“What?”
“Knowing you’re dealing in death.”
For one second, anger flashed, then suddenly Alex threw back his head and laughed. “Marc, do you know what the difference between you and Derek is?”
Now it was Marc that was caught off guard. “No, what?”
“Well, in the first place, the ethics of arms sales would never have crossed his mind. And second, if it had, he would never have asked that question of his boss, who makes a living selling arms.”
Marc’s face flushed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yes, you did. And I find that quality in you admirable. Sometimes it startles me, and often I don’t agree with you, but I know I can trust what you’re saying.” Suddenly he sobered. “And that’s not true of very many people I know.”
“I…”
Alex cut in. “No, I mean it. It’s what I like most about you. I believe in integrity, but you also know that part of me is a crafty old coyote that watches every word he says.”
He went on quickly, cutting off Marc’s attempts to extricate himself. “Don’t change, Marc. It’s one of your strongest qualities.” He paused, still chuckling to himself. “But, to answer the question…”
He sat back, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening. “Well, believe it or not, I have thought a great deal about that. But before I answer it, let me tell you a little bit more about middlemen.”
Marc nodded.
“Basically, there are three kinds of people who become marriage brokers in this business. First, there are the flakes. The money to be made attracts them by the hundreds. They take the money from investors, promising returns of one or two thousand percent. Then they fly to Europe, move into five-hundred-dollar-a-night suites and blow everything.”
“I can believe that.”
“The second kind is in it for profit. This guy can deliver, because he’s got high-level entry. Probably the most famous of this type is Adnan Khashoggi. He is a multibillionaire, and it was commissions from arms sales that got him started. Over a ten-year period, Khashoggi made commissions of six hundred fifteen million dollars. That’s over sixty million a year!”
Marc gave a low whistle. Sixty million a year! Alex had never said what this deal would involve, but if it was even half that… No wonder he was elated with the day’s success.
“But there is a third kind of broker,” Alex was saying. “These are not as common, but they are the most important. Most are not highly visible like Khashoggi. The world never knows who they are. They just stay in the background making things happen. Of course, they’re interested in making a profit too. But it’s more than that. Theirs is a different kind of commitment. Take the Jakarta deal I told you about. At the time I handled the oil for the general, I actually lost money. It was a royal pain in the neck and took about three months of solid hard work. Most brokers would have said, ‘No way!’ So why did Barclay Enterprises take it on?”
It was not a rhetorical question, and Alex was watching him closely, waiting. Marc considered the question. “Well, I suppose partly to create leverage.”
“Yes, that too, but there was something else as well. The president of the United States called me personally. Officially the government didn’t want to get involved, but neither did they just want to turn their backs on the Indonesian request. So Alex Barclay got a call directly from the president of the United States. And why did he accept the job when he knew it would be a royal pain? Because believe it or not, he’s a bit of a patriotic slob, and when the president directly asks him to help, he does it.”
Marc studied Alex’s face as he talked. He suspected that maybe the idealism didn’t burn quite as brightly as Alex was saying. He also sensed that the profits weren’t quite as unimportant as he was suggesting, but there was no question: idealism was there, and the profit motive was secondary. It was an insight into Alex that was revealing.
“Now,” Alex went on. “You think I’ve forgotten your question in all this rambling, but I haven’t. You question whether the sale of arms is ethically acceptable. I answer that with a resounding yes! Let me give you an actual example. I can’t tell you the details, but recently I was asked, again by the president, to arrange for the sale of some rifles to anti-Communist guerillas in a country that has already gone over to Communism. Because of political sensitivities, the sale was officially illegal. I could have been sent to prison, ruined both financially and professionally. I made less than ten thousand dollars on the deal. That doesn’t even cover my overhead. So again I ask, why should I take on a lousy deal like that?”
“To help the country?” Marc supplied.
“Yes. But in this case there was more. I happen to strongly believe that if we don’t stop the Communists, eventually they will take over the world. So I sold the guerillas sixteen thousand rifles and four million rounds of ammunition. That’s a lot of death, Marc. A lot of death!”
“And yet, what it prevents…”
“Exactly. Arms can lead to war and death, but they can also prevent it. Take the very case we’re working on. As you saw today, the F-22 Barracuda is the ultimate killing machine. If we sell it to Saudi Arabia, we have greatly enhanced their ability to destroy.”
“Yes.”
“But you know the Ayatollah Khomeini would give up his beard and mustache if he could overthrow the Saudis and take control of the Islamic holy places. He also knows one of his defecting pilots got in right over the oil fields a few months ago without being stopped. So he starts thinking about the odds. If he tries that, we’re talking about an Arab blood bath in the Middle East.”
“At least! Maybe World War III.”
“And what effect would sixty F-22s have on his temptation to launch an attack against the Saudis?”
“I think the word is deterrent.”
“And who is going to bring about all this peace in the Middle East and prevent World War III?”
“Alex Barclay,” Marc laughed.
“No, no! Not just me. It’s Alex the marriage broker and his conscience, Marc Jeppson. Not bad, huh?”
Marc threw up his hands. “All right, all right. I should have learned in that lecture at UCLA not to try and debate with you.”
