Middle Man (7 page)

“I have no reason to buy anything. I have no woman to buy it for.”

“That's not bragging. That's flirting.”

“Isn't that why we're here?”

She looked at me the same way she had at the club, just an expressionless stare. She said, “I wanted to come to the club tonight so I could meet you.”

The flickering candlelight accentuated the angles of her face and the surrounding darkness acted as a whisper: I leaned in to be sure I saw her expression. I wanted to erase the darkness, eliminate anything that kept me from seeing her perfectly.

I asked, “Why is that?”

“We might be able to help each other.”

The waitress brought our drinks. I had not caught her reflection in the window. “Y'all ready?” We both shook our heads with the same slow cadence. The waitress shrugged and went away.

The spell was strong. Too strong. I could leave the party now, or stay too long. The buzz I was feeling had spread thoroughly, drowning out my thoughts. If I abandoned my self-indulgence at that moment, I could still believe it was a just a pleasurable ploy to expose Maya, or to trick her into revealing herself. It would have been fine to go on for a while if I could keep my distance. I couldn't.

I still did not know who she was.

I thought I saw movement outside. Maya saw me staring at the window and turned to check it out for herself.

“Just leaves rustling, I think,” I said. “But maybe you're expecting someone out there.” She didn't answer, so I went on. “You can start with who is in the black SUV, or with who you are. I don't care where you start, but understand, we're going to get to it all.” I was harsh. But it did not throw her off.

“Forgive me. You came along so willingly that I assumed you knew who I was. My name is Maya Karkukli. My father is Basam Karkukli. He is the rightful heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Kurdistan. I was informed that you were purchasing oil rights to the Kurdish fields in Iraq from parties whom we consider to be rivals. I wanted to meet you so that we could discuss this situation and possibly find some common ground. I did not want to begin in a business setting because I wanted first to assess what kind of man you are. I wanted to see if you are up to the challenges involved in this sort of business.”

“How am I doing?”

“Quite well.”

“Now then, tell me why we're out here at the Cheating Heart Café in downtown Lonesome Pines.”

She laughed and I could feel the buzz zip through me again. I fought it.

“I thought privacy would be essential,” she said.

“Try again.”

She sipped her wine to buy time. She looked at the menu. I moved the candle closer to her in case she was actually reading. She moved the candle back and slid the menu aside. The flame flickered in her dark eyes.

“You're giving money to the Kurdish rebels. They will never unite anything. All they do is cause problems and anger the Turks and scare the Iranians, making them all hate Kurds even more. And the Regional Government is just a bunch of corrupt bureaucrats. Your money will line their pockets. Nothing else.”

“I line their pockets so I can line mine.”

“That will never happen. If they do ever gain control of their portion of Kurdistan, they'll ignore you and betray you for a higher bidder.”

The cool veneer had melted. She seemed to mean it all, but that did not explain why she did not tell it in town. She would have to be a very confident woman to think she was going to seduce me into investing millions in her father with just one night of mood lighting, no matter how beautiful she was. This didn't have the feel of a con. If it were, she would have waited for me to tell my business, drawn it out of me with a shower of attention and ardent fascination, and she would have concealed her relationship with the King, only offering to arrange an introduction after my dreams had become hers. Variations would follow, but the start-up was a set piece, like a chess opening.

“Did your father ask you to contact me?”

“He doesn't know. He doesn't know about you.”

“Why me? There are plenty of oilmen, oil companies, oil funds around.”

“We're talking to many of them.”

“They all get taken for a ride in the woods?”

“You sound jealous.”

“Who is in the black SUV?”

That brought silence. Then she said, “I have to go now.” She slid out of the booth. I threw money on the table and followed her outside.

The Lincoln started up and this time she nodded. It pulled up to the front door. Maya turned to me.

“Come to meet my father. Noon tomorrow. You'll see what kind of man he is. You'll want to be his partner.” She gave me an address. The chauffeur got out of the car and started around to our side. He was short and stocky, about fifty, with saggy, blue bags under his eyes, and a nose that looked like a swollen thumb. He looked like a guy who had to get back to the crypt before dawn.

“Come with me,” I said.

Maya shook her head. “Tomorrow.”

