Nothing much happened for the next week. Like an old-fashioned infantry war, the protestors and government troops alternately advanced and retreated, gained no physical ground, and resolved nothing. Another young woman was killed, kicked by a horse when the riot police on horseback attempted to move the crowd. It was a senseless death like the others and proved nothing, except her willingness to die for a cause she believed in. She was a twenty-five-year-old woman with three young children. Alix interviewed her husband, who sobbed the entire time Ben filmed him, while he clutched his children in his arms, and the girl’s mother and sisters wailed in the background. It illustrated perfectly the senselessness of battle, and the loss of young life. In order to defend her rights as a modern woman, she had left three little children motherless, and her husband and family and all who knew her brokenhearted. Ideologically it made sense and was a worthy battle, but humanly it didn’t, and the government understood that too.
At the end of the week Alix and Ben had spent there, the government agreed to appoint a panel of eight women from among the protestors to meet with officials, and try to find a resolution with them, which they would then present to the religious leaders, hoping to reach a compromise that would satisfy everyone to some degree, even if not completely. It was a tremendous victory for the brave women who had protested and honored the five who had lost their lives. The government didn’t want the battle to go on forever either, and Alix was sure there would be more eventually, if the agreed-upon compromises were not perfectly implemented, but it was a start, and an attempt to bring normalcy back to Tehran.
“Do you think they mean it?” Ben asked her when they went back to the hotel after the announcement.
“I do. Whether they can convince the religious leaders is another story. But I don’t think the government wants to go back to the dark ages either. It’s a tough situation, they have to respect their religious leaders, and want to have a modern, functioning country at the same time, and women here have always been well educated, and an important part of their workforce at high levels at various times. They don’t want to lose that again.” It had been a good reminder to her for the past several days of how lucky she was.
They ordered room service in her room, and when they got there, she pulled off the head scarf she had worn since they arrived, which concealed her blond hair. She was tired of wearing it, and couldn’t imagine living with it every day, let alone being fully veiled and covered, like women from strict religious families. There had been several among the protestors. It was such a different world from the one she and Ben lived in. There was a wonderful museum and university, and the prayers chanted throughout the city five times a day seemed mystical and exotic and reminded Alix of how unfamiliar life was here.
They called Felix, and he told them to stay another day, to get video coverage of the women going to the meeting with the government officials to conclude the story. After that, they could return to New York, and he praised them for a job well done, from all aspects. They had gotten the human interest side, the breaking news at the protest, and some excellent interviews with government officials. He couldn’t have asked for more. They’d been there by then for eight days of nonstop work, Felix had had their one-week visas extended, and they were both tired but pleased with what they’d done, and thought the compromise meeting with the government and the protestors might actually work. The women claimed to be militant, but Alix had the sense that they would back down to some degree. They couldn’t go on forever, and the loss of five women for their cause was enough.
The protestors were planning to stay in place until the meeting the next day, but a few had already disbanded and gone home to their families and children. Ben and Alix took a walk that afternoon, on the first break they’d had since they arrived. When they stopped for coffee, she told Ben that there was someone she wanted to call before she left.
“You have friends here?” He looked surprised. He knew she’d been to Tehran before on assignments, but didn’t think it was more than that. She shook her head in answer to his question.
“Not really. I met a man here once, years ago. I was introduced to him by a BBC reporter who said he was a useful contact. He’s well connected and discreet, he seems to know everyone, and stays below the radar. He’s half Saudi and half Iranian, so he has connections on both sides of the fence, so to speak. He helped me out once, getting some info I couldn’t get through official channels. He seems to know everything that goes on here. I thought I’d give him a call.”
“About the protests?” Ben asked her, intrigued by what she was after. Alix always took her stories to another level, and dug deep into the layers, even when she didn’t need to. It was what made her so good at her job. She was relentless in her search for the truth, and not just what she was told. They had what they needed, but apparently she wanted more.
“You never know what turns up,” she said to Ben. “I just thought I’d see if he’s still around and what he knows. You can’t tell, we might get another story out of it. People come through here. He’s a smart guy, it might be a good investment.”
Ben grinned at what she said. “And how do you list that on your expense sheet for the network? ‘Bribes’?” Although he thought it was a smart thing to do. She was right, you never knew what might come of it.
“I usually list it as ‘drivers’ or ‘translators.’ ” She smiled at him. “It’s a legitimate expense, even if it looks bad on an expense sheet. I’ve gotten some great leads from unorthodox sources before, particularly in this part of the world.”
“You won’t get an argument from me.” He looked amused and impressed.
She called the source from the phone in her room when she got back to the hotel, and Ben Tarik Saleh answered on the fourth ring. She had almost given up when he did. She gave him her name, and he recognized it immediately from their previous transaction, and he greeted her like an old friend and asked about her family, which told her that he didn’t trust his phone, nor did she. She knew the rules of the game. She was a pro, and he certainly was, with connections on all sides of some shady lines, and information for sale.
