The Pirate

by Harold Robbins

  She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Things are never really what they seem, are they?”

  Ali Yasfir nodded. “We may have to take action sooner than we had thought.”

  She let the smoke drift slowly from her mouth.

  “You have not changed your mind?” he asked quickly. “You are still of the same beliefs?”

  “I have not changed my mind. How can I? I still remember the atrocity perpetrated on us by the Israeli planes. I can still see the dead bodies and faces of my friends. I have seen the unprovoked cruelty of the Israelis. I will not change my mind until they are all dead.”

  He relaxed slightly. “I was afraid your American lover might have changed your beliefs.”

  She met his eyes steadily. “He is not my lover,” she said coldly. “I use him so that I can have access to what is going on in my father’s business.”

  “Then you know about the order to stop the shipments from Arabdolls?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “I’m not sure but I think they suspect that Ziad has been taking money from them on the side. They are investigating now to find out if that is true.”

  “It is very important to us that those shipments continue. It is our main source of American dollars. Do you think you have enough influence with your American friend to get those orders rescinded?”

  “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “He was instructed by my father to stop those shipments.” She looked at him. “What if I spoke directly to my father?”

  “No. Your father knows nothing about those shipments. If he did, he would surely halt them. He refused us before.”

  “I don’t know what I can do then.”

  “Perhaps you can persuade the American to report to your father that there is no problem with the shipments, that Ziad is not getting any money from them.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Of course not,” he said testily. “Don’t be so naïve. How do you think we could get a swine like him to cooperate with us except by bribery? You could tell your friend that you just learned that Arabdolls is owned by friends of yours and you would not like to see them upset.”

  “Do you think he would believe that?”

  “Who can tell? You should know better than anyone how much power you have over him.”

  A faint smile came to her lips. “He might do it. We have been together at least four times a day while my father has been in Gstaad. He is like a madman. He never lets me alone.”

  “If that is true, then you should have no difficulty with him.”

  “But what if he refuses?”

  “You can threaten to go to your father and tell him of your affair.” He saw the shocked expression on her face and added quickly, “But that is only a last resort. For now you will do no more than ask him. We will meet again at the same time tomorrow evening and you will let me know his answer.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Not now.”

  “How long must I remain here?” she asked. “I did not spend all that time in a training camp to be a secretary. When will I get an opportunity to do something real?”

  “You are doing something very important for us right now. But perhaps the other thing will come sooner than you think.

  ***

  Carriage looked up at the clock after the special messenger from the consul’s office had left. Seven o’clock. He opened his desk drawer and took out the matching key that would open the pouch. It had to be something very important to have been sent by sealed diplomatic pouch on the last plane of the day from Beirut.

  Inside was a single folder with one sheet of paper. Typewritten across the folder in bold red letters were the words CONFIDENTIAL REPORT—ARABDOLLS.

  He opened the folder and began to read quickly. The contents were brief and to the point. Arabdolls was a front for the drug syndicate. Among its listed owners were an American Mafioso, a French Corsican who was a known operator of heroin refineries and two Lebanese, one a man who had wide contacts among the poppy growers in both Lebanon and Turkey, the other a banker who represented various Fedayeen groups in many of their financial transactions.

  Now the premium paid for the shipments began to make sense. They had found a legitimate shipper to bring the drugs into the United States for them because MEDIA not only provided the carrier, but as a licensed U.S. Customs broker they also cleared the shipments for them and delivered direct to the consignee in New York. Although the New York consignee was a well-known American wholesale toy importer, he didn’t doubt that they had made adequate arrangements for the handling of the shipments in the States.

  Carriage picked up a telephone and placed a call to the managing director of the MEDIA shipping office in Beirut. There was one thing more he had to find out.

  The director came on the line, sputtering from the honor of a personal call from Mr. Al Fay’s executive assistant. It was the first time he had spoke to anyone further up in the hierarchy than Youssef. He was most cooperative.

  No, he personally knew nothing about Arabdolls, only that they were very polite and that their invoices were paid promptly. He wished that all his clients were that timely but alas, you know how they are.

  Dick sympathized with him, saying that Mr. Al Fay was quite aware of his problems and very understanding. Then, he inquired how they got the account—which of their agents had solicited it.

  The director was apologetic. Unfortunately, none of his men had been alert enough to get the account. He had to give full credit to Mr. Ziad, who had made all the arrangements in Paris. All they had to do was service the account. And they were taking special care to see that the client had the very best service. Good accounts such as these were hard to come by.

  Dick thanked him and put down the telephone. He wondered how much Youssef knew about the contents of the shipments. It was hard for him to believe that Youssef would dare proceed against Baydr’s policy. Especially after the Ali Yasfir incident in Cannes last summer, he was well aware that Baydr had refused to act as a front for the illegal activities of the Fedayeen no matter how worthy they claimed their motivations were.

