Damnation
Page 19
‘Who are you?’ Fatima said.
‘That doesn’t matter. I’m not important. But if you get in we’ll drive you to the Parker Hotel and I’ll tell you.’
Fatima glanced at Winter and he nodded. They walked around the car. Winter opened the back door for Fatima and then got into the passenger seat. The security locks of the doors clicked, the window closed, the internal lights went out and the car set off silently.
Winter turned around and saw the two men watch the car drive away.
The man behind him said, ‘Smith. Deputy Director of the National Security Agency and responsible for coordinating all operations in the Middle East.’
Smith leaned back and addressed Fatima in Arabic. Winter couldn’t understand a word. All he heard were the names Orafin, Kaddour and Port Said. The discussion between Fatima and the NSA man went back and forth, like their question and answer game in the Italian restaurant. Fatima was feisty, shaking her head vigorously a few times. In the fast flow of the Arabic discussion the word ‘Winter’ suddenly cropped up and the NSA man asked in English, ‘Are you Mr Winter?’
Winter nodded. ‘Most of the time.’
‘Would you mind showing me your passport?’
They glided through the evening traffic. The man had assumed that Winter understood Arabic. Winter wondered whether he should invoke his civil rights and refuse. The image of orange-clad prisoners in Guantánamo flashed through his mind. Winter didn’t want a confrontation. He removed his passport from his inside pocket and Smith inspected it with practised eyes and hands.
‘May I ask in what capacity you’ve come to the United States?’
‘I’m here for the shopping.’
‘Don’t make jokes.’
‘The dollar’s at a good rate at the moment.’
Fatima looked at him sternly and then explained, ‘Mr Winter is helping me with security issues.’
Winter hadn’t been aware of that, but he didn’t feel any need to be specific. He even felt flattered somehow. He’d learned that you don’t get any answers without questions and so said, ‘And what are you doing?’
‘We’re protecting the American people and making the United States more secure. We pay particular attention to the financial flows of terrorist networks. No money, no attacks. We have reason to believe that Orafin has moved large sums of money to the United States and my agency is keen to see that these are invested according to the law.’
‘Do you have any proof that Orafin is working with terrorists?’
‘No, at the moment we just have a few suspicions. But prevention is better than cure. And what we’re doing here is prevention.’
‘Okay. So you’re abducting innocent tourists?’ Winter said, turning around and looking Smith in the eye. The NSA man was unruffled; he wasn’t going to succumb to provocation. He had the tunnel vision of the determined hunter on a mission. ‘I’m sure you heard about the sinking of the oil rig in Nova Scotia,’ he said patiently. ‘The cutter the terrorists used is registered in Port Said and originally belonged to a trading company that Orafin has a share in.’
Fatima stated vehemently, ‘Many of our exports go via Port Said. Orafin has over a hundred investments. That’s a sign of long-term thinking. We want ours and the partners’ goals aligned.’
Winter listened with interest. Smith had probably found out that Fatima had arrived in the US. As the CEO of Orafin she was on a watch list. Maybe the US immigration authorities had even used one of Ben’s programmes. Fatima entered the country and Smith was taking the opportunity to have a discreet, informal chat with Orafin’s new CEO. One of the lessons of 9/11 was that America’s contacts in the Arab world were inadequate. ‘The American people have a right to security,’ he heard Smith say.
‘Are you a nationalist or a capitalist?’ Fatima asked.
When Smith didn’t reply immediately she said, ‘I hope the Americans have nothing against the free flow of capital and still believe in the power of the market.’
She’s shrewd, Winter thought. But clearly Smith had no desire to get embroiled in a political discussion. The Lexus drove past the market, stopping at the same red light where Winter had waited a few hours earlier.
Striking a conciliatory tone Smith said, ‘Please don’t get me wrong. We’re trying to get to the bottom of the attack on the oil platform and prevent the next terrorist atrocity. For that we need to employ all means at our disposal.’
