The Pirate

by Harold Robbins

  He made a note to call her later and tell her of his decision. Also to have Carriage let the real estate broker know he was in the market for a home in Geneva and a villa in Gstaad. He was sure he would find something quickly. Money had a way of getting things done.

  He walked over to the mirror and looked at himself. In his white shirt and dark slacks, he looked more European than Arab. He went to the closet. A moment later he came out with his robes in his hand. Quickly, he slipped into the dark brown mishlah and the black-banded, white headcloth that fell to his shoulders. Again he looked into the mirror. This time he nodded in satisfaction. Now he looked like an Arab. He smiled to himself as he went to the door. There were advantages in going native. Especially when it came to dealing with the French, who thought themselves superior to everyone on the face of the earth.

  ***

  “We are a small country, Monsieur Duchamps,” Baydr said in French, “completely landlocked with no access to the sea except through the kindness of our neighbors, so you can very well understand our problem. Water. We have oil but no water. I have heard my prince say many times that he would gladly exchange his surfeit of oil wells for wells pumping water. With water our country would bloom.”

  Duchamps glanced at his associate and nodded understanding. “Monsieur Al Fay, France has always been among the first nations in the world to understand the difficulties of the Middle Eastern nations and their desire for self-determination and freedom. We have publicly deplored the exploitation of your resources and have indicated our support of your cause, often to the detriment of our relations with the great powers and against public sentiment. Do you not remember that during the previous conflict in sixty-seven we refused Israel shipment of fifty fighter jet Mirage aircraft?”

  “I remember.” He did not add that he recalled that France not only refused Israel the shipment but also refused to return to Israel the hundred million dollars they had collected for the aircraft. Still he could not resist a dig. “Ever since you so generously gave Algeria its freedom, you have been in the forefront of those recognizing the great principle of Arab self-determination.”

  A momentary look of discomfort flashed across the Frenchman’s face, then disappeared. “France stands ready now to fill any orders of matériel to the Arab countries. Our factories are in full operation, building planes, autos, tanks, almost anything the Arab world needs to demonstrate its ability to defend itself.”

  Baydr smiled politely. “I am pleased. I will certainly relay this message to the proper committee. As you know, I am not in military procurement. I have absolutely nothing to do with that. I am in the industrial development area. If you have a machine that will manufacture water I should be most interested.”

  “There are plants that can manufacture water but unfortunately they require water to start with.”

  Baydr allowed himself to appear naïve. “Yes?”

  “Nuclear desalination plants. They are expensive but they work. Unfortunately your country is landlocked.”

  “True, but we have agreements with our neighbors—Syria, Iraq, Jordan, Saudi Arabia—to develop water-manufacturing resources for our mutual benefit.”

  “Do you represent those countries also?” the Frenchman asked.

  “For the first time the Arab world is united in this area. Together we will develop our industrial and agricultural potential. We have, for example, reached a new agreement with Fiat of Italy to manufacture a version of their car. The manufacturing plants will be spread among our various countries so that the workers of each will benefit.”

  “Very commendable,” the Frenchman said stiffly.

  “Of course, it will cost us slightly more to make these cars ourselves rather than import them. But since we are not interested in profit as much as in the idea of becoming self-sufficient, we feel it very worthwhile. We are also negotiating in other fields such as household appliances and television. It is amazing how much one can do when one is willing to work.”

  “How much more do you estimate it will cost to make rather than buy these things?” Duchamps asked.

  Baydr shrugged. “Fifty percent, one hundred percent. What does it matter? We have the money to pay for it. We can afford it.”

  The Frenchman was silent for a moment. When he spoke he was not quite as sure of himself as he had been earlier. “We also are interested in aiding your industrial program. I am sure that we can find many projects that would be mutually beneficial. Our manufacturing industry stands second to none in the world.”

  “I am glad to hear that. What is of special interest to me is your plans for nuclear desalination of water. This is certainly an area that deserves intensive study and one in which we can most certainly work together.”

  “That is, perhaps, the most expensive project of all,” Duchamps said quickly.

  “As I said, money is not important. In my small country alone, the revenues from oil exceed one million dollars a day. When you multiply that by the rest of the Arab world the sum becomes astronomical.”

  “France is not poor. We have all the dollars we need. More than enough in fact.”

  “I am aware of that, but there are other mediums of exchange, and while I am not in charge of policy my recommendations will be looked on favorably when determinations are made.”

  The Frenchman looked at him steadily. They both knew what Baydr was saying. The bargaining power was oil, not for money, but for cooperation. “Monsieur Al Fay,” he said, “I cannot tell you how pleased I am that we have found an area in which we can cooperate. You can be sure that I will be back to you shortly with several very concrete proposals.”

  Baydr got to his feet. “I shall look forward to your return with great expectations.” The Frenchmen also rose. Baydr bowed formally, making the conventional Arab gesture of farewell. “Go with peace.”

