Was he being offered a private deal? The Virgin had never been offered the opportunity of being corrupt, and had always assumed it only happened to other people. Not that there was any real chance here. The documentation involved in getting anything onto the boat would make it impossible. “My boss will want a letter of credit.”
“No problem. Letter of credit, even on a British bank. Just get us this chemical and we will pay you very much.”
This was sounding more and more peculiar. No Arab in the world negotiated this way. The price seemed to be irrelevant. It sounded all too fishy. “I’ll talk to my boss about it.”
“Very good,” said Zella. “We will wait. You must tell him we are from Security. Then he will want to co-operate.”
“You are from Security?”
“No. We are from the Army. Special Security Operations. Do not worry. If we say we can pay, you can believe. Now, please telephone.”
Intrigued, The Virgin reached for the telephone. He dialled and the connection failed. He put the phone on automatic and, as he kept pressing Redial, he read the photocopy. The material was listed as flammable and had a vapour hazard. And heavy; a specific gravity of 1.28. No problem. It could travel as deck cargo if the vapour hazard made it necessary. Two thousand litres was ten drums. Three pallets. A small consignment compared with what they normally handled. Still, he did not want the problems of getting some-one else’s chemicals through Customs.
“Could we deliver it FOB?’
“FOB? I do not understand.”
“Free on board. It means we ship it to Sabah and you handle the Customs and the rest.”
“Of course. As soon as it comes to Sabah, we will send a truck and take it from your boat.” Zella made it sound so easy but then, perhaps it would be easy for them. The Virgin shivered at the thought of anyone taking a shipment from the vessel out through the harbour gate without the long, tedious paperwork and negotiation that Abdul did day after day. If they understood what they were talking about, these men had real power.
The telephone clicked into life, and there was Harris barking at the other end. “What’s up, Greg? What have you sold this week?”
“I have two gentlemen from Security here. They want to buy some tetra-ethylene disulphide?”
“What the hell’s that? Do we sell it?”
“No, we don’t. But they want us to get some and sell it to them.”
“How are they paying? I’m not taking any Government orders without cash up front.”
“Letter of credit.”
“Oh yes?” Harris was interested. Letters of credit were as rare as hen’s teeth in Tabriz. “Irrevocable, major European bank?”
“Yes. They say we can even have folding dollars, or a bank transfer if we want.”
“Who are these guys? How much do they want? They’re not just blowing smoke up your backside, are they? Hey, you don’t have me on the speaker phone, do you?” Harris knew enough to be polite to customers, if not to his staff.
“They want two thousand litres. Ten drums. It’s some kind of solvent so I guess it will be pretty high value.”
“OK. You chase it, and get back to me. I’ll fix the price. And warn them; I’ll want that letter of credit in my hands and verified before I lift a finger. Anything else?”
“No. Nothing else.”
“OK. Keep me posted.” Harris rang off as he spoke, in keeping with his carefully polished image of being continuously busy.
“Good, gentlemen,” The Virgin had begun to enjoy himself. “He says we can do business. But first I must check with the suppliers and then I’ll give you a price.”
Both of them beamed and Major Jamal took over. “Very good. I’m glad you’re able to help. I can give you the address and telephone from the catalogue. I’ll telephone you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? This going to take time. My direct line is cut and you can spend all day waiting for the overseas operator. Make it a week.”
“You have a problem with your telephone? What is the number and I’ll have it repaired.” Major Jamal obviously knew the right people.
“It’s not exactly a problem. Just the usual. They forced us to pay ten thousand dollars to have a direct line connected, and after three months they cut it off and said it was Government policy for foreign companies not to have direct lines. I wish it was Government policy to pay back the money.”
Major Jamal laughed. “The money, no. That I cannot do. But I can re-connect your line today. You will see. For Military Security, anything is possible.”
“And my passport?”
He was all smiles. “Certainly. You can have it now.” Zella put it into The Virgin’s bewildered hand. “Don’t worry about the tax office. I will tell them that it is no problem.”
When they had gone, The Virgin sat behind his desk and thought about what he had just heard. Whoever they were, these people obviously had uncommon authority. Just the business of the passport was enough to show that. And as for connecting the international telephone line, if that happened he would know he was in touch with the very top of the Tabrizi power structure.
Abdul came in diffidently. “There is a problem?”
“No. No, thank God. They just want us to ship in some special solvent for them.”
“That is all? Those people are very bad, you know. Very, very strong.”
“They said they would re-connect our direct line. Do you reckon they could do that?”
Abdul had no doubt at all. “For those men, anything is possible,” he said firmly.
An hour later, the telephone beeped and fell silent. Still doubting, he dialled his parents’ number in England. On the second attempt he got through. He spoke to another planet. The trees had been stripped bare by an Atlantic storm and there was another waiting its turn in the Western Approaches. His father had just finished stacking a truck-load of firewood behind the garage, and mother had been to the market that morning. He could picture the bitter grey wind blowing across bare fields. What they most wanted to know was when he would be visiting. The Virgin did not want to tell them that his carefully accumulated field-break would be spent in Thailand, sitting under the coconut palms and playing with little brown girls. England in winter offered no competition.
