“Who was the person Dimitri?”
“Ya nechevo ne znayu, Amina Desai.” He stood up, turned and left the restaurant. He did not look back.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and a few minutes later was surprised to see a tall figure walking towards her table. It was Shallal.
“Where did you come from?” she asked him.
“Mina, Mina, there’s very little that you do without my seeing it.”
“Tony, that’s truly comforting. Have a drink?”
“I don’t, if you recall. And I think that maybe you’ve had enough. Would you like a lift home?”
“No, it’s still early. Margot Blatz has the children. I need to think, so I’ll drink my coffee and walk downtown.”
“May I join you? I think we need to talk,” he said, a little more caringly than his usual sarcastic manner.
“Tony, we have nothing personal to talk about and I’m not in the mood for business.”
“We have a child, Mina. That’s personal enough, I think.”
“Ah yes, the penny finally dropped.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t stay in touch and I didn’t need your help. I didn’t want to force you into being noble. You didn’t come back and I thought that was it.”
“I would like to play an active role in my daughter’s life.”
“Sorry. That’s not possible. I’m getting married. He will adopt your daughter and my son. There’s no room for two fathers. I don’t need the complications and she doesn’t need the confusion. My children will have one father and it will be the same man. It’s my decision and you are not recorded on her birth certificate. Case closed. Please understand me Tony, I cared about you. I thought perhaps I was in love. You love your work and I more than most understand that. But I want a home, stability and a career and I have found a good, decent man who loves me.”
“But do you love him?”
“I love me, Tony and I like him a lot. Good night.” And getting up, she walked to the bar and found her waiter. She asked for the bill which, to her surprise she discovered had already been settled by Dimitri Schulkin. Without looking back she walked into the night.
CHAPTER NINETY-THREE
Over the next few days Emily thought about Schulkin’s revelation in the context of his last sarcastic comment, the translation of which, she remembered from her classes in Russian culture meant simply, “I don’t know anything.” Clearly Ulla had given her a warning. Verena had been killed by the British, perhaps more specifically by Wilfred de Crecy with or without the knowledge of his superiors. Unless Emily had been completely misled by the Russians, which was also possible, de Crecy was a mole. Emily did not want to pursue this further. She had two children to raise and a life ahead of her. A life that didn’t need the additional complication of accusing a member of the British nobility of being a killer working for the Russians. She would take Schulkin’s advice and let it go. But what of Verena, she pondered. No doubt she would have understood the dilemma. Of course, she thought, a doctored report to Colonel Beresford stating that Ulla had left the country and that she had enjoyed the company of Dr. Schulkin was in order, but there would no additional information forthcoming
It was also in her best interest not to accept any remuneration from the British. In fact, she now believed it was time to close down her office permanently, as quickly as possible. Then she could go ahead and meet Harrison in Holland. Sadly, Margot Blatz was reluctant to accompany them and kindly volunteered to take care of the cat and puppy for a few days instead. When they returned Emily would pack their belongings and arrange transportation to America, once their immigration applications had cleared. She contacted the Ansaris and told them she would be in Holland soon before visiting them at their duty station in Paris. They surprised her by saying they were being recalled to Lebanon and that they would be taking a short break in Afghanistan. This announcement was followed by and invitation to spend a month with them at their home in Herat and they could certainly fly out of Kabul and back to Beirut with her. Perhaps, they had suggested, Aunt Jack would like to accompany her.
Emily left Heidelberg for Amsterdam and her meeting with Harrison. The suite at the Amsterdam Park Hotel was perfect and the children settled in without a problem. They spent a little time reacquainting themselves with Harrison, who popped in briefly on his first day before leaving for his meeting with a new client named, strangely enough, Mr. Orchid. Orchid, Harrison told Emily, was representing the Saudis who wanted advice on setting up an online processing system that would accept satellite experiment data, process it and store trillion of bits of information. Harrison had worked on a similar project for NASA the previous year and was acting as a consultant. He mentioned to Emily that he hoped to promote a joint venture with two of the nation’s leading high tech corporations using Saudi as a base and then perhaps expanding to Iran and later throughout the Middle East. This was the first step, he told her in promoting a global economy. Orchid represented some of the leading nouveu riche in the Middle East and had ties within construction and engineering conglomerates worldwide.
“Some of the new oil millionaires are entering the political arena,” he confided in Emily. “The Saudi Royals are getting the best contractors in the Middle East to design, build and maintain roadwork. The entire infrastructure is being revised. Not to mention computerizing the kingdom’s oil and gas businesses and the refineries. The entire nation is being brought up to date through telecommunication. This is a marvelous opportunity for Cowan Industries from every standpoint, from computer design to security systems.”
Emily agreed with him wholeheartedly. Now was the time to get in on the ground floor and modernize the Middle East. She saw Harrison’s enthusiasm when he returned later that evening and she had no doubt that the meeting had been successful. He met with representatives from The Saudi Binladen Group, the most influential construction company in the Middle East. He had, several months ago, asked her to research the company, its assets and corporate executives and she had completed the lengthy assignment just a few weeks ago.