Winter could understand him. He didn’t care for political discussions either. He was a pragmatist. In every democracy, political show-fighting was a necessary evil to demonstrate power. And it was a hundred times better than war.
‘One of these means is a good partnership with open-minded forces around the world,’ Smith went on. He smiled at Fatima and gave both her and Winter a business card. ‘If you want to talk to me you can get me on this number 24/7.’ On the card with the NSA logo was the name ‘Smith’ and below it a telephone number. Nothing else.
The car pulled up outside the hotel, the security mechanisms of the door clicked and Winter said ironically, ‘Thanks for the ride.’
‘My pleasure.’
Reflecting on the responsibility weighing down on Smith’s shoulders, Winter added seriously, ‘And best of luck with the hunt.’ They shook hands and Winter fancied he saw the hint of a grateful smile.
They got out and the Lexus glided away, vanishing into the night-time traffic.
Fatima and Winter stood outside the hotel, looking at each other for a moment. Winter shook his head and took a deep breath.
‘Nice man.’ Fatima said sarcastically.
‘What did he want?’ Winter said. ‘I didn’t completely understand the conversation in Arabic.’
The liveried doorman, a gigantic, elderly, black man, opened the door and they entered the hotel lobby.
‘Unofficial access to Orafin’s books,’ Fatima explained. ‘Because of the attack in Nova Scotia. And I told him, “Over my dead body”.’
She realized what she’d just said and Winter tried to defuse the situation. ‘At least we saved ourselves the taxi fare.’ But Smith had succeeded in thoroughly ruining the relaxed mood of the evening.
Fatima and Winter said nothing as they waited for the lift with other hotel guests. Winter suddenly felt how tired he was. His body was craving sleep.
They entered the room. The double bed had been turned down and on both pillows lay a small box with three Lindt & Sprüngli chocolates. The same ones Anne had given to Al-Bader. This supposedly sweet greeting had a bitter aftertaste.
Fatima darted into the bathroom. Winter got undressed, climbed under the covers, crossed his hands behind his head and stretched his back. He could feel the effects of the long flight and a lack of exercise. Maybe he’d go for a jog in the morning. He relaxed, let his thoughts meander and fell asleep immediately.
Rather than go to bed, Fatima stuck her USB stick into the laptop and started working through her encrypted emails. She organized a meeting with Orafin’s head of finance and sent him a list of detailed questions. She invited the owner of Port Said’s shipyard to Cairo. Then she concentrated on the precise wording of the letter of intent for the nuclear power station. The devil was in the detail – what goals were realistic in Egypt? How could they distribute the risk optimally? How could the investors’ needs be reconciled with the needs of the constructors of the nuclear power station? Fatima was confident of moving a stage further tomorrow.
Occasionally she peered at Winter through the crack in the sliding door but she didn’t stop what she was doing.
AUGUST 2 – 05:07
Winter woke from his deep sleep shortly after five in the morning, his internal clock still set to European time. The heavy curtains were almost totally drawn. Only in one narrow strip of light could he see dust particles dancing. Someone ought to give this room a deep clean sometime.
Turning his head, his nose was caught up in Fatima’s hair. The hilly landscape of the heavy duvet beside him rose and s
ank slowly. She was sleeping soundly. Winter lay back and closed his eyes.
After a while he got up and put on some jogging shorts, a T-shirt and his running shoes. On a hotel notepad he wrote, ‘Good morning, Fatima. I’ve gone for a jog and am looking forward to having breakfast together.’ He closed the door to their suite quietly behind him, left the hotel via a side exit and set off.
Winter loved the early mornings. The air was fresh. The sun slanted between the red-brick houses and reflected in the puddles. He overtook a slow, street-cleaning vehicle and ran across Boston Common. The ground was springy and his joints and thoughts limbered up. A flock of ducks took flight; a young terrier chased fruitlessly after them. A group of Chinese people were practising Tai Chi.
