Middle Man (15 page)

“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 military 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.

B
annio
n 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.”

I expected to see Gill waiting for me in the lobby, but he was not there. I bought drinks at the bar and we carried them upstairs. Maya sat down on the desk chair and said, “I cannot read Johnny anymore. I could once. I thought I could.”

“I can't read you.”

She smiled at that. “I was sixteen when I married Johnny. In England. He was famous among the Kurdish exiles for having helped smuggle refugees out after Saddam cracked down. Very dashing. Fancy suits and an eye patch.”

“And now you wonder if that's fake.”

She almost backed out because her father pushed so hard for the union. She felt like she was being sold. But she loved Johnny. She grew up around intrigue and suddenly it all felt real. Gun runners over to the flat for dinner, telling wild stories of their narrow escapes and lucrative deals, and bankers listening patiently and nodding along like fans at a jazz club counting the beat. Then the Americans started showing up. Officers, even diplomats. And Maya knew it was getting serious because she was excluded from the talks and from the trips. But the King was excluded, too. Bannion trotted him out for show and then shunted him away from the serious conferences. “The nuts and bolts, darling; he wouldn't know one from the other, would he?” Johnny would say when she protested the disrespect her father had to bear.

And Johnny's cruelty became more apparent, or she grew up enough to notice it more. He always had a mean streak, a disparaging sense of humor, but that added to his aura and reinforced her belief that he was a man of action, the man of action, who would be the catalyst to her father's ascension. But as she matured, the cracks became visible and soon the cracks were all she could see. He made trips to Iraq. She stayed in London. Even shut out, she could see that the cronies were mercenaries, the officers were traitors. She heard of murders. Johnny's cynicism drowned her idealism. She left him. But her father did not leave Johnny Bannion. The King was like a gold prospector: A few glittering specks were all that was required to keep him knee-deep in the creek. Bannion had only to fail to return a call, miss a meeting, or let it be known that he was courting others, in order to bring the King to heel. Maya determined to free her father and to destroy Bannion. She wanted my help.

She shifted her focus to what a great leader the King would make, but I had heard it already and cut her off.

“Haven't you left someone out?”

Her eyes clouded and she looked past me. “I told you the truth.”

“Part of it, maybe even most of it. But there's your child. Your son.” It was a guess. I had seen the photo of a boy. There had to be an heir, someone to take up the banner the King had carried so feebly.

“Did Johnny tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“He's at school in Switzerland.” She finished her drink and she finished talking about the boy.

“We're right back where we were before,” I said. “Maybe Bannion just wants money, and you and your father are playing along. Maybe there's another kidnapping in the works. Just Houston all over again. Maybe you have honorable reasons to do it. Why should I care?”

She stood up and came close to me. I struggled to keep my hands at my side. She reached up with her lips and kissed me. I didn't respond. She turned and stepped back. “I don't know what he's planning.”

I'm sure there were a million good reasons not to believe her, but suddenly I could not think of any. She started for the door. I stepped forward quickly and caught her arm and turned her toward me and kissed her. I drew her to the bed. We kissed more. I held her and said, “You weren't going to walk out that door, were you?”

“I was determined to stay.” She stepped away from me and turned off the lights.

She was as determined as she claimed. It wasn't love and it was something other than just lust. It was as if we were contesting who was hungriest. I tried, but I don't think I won. In bed, in the dark, in silence, Maya's vagueness shattered. I understood a little about her for the first time: the need to leave the confining compartments and tight curves of intrigue and ambition; the use-it-or-lose-it fear that passion would wither; and the longing to just show off who she was.

While I was getting dressed, I considered playing along, agreeing to help, which really meant agreeing to kill Bannion. That is what she wanted. But she deserved better; at least I told myself she did. “I'm not a killer. I'm not going to kill him for you.”

I didn't have to watch her to know she was reassembling her armor. “That's not why I came here.” Her voice was direct but faint, not fully in place. The slight smile had formed. I no longer saw myself reflected, and seeing behind the smile no longer felt important. I was immune to the mystery. I just had to deal with the woman.

She got up and stood beside the bed, completely naked.

“Maybe I shouldn't have slept with you until you did it.” Her voice was filled with mocking bitterness at the assumption I made. I still believed I had it right.

She moved close past me to reach for her clothes. Her scent hit me and made me want to linger in it. She turned the opaque, enigmatic gaze on me, the one I thought I had moved past.

“You don't have to go back to him.”

She laughed and kissed me. “Such nobility. You're as bad as Johnny. I don't know where you're going, but I bet you're going out now. Yes?”

I did not care that she was a liar who would betray me with barely a nod. I wished she had stayed.

______

I called Major Hensel and identified Bannion as the puppet master. I told him about the meeting with the retired generals. The Major already knew about Garner, but not Tagliaferro. I told him that I kept hearing whispers about big doings set for tomorrow.

“A coup?”

“Bannion is certainly not going to try to put the King in charge. And he can't take on the Peshmergas. I don't see him attempting a takeover. Baghdad would come in and crush him.”

“Then what are those generals doing there?”

“I think it's okay to assume Bannion is not leveling with them about his plans. They're looking for paydays. They think he has money from the graves, other graves than the ones we know about, and is going to be using that, and they can grab a share.”

“And Bannion doesn't have that money?”

“Not here.” The picture of Bannion's fake beatific expression directed toward the safe floated in front of me. I asked the Major about Gill again. He said he had already checked, and found nothing. “Can you check for a soldier or Marine by that name who died in action?” I also told him the names of the seven goons Bannion introduced me to. Hensel said he would put Will Panos on it. I left out Victor Kosinski. I thought we were done.

The Major said, “Get Bannion and get out of there as soon as you can.”

“I want to find the money.”

“That's an order.”

“I can get him anytime.”

“I'm not thinking about him. I'm thinking of you.”

As soon as I hung up, I called Will Panos. “How's it going with the widow?”

“We'll see,” he said.

“We'll see is pretty good. Want me to ask you to go back to Montana on important business?”

“Yes.”

“Another time. I gave the Major a list of names. I don't know what the common thread is other than they don't belong to the men using them. And there's another name.”

“I know. Gill. The Major already sent it to me.”

“Another name. But you can't tell the Major. Give me your word.”

“Okay.”

“Victor Kosinski. There can't be too many. This one might have been traveling as a Marine. I need to know every time he entered or left the country and where.”

“Where he went?”

“Where he entered or left from.”

I called Gill's room. He did not pick up. I called the front desk and asked if he left me a message. They told me Mr. Gill had checked out.

Then the gunfire started.