The driver opened the door for her. She ignored it. She put her hand on my arm and moved close and brushed her lips on my cheek. She looked at me for a moment, then got into the car. Blue Bags slammed the door and stared at me, but not in the “I'm about to kiss you” sort of way. I strolled toward my car, thinking about seeing her again at noon and laughing at myself for feeling like a teenager who just discovered that the whole world doesn't hate him.

I sat there thinking about that combination of exotic beauty and mysterious reserve and why I was willing to pretend, for now, that it added up to shrewd intelligence and commitment to a cause. Maya could turn out to be nothing more than a True Believer, a faith zombie. From the woods in front of me a troop of Mayas emerged, placid smiles fixed like bayonets to assault my skepticism and so real that I almost turned around to see if they were closing in from behind, too. But I knew I was safe because faith is a psychosomatic disease, infecting volunteers only. The SUV did not appear after five minutes, so I left.

I
rec
ognized the perfume when I entered my hotel suite. Daisy bounced up from the couch before the door was closed.

“There you are. How'd you do? Certainly spent enough time. I ordered a movie on your TV. Hope you don't mind paying for it.”

“Happy to.”

“Don't worry, it's not porn.”

“That's a big relief,” I said, and I walked past her to check the bedroom for other uninvited guests. It was empty.

The dress and the heels were gone, replaced with shorts, tank top, and sandals. The wig was gone. Her hair was dirty blond, short. The jewelry was not replaced. All that remained of Daisy was the personality and the implants.

“So, did she invite you to meet her father? I bet she did. I bet you're in.” She flopped down on the couch and kicked off her sandals. “You didn't even leave anything on the door to see if anyone came in when you were gone. Y'know, something like a hair or a matchstick. The maid let me in.”

There was a knock on the door. Daisy hopped up. “I ordered room service, too. I didn't know when you would get here and I'm starving.” She moved past me toward the door, but I grabbed her arm and held it while I looked through the peephole.

“You open it,” I said.

“I like a strong grip in a man. Lets me know he means it.” She opened the door and the waiter carried in a tray. “He'll sign,” she said. And I did. The waiter left. Daisy started picking at the salad. “The food at the club is so bad. Those people have all that money and don't even know what's good.”

“You're very charming, Daisy, but I'm tired now. Not in the mood for company. Maybe we can schedule something on another day. Take the salad with you.”

I was about to open the door for her exit when she said, “Major Hensel sent me. To help you. And I did help you.”

“I don't know a Major Hensel,” I said.

“Want me to call him?”

“Do you have a phone?”

“'Course, I do. Let me grab my purse.”

“Wait there. I'll get it.” I grabbed her purse and brought it to her. “There, now you can call anyone you want, as soon as you leave.”

I opened the door and guided her out.

I was picking at the salad when my phone rang. Major Hensel said, “Daisy works for SHADE.”

I told him about my progress. He listened, then he asked if there was anything else I wanted. There was, but I said no.

“Okay, then, she's in the stairwell. You still have her sandals. Make use of her if you can.”

“I'll try to think of something.”

Daisy was peeking out from the stairwell. “Can I wash my feet in your tub?” she asked. “That stairwell is dirty. And don't eat that salad. I'm hungry.”

While Daisy washed her feet, she told me what she had gleaned about the King and Maya. It was not much. Most of it came from Marlene's husband and two other oilmen Daisy had chatted up. The King was courting investors who were offering gifts, cash gifts, graciously accepted by the King, but the bids were kept low because of the political uncertainty. The sense was that the bribes were more important than the bid. The King was cash hungry. Marlene's husband, Gerry, was licking his chops because his offer was structured to give the King a big chunk of the gross revenue, and most of the rest for Gerry's company, very little to the people of Kurdistan.

I let her talk, asking as few questions as I could because I was not ready to reveal my plans to her. Daisy did not require encouragement to keep the chatter going. We moved back to the living room so she could finish her salad.

“How did you meet Major Hensel?”

“I babysat his children,” I said.

“He has kids?”

“Three. How did you meet him?”