  Still, there was only one way that the deal could have been made. Someone had to have reached Youssef. He wondered how well Youssef knew Ali Yasfir. He tried to recall if he had seen them together in Cannes but all he could remember was that he had asked Youssef to relay to Yasfir Baydr’s invitation for the party on the yacht.

  He had just locked the folder in the safe when Leila returned. He looked up at her, thinking as he did so that he would call Baydr first thing in the morning.

  “What’s wrong?” Leila asked quickly. “You look very serious.”

  “Too much on my mind, I guess.” He forced a smile. “How were your friends?”

  She returned his smile. “Silly girls. They were okay at school but now I think I’ve outgrown them. All they can talk about is boys.”

  He laughed. “That seems normal to me.”

  “That’s all they think about too.”

  “And what do you think about?”

  She came over to his desk and bent over him so that her face was almost touching his. “Fucking you,” she said.

  CHAPTER 6

  Baydr came on the telephone, sounding cheerful. “Good morning, Dick.”

  “Morning, chief. How is it up there?”

  “Just beautiful. And the boys love it. You ought to see them on skis. They’re naturals.”

  “Good,” Dick said. “I’ve got some business to talk about. Is the scrambler attached?”

  “No,” Baydr answered. “Call me back in ten minutes on the other line. I’ll have it hooked up by then.”

  Dick put down his telephone and checked to make sure his own scrambler was tied into the line. He flipped the switch and the red light came on. It was working. He turned it off. The scrambler had been especially made for them, so that anyone who might even accidentally come on their line would hear nothing but a series
of unintelligible sounds.

  He thought back to last night. The affair of Arabdolls was becoming stranger by the minute. Now there was a new ramification. Out of left field Leila had shown an unexpected interest in it.

  She had led up to the subject obliquely, in true Arabic fashion. They were lying naked on his bed, smoking a joint, after making love. He felt himself drifting hazily. “I wonder if we’ll be able to meet like this when my father comes back,” she said.

  “Well find a way.”

  “You won’t have time. When he’s around you never have a moment to yourself.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Sometimes I think you’re even more of a slave than Jabir.”

  “It’s not as bad as that.”

  “It’s bad enough,” she said, her eyes seeming to fill with tears.

  “Hey, cut that out,” he said, reaching for her.

  She moved her head down to his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m must beginning to get used to you, just beginning to discover how wonderful you are.”

  “You’re pretty wonderful yourself.”

  “I have a confession to make.”

  “No confessions.”

  But she went on. “You’re the first real man I’ve ever been with. All the others were just boys. I never felt anything with them like I feel with you.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “Is it like that with you? Do you feel the same things with your wife that you feel with me?”

  He thought of his wife and sons, who were six thousand miles away, and felt a twinge of conscience. “That’s not fair,” he remonstrated.

  “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me. I won’t ask you again.” She reached up and took the joint from his fingers. “Give me a toke.”

  He watched her inhale the sweet fragrance. After a few drags she gave the cigarette back to him. He took it and placed it in an ashtray. Then he turned her on her back and went down on her.

  She moaned softly, her hands holding his face tightly against her. “By the life of Allah, how I love it!” She raised her face so that she could look at him. “Do you know you are the first man who ever ate me?”

  He shook his head.

  “None of the boys I went with ever did that. But they were all Arabs,” she said. “Arab boys are lousy lovers. All they think about is their own pleasure. Tell me, do all Americans do that?”

  “I really don’t know.”

  “Do you like me to eat you?”

  He nodded.

  “Let me then,” she said, pushing him over. She took his erect phallus in her two hands and covered his glans with her lips. After a moment she raised her head and looked up at him. “You have a beautiful cock, do you know that? Thick and lovely. It’s very American.”

  He laughed aloud.

  “Don’t laugh, I mean it,” she said seriously. “All the Arab boys I knew had long skinny ones.”

  He didn’t tell her that might have been because the boys were young and had not reached their growth. “Is it only Arab boys that you knew?” he asked.

  “No, once I had a French boy. But it was dark and he was so quick I never really had a chance to see it.” She looked down at him. “You know I’ll miss it.”

  Then unexpectedly she laughed. “I just had a crazy idea. I saw an ad in a magazine where they sold life-size inflatable doll. Do you think I might have one made of you? That way I could keep you in my room and if you could not be there in person I would just blow it up and there you’d be.”

  “That is crazy.” He laughed.

  “I bet I could get my friend at Arabdolls to make one,” she said.

  The warning bell in his head rang loud and clear. “I wouldn’t think they were into that sort of thing,” he said.

  “They might do it for me. Essam Mafrad’s father owns the company and he is a close friend of my mother’s father.”

  Mafrad was the Lebanese banker who represented Al-Ikhwah, and it was more than likely that her grandfather knew him. The Lebanese banking community was a tightly knit one. But he dismissed the possibility of mere coincidence after her next question.

  Sitting up in the bed, as if the thought had just come to her, she asked, “Isn’t that the company my father doesn’t want to handle the shipments for?”

  He nodded.

