“So, it would appear I am the last, old friend. My hip bothers me a great deal these days. You remember our old wartime motto: To the men of the SS, nothing is impossible.” He sighed, then gathered himself together. “So back to work.”
He limped out, and the chapel door slammed behind him. It was quiet, lit only by the guttering candles. Little did he know that just around the corner, a series of events were waiting that would change his life forever.
London
The Empty Quarter
Iraq
3.
THE FOLLOWING YEAR was the first time he met Paul Rashid, the Earl of Loch Dhu. The legendary figure behind Rashid Investments, the earl had had an English mother and an Omani general for a father, and had served in the SAS during the Gulf War. The Rashid wealth was well known, as was their grip on the oil fields of Hazar, and also in the Dhofar, for Paul Rashid was Bedu and controlled the vast deserts of the Empty Quarter.
Berger International had sought oil concessions in the Dhofar, but even the Americans hadn’t been able to break the iron control of the Rashids. The Baron tried a different approach. He arranged an arms deal with Yemen, then asked Rashid Investments to broker it for him, reporting directly to him. In this way he hoped, of course, to get to meet Paul Rashid, and one day he received a message that the chairman would meet him in the Piano Bar at the Dorchester Hotel.
He arrived in the early evening as stipulated and ordered a whiskey – an Irish. He’d always favored that. He sat, hands on the handle of his cane, and noticed a supremely beautiful woman pause at the entrance. She wore a black jumpsuit, her black hair hanging to her shoulders and framing a face that could have belonged to the Queen of Sheba. And then she came down the steps and approached him.
“Baron von Berger?”
“Why, yes.” He started to rise.
“No, don’t get up.” She pulled a chair forward. “I’m Lady Kate Rashid.”
He was totally thrown. “My dear young lady, I was expecting Lord Loch Dhu.”
“But you asked for a meeting with the chairman of Rashid Investments, and that’s me. My brother prefers to stay in the shadows, so to speak.” She laughed. “Don’t look so surprised. I did manage to get an M.A. in business at Oxford. Now let’s have a glass of champagne and you can tell me how we can possibly help the great Baron Max von Berger to do something he can’t do for himself.”
She called to Guiliano, the bar manager, and ordered house champagne. “Don’t worry, it’s the best in the place, but then everything here is the best. So, Baron…”
“Well, as you may know, Berger International dabbles in the arms business.”
“I wouldn’t call it dabbling, Baron.”
“It’s not quite on a par with your oil interests.” He smiled. “I have an order from the Yemeni government for assorted weaponry. Ten million pounds’ worth. It’s no big deal, but the shipment is Russian in origin, so I was hoping to bring it down from the Black Sea in a Greek-owned freighter to Aden.”
“Let me guess. Suddenly there are difficulties with the port authorities in Aden, greedy hands held out.”
“You are a very perceptive young lady.”
“A realist, Baron.”
“Who understands the Arab mentality.”
“I do not regard myself as Arab, Baron, and not just because I am half-English.”
“I am well aware of that. Your family is as great in England as my own is in Germany. I meant no slight.”
“Of course you didn’t, but, as I said, that’s not what I meant. My other half is Bedu, and that is different from being Arab. We bow our heads to no one. The Bedu are the real power in Hazar and the Dhofar, but especially in the Empty Quarter. The Bedu control the Empty Quarter, and the Rashid control the Bedu. My brother is the undisputed leader.”
“A remarkable man, the earl, and the rise in Rashid Investments has been equally remarkable. And yet he is not so often on the scene, as it were.”
“As I told you, he prefers to stay in the shadows. I have two brothers, George and Michael, who are managing directors. And, as you know, I am chairman.”
“And Paul?”
“He prefers to spend time in Hazar with the Bedu. To them, he is a great warrior. He roams the desert by camel, lives in the old Bedu way, guarded by men who would die for him, burned by the sun. He eats dates and dried meats. Would you eat dates and dried meats, Baron?”
Guiliano had materialized with a waiter and thumbed the cork off a bottle of Dorchester champagne.
Max von Berger laughed out loud. “To be frank, I’d rather enjoy the delights of the Piano Bar.”
“Then taste the champagne for me.”
