The Malthus Pandemic

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 27

  Rather than fly to Cyprus as I might have done, normally, I decided to phone Clive Tasker instead. We had, at one time, been good friends but a phone call was still not ideal. I have always found direct, eye to eye, contact is best and this would have been my much preferred option with Clive.

  Clive's job had, officially, been a 'commercial officer' at the British Embassy in Amman but I knew full well that Clive had other, unspecified roles as well. Clive was also a man who probably knew that Ian McCann was really Daniel Capelli, but nothing has ever been said.

  Taking the next available flight out of Bangkok or Singapore to Cyprus - as I might have done in the past - now seemed out of the question. My business has evolved to be run by a single man or someone with no ties. At the very least it was for someone with a very understanding wife or partner. But I needed to learn to change my ways.

  So Anna and I returned to Bangkok and checked into my normal hotel off of Sukhumvit Road. Then I phoned Cyprus, reminding myself that Clive had always known me as Ian McCann.

  "Tasker," said the abrupt but almost forgotten voice.

  "Hello, Clive. Ian McCann. I'm in Bangkok. Long time - I heard you've retired."

  "Yes, I was expecting you, Ian. Caroline phoned me earlier to say she'd met you. I knew it was you even though she called you Rupert." I merely laughed.

  Pleasantries over and, within the constraints of a mobile phone conversation about something both complicated and sensitive, I started to explain.

  "I need your help, Clive," I began as Anna curled an arm around my waist and squeezed me. It was nice but untimely. I smiled at her but beckoned her to go away. "I can't tell you too much at this stage," I went on, "but I need some information about one particular company and the man behind it. He's a Jordanian or possibly Egyptian, which is why I thought you might help.

  "He started small, but has companies all over the Middle East and now in Hong Kong and Singapore where I have just come from. He has, I believe, also got something going on in Kenya and Egypt."

  I paused.

  "Also, Clive, when you’ve been in this business for a while you get a strange gut feeling in the pit of your stomach. That gut feeling is telling me there is something going on that may, at the very least, enable me to help my client. Evidence is flimsy, to say the least, so I don't want to go in like a bull in a china shop. But I need some more information on this man."

  "What's his name?"

  "Mohamed Abdul Rahman Kader. He started business in Jordan in about 1974. The company is called Al Zafar and mostly into pharmaceuticals and healthcare products. He’s a very wealthy man and seems to like a bit of positive publicity when he can get it. I remember reading a newspaper report about him when I was in Hong Kong recently. He had just opened up something there."

  I stopped to see if there was any reaction. There was.

  "Sure I know him," Clive said. "I even met him a couple of times at official British Embassy functions. He was well known. Al Zafar is well known. It represents several UK companies. What do you want to know?"

  "Any personal opinions you can share?"

  "Yes.” Clive seemed to be sipping at something - perhaps it was a glass of something. I knew Clive was a wine buff.

  “The sort of man to want to be the best at everything," he said and I then heard the chink of a bottle as if Clive was topping up.

  "He wants to make a big name for himself," Clive continued. "You could say he already has. Failed doctor out of Cairo so the story went, so sort of rags to riches but knows what he wants and usually gets it."

  I let Clive continue for a while. Then, the prompt.

  "I believe he may be funding a research company somewhere. By all accounts he may have some sort of laboratory in Nairobi or Cairo. Anything on this?"

  "Sorry, Ian. However, it wouldn't surprise me."

  "Is he married, Clive?"

  "Yes, to an Egyptian woman. They have at least two children to my knowledge. Last I heard they were living in London - children at school while he travelled."

  Clive was definitely sipping from a glass of something. There was another pause before he went on:

  "Here's an interesting point. Kader claimed to be an environmentalist. Now you don't hear that said much in the Middle East where crude oil gets pumped out of the desert and others fight over land.

  "He also hated crowds of people. For someone who liked his share of publicity, that struck me as strange. He hated Cairo by all accounts. I saw him once waving his hands at a crowd of reporters who had gathered in the Amman Sheraton. They hadn't come to see him, of course, but the King was expected to arrive at any minute. But Kader seemed frustrated, overwhelmed if you like. Strange.

  "He was also quite outspoken sometimes about so-called corrupt Western influences. All hypocritical rubbish of course and probably deliberately designed to keep him onside with others and I suspect he knew that. He's quite astute. If he thought so badly about the West then why send your wife and kids to live in London? I think he probably knows that most Islamic radicalism comes from a sense of injustice and envy for the West - religion is just the excuse. Mass unemployment, especially amongst youth, provides the resource for the increasing terrorism.

  "Just look at Europe, Ian. How many unemployed young people are there now? What is the percentage out of work and with no chance of ever finding a job? Might they soon start to get just a little bit impatient and angry? And what would happen if someone with the right communication skills or resources comes along and starts to organise them? I'm glad I'm past 65, Ian. The future looks bleak whatever way you look at it.

  "So Kader is dead right about overcrowding and the environment and I agree with him. Why the hell have I decided to retire on the top of a mountain amongst the fragrant pine trees of Cyprus if it's not to get away from people. In the end, Ian, Mohamed Kader might surprise us all."

  I had listened intently and would always remember Clive's words. It was time for pleasantries.

  "Thank you, Clive. That'll do me for now. A lot of food for thought but very useful."

  "No problem, Ian. Who's your client?"

  "An American medical research company - I can't say more."

  I heard Clive's glass being filled once more.

  "How's Helene," I asked.

  "Helene, my dear wife and patient companion for thirty years? The woman I found amongst the concrete rubble of Beirut all those years ago? Still patient and a comfort to me as always, Ian. She's right here. Filling my glass by my side. She says hello."

  I suddenly felt touched by Clive's words.

  "Not married, yet then Ian? Still too busy? You need to settle down, my boy. Get to know another side to life. Making money is the way to survive, Ian. Love and marriage is the way to live."

  I glanced over to Anna. She was still sat, listening. Then she smiled at me and came over to put her arms around me yet again.