“They are big, Emily, I mean really, really big and they’re in like flint with Saudi Royalty,” Harrison told Emily as he poured himself a strong Glenfiddich. “In that report you did for me, you said they began as a business enterprise of Mohammed Bin Oud bin Laden, who was, if my memory serves me, a Yemeni builder by trade, who came to the attention of the late King Abdel Aziz ibn Saud.”
“Good grief Cowan, you should have memorized all this stuff before you went to meet the Saudis, not check it out afterwards! You don’t pay a lot of attention to the reports you get do you?” Emily filled her own glass. Now that the children had gone to sleep, she could also unwind a little.
“As I recall, Harrison,” she began, “and here is what you should remember for future reference; Mohammed Bin Oud bin Laden was from Hadramount in the Yemen. He was dirt poor and illiterate, but reputed to be a very conservative and somewhat austere Wahhabi Muslim who went to Saudi in 1932 looking for work to support his growing family.” She whirled the vintage scotch around as she talked, gulping it greedily in between sentences. “This fellow interests me greatly Harrison, because, frankly, outside of my grandfather this is the only genuine rags to riches story I’ve ever heard.” She went on, “When bin Laden first got to Saudi he worked as a porter and a general laborer to make ends meet. All this reminds me of Grandfather Desai, really it does! All he had was his faith in God, an amazing gift of designing and building as well as perhaps the most incredible luck and timing I’ve ever heard of. He eventually founded a small construction company and began to undercut the biddings of his rivals. But he lived up to his promises and beautifully restored some of the most ancient landmarks in the kingdom. He came to the attention of enough people who gave him fantastic recommendations to King Abdelazzis Ibn Saud. King Saud then gave him a massive contract, which led to other deals. We’re talking about all rights of restoration here, for the oldest an
d most damaged mosques and Islamic religious sites, Mecca, Medina, and until 1967, Jerusalem.”
Emily fixed herself another drink and continued, “The Bin Ladens did a magnificent job of designing and building a palace in Jiddah that was so spectacular they were loaded with new contracts afterwards. Bin Laden, the elder, had that personal touch, you see; he cared about his customers, he always took the time! An example here is that he actually included a ramp for the old king’s wheelchair. This was way before access for the handicapped was a consideration in building design. Thoughtful as well as smart, if you get my drift. As a result of all this he became a multi-billionaire.”
Lolling now on the comfortable couch with her feet propped up on the table she continued her diatribe, reveling in the information she had collected. This was what she did best. “I understand he had fifty-two children, eleven wives and that he died at the end of the sixties in a plane crash and was greatly mourned, not just as a businessman but also as a self-made Muslim scholar. No mean task, Harrison. There are countless stories about his having assigned numbers for his children as he couldn’t remember their names and that the homes he had for his wives and children were strict and demanding, very Wahhabbite in tradition, but even that had some advantages. Most of the sons went to European schools and my research indicated that he was a good father who was pleased with all of them. He was an excellent provider. Evidently he believed in honor, perseverance, and family loyalty.”
“The part I liked was that he didn’t compromise his principles. Bin Laden, the elder was obsessed with higher learning, particularly from a religious standpoint and frequently hosted what we call “halquahs”, that means religious discussions and he’d invite the leading religious authorities of the day. Here was a fellow who’d been a porter and a laborer, hobnobbing with the elite. It’s amazing!”
“But what sets him apart from his peers, Harrison, and you should remember this if you deal with his sons now controlling the business, is that he was the person who helped restore King Faisal as ruler. Bin Laden the elder actually extended credit to the government and, get this Harrison, he bankrolled the Civil Service for four months until the government actually stabilized. He was a very honorable, strategic frankly brilliant businessman and the end result was that all contracts went to his and only his company, and he was appointed Minister of Public Works.”
“Another point of interest,” Emily continued, “and Harrison don’t forget this either; the sons are different, more business savvy, still very Saudi in appearance but all except the younger ones are very westernized. Not that it detracts from their ability! They are well equipped to run the business and their holdings are all tightly woven with European and American corporations. I hear, although it’s not confirmed, that they own oil companies in the US and give generously to MIT and Harvard and top foundations. They’re high investors, so I understand and are now delving heavily into telecommunications. But they are still Yemenis in Saudi clothing! They are construction magnates, but under the robes or the Saville Row suits they’re craftspeople, hard laborers, excellent builders and they all have solid, well rounded educations. They have worked on just about every major contract in the Middle East and if I’m not mistaken every major road in Saudi was built by this family. It’s also an extremely large family; since the death of Mohammed the father, the patriarch is now an uncle named Abdullah. There are literally hundreds of them and all the men have an interest in the business.”