  Carriage came back into the room the moment the Frenchmen had gone. “They’re beginning to back up out there,” he said. “It’s a minor version of the UN—Germans, Italians, Rumanians, Norwegians.”

  “It didn’t take long for the word to get around, did it?”

  Carriage shook his head. They had just arrived the day before. “They’re like dogs around a bitch in heat.”

  Baydr laughed. “Better call the bank and see if they can lend us a couple of secretaries. Then set up an appointment schedule. We’ll have to see them all.”

  “Why? There are very few that will have anything for us.”

  “I know that, but it doesn’t matter. Right now they are all in shock over the embargo. They still don’t believe it. When it sinks in, they will be panicky and angry. One of our jobs is to keep as many friends as we can.”

  “Right, chief.” Carriage started for the door.

  Baydr stopped him. “Dick, get Mrs. Al Fay on the phone for me. She’s in Beirut at my father’s house.”

  “Will do.” The door closed behind him and a moment later the telephone rang. The Swiss telephone service prided itself on its efficiency. Jordana was on the line.

  “How are the children?” he asked.

  Jordana’s voice was dull. “Fine.”

  “Are they enjoying school?”

  “I don’t know whether they like it or not but they’re going.”

  “Are you very busy?”

  A moment’s silence. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said. “I’m in Beirut. There is absolutely nothing for me to do here.”

  “Then maybe you won’t mind coming up here and helping me out. I’ve decided to get a house here in Geneva and a villa in Gstaad and I’ll be too busy to attend to it.”

  “Baydr, do you mean it?”

  “Why shouldn’t I mean it? It looks like we’ll be spending a great deal of time here in the near future. Will you come?”

  She laughed. “I’ll be on the next plane.”

  “Good.” He smiled into the telephone. “Let us know the flight and I’ll have Jabir pick you up at the airport.”

  Dick came back into the room as
soon as he had put down the telephone. There was a strange look on his face. “There’s a girl outside to see you.”

  Suddenly Baydr was annoyed. “You ought to know better than that, Dick,” he said sharply. “I have too much to do to bother with girls today. Send her away.”

  “I did that once already, sir,” Dick said. “But she came back a few minutes later with Jabir. He said you would want to see her.”

  Baydr found that curious. Usually Jabir never concerned himself with the women. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Neither she nor Jabir would give me her name. They said they wanted to surprise you.”

  Baydr thought for a moment. It had to be something important. Jabir wasn’t given to playing games. “Okay, I’ll see her,” he said. “But only for a moment. And tell Jabir that I’m doing this only as a favor to him and that I don’t want it repeated.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Baydr walked over to the sideboard and filled a cup with coffee. Holding it in his hand he walked back toward his desk. He heard the door open behind him and turned toward it.

  A young woman stood in the doorway almost shyly. Baydr looked at her. There was something vaguely familiar about her. She was beautiful, her face almost heart-shaped, with dark blue eyes and shining black hair that fell past her shoulders. She was dressed in the shirt and blue jeans that most of the young people wore these days, but from what he could see, her figure was good. He noticed the hint of fear creep into her dark blue eyes. Suddenly it all came together.

  “Leila!” he exclaimed.

  A tremulous smile broke through the fear. “Hello, Father,” she said softly.

  He crossed the room and took her in his arms.

  CHAPTER 2

  “I’m almost nineteen, Father, and it’s not happening for me in school,” she said. “Too many important things are going on out there and I want to be a part of it.”

  He smiled. There was so much about her that reminded him of himself. The same impatience, the same curiosity and desire to participate. “Exactly what is it you want to do?”

  She was vague. “I don’t know. All I know is what I don’t want to do. I don’t want to be like my sister. I don’t want marriage and a family to be the only goals in my life. There must be something I can do.”

  “Have you talked to your mother about this?”

  “You know Mother. She doesn’t understand. She thinks I should do exactly what I said I don’t want to do. Grandfather even has someone picked out for me to marry.”

  Baydr was amused. “Your grandfather hasn’t changed. I suppose it’s a rich man from a very good family?”

  “Of course.” She laughed. “Grandfather Riad has always been very good at that.”

  Baydr laughed. “I should know that. But seriously, there are many things you could do. Like teaching. We need all the teachers we can get.”

  “You mean the accepted ladylike professions.” She could not keep the slight note of scorn from her voice. “I don’t want that either. I just don’t want to do the things that women have been permitted to do for generations. I want to be involved in something real, something that moves us forward. In my way I want to do what you’ve been doing, by helping to bring us into today’s world, and making the world accept us on our own terms.”

  “It’s not as easy as that. Do you know how many people in this world still have the idea that we are a primitive people?”

  “I know,” she said quickly. “And that’s what I want to change. Now that we have won the war, we have a chance to make the world recognize that we are as good as they are.”

  “Do you believe we won the war?” Baydr asked curiously.

  “I know we did. If we hadn’t been forced into a cease-fire, we could have destroyed the Israeli armies once and for all. They were moving right into the traps set for them in both Syria and Egypt.”

