Middle Man

by David Rich

  But the cameraman had swung the camera to follow the security detail. A goon, one of the original Houston goons, had come out of the house behind the offices. The goon froze when he saw the camera catch his exit. Three long strides brought him to Mike Jensen. Jensen listened carefully. He was taking orders. Gently as he could, he took the camera away from the cameraman. The producer protested, but the other security men swarmed and he was kept away.

  The goon melted away.

  Seconds later, that goon and another were patting me down and removing my gun in the foyer of the back house. Johnny Bannion’s cooing singsong cadence bounced from the hallway. “Well, I had said I wanted to meet with you, Mr. Hewitt, and Maya said she would undertake the assignment. She was confident of success and I can see her confidence was warranted. Did she remember to assure you of your safety?” He put out his hand and the goon put my gun in it.

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Thank you, Maya, dear.”

  It was a dismissal. Her half smile could not hide her hatred for him. He held his Cyclops gaze on her, soaking in the venom until she broke off and moved down the hallway he had just come from. Bannion faced me and forced his fat baby cheeks and doughy lips into a saggy half smile. “You and the boys have never been properly introduced, have you. Neil Bess, Gethin Berry . . .”

  He spoke deliberately, wanting me to take note of the names. The goons were dismissed and went outside, where the video camera had been tamed. Bannion turned his gaze along the hallway after the shadow of Maya.

  “She used to love me, you know. Truly loved me. Painful knowing it will never come back. Can’t stop checking, though, looking for any feeling. Like with a missing limb. What’s that called when you prefer to feel the pain instead of just nothing?”

  “Hope.”

  “I think you know exactly what I mean, Mr. Hewitt. We both know what it takes to keep us feeling alive.”

  “You think we’re alike?”

  “You’re here, Mr. Hewitt. Halfway around the world, armed and outnumbered. I take that as the proof.”

  He was sincere, or the closest he could come to it. He managed to reverse the purpose of sincerity. He used it to show how transparent and vulnerable I was: I had not duped him, could not dupe him. He handed over my gun. “Only a fool would travel around these parts without a gun, and I don’t want to be in business with a fool. Come along.”

  Twelve of the thirty or so desks were occupied on the second floor of the office building. Industrial gray carpet, weak lighting, and maps pinned to the walls gave the office the feel of a short-term rental. Computer screens were planted everywhere. Cases of Coca-Cola were stacked beside the men’s room door. Two large shisha hookahs sat on an unused desk. Houston goons occupied four desks in a supervisory cluster set up facing all the others. Bannion made the goons stand for our introduction. Again, he spoke their names slowly, wanting me to catch them. It seemed the names were some sort of waving flag I was supposed to be looking at while the magic trick was performed with the other hand. But I didn’t know what the trick was. As a distraction, the goons were effective: a bunch of guys getting their knives out. That was fine; I expected that much. It was the forks that bothered me.

  “We contract for the security of events and locations all over northern Iraq. And for visitors, as you saw outside. The boys supervise and monitor the operations from the borders with Turkey and Syria to Kirkuk, where things are often quite tense. We employ over a thousand guards at any given time dealing with threats and some very real violence.”

  It was a pat sales speech. The million dollars that passed between us was forgotten. I missed his tone of bullying condescension, replaced now with synthetic confidentiality.

  “He cares as much about this part of the operation as I do. This is the ‘we make do without you’ part of the game. He wants to con you. He wants to be conned,” Dan said.

  “Where are the employees in charge of making the threats and doing the violence?”

  “We located here because people do all that for free. All volunteers.”

  He led me back down the narrow, dark staircase. The office and what I had seen of the house were short on windows. Victor and another goon were on the way up. Bannion backed them and made another elaborate introduction. I had met all eight from Houston.

  “I hope you can stay for dinner, Mr. Hewitt. I have guests who would like to meet you.”

  “And you guarantee my safety?”

  “Would you believe me if I did?”