The address Zella had given him was in Poole Harbour, Dorset. Karelia Specialist Chemicals. He decided to fax his request to save being passed from phone to phone until he found some-one he could talk to. The fax went straight through. It was amazing what the Telecom department could do if it felt the need.
The office was quiet now. Abdul finished work at half past two every day and The Virgin spent the rest of the day alone. He decided to run out to RomDril-1. Terry was having trouble planning the displacement of the cement. Any normal rig would have had no problems. MacAllans would pump the cement into the well casing and then the rig pumps would kick in to displace it with mud all the way down the casing and back up the outside. A big job like this one needed the high pump rate that the rig pumps could give. The MacAllans cement unit could only displace in these conditions at around eight barrels a minute, and that would take far too long. There would be a good chance of the cement setting up before it had all been forced out of the casing and back up the annulus between the casing and the hole wall.
The operation should have been straight forward. The only requirement was that the rig should keep a close watch on the volume of mud it pumped so that they pumped the casing contents and no more. RomDril-1 was not a bad rig, bought brand new from the USA only four years previously. The difficulty was that RomDril was still a Romanian government company, and simply would not release hard currency for spare parts. And who would sell to RomDril without hard currency in advance? There were hardly any spares available and RomDril-1’s stock of emergency equipment was laughable. So when the mud pump stroke counters had broken down, they stayed that way. They now had no way of measuring pump rates or volumes except by dipping the rig tanks with a measuring tape and calculating volumes.
<
br /> Terry was trying to get his demands for working equipment over to the tool-pusher, but the man spoke no English. The camp cook, who doubled as interpreter, was doing his best but they all knew it was a hopeless case. RomDril offered low daily rig rates. If you wanted a cheap rig, then you got the cheap service that went along with it. It always cost more in the long run than an American or Canadian drilling rig, but Tabriz was one of the few places in the world where people really believed that you could buy something both good and cheap.
The only solution would be another MacAllans pump unit to double the displacement capacity. Then all Terry had to organise was a four-inch delivery line to send mud over to the cement units from the rig pressurising centrifugals. The Virgin had to promise him a four-inch tapping and butterfly valve so the rig welder could modify their system. The extra unit would add another twenty-five thousand dollars to the job, so the desert would be pleased. He paced out the length of hose they would need. It was a long way from the pressurising pumps to the cement unit on the other side of the location.
He left Terry to yet another rubber chicken dinner and headed for town. The craziness of the evening rush into town was just starting. All the male Sabah residents seemed to meet in town between five and eight o’clock, and the evening roads were bedlam as a result. The Virgin decided it would be safe to visit Danka and find out what had been happening. Danka looked a little embarrassed to see him, but made him welcome none the less.
The Virgin dived straight in. “I heard you’ve been having trouble with the Army.”
” Boże! Every day they are coming and making trouble. Now Doctor Farouk tell them not to come any more. What I tell them? They know that the soldiers did not stay. They taken away before even I could get doctor to examine them. Enough! I not talk any more about them. Have you heard from Dov?”
The Virgin winced and held a finger to his lips. “Forget it! Forget him too. If they ever find out...”
“I not forget him as easily like that. He very good in bed. But now I have my period so I cannot come with you tonight.”
The Virgin almost choked on his coffee. All nurses were impossible but this was eccentric at least. “I didn’t come for that! I just wanted to see if you were alright. Really.”
She gave him a condescending smile. “I know what you like, Virgin. I come with you next week, no trouble. I cook dinner and we watch blue videos and make love on sofa. It will be very good, yes?”
- 5 -
Major Jamal called next day but The Virgin had nothing to tell him. He sent another fax to chase the first. When he opened the office the following morning he was greeted by two faxes. The first was from Karelia Chemicals.
Dear Mr Cartwright,
Thank you for your query. We will be pleased to make a quotation for the requested material, but as we have a limited stock at present we will not be able to give a firm price and delivery date for another two or three days.
Looking forward to contacting you at that time,
The signature was illegible. Oh, well. Major Jamal would have to wait.
The second fax looked far more interesting - from London office. From the Marketing Department.
Regional Marketing Manager will meet with you soonest. Please catch absolutely first flight and telex us exact flight details. Check in at the Rutland Hotel, Portman Place. Bring a suit. Have cleared this with Harris.
Have a good trip,
Heather
Heather was the marketing manager’s secretary, and at that instant very high on The Virgin’s list of loveable women. Anyone who sent invitations like that had to be wonderful. The question of what the meeting would be about was secondary. If they had wanted any preparation, they would have said so. Perhaps they would transfer him from Tabriz to somewhere exciting. The Virgin told himself he did not mind where they transferred him, as long as the telephones worked.
He set himself to checking off what might be possible. If everything went well, he should be able to catch next morning’s flight to Crete. Crete/Athens could be a touch difficult, but it would be easy to reach London once he had made it that far. The first leg was the hardest - getting out of Tabriz. He took his passport from the safe; Hamdullah! At least Almadi had remembered to get him an exit/re-entry visa stamp before they lodged the passport with the tax office. So he could get out of Sabah, if he could find a seat.