Emily went to the stack of papers on the hotel room table and seeing her company stationery, pulled out the second part of the report she had prepared for him. “The family business is now run by Salem, the eldest son, well thought of in all society circles. Handsome, debonair, mingles with the new elite, wicked blue bloods, super spies, and artzy fartzy types with a smattering of rock stars like Jagger and Lennon. Salem can be found in all the places where the rich and famous hang out, from London to Beirut. He likes music and plays a little himself so I hear, and he’s just as popular in Knightsbridge as with the Martha’s Vineyard crowd and the Texas oil people. Nothing bad heard about any of them! They sound like thoroughly nice, all round kinds of blokes, just brilliant and stinking rich. Salem likes to fly as well, owns a couple of light planes and he went to Millfield for Chrissake, you can’t get better than that. He’s married to Caroline Carey. You know Ambrose, her half brother. Daddy’s the Marquis of Queensberry. The Bin Laden family are lawyers, doctors, accountants, architects, and there are a few religious zealots in there too, all rich, all brainy, all with super reputations and they are a global force to be reckoned with.”
She pointed to some photographs she had included and continued, “If you’re in with them, Harrison, you’re made! I researched the lot of them for you. Of course, there are the younger brothers too, and there’s not much information past the one they call “that one” named Osama, whose mother Alia was from Syria. There seems to be a resentment thing going on with him. Not that he’s the wild child, he’s just different from the others, although there were reports of him in Beirut last year drinking and carrying on, you know, fighting in bars and that sort of thing, but it strikes me as though my sources in Beirut are confusing him with his older brothers. I hear in his school in Jeddah, he was quiet, shy and did everything he could to impress his father. Now that his father is dead, he is probably suffering under his brothers. This younger one is about seventeen now, very tall for an Arab, between 6’5 and 6’7 and from what I hear stunning to look at with huge eyes. He’s very solemn, but nonetheless intriguing and subject to temper tantrums when pushed. I get the feeling he’s the whipping boy for the others because his mother was dark and tiny as well as somewhat unpopular with the other wives.”
“Which one is this?” Harrison asked
“Usama,” she replied, “or Osama. Osama Bin Laden. His name means ‘lion like’ in Arabic. Usama was the trusted companion of the prophet. There were some photographs with the report. One was taken in 1971 in Oxford. He’s shown with two of his brothers. One I think is Salem and the other I couldn’t identify. He looks rather subdued, but there is something about him, a sort of ethereal quality. It’s his eyes. Take a look for yourself.”
“Looks like any other kid to me. Bloody awful shirt though.”
“So who did you meet with,” Emily asked.
“His name was Aziz Khan. He’s the company’s technical advisor. A Pakistani with an English mother, also known as Brian. Shifty sod too, I thought. He came with one of the bin Laden cousins named Adnan, who was a very nice chap. Anyway, I submitted my proposal, gave them a very good deal and now I’ll just hope for the best.”
“What was your first impression?” Emily asked.
“I think bin Laden wanted me, but Khan did not.”
“Why do you think?”
“He’s got an interest in a company called ’TechResolve’. They’re located in Texas and they are part of a larger group called ‘Oilworx’. It stands to reason that they’d be able to merge other ideas as well as oil company holdings at some point. It would put the Bin Ladens in a very good position in the American oil business and that’s conducive to Texan politics too.”
“It’s always the same players, isn’t it? There’s probably a British oil company involved too.”
“On that, my dear you, can rest assured. Now when are you planning on coming to America, and have you filed any paperwork?”
”Not yet, but I will once I get back to Germany and then it’s just a matter of months until the Yanks clear me ” she answered.
“Are you sure this is what you want Em?” Harrison asked earnestly.
“Do I want to marry you? Or do I want to emigrate?”
“Both,” he said, now getting impatient.
“Harrison, frankly, I’m terrified of marriage. As a concept it has no appeal to me whatsoever. But yes, I’d like to live out my life with you, because you’re the only person I’ve ever met that I’m completely comfortable with. You know everything about me an
d there are no conditions to loving you.”
“Then my dear, what say we live together, over the brush as they say in Liverpool, and bugger convention until you are ready for the next step.”
”Does that include fabulous sex, jewels, flashy cars and lots of stuff?” she said in a perfect Liverpool accent.
“Aye luv, it does,” he responded in kind.
“Harrison,” she said as she got ready for bed, “Do you like me?”
“Not really. I think you’re a mercenary little shit.”
“God, for a minute I thought you were going to get romantic.”
“Too old for that sort of thing, I’m afraid. But I can sing dirty songs if you like.”
When she awakened the next morning she smiled at the man gently snoring next to her. He had been a careful, pleasing lover with no thought other than her satisfaction. She was fully aware that this was her perfect mate, her lover and above all, her first best friend.
After Harrison left she went in to see the children. It was time for her to tell them that they would soon be leaving Germany for America. Haley, a mass of dark curls with a provocative grin and sunny disposition took the news without comment. She was the type of child who enjoyed change, unlike her brother, who fired one question after another.
“What if we don’t like it?”
”Then we can try harder,” his mother answered.
“Will there be other children?”
“Only in the summer and winter holidays, and you can go to England or Afghanistan if you don’t want to be home.”
“Can we take our new puppy and cat?”
“Of course we can. And we’ll have a pony and a boat too.”
“Wil Harrison be our father?”
”Is that what you want?”
”Yes, we want a daddy of our own to sit on,” chorused Haley.
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