  Between chunks of roast beef, Mr. Garner, sitting across from me, said, “Strange we’ve never met. I make it my business to meet most of the Americans coming through Erbil.”

  I recognized him, in spite of a stomach that had expanded to match his entrepreneurial ambitions. He had been a Marine lieutenant general. There was no danger of him recognizing me; he was known for ignoring anyone who couldn’t help his career. “My driver today thought I was Italian. Maybe that’s the problem.”

  Dan whispered to me. “I always enjoyed contempt more as a secret, like knowing what I had done with a man’s daughters or wife.”

  “Did you ever serve in the armed forces, Mr. Hewitt?” Garner stuffed a potato in his mouth as he spoke.

  “No. Did you?”

  Before retired General Garner could challenge me to a duel, Bannion spoke up. “Mr. Garner and Mr. Tagliaferro are retired generals and are partners with me in DS Security. All of our employees are ex-military.” He turned to the generals and made the best excuse for me he could. “Mr. Hewitt is from the Ivy League. Cornell.”

  “Columbia.”

  “Of course.”

  Maya sat on my right. The invisible veil engulfed her again. I glanced at her periodically to see if she was concentrating on any of the men at the table, but I only saw her looking dutifully at whoever was speaking, even Bannion. Across from her sat a burly Iraqi, introduced as Mr. Hafiz from the Regional Government. Hafiz wore a rug and glasses with thick plastic frames. Two places were still unoccupied. Bannion had decided to start dinner before those guests arrived. Uninvited, Dan flitted around the table.

  Tagliaferro said, “How do you feel about foreigners coming in and reaping the benefits of America’s hard work and sacrifice?”

  Dan sounded excited. “He wants you to take his money. Did you hear that?”

  “I don’t want his money.”

  “He’s begging you to cheat him.”

  “I’m here for another reason.”

  “You don’t know why you’re here, so in the meantime allow him to begin thinking he can cheat the Chinese or the Russians or whoever he is afraid of. This is the value of contempt. This is how you use it. You allow them to cheat you.”

  “Did we conquer Iraq or liberate it? The Iraqis will make the best deals they can,” I said. “Inside those deals will be many other deals. Everyone can get in. The people making the first deal aren’t always the ones who make the money. Chinese can buy Exxon stock. Exxon hires executives from many countries. The money flows around the world. Exxon does not pay a huge amount of tax to the U.S. government. Why does it matter whose money develops these oil fields?”

  “They can cut off the supply. We have to control the supply,” Garner explained.

  “Would you rather be defending an oil field or attacking it? Speaking as a general?”

  That brought looks around the table. Bannion said, “Are you asking as a philosophical matter or a practical one?”

  “Is there a difference?”

  I could see him struggling to hold back his gangster arrogance. He rolled his lips against each other, causing his wobbly cheeks to ripple. “I would rather own something than not own it, Mr. Hewitt. Perhaps you would like to explain to us how that’s wrong, practically or philosophically.”

  “I didn’t study philosophy. Maybe I’m in over my head here. You’re the mi
litary people. Former military.” This was Dan 101: Back off when challenged; make them pursue.

  Hafiz spoke for the first time. “The entity with the strongest force always argues that it is the most practical choice. Philosophically, that might be repulsive.”

  A goon entered and spoke low to Bannion. We could all hear him say, “HH is arriving.” Bannion nodded. He looked at Maya and soaked up another dose of her disdain. “Your father is here.”

  Bannion and the retired generals rose and I decided I would, too.

  The King was not happy to see that dinner had started without him. He curved his lips politely while Bannion oozed fake respect and regrets over having started without the King. Zoran was not happy to see me but tore his scowl from me to glare at each man in turn, making sure the King was receiving the proper dose of respect. The King kissed Maya. He sat down in his place at the head or foot of the table and pushed his plate away. Zoran pushed his away, too.