She asked Tarik if he wanted to have coffee with her, and he suggested his aunt’s house, which was how they had met before. He used it as a code name for a coffee shop he frequented, one of several locations where he met the people who paid him for what they wanted to know. Alix looked pleased when they hung up. They were meeting in an hour, although he had mentioned a time three hours later. She knew the drill for that too.
“You’re seeing him tonight?” Ben asked when she hung up, since he had been in the room and heard her end of the conversation, and had been fooled by the time she confirmed.
“No, in an hour. I’d better get going, it’s pretty far from here.”
“I’ll come with you,” he said instantly. “You shouldn’t go alone.” She had the last time, but knew it wasn’t smart, but she’d had an unfamiliar cameraman with her and didn’t want him to know where she was going, or why. She didn’t object to Ben’s offer, and they left the room a few minutes later. She put her scarf back on, they hailed a cab outside the hotel, and Alix gave the driver the address.
It was near the Tehran Grand Bazaar, with lots of traffic and confusion and people milling everywhere. The noise level was incredible. It took them nearly the full hour to get there, because of all the cars on the road. The coffee shop was a hole in the wall they wouldn’t even have noticed if it hadn’t been their destination. It was one of the few coffee shops also open to women. Alix recognized it immediately. Ben walked in behind her and sat down at a table near the front, while Alix walked to the rear of the small restaurant, where she saw the informant waiting at a table for her. He looked casual and indifferent when she sat down, as though he saw her every day.
“Thank you for meeting me,” she said, as his eyes scanned the restaurant and passersby. He seemed satisfied that nothing was amiss, and had realized that Ben was with her, and didn’t care. She h
ad three bills neatly folded into the palm of her hand, which brushed his under the table so quickly that no one would have noticed. She had just paid him the equivalent of three hundred dollars in local currency for whatever he had to say. It was a lot of money in Iran, and she knew that he would tell her if he wanted more for some piece of vital information he had to share. He had been fair with her before, and his leads had been reliable and fruitful.
“What are you looking for?” he asked her, sipping the coffee he had ordered, and he ordered one for her. He was somewhere in his early thirties, and looked like a poor man, which she suspected was no longer the case, since he had been selling information for years. He had good government contacts, according to the reporter who had introduced them, and had never been caught. She suspected he must have been related to someone higher up. Being half Saudi and half Iranian, he had contacts in both worlds and had lived in Tehran for years, moved around a lot, and had managed not to draw attention to himself by allying himself too closely with any side of the local tensions. Saudis were not overly welcome in Iran.
“I’m not sure,” she said in answer to his question. “Anything you know here that might make a good story for us. Has anyone come through Tehran who shouldn’t have?”
“Not recently. Maybe six months ago,” he said, thinking about it, narrowing his eyes as he took another sip of the strong coffee and she waited, not sure what she expected to hear. “Your Vice President,” he said in an undervoice so no one would hear him. His lips barely moved, and then he lit a cigarette and blew smoke in the air. “No one knew he was here. He’s been here before, but not in a few years. He used to come often, a long time ago. He has Saudi friends, he meets them here. It’s complicated but he knows important people, they make it possible for him. He comes very quietly.”
Alix was stunned to hear this, and it had been so easy. It almost didn’t seem true, but she believed the information, and Tarik had been a trustworthy source before. “Was he here on an official visit?”
Tarik shook his head. “Not this time. The last time, yes, maybe two years ago. He used to come more often, eight or ten years ago. He meets with four Saudis, important men. They’re the biggest exporters of oil in Saudi Arabia, related to the royal family. In the old days, he came every month, then less often. Now he is more careful. I can ask if he meets them anywhere else. Maybe Dubai. Is that what you wanted to know?” he asked her, and she nodded, trying not to look as surprised as she was. Coming to Tehran was not easy for an American, but clearly Tony Clark knew the right people to make it happen. With enough money, anything could be done, even here. She realized that he probably flew in and out on a private plane, undoubtedly provided by his Saudi “friends.”
“I think it is.”
“Meet me here tomorrow at six o’clock, and I’ll see what else I can find out. If he does business with them, they pay him a lot, many millions. Money is no problem for them.” It would explain some of the fortune Tony had amassed if he was being paid by the Saudis. Even good investments wouldn’t account for it, but Saudi oil money would. Alix had just never expected him to be involved in that. Taking bribes from lobbyists in Washington would have been one thing, but making oil deals with the Saudis was an enormous piece of information. “See you tomorrow,” Tarik said as he stood up and left some coins on the table. She followed him onto the street without further conversation, and Ben got up and met her. Tarik picked up a bicycle he’d left outside and took off, and Ben and Alix walked down the street and hailed a cab. They were in the taxi before she said a word to him. She looked distracted as she thought about what Tarik had said. It was a shocking revelation, and confirmed her suspicions that there was something “off” about the Vice President that she and Felix Winters couldn’t put their finger on. Maybe this was it. But then, where did the lobbyists fit in? Or was Clark on the take from everyone, trying to amass money for a presidential campaign? Or was it all just greed, or all of the above? And he had married big money too.