Alex leaned back, savoring the moment, and the warmth and bonding between them was palpable. He was lost in his thoughts for several moments, and Marc waited, still a little puzzled about the whole conversation. Finally Alex took a deep breath and leaned forward again. “The big question is Mr. Quinn Gerritt.”
“But you said you felt really good about your meeting with him today.”
“I did, but like I said the other day, he’s got success in his pocket. Now we’ve got to find a way to bind him to us and us alone.”
Marc hesitated for a moment, then took a quick breath. “I have some ideas about that. I was going to talk them over with Jackie, then make some recommendations.”
“Let’s hear them.”
“Well,” Marc smiled, a little sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to think like Alex Barclay. How do we get leverage with Gerritt?”
“Ah,” Alex sighed, feigning sadness, but actually deeply pleased, “the corrupting influence of the coyote. But Quinn Gerritt is a challenge. If I’m the coyote, then he’s the wolf.”
“Good comparison. Anyway, I asked myself, what is it Quinn Gerritt needs? And what can we do to fill those needs?”
“Astute question. What did you come up with?”
“This may seem pretty far out, okay?”
“Okay.”
“For the longest time I couldn’t come up with anything. Then it hit me like a hammer. What does Quinn Gerritt want and need more than anything else right now?”
For a moment Alex was silent, then suddenly his eyes widened.
Marc nodded. “Money!”
“And lots of it!”
“The VSM-430 will probably turn that around, but not for a while, right?” Alex nodded, and Marc went on slowly, thinking it through as he went. “Our
problem is, we offer him a chance for a major sale of his system, but it’s not an exclusive chance. Another middleman could come in and set up the sale of the Barracuda’s using Gerritt’s system too.”
“Exactly! And that’s what’s giving me ulcers.”
“So what if you make him an offer no else does.”
Alex slouched down deeper into his chair. “Go on.”
“Remember what you said about the five percenters? Well, make Quinn Gerritt one of them. Suppose you make him a limited partner, or a consultant, or whatever. Pay him five or ten percent of whatever you make. That could be several million dollars. But it would not be part of the profits made by Gerritt Industries, which will have to go toward paying off his rather substantial debts. We would pay the commission directly to him as one of our sales agents.”
“That’s a hefty cut,” Alex said, but he was not so much protesting as thinking out loud.
“True, but you set him up as our agent on one condition: you become his agent for the sale of the radar system to other users. He’s got to pay those commissions to someone. So he’s out nothing. I’ll bet you could recoup whatever you pay him in the long run.”
For almost a full sixty seconds Alex just watched him through half-closed eyes, his face impassive, his body motionless. Finally he stirred, then rose from his chair and walked over to the driftwood sculpture and the cougar. He stroked the fur absently. Suddenly he turned around. “It will work. I know it will. We’re talking Gerritt’s language.”
“And everything is perfectly legal and above board.”
“There is one other thing that will help. Gerritt needs a favor.”
“What?”
Alex glanced at his watch. “Actually, that was what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you spend some time tonight? This is pretty urgent.”
Marc’s face fell. “I promised the boys we’d go to a movie.”
Alex frowned. “I don’t mean kind of urgent, Marc. This is very urgent. It could be the key to turning Gerritt. Look, if it would help, I could call your boys, explain things.”
Marc hesitated, then shook his head slowly. “No, I’ll call. How long will we be?”
Alex pursed his lips, then moved behind his desk and sat down. “Probably late. Let me ask you one question first, then I’ll go lock up the warehouse while you call home.”
“All right.”
“I can’t remember who it was now, but someone told me that you speak fluent Spanish. Is that right?”
Valerie’s voice was flat and lifeless. “I knew when the phone rang that it would be you.”
“Val, I know I promised. I tried to tell Alex, but he’s got to get back with Gerritt tonight. And a lot has to happen in the meantime.”
“Gerritt! What has he got to do it?”
“His copper supplier in South America just fell through. That puts his whole appliance division in jeopardy. He wants us to try and pull it out of the fire.”
“That’s fine, Marc. The boys are all dressed, but I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“Valerie!”
“Well, what am I supposed to say? That’s wonderful, Marc? I’m happy that Alex has such confidence in you?”
“Val, this could tie everything together. I don’t know what else to do. It’s got to happen tonight.”
She sighed. “I know, Marc. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you. I’ll take the boys.”
There was a long pause. Then, “There’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“Alex wants me to go to Bogotá for him.”
“Oh.” Now the silence became heavy over the phone.
“We leave Wednesday morning. He needs someone who can speak Spanish.”
“We?” she said slowly.
“Yes, he wants Jackie and me to go. He’s got to be in Washington.”
He paused, but she remained silent.
“It should only be for three or four days.”
“So you’ll be gone Saturday?”
“Probably, why?”
“Well, I’m sure you have more important things to worry about, but you did promise Brett you would be here to help him with the pinewood derby for Cub Scouts.”
“Oh, that’s right!”
She waited, her mouth drawn into a tight line.
His voice was so soft she almost didn’t hear him. “I totally forgot.”
“You’ll have to tell Brett. He’s been so excited about this.”