  Baydr looked at her. There was so much she did not know. This was the standard line fed to the people by the pan-Arab propagandists. It was a source of continual amazement to him that the majority of Arabs believed it. That Israel had cut off Egypt’s Third Army and in a few days more could have occupied both Cairo and Damascus never seemed to enter their minds. “I still don’t know what you can do,” he said.

  “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “I could work for you.” She looked into his eyes.

  She was so intent that he did not smile. “Doing what?” he asked gently.

  “I could be your assistant,” she said seriously. “Mother always said that I should have been a boy. That I was exactly like you.”

  “I’m afraid not,” he said kindly. “My assistants all have had special training for their positions. Much of the work is highly technical and specialized.”

  “I don’t mean right away,” she said quickly. “I could start as a clerk or maybe a secretary until I learned enough.”

  “Can you take shorthand and type?” he asked.

  “I can type a little.”

  He was silent, then he shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Even for those jobs we need someone who has been trained.”

  “I could be a receptionist. I’d be willing to start anywhere.”

  “You’re my daughter. How do you think that would look?”

  “No one would have to know. We could keep it secret.”

  “No. It wouldn’t work. There are no secrets in this business.”

  She was crestfallen. “I won’t go back to that school,” she said stubbornly. “I hate it.”

  “You don’t have to. I have another idea.”

  She looked up at him hopefully.

  “If you are serious about what you say, I could arrange for you to go to a university in the States where you can major in business administration. In a few years you would know enough to fit in someplace in the organization.”

  “That would take years,” she said impatiently. “What about now? By the time I finish school everything will have been done.”

  He laughed. “I don’t think so. There’s more than enough to last both our lifetimes.”

  “Can’t I go to school right here?” she asked. “That way I can work after school and learn at the same time.”

  “It’s not the same. All they could teach you is stenography, typing and maybe some simple accounting.”

  “It would be a start, then if I found that I was good at it, I could go to school in the States.”

  “Let me think about it.”

  “There’s nothing to think about,” she said positively. “I heard your man calling the bank for secretaries. While you’re waiting for them, I could answer telephones and act as your receptionist. I’m very good on the telephone. Really.”

  He began to laugh. “You’re a very determined young lady.”

  She met his eyes. “You just don’t know how much.”

  “I’m beginning to get the idea.” He chuckled, then the smile left his face. “You know I’ll have to talk to your mother about this.”

  “Why? You never talked to her about me before.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes fell for a moment, then she looked up at him. “Why didn’t you ever want to see us after you left?”

  Baydr met her gaze. “Is that what your mother told you?”

  She nodded.

  Baydr was silent. There was no point in telling her of the many requests he made to see her or have her visit him only to have Maryam refuse by saying that she wanted nothing more to do with him. Leila knew only that he had left them and that was the way it should remain. He took a deep breath and then let the air slowly out. “Well, it’s not true,” he said quietly.

  She didn’t speak.

  He sensed her doubt. “But it doesn’t matter now,” he said gently. “You are here and I am seeing you.”

  She nodded, still silent.

  “Tell me,” he said awkwardly. “How is your sister?”

  “Fine. She’s married. I don’
t see much of her or her husband. We don’t have much in common. They’re very social. And, oh yes, Amal thinks she might be pregnant.”

  He smiled. “You mean I’m about to become a grandfather?”

  “It’s possible.”

  He let out a slow whistle.

  “That’s very American,” she said quickly.

  “What is?”

  “That whistle. What does it mean?”

  He laughed. “I have a lot of adjustments to make. First I have to realize that I’m the father of a nineteen-year-old, now suddenly, I’m a grandfather.”

  Leila laughed. “Don’t count on it. Amal thinks she’s pregnant every month. This might be like all the others.”

  “You know, you have two brothers.”

  “I know. Muhammad and Samir.”

  “You know their names?”

  “It’s not exactly a secret. The newspapers always have stories about you. And pictures.”

  “They’re good boys. You would like them.”

  “I want to meet them.”

  “You will. Soon.” He got to his feet. “Where are you staying?”

  “With a girlfriend,” she said. “Her family lives in Geneva.”

  “Swiss?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you rather stay there or would you like to move in here with me?”

  “Whatever you would like,” she said, her eyes falling away from him.

  “Get your things together then,” he said. “Can you be back here in time for dinner?”

  She raised her head. Her eyes were smiling. “I think so.”

  “Okay, get going then. I have work to do.”

  She rose from the chair and threw her arms around him. “Thank you, Father.”

  He kissed the top of her head lightly. “Don’t thank me. After all, I am your father, aren’t I?”

  ***

  She stood in the doorway of the coffeehouse and scanned the tables. The restaurant was almost empty, just a few office workers dallying over their morning coffee before going to work. She looked at her watch. Eleven o’clock. They should be here any minute now. She went to a table and sat down.