  “He can’t do that. They’re our very good friends. They would be very upset.”

  “Then tell your father. I’m sure if he knew that he would reconsider.”

  “I can’t do that. You know my father. He doesn’t like anyone to tell him what to do.”

  He was silent.

  “You could do something about it. You could okay the shipments.”

  “Then what about your father? If he found out he would have my ass.”

  “He would never have to know. Just don’t show him the reports. He has so much on his mind, he would never think of it.”

  “I couldn’t do that.”

  “Why not? You would really be doing him a favor. Our families have been friends for years and you would be saving him a great deal of embarrassment.”

  “It’s not my place. I haven’t the authority.”

  “Then do it for me. And if father finds out, you tell him that I asked you to do it. I’m only trying to avoid trouble between the families.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said firmly.

  Suddenly she was angry. She got out of the bed and stood over him. “You act as if I’m a silly girl!” she stormed. “I’m all right as something to fuck but as far as anything else goes, forget it!”

  “Hey, wait a minute,” he said in a conciliatory voice. “I don’t think anything of the sort. I have a great deal of respect for your opinion. I don’t doubt that you’re right, but you’re asking me to do something I haven’t the authority to do. But I will do something. Tomorrow I will tell your father what you told me and I’m sure he will approve the shipments.”

  “I don’t need your favors!” she snapped. “I don’t want you to tell him anything, do you understand that? Anything!”

  “I won’t then, if that’s what you want.”

  “That’s what I want. If I have anything to tell him, I will tell him myself!”

  “Okay, okay,” he said.

  She snatched her robe from the chair and walked to the door, then turned back to face him. “You’re all afraid of my father, but I’m not. And, someday, all of you will find that out!”

  For a long time, he had sat in bed smoking cigarette after cigarette. It had to be more than coincidence. Even if the Riad and Mafrad families were good friends, the whole thing coming from her at this particular time was just a little too pat.

  He wondered whether he should tell Baydr about it, but decided against it. It would only expose their relationship and that would be the end of his job. As liberal as Baydr might be about many things, he was still her father.

  Maybe by morning she would have calmed down. In the meantime, he made up his mind to do one thing.

  Despite the late hour, he reached for the private telephone on his night table, pressing down the anti-eavesdropping button, so that no one in the house could listen in on an extension. He dialed the number of a private investigator the company had used several times.

  When he put down the telephone after talking with the man, he felt better. From now on, whenever Leila left the house she would be under surveillance. By the end of the week he would have a good idea of who she was seeing and every friend she had in Geneva. Maybe when all of that was put together he might be able to make some sense out of her actions.

  ***

  He had gone to the office before eight o’clock, when he knew there would be no one else around and he could reach Baydr at breakfast. Now it was almost time to call Baydr back. He would have the scrambler connected. He dialed the number.

  Baydr answered, “Dick?”

  “Yes.”

  “Turn your switch on.”

  He heard the buzz in his line and pressed down
the scrambler button. Abruptly the buzz disappeared. “Okay now?”

  “Perfect,” Baydr said. “What is it?”

  “Arabdolls.” He was succinct. “They’re a front. I’m afraid we’ve been running dope for them.” Quickly he reviewed everything he had learned.

  Baydr was silent for a moment. “How did we get into this?” he asked. “Was the deal made in Beirut?”

  “No, in Paris. I was informed that the contract came from Youssef himself.”

  “I was afraid of that. I had heard that he’d been meeting Ali Yasfir. But I didn’t think that Youssef would have the nerve to do anything like that on his own. The money had to be very big to move him.”

  Carriage was surprised. “You knew of the contacts between them?”

  “Yes, but I thought it was just Yasfir’s way of keeping in touch. Apparently I was wrong. I accepted all his little side deals. Those were more or less customary. But this is something else.”

  “What should we do about it?”

  “There’s not much we can do. We can’t open it up because it could turn into a Pandora’s box for us. One word and we lose our U.S. Customs brokerage as well as our shipping franchises. We’ll have to handle it internally. The first thing to do is to get Youssef up here. We have to find out how deeply we’re actually involved.”

  “Will you come here to meet him?” Dick asked.

  “No. Geneva is filled with inquisitive eyes. Better ask him to come to Gstaad to see me.”

  “Okay. Would you like me to come also?”

  “I think you’d better remain there. The less people he sees around the better.”

  Another thought ran through Dick’s mind. “I’ve picked up some talk that Mafrad and Riad are very close. Do you think your former father-in-law might be involved with them?”

  “Impossible!” Baydr’s reaction was convincing. “Riad is an old-fashioned conservative. He wouldn’t go near a hustler like Mafrad if he were coated in gold.”

  “I just thought you should know,” Dick said. Again he thought of Leila. The words were almost on his lips when he reconsidered. It would keep until the end of the week, when he would know more. After he had put down the telephone, he sat for some moments lost in thought. If there was no connection between the families, why had she made such an important point of saying that there was? None of it made any real sense, at least not yet.