“Only if you allow me one privilege.”
“And what would that be?”
“To call you Kate. It’s a delightful name and suits you beyond measure.”
She smiled. “My pleasure, Max.”
He laughed again and nodded to Guiliano, who smiled and poured. “So where are we, Kate?”
“Regarding your arms shipment? It’s no problem, but we can do better than the Greek freighter. I’ll provide a Rashid ship with an Arab crew. I’ll sort out the Aden end of things, and provide security for the cargo, including its deployment up-country.”
“And what will I have to pay for such munificence?”
“Twenty-five percent.”
There was a moment’s pause, then von Berger smiled. “What a remarkable young woman you are, Kate. I accept, of course.”
“No contract, no handshake?”
“My word.” He raised his glass. “To you, my dear, and to the future.”
They clinked glasses and drank. She nodded to Guiliano, who came forward to refill, and then she sat back, watching the Baron calmly. She knew everything about him, or at least thought she did. He intrigued her, everything about him, and she enchanted him: not in some silly superficial way, a seventy-six-year-old man falling for a beautiful young woman. It was just that everything about her was so remarkable.
“To the future, you say?” She smiled. “So now we come to it. Your interests in the Russian oil fields are not enough. You seek oil concessions in the Dhofar.”
It was a statement. He said, “Alas, to no purpose. The Russians have tried, the Americans, even a British consortium.”
“So now, by coincidence, we have Max von Berger of Berger International coming to Rashid hoping to meet my brother to broker a piffling little ten-million-pound arms deal.”
Von Berger hadn’t enjoyed himself so much in years. He laughed again. “I surrender completely. I thought if I met your brother, it might make a difference.”
“Then why didn’t you say so? You’re interested in the Dhofar and development. So are we. You want to discuss this with Paul? I’ll arrange it. We’ll fly in a company Gulfstream to Hazar – say, ten tomorrow morning? We’ll go up-country by helicopter to Shabwa Oasis in the Empty Quarter, and my brother will see you there. Does any of this seem acceptable?”
“Only that if I was forty years younger, I’d have been at your feet.”
“Oh, very nice, especially coming from the pick of the SS. So it’s a date. Now, as our business here is concluded, what about taking me somewhere nice for dinner? The Ivy would be acceptable. All those awful celebrities makes it so interesting.”
And Max von Berger, filled with excitement, pushed himself up and clicked his heels.
“Lady Kate Rashid, the pleasure is all mine.”
The following day, the Rashid Gulfstream landed in Hazar at the military base, a relic of British imperialism. A Hawk helicopter was waiting and Kate led the way to it, von Berger following. He hadn’t felt so alive in years. So much of the time on the flight from Northolt had been spent in conversation and on about every subject under the sun. He was totally fascinated by her.
The flight in the helicopter was noisy and uncomfortable, as it carved a way through the great heat, bouncing in the thermals over the vastness, the desolation of the Empty Quarter. Evening was falling, the huge sand dunes stretched to infinity, or so it seemed, and von Berger loved it, all of it. Age seemed to have slipped away from him.
And then, in the distance, in the gloom, there were fires, and finally, the Hawk swept in over the vast Shabwa Oasis and hovered. It was a great pool surrounded by palm trees, herds of camels and goats and an enormous encampment; women, children and men, all Bedu, milling around.
The helicopter landed, the engine stopped. The pilot opened the door and stood to one side. “Here we are then, Baron.” Kate smiled. “If you would follow me.”
She was wearing a khaki bush shirt and slacks. Now she pulled on a headcloth and stepped out. The crowd had stepped back and Rashid warriors ran forward with rifles, making a line. The silence was almost total, except for the snort of a camel and the plaintive bleating of the goats. Then down the lane came Paul Rashid, a dramatic figure in headcloth and black robes.
He held out his arms. “Little sister.” Kate ran to him for his embrace.
The crowd erupted, the noise deafening. Paul Rashid turned to von Berger and held out his hand. “You must excuse their enthusiasm, Baron. My sister has a special place in their hearts.”
“I find that perfectly understandable.”
Rashid’s grip tightened, then he leaned forward and kissed von Berger on each cheek.