“I don't know you well enough to say.” She paused and stared at me. “You're lying. He has no kids. Give me something to do.” She got up and pushed the cart into the hallway. “I put on that wig and those heels and I'm another person. I feel like I can do anything.”

She seemed like the same person to me, but that was fine. “I want to know who owns the house Maya and her father live in. If they're renting, who is paying the bills. There's an attorney, Darrell White, who might have all those answers.”

“Thank you. You won't be sorry. Thank you.” She came close to me and went up on her toes, and I bent down and turned my cheek so she could plant her kiss there. She looked at me to see if that was the way I wanted things to be. I nodded. She shrugged and put on her sandals.

I said, “Don't come back here. Assume you're being watched. Assume I am being watched.”

“Give me your phone number.”

“No. Call the Major if you need to reach me. Give him whatever information you get.”

She squinted at me and shook her head. “You are a grump.”

T
he cl
ock beside the bed read 4:12. My phone read 4:09. I left the light off while I pulled on jeans. Through the peephole, I saw two men in suits. They knocked again. Harder this time.

I was hoping for a kinder, more civil introduction: tea in the garden and talk of yachts on the Adriatic. But at least they knocked first and bothered to lie, claiming to be hotel security. I paused only long enough to remind myself to be indignant and scared. The first two moved in quickly and took hold of me. Two others followed them in. A tall Middle Eastern man turned on the lights. I squinted to show how uncomfortable and disoriented I was and I did not struggle too much. I gave them a quick list of the questions they expected: What is this, how dare you, who are you?

The Middle Eastern man stood in front of me, looking me over with distaste. The fourth man was solid and wide with a big square head and calm, careful eyes, a centurion on duty, seeing as much as he could, believing as little as he should. He walked past me into the bedroom.

The Middle Eastern man spoke: “If you assure me of your cooperation, these men will release you.”

“Yeah. Sure. I'm not running away, if that's what you mean.”

The two suits let me go. “I am Zoran. I am factotum to His Excellency, Basam Karkukli, King of all Kurdistan.”

I started to laugh, knowing it would irritate him. “The King sent you? If this is about the kiss on the cheek from Maya . . .”

Zoran swallowed his anger. He had bases to cover. “His Majesty asked me to convey to you his gratitude for your cooperation with this most unusual request. I assure you that he would not disturb you unless the matter were of the greatest urgency.”

“I said I'd be there at noon. There's no need for this. Please leave now.” The two suits flanked the door. Zoran stared at me as if he had not heard a word. I picked up the phone.

The centurion appeared in front of me. He did not shake his head, but his expression made it clear: I would be better off if we did not get to that stage. I put down the phone. The centurion was holding my phone and wallet. Something passed between him and Zoran.

“This is Mr. Gill. You will get dressed now, please,” Zoran said.

“I want to know one thing: Did the King come into your room and roust you and make you roust these guys, or were you all sitting around in your suits and the King ordered you to come over here?”

A vein seemed to come to life in Zoran's forehead. It might have been there before, but I had not noticed it. His ears went back and his eyes sharpened. I wished I knew which chord I had struck.

“In serving His Majesty, I serve a great cause. Perhaps you feel the same way about your masters.” He stared at me to let me know he had more answers if I wanted to continue. “You will get dressed now, please.” He brushed past me and went into the bedroom.

I considered further resistance, but Gill's eyes met mine and this time his head moved slightly from side to side. I followed Zoran. He was checking out my closet.

“No blue jeans. Wear a suit.”

He turned away while I got dressed, but I watched him. Zoran had muscles under his suit. His shoulders were hunched up and he bent forward slightly. The skin on his face was as tight as his personality, with pockmarks on his cheeks. His eyelashes were noticeably long, and the eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, shaded and hidden by his brow. He had camel eyes.

______

The house was big as a resort and quiet as a church on Monday. The first drops of dawn splashed on pillars, porticoes, wings. Big iron gates at the entrance rose toward the center with sharp spikes on top to deter all but the bravest pole-vaulters. We drove past hedges and flower beds and a couple of enormous oak trees. The roof looked like it had about seven levels to it, some sloped steeply, some mildly. It was hard to shake the feeling that some forgotten prisoner was watching from one of the many gabled windows. It wasn't a castle, not a palace, but bigger than a mansion, certainly fit for a king without a country.