He crossed the glittering Charles River via a narrow pedestrian bridge, passed the Massachusetts Institute of Technology and after half an hour reached Harvard University’s boathouse. He turned away from the river and passed several libraries and research institutes before arriving at the campus. Soon, perhaps, one of these buildings would be named after Al-Bader. How many millions of dollars did you have to donate to have a building called after you?
Winter had committed to memory the address and location of the Pyramid Investment Partners HQ. Another two hundred metres. The symbiosis between university and private business functioned geographically too. Leaving the campus he came to a quiet side street containing two rows of old, three-storey town houses, each with a narrow strip of front yard.
The place was home to medical specialists, lawyers, financial advisers and PR agencies with meaningless made-up names. The entrance to a plastic surgeon’s was decorated with a marble Aphrodite. A street for rich people. A man carrying a large bag was delivering copies of the Boston Globe.
The HQ of Pyramid Investment Partners did not stand out. An elegant sign with a pyramid logo. In front of it a few square metres of white gravel. Vertical slats screened off the windows. No one to be seen.
The street was lined with expensive cars on both sides. In the last parking place was a grey Lexus with a man inside on the phone. Winter jogged past slowly. The bonnet wasn’t radiating any warmth. From the corner of his eye Winter could see a small map with an officious eagle logo on top of the dashboard, and a camera with telephoto lens in the driver’s lap. No personal items. Company car. The driver could monitor the comings and goings in the street. Someone kept an eye on the area.
Winter turned around and ran back, his mind whirring. What were the authorities hoping for by keeping an eye on Pyramid Investment Partners? Ben had warned him that Al-Bader was on America’s list of terrorists. But why hadn’t Smith, the NSA man, said anything about Al-Bader yesterday evening? What did Smith know of the helicopter crash? As he jogged back to the hotel Winter tried to make sense of it all.
***
The alarm was shrill. It got louder for a few seconds, before subsiding and beginning all over again. It hurt his ears and Winter was pleased that he hadn’t been startled from his sleep by such a siren. Whoever had come up with this noise must have been an experienced torturer who knew the precise frequency at which the human ear suffered most.
Winter saw Fatima, her eyes closed, grope for her mobile phone and blindly switch off the alarm. He opened the curtains energetically and sunlight flooded the suite.
Eyes half-shut still, Fatima sat up amongst the claret cushions. In the sun her silk lingerie shone the colour of sand. She opened her eyes properly. Physically she was all there, but not quite yet mentally. She put her phone back down.
‘A wonderfully beautiful morning.’
‘Winter?’ Looking at him against the light, she grimaced. ‘What’s happened? I mean your T-shirt.’
Winter peered down at the sweaty fabric. ‘I went for a little morning jog.’ He pulled the T-shirt over his head and took a half-litre bottle of mineral water from the minibar. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Reasonably well, but somehow it’s almost too quiet for me here.’ She laughed.
Winter thirstily drank half of the bottle of Evian, refilled it with orange juice and shook his isotonic cocktail on the way to the bathroom. He returned with a towel and sat in one of the armchairs. ‘It was quite peaceful along the Charles River this morning too.’
Leaning back against the headboard and cushions, Fatima watched Winter alternate between rehydrating and wiping the sweat from his neck.
Standing up, he said, ‘I’m going to take a shower.’
The bathroom was as large as his bedroom back home. Too lavish. Too much marble. And the old-fashioned, mock-gold fittings were impractical. Winter took a long shower. With cold water first, then hot. The shower itself was modern with a drencher head. As Winter let the water pelt down on his body, for a second he imagined Fatima in there with him.
After a while he turned off the water, stepped out of the wet room and felt for a large bath towel. The room was a steam bath, the mirror fogged up. Winter wiped the water from his eyes and dried himself. What would today bring? Should he shave or could he leave his stubble? With the palm of his hand he cleared part of the mirror and decided that it could wait. He opened out his arms, threw the towel over his head and massaged his back diagonally.
When he looked in the mirror again he saw Fatima behind him. She was standing at the other end of the bathroom, eyeing him in the mirror. He stopped. How long had she been standing there?