Would there be time for Jimmy Risou in Heraklion to issue a PTA and telex it to the Olympic office in Sabah? No foreign company paid for its tickets in dinars, as the official exchange rate meant taking a hit on their dollar balance sheets for enough money to fly around the world first class. Much better to set up an account with a Heraklion agent and pay for the tickets outside. He made for the telex and punched the 120+ code for the operator. The machine spat ‘MOM’ at him and continued to hum. The Virgin made a coffee while he waited. He was surprised to see his hand shaking as he added the sugar.
The telex did not come to life until he was half-way through his call to the desert. He dropped the telephone and ran for the telex.
He rattled off the standard formula. ‘Good morning my friend pls connect me with Greece 20155++’. The telex spat another ‘MOM’ and went on humming. He felt a sudden urge to urinate but going to the toilet was impossible; he would miss his line for sure if he did. He sat down and started to make a shopping list. Opportunities to shop ‘outside’ came rarely. He looked forward to going to a supermarket, and to buying clothes that did not fall apart at the first wash.
Dental floss
Deodorant
Warm shirts (2)
Malt extract and hops
New shoes
Guitar strings
Christmas presents for girlfriends
Squash balls
What else? Most of his fantasies involved things he could not bring in, like girlie magazines or bacon. Or soft cheese and real wine. Perhaps he could get a digital short-wave radio to pick up the BBC for world news. The one he used now drove him mad with its poor reception. London was not very cheap for electronics compared to Canada or the States, but at least things were available. He was still chewing his pencil half an hour later when the telex restarted ‘ GO AHEAD AFTER ANSWERBACK YOU ARE CONNECTED’ and he was through to Jimmy Risou’s office.
Step one completed, The Virgin checked his watch. It was twenty past eight already. If he was lucky, the Olympic office would be open by the time he got there. Rabka, the secretary/book-keeper, was late as usual so if he went out now the office would be empty and the telephone unanswered. Never mind; he stuck a yellow excuse note to the door and locked up.
In the streets the morning rush hour was at its lethargic maximum. Any office that really worked should have started at least half an hour ago but people were still driving to work. He decided to walk; it would probably be quicker and it would give Olympic a chance to open before he arrived.
They had two surprises for him. Firstly Jimmy Risou had already got the PTA through; secondly, someone had made a reservation in his name right through to London and back. He would be there for two days and three nights. It could only have been Heather in the London office taking a chance. A bit silly of her not to mention it in her fax, but who was complaining? Within ten minutes The Virgin had a ticket in his hand and was standing on the pavement feeling disoriented. Things just did not happen that fast in Tabriz.
The rest of the day passed in a similar daze. Harris sounded grudging and warned him not to think of spending any week-ends at home, and to hurry back as soon as he could. Over the telephone Major Jamal seemed to shrug his shoulders and accept the situation with Islamic resignation. Bill Gordon gave him some mail to carry out and asked for some chewing tobacco. He paid a courtesy call on Suleiman Busify, Bill’s Tabrizi boss. He was as politely welcoming as always and discreetly kept the conversation away from anything to do with the technical side of drilling. His main concern was a Mothercare catalogue that he hoped The Virgin would be able to pick up from the big store in Oxfor
d Street. All married Tabrizis had very large families and they liked to cherish them.
He found himself at home with everything packed by nine in the evening. He took a long bath to make the time pass and went to bed with a notepad on the bedside table in case he thought of any additions to the Shopping List. Compact discs. Tough running shoes for the winter Hashes. Coffee filters and real coffee. Disposable razors. Something for Evelina to show he still cared, and nothing for Danka to show he did not. He slept badly, waking several times in the small hours to check the clock.
Chaos ruled at the airport. For some reason the check-in never opened until an hour before the plane was due to arrive, by which time most of the passengers were already standing in what passed for the queue. Standing in line was a habit that Tabriz had yet to acquire. A heavy grill separated the passengers from the empty check-in counter. Around it stood a crowd of the people who were lucky enough or rich enough to travel outside. The young single men with cheap suitcases and ski-coats were going to attend a course of one sort or another. They had won the highest reward a Government employee could hope for. An overseas course was a prize that meant a few giddy months with a dollar salary in countries where alcohol and women were freely available. Many of the courses were funded by clever contractors who had included customised client training in contract bids. No contractor could afford to be too hard on its clients, so schedules were light and assessments generously reflected aspirations rather than achievements. The prize of an overseas course was doled out to people with influence or the right connections and here they were, confused, wide-eyed and frightened.
The rest of the Tabrizis were in small family groups; father with one or two fat wives in head-scarves and just a couple of kids. It was not possible to take the whole tribe along every time, so for children the trips were rationed. The Virgin found himself wondering again exactly what the sleeping arrangements would be. Do they take a room for the kids and a room for the adults? If so, where do the wives sleep? Do they double up with their husband, or does the spare wife stay with the children. Looking at the size of them, he found it hard to imagine that the adults would all fit in a normal double bed. And as for who did what and to whom, it was beyond speculation.
The Accidental Spy Page 5