  “I have not been back in Erbil in over ten years,” the King said. “I feel as though my dreams have blended with reality.” “Collided” would have been more accurate, but it didn’t seem like the moment to correct him. The elegance was on full blast. Grand condescension wafted across the table. Bannion raised his glass of beer. “To a triumphant return.”

  We all drank to that. It felt like a secret dinner of a banished cult. One member to be sacrificed to the greater good. I assumed the King was first in line for the poisoned goblet, but a look around the table brought doubt. I pushed my plate away, too.

  The King went on a bit about how invigorating it felt to be back in his glorious homeland. When he mentioned that he could feel his roots being refreshed, I thought he was asking Bannion to provide him with women. Bannion asked if the measures taken to assure the King’s anonymity upon arrival were sufficient and well executed. “I’m reminded,” he said, “of King Richard the Lionheart sneaking into England on his return from the Crusade.”

  The King was pleased, but Zoran suspected mockery in Bannion’s tone and shot him one of his dirty camel looks he had been wasting on me.

  The King took over. “Our first hurdle is the Regional Government. Not the people in it, mind you. Many of them are with us.” He nodded toward Hafiz. “They want a separate Kurdistan, a united Kurdistan, a Kurdistan that is free. Those members of the government are our allies. We must combat the concept of a government subservient to Baghdad. Our other problem, the part of the puzzle we have not solved, is the PKK. That’s why we want to talk to you, Mr. Hewitt. We want to ally with them. We want to bring them on board. If we do that, we’re confident we can accelerate the process. These men, these generals, have done great work preparing us. Johnny has orchestrated it all. They are all great friends of the Kurdish people. We want you to be a great friend as well.”

  It was like a presentation at a Marine Corps training session: just background noise before the sergeants and the officers who knew how to actually do things took us out and trained us. Zoran batted his long lashes in silent applause. The generals had made careers of nodding and harrumphing along with these kinds of speeches, so they nodded and harrumphed. The King stared at me, working the eyebrow up and down like a signal to stand and salute.

  “I don’t control the PKK, King.”

  “They must trust you. You gave them money. You have a relationship with them, don’t you?”

  “Yes, we have a relationship.”

  “Then be on the winning side of history, Robert. Bring them on to the winning side.”

  Everyone, even Maya, watched me, and every expression said, with deep and forthright indifference: Would you prefer to be hung or shot? “You make an excellent case, King,” I said. “I’ll have a word with my contacts.”

  “That calls for dessert,” declared Bannion.

  He didn’t clap his hands to make the treats appear, but I expected enormous pieces of pie, representing the pieces of the giant pie the generals and the King were drooling after, to be served. I eyed Garner’s fork, figuring how I could steal it. He would eat his pie without it. Instead, a cakelike dessert called gilacgi was served. Everyone managed to hide his disappointment. The King ate it and so did Garner. The rest of us talked about how wonderful it would be if one day Erbil could host the Olympics. Dinner was over. Fariz shook my hand and said, “I shall see you soon, Mr. Hewitt.” He did not make me look forward to that event. Tagliaferro looked forward to more of my “outspoken views.” Garner wiped his hand on his coat after shaking mine.

  Bannion saw them out. The King, Zoran, and Maya remained at the table with me. I had something that had to be said. “Your driver, Arun, was found dead. They found him in the town car I borrowed from you.”

  Zoran put both hands on the table. At first I thought he was going to bound at me. But he did it to stabilize himself. When he finally was able to turn his eyes on me, the King and Maya followed him.

  “I didn’t do it.” And I didn’t know if Zoran believed me. But the King looked like he knew who the killer was. I thought I knew, too.

  “I believe you, Robert,” the King said. “He was a most devoted servant. A gallant soldier sacrificed to our great cause.”

  For the first time, Zoran looked at the King with anger. Maya saw it. The King was oblivious. His attention was on his ascension; on the magnanimous gestures he might offer; on the way he swept his hands as he spoke; on the shade of velvet for his new throne.