They gazed at each other in the mirror. And then Fatima went to stand behind Winter, her body almost touching his. He had never felt so naked. For a moment Winter thought about resisting. But then he knew he wouldn’t.
It was quite some time before they were sated.
AUGUST 2 – 07:33
Winter ordered breakfast to their room. Plenty of strong coffee, fresh orange juice, muesli, toast and fruit. He told Fatima about the grey Lexus and they began planning their visit to Pyramid Investment Partners. Ten minutes later came a knock at the door and at the same time Fatima’s mobile rang, this time the honking of a ship’s horn.
Winter opened the door and a waiter rolled in the breakfast trolley. Meanwhile Fatima took the call with a ‘Hello’ and started an animated discussion in Arabic. After the waiter had left with his tip, Fatima said, ‘That was Al-Bader’s younger brother. He’s in Paris. He’s not coming today because he’s afraid of being arrested in America.’
They had breakfast.
‘Pyramid Investment Partners rang him yesterday, advising him not to come. He doesn’t want to take any risks until the situation has been defused. His lawyers here in the States are attending to the matter and will probably demand certain guarantees. Although he didn’t say anything I got the impression he’s pretty furious.’
‘So what’s going to happen with the letter of intent for the financing?’
‘We’ll keep going. The younger Al-Bader has authorized Professor Farmer to continue discussions. The professor will meet us.’
‘The professor?’
‘He’s the chief executive here.’
‘Did you tell Al-Bader that Pyramid Investment Partners is under surveillance?’
‘Yes. And he wasn’t in the least surprised.’ Sarcastically, she added, ‘He thinks it fits the bill. With the help of federal agencies American competitors are putting all possible obstacles in his way. In America the free world only works for white people of the true faith.’
Winter didn’t reply. To some extent he could understand the American security authorities. Nobody wanted to see nuclear technology fall into the wrong hands, or extremists directing money into dubious channels with the help of businesspeople.
Irritated by Winter’s silence, Fatima flashed her eyes angrily at him.
Fortunately, the ship’s horn sounded again. ‘Hello? – Nice to hear from you, Professor.’ Fatima nodded a few times and repeated his words: ‘Okay, Prudential Tower, nine o’clock. I’m very much looking forward to meeting you.’ She hung up and said, ‘The professor’s collecting us in his helicopter.’
Fatima came out of the bathroom smartly dressed, with a subtle application of make-up. She closed her laptop and took out the USB stick. She was ready.
They left the hotel via a side exit and Winter hailed a taxi. They drove in silence through the slow-moving morning traffic. After ten minutes they arrived at the Prudential Tower, paid, and took the lift to the twenty-fifth floor.
As they were a little early they had a look at Boston from the viewing deck. Thanks to the overnight rain the air was clear and in the distance they could make out the port and the sea.
At nine o’clock they went to the viewing deck reception. The helicopter with the professor had just landed. An obliging employee showed them through a door and in the corridor beyond a man came towards them. ‘What a wonderful day. Please excuse the change of schedule at short notice.’
The professor was wearing a black windcheater, had a deep tan and was one of those people with a permanent smile on their face.
They shook hands in the narrow corridor and exchanged the usual pleasantries. Fatima again introduced Winter as her security adviser. Then they climbed some metal steps, opened another door and hurried, ducking, to the waiting helicopter, its rotors turning. The gusty wind ruffled their clothes and Fatima’s hair flew around.
Winter recalled the video images – imprinted indelibly on his mind – of Anne and Al-Bader’s transfer at Zürich Airport. The professor opened the rear cockpit door and they climbed in. The pilot ignored them and even before they’d fastened their belts and put on the headphones dangling from the ceiling they were in the air.
The Robinson Raven tilted forwards and accelerated. The street canyons of Boston quickly got smaller. They turned and flew in a north-westerly direction. When the helicopter had reached its air lane the professor’s voice came through the headphones. ‘Once again, a very warm welcome to you both on behalf of Pyramid Investment Partners. Given the particular circumstances I took it upon myself to shift the location of our meeting.’