
‘With blokes, it’s the same thing.’
They rode in the back of the S-class, taking a stop-start journey into downtown. The traffi c went from bad to worse in Jakarta and Edwin held forth about it.
‘When I come from Manila ten year ago, Jakarta is mad and crazy, but still you can get around. But now -‘ He held his hands up in the Asian shrug as they came to another stop.
‘What about the BusWay, Edwin?’ asked Mac, referring to the Jakarta bus system where buses had their own lane - the idea being that if the buses had an express lane and priority at intersections, it would encourage car owners into public transport.
‘It good idea,’ said Edwin, ‘but this is Jakarta. People see empty bus lane and they drive in it.’
Diane and Mac laughed. Jakarta was like that.
‘Yesterday, I am driving hotel guest and other driver has tried to get over the kerb, into bus lane! But he get car stuck on concrete divider and so no bus can get down BusWay lane! And there traffi c jam in his car lane!’
Diane giggled.
‘So two POLRI come, scratch head. Ten POLRI come, scratching head. Not knowing. So I get out of this car,’ he said, gesturing to the dashboard, ‘and I yelling, Push the car off the divider! And fi nally, they pushing it off, and by now there twelve bus waiting to go through.’
Edwin shook his head, sighed. ‘Jakarta is like diffi cult woman.’
They dropped Diane outside one of the huge shopping emporia and took off. Mac hadn’t wanted her walking around Jakarta on her own while they were doing an op, but she showed him the little chromed Colt Defender she had in her clutch bag and it made him feel better. Besides, Mac had an appointment with someone he didn’t want Diane knowing about.
Alan McQueen - 02 - Second Strike Page 21