Zoran stopped me before we went in and said, “In all matters regarding dealings with the King or his family you will take instruction from me. The first time you meet the King, you will bow. You will address him as Your Excellency. He may or may not allow you to address him as Mr. Karkukli. You do not sit until you are invited to do so. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“It is an order.” He did not smile.

The throne was a high-back chair upholstered in green silk. It looked like it would be uncomfortable, but His Excellency managed to sit straight up and relaxed at the same time. Out back, beyond gardens, was the pool, and past that the dim outline of a fenced-in tennis court was just catching the morning glow.

Gill stood off to my right. Zoran announced me, placed me in front of the King, then moved to a spot beside him. The King did not exactly smile, but his lips curled up a bit in what he must have practiced as his pleasant look. Zoran nodded to me.

I moved forward, extended my hand, and said, “Nice to meet you Mr. Karkukli.”

The King craned around to look at Zoran. Zoran was busy making the vein bulge under his tight skin. His dark eyes showed some white. I waited. He hissed. “Bow to His Excellency.”

Gill stayed as still and solid as a rock. The King resumed his relaxed posture and pleasant expression: Someone had used the wrong fork, but the gaffe had been corrected.

“Oh, you want me to bow,” I said directly to the King. “I'll bow . . . You first.”

That took care of the pleasant look. Zoran stepped toward me, but his main concern was apologizing to the King. The King did not acknowledge him. He wasn't insulted, or outraged. His lips parted and he looked like a guy who had been through this before and knew it was coming again. I did not take my eyes off him to look toward the centurion, but if he moved, I would see it.

The King spoke to Zoran in another language. It came fast and it surprised me. It wasn't Dari, but many of the words were close; some were Arabic. I had to remind myself to keep a straight face, not let on that I understood. But I did understand the King: Worry about this later; question him now. The King returned his attention to me.

Zoran took over.

“You met with His Excellency's daughter, Maya, last night.” It wasn't a question, so I waited. “We know this. You will tell us about this encounter.”

“Can I have some coffee?”

“You went to a roadhouse. Was it a place of your choosing?”

The King was gazing past me as if he were an actor on a stage.

“Hers. I like it black.”

“Did Maya appear to be nervous or on edge?”

“Not especially,” I said. “But we just met. Maybe that was her version of nervous. Where is she?”

“What time did you leave her?”

“You know all these answers. Where's the loyal chauffeur? Where's Maya?”

That answer seemed to irritate him more than the others. “You are working with our enemies. We know this. You are allied against us. I assure you we will use all possible means to get to the truth.”

This guy was not an artful interrogator. He let me know that he had all the information he needed and that my reason for being there involved something else. The vein in his forehead looked like it was going to burst long before he came out with what was on his mind. Though the furnishings were typical modern American hotel lobby, the atmosphere in the room was foreign: the stiff formality, the deliberate pauses, the reek of suspicion. I looked around for a chair. “I'm going to bring that chair over here. Okay?”

“Stay where you are.”

I looked over at Gill: a statue. The King was in another place. The sunlight stabbing into the room seemed to fascinate him.

Zoran went on. “You know where Maya is. That is why we brought you here. I warn you for the last time. Tell us all you know.”

“I know that Maya asked me to come here at noon today to meet the King. I know you brought me here quite a bit earlier. I know you haven't asked me to sit down or offered me coffee. I know that the vein in your forehead looks like it's going to pop. And here's what I don't know: what you want or why I'm here. Oh, and I know I've had enough of this and I'm leaving.”

I walked toward the door, expecting Gill to stop me, or two of the suits to grab me when I passed into the hall. Instead, the King spoke. “I will assume your refusal to bow stems from a matter of principle, Mr. Hewitt, and is not a personal affront.”

I stopped and turned to him. “I don't know you well enough for a personal affront. Not yet, anyway.”

The King stood up. He put his left hand on his midsection to smooth his coat and, with his right, gestured with a casual wave for Zoran to stand back. Zoran managed to snarl in my direction before complying. The King was short, heavy chested, and thick at the waist. His movements were careful and smooth. Wavy salt and pepper