  “I’m sorry, Zoran,” I said.

  The moment stolen for talking of his most loyal servant was over. The King went on, “Our previous differences will mean little, Robert, once events unfurl. When we first met, I was struck by something, some . . . vision, that it was you who would help deliver me to my destiny. I said nothing, but I felt it and trusted you. And now, here we are.”

  Luckily, Bannion returned.

  22

  Bannion led me through the living room, down a short hallway to a locked door. He entered a code on a pad and we entered a study. Two ceiling fans turned slowly. The floor was made of large brown tiles. There was a skylight, but no windows. Books lined a far wall. Framed photos were interspersed with the books: Bannion as a young man, pre–eye patch, thick shoulder-length hair parted in the middle; the King; Maya; a boy. Next to the bookcase was a closet with a ventilated grate in the bottom panel. Opposite the wall of books stood an enormous safe, at least five feet high and wide. Bannion held up a bottle of scotch. I nodded and he poured drinks for both of us. No ice. He maneuvered me to a chair facing away from the safe. He faced it.

  “I had a friend, a mentor really, a Jew he was, dead now, poor man, but he used to tell me by way of advice, ‘A full purse isn’t as good as an empty purse is bad.’ You know what I said to him? I said—”

  “You said, ‘You’re full of it, you old fool. It’s all about the brass ring.’” And it was a pretty good imitation of Johnny Bannion, too.

  He chuckled. “You and me, Robert, we could be partners. I like you. I feel like you understand me.”

  “Does that mean I’m in danger?”

  “That’s just what I would have said. I sincerely hope that’s not the case.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “You’re too young to think of a nest egg, but I’m getting there. This villain business becomes taxing. I’m ready to take my old mentor’s advice.” Like a vain man facing a mirror, his eye kept shifting to the safe.

  “Didn’t do him much good. Maybe you could spend his nest egg.”

  “The problem is we’re on the brink of something enormous. You think you might make a lot of money in oil investments, but just imagine owning a country. Imagine.” He looked past me at the safe as if the county were going to be locked in there.

  I recognized this part of the pitch: the dazzling vistas, the future revealed as a shimmering palace as compelling as a mirage. And as real. He did a few minutes on revenue streams and
then lamented not having a suitable successor. The goons were, unfortunately, mere goons, not up to the task. He said, “Our backgrounds are quite different, Robert, but we seem to think along like lines. We could be very successful partners.”

  His delivery was different from Dan’s. Thuggish undertones skulked in the pauses, but the pattern hit the marks. He was a clue giver. He was a salesman who hid the product from view. All the talk of the future made me think Bannion did not believe in the future, and he saw no glittering prizes. He had the money he wanted and he wanted it all for himself.

  “If I were your partner, I’d wonder why we were in the king business.”

  “I’m thinking about alliances, Mr. Hewitt. Arrange a meeting with your PKK contacts. Can you do that for us? We all benefit. Tomorrow night. Anywhere they wish. They’ll be safe. I’ll guarantee their safety.”

  “And before we begin the road to my possible partnership, there is still the matter of the one million dollars you took from me.”

  He looked at the safe and smiled and squinted as if the sight flooded him with pleasure. “It’s right behind you. Arrange the meeting and I’ll bring along the money. How’s that?”

  He pulled his cell phone from his chest pocket. “Maya, dear, would you be good enough to drive Mr. Hewitt back to his hotel?”

  Victor was the goon in charge of the gate. He flinched when the headlights hit him and I was glad to be spared his insinuating grin.

  Maya did not speak until the hotel was in sight. “My father has prepared a speech. He believes Johnny when he says he will bring my father to power. It’s to happen soon. Tomorrow night, I think.”

  The only car following us was a marked police car. “How?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t believe it anyway.” She sounded like she wanted me to contradict her, tell her it was possible.

  When she pulled up to the valet at my hotel, I said, “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

  “Downstairs or in your room?”

  “In my room.”