“Valerie, I…” His voice trailed off. “I’m sorry.”
She softened a little, but her voice still held a touch of hurt. “It’s not me you need to apologize to.”
“Yes, it is. You too.”
“I’d better go, Marc. We’re going to miss the show.”
“Valerie, I really am sorry.”
“I know.” There was a brief pause. “Good-bye, Marc.”
She hung up the phone and turned. Her mother was watching her, shaking her head slowly and sadly.
Chapter Nineteen
Although Bogotá, Colombia, is only three hundred fifty miles north of the equator, it sits on a high plateau at more than eighty five hundred feet above sea level. At one forty A.M. on the tenth of February, the air was crisp and cool, almost biting. It had rained earlier, and the tires of the Toyota pickup hissed softly on the wet concrete as the pickup pulled up to one of the back gates of Bogotá’s international airport. The headlights of the truck went out.
The guard came out slowly from the small booth, holding a paper in his hand. He checked the license plate, then the paper, then moved to the gate and pulled it open. As the truck drove away, he slid the gate shut again and went back inside to his magazine and heater. He had been paid handsomely to do just that and nothing else.
The tie-down area for the small private planes was not very well lighted, but through the magnification of the binoculars, the silver gray Lear Jet, registered to Barclay Industries of El Segundo, California, clearly stood out. So did the blue Toyota pickup as it pulled up alongside the sleek aircraft.
The man with the binoculars was a hundred yards away, sitting in the driver’s seat of an unmarked panel truck. He leaned forward, suddenly intent. Without lowering the glasses, the man reached across and elbowed his partner, who was slouched down and snoring softly. He was instantly awake.
“Look!” his partner said softly in Hebrew, and handed him the binoculars.
Moshe Gondor was angry and made little effort to hide it. “Come on, Mr. Shoshani! What do you think those two men were doing in Barclay’s aircraft at two in the morning? Stocking the refrigerator?”
Yaacov’s head came up slowly, his eyes glittering. “You have an annoying habit of hearing only what you want to hear, Mr. Gondor.”
Gondor blinked in surprise, as did Nathan and Yehuda Gor. To this point, Yaacov had maintained the sleepy, good-natured, old-man demeanor, nodding slowly, speaking in a patient voice. Nathan knew very well it was not the real Yaacov Shoshani, but the sudden attack caught Gondor completely off guard.
“I think the two men were removing panels inside the cabin and hiding fifty or sixty kilos of cocaine,” Yaacov went on. “I have no question about that.”
They were in Gondor’s apartment in Westwood, which was now the team’s operating headquarters. Gondor had received the report from Colombia around four A.M. California time and had called a meeting for six. He had not called the older Shoshani, but somehow he had arrived just the same. That, and the interrupted sleep, left Gondor’s temper short.
“Then what are you saying, Mr. Shoshani?” he snapped.
“Marc Jeppson and Jacqueline Ashby had no idea that those drugs were being planted on their plane. You know that as well as I do.”
“Did I ever once suggest I thought they were in on this?”
“Yet all you do is to call the federal drug people and give them an anonymous tip about a planeload of cocaine.”
“I have one interest and one interest only, and that is to halt Barcl
ay’s deal with the Arabs.”
“But these two are innocent! This could ruin their lives. All you have to do is tell the Americans what we know. It is Gerritt we’re after, not these two.”
“You know that we have the strictest instructions not to give the Americans the slightest indication Israel is tampering with this affair.”
“Jeppson and Ashby are one half of Barclay’s total team,” Nathan broke in. “Eventually they will be proven innocent. But if they are arrested, it can only help our cause by delaying Barclay.”
Yaacov turned on his son. “You too, Nathan? You would play with people’s lives like players on a chess board?”
“I don’t like it,” Nathan answered, “but if you’re in the game, you take the knocks along with everyone else. And Jeppson and the woman are in the game.”
“Your Sarah works for a businessman, just like Jacqueline Ashby. Suppose it were her, Nathan, who had been used as an innocent dupe. Would you be so calloused then?”
Gondor had just lit a cigarette and taken a deep draw on it. He grabbed it from his mouth and waved it angrily in Yaacov’s face. “Nathan’s wife is not involved in the sale of jet planes to our enemies!”
Yehuda Gor, who had remained silent through it all, now spoke. “Gerritt is the key, and he acts increasingly desperate. If the Americans do arrest these two people of Barclay’s, they will tell them that they were in Colombia for Gerritt. Gerritt is already under suspicion. It is Gerritt we are after.”
Gondor nodded firmly. “Barclay is the only agent close to a contract with the Saudis. If we can delay this, that will give our people in Washington more time to overturn the sale once and for all.”
“And in the meantime our clandestine actions ruin the lives of people.”
“By this weekend the listening devices will be planted in Gerritt’s home and office. We’ll also have Barclay and his people covered. If we can find a way to put the drug people directly onto Gerritt, we will. Knowing the drug people as we do, they’ll likely let Jeppson and Ashby walk away from the plane anyway, put a watch on it, and see who comes to get the drugs.”
“You hope,” Yaacov said softly.
Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle Page 74