“Get what you wanted?” Ben asked her quietly.
“I think so. I’m not sure. It was a good idea,” she said vaguely, and stared out the window on the way back to the hotel. She was thinking about Olympia Foster and that she had no idea what she was dealing with. If this was true, and the Saudis were paying Tony Clark, he was a major crook of massive proportions, and had convinced Olympia of his innocence. She wondered if Bill Foster had known, or even suspected, what Clark was doing. But Alix knew Olympia would never tell her if he did. She was protective of them both. And Alix doubted that Foster was in on Tony’s deals, if there were any. Foster was too clean for that. Alix had no concerns about Bill Foster. No one had ever been worried about Foster having dubious income from unknown sources, or misdeeds. He had died as he had lived, lily pure, with an untarnished reputation.
Alix went to bed early that night and said nothing more to Ben about what the informant had told her. They filmed the women going to the government meeting the next day, concluded the story, and were back at the hotel in the late afternoon. She told Ben then that she was meeting Tarik again in the same place. He didn’t seem surprised, and they took a cab to the same coffee shop, and followed the same routine as the day before. Tarik looked like he was in a hurry this time. He said he had a meeting across town in an hour, and traffic was bad.
“He’s been meeting the Saudis in Dubai,” he told her immediately. “He stopped doing business with them four years ago when he became Vice President. Now he wants to start again.” Probably preparing for a presidential campaign in two or three years, Alix guessed but didn’t comment. The President had just been elected for his second term, so Clark had to make plans now, and put money in his coffers. “The money they pay him goes into Swiss accounts. Those accounts aren’t safe anymore, so your government can probably find out if they know what to ask. He met two of them in college at Harvard, brothers, and they remained friends. He’s been doing business with them for many years.” He slipped her a tiny piece of paper then, with their names on it. “He won’t come to Tehran again, it’s not safe for him. He only came to see them once privately since he’s been Vice President. I think they will meet in Dubai more often. He wants to make a deal with them.”
“Was a man named Bill Foster ever part of it? William Foster? Did he come with him?” She hoped not, but she had to do her job and ask. She couldn’t protect anyone in her quest for the truth.
“No, he always came alone. My source is sure of that. And I’ve never heard that name. But your Vice President is a hard businessman and wants a lot of money from them. And then he will owe them what they want later on, when he’s President. He has said he will win next time for sure. Is that true?” He was asking her for information now as a quid pro quo.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “He could, with the right running mate and enough money behind him.” He had a pretty wife and young family, and he carried the aura of Bill Foster with him as his best friend, even if he didn’t have Foster’s charisma. Elections had been won with less. He had been careful not to offend anyone as Vice President. And if he had the important lobbies behind him, he would be bought and paid for and owe his soul to some very important people before he ever won the election. But with their weight and money in the scale, they might just tip the balance and win the election for him. It was a frightening thought given what she knew now. He was totally corrupt if the rumors she’d heard in the States and what Tarik said were true. Alix was suddenly afraid that he would win. It was a travesty to the memory of Bill Foster and all he had stood for. She couldn’t help wondering again how much Foster had known, if anything. He couldn’t have suspected or he’d never have groomed him as his running mate, and what a disaster that would have been, and was now. The thought of it made her feel sick. “I think he could win,” she said to Tarik. “That wouldn’t be good, to have a corrupt President in the White House, owned by the Saudis.”
“It’s what they want,” he warned her. “He’s dealing with importa
nt men, and it would give them a lot of power in the States.” That was precisely what was wrong about it. A President who had been heavily subsidized by the wrong people. “He went to them,” Tarik added. “He needs money, a lot of it. He knew where to go. I have to leave now,” he said. “It was nice doing business with you again.”
She slipped the equivalent of another three hundred dollars into his palm then, and he was pleased. They’d had good dealings before. It had been a long time, and he’d been surprised to hear from her again. He was happy he could find out the information she wanted. He liked to think he was an instrument of world peace. It made what he did seem nobler to him. But whatever his motives, Alix was satisfied. Now she had to figure out what to do with the information and where to go from here. She needed to think about it, and wanted to discuss it with Felix when she got back to New York. They were leaving the next day.
She followed Tarik out of the coffee shop again, and he took off on his bike. Ben joined her on the street and they went back to the hotel in silence. He could tell she didn’t want to discuss what she’d heard, and she looked shaken by it. She trusted him, but at first she didn’t even know what to say. It was hard to wrap her mind around, even for her.
They went for a walk after dinner, and Alix finally said something to Ben.
Dangerous Games Page 7