“Excuse the familiarity, but witnessed by my people, this makes you special, too. Inviolate, you might say. Word spreads easily in the Empty Quarter, better than on a computer. You will always be safe here.”
To von Berger, it was so familiar. It was like Holstein Heath, the Darker Place, the special relationship with his people. He was very moved.
“You make me proud, my Lord.”
Rashid turned to the crowd. “This is Baron von Berger, my friends.”
The crowd raised their voices, the camels wheezed, everything was in motion. Kate turned to von Berger. “Just go with the flow, and remember from now on you are the guest of every Bedu in the Empty Quarter.”
“So, a little hospitality would be in order,” Paul Rashid said. “First, you must refresh yourself after the journey, then we eat.”
“And then comes business,” Kate said.
“Enough for now.” Paul Rashid turned and led the way through the crowd.
The Baron was taken to a richly furnished tent, with carpets and hangings. A canvas bath was provided, two young men on hand who spoke English and attended his every need.
Later he was taken to a larger tent, filled with people eating and sitting on cushions in the traditional way, women bringing in food of many kinds from the cooking tent: stews, roasted lambs, an absolute feast. Von Berger sat between Rashid and Kate.
Rashid said, “I trust you understand. My people expect this. They have their traditions, Baron.”
“Max,” von Berger told him. “Please call me Max.” He reached for a dish of some sort of lamb chops a woman offered, took one with his bare hand and tried it. “Delicious.” He turned to Paul Rashid. “One old soldier to another: I was in the Winter War in Russia and this is infinitely better.”
Paul Rashid smiled. “Then enjoy, my friend.”
Much later, they sat, the three of them, by a blazing fire, guards sitting close by, drinking coffee, AK47s across their knees.
Rashid said, “So, this Yemeni arms affair. Of course we’ll broker it for you. No big deal. But let’s be frank. What my sister said to you was true. This Yemeni thing is nothing to you, we know that. What you are interested in are oil concessions in the Empty Quarter perhaps and certainly in the Dhofar.”
“Absolutely. I know that the Russians are after it, the Brits, the Americans, but your influence with the Bedu confounds them all.”
“That’s true.”
There was silence. The Baron said, “Would you happen to have a cigarette?”
“Of course. I’ll have one with you.” He called in Arabic, a youth ran forward, and cigarettes were provided, and a lighter.
“They got me through the Winter War, these things,” the Baron said.
“And me the Gulf War,” Rashid replied. “We have much in common.”
Von Berger turned to Kate. “Listen to what I say. I would value your opinion.”
“Of course.”
“Right. If I try to obtain concessions in the Dhofar, the great powers would put in place as many roadblocks as they could. Even now, the Russian government isn’t happy with my holdings in their country. Any extension of my power would displease them.”
“That would seem obvious,” she said.
“And the Americans have always distrusted me. The Hitler business never goes away.” He turned to Rashid. “You, on the other hand, they are stuck with. That intrigues me. Why haven’t you used those concessions in the Dhofar?”
Rashid drank his coffee. “Tell him,” he said to Kate.
“Cash flow,” she said. “Rashid Investments is worth billions, but it’s all tied up. Capital investment, mainly. I don’t need to tell you that oil exploration is an expensive business.”
“But if you had the resources, you could go ahead in the Dhofar. America and Russia could do nothing.”
She looked at him calmly. “We’d need a lot of money. And I wouldn’t want it tied up by the banks.”
“What she means is we’d need something like one billion in cash, nice and fluid in our own account, to get started,” Paul Rashid said.
Von Berger nodded. “Two billion would be better.”
They both stared at him. “Two billion?” Kate said.
“Yes. Let’s see, today is Tuesday. I’ll set the wheels in motion, you could have it by Friday.” He smiled. “And then you would be developing oil in the Dhofar, not me. The White House, the Kremlin, Downing Street – they wouldn’t know a thing.”
It was Kate who answered. “Oh, God, that would be beautiful.”
Her brother held up his hand. “This is not a joke. You’re not that kind of man.”
“No, I’m not renowned for my sense of humor where money is concerned.”
“But the manipulations necessary to raise such a sum on the international finance scene would be very obvious. There is no way the Americans, the Russians and the Brits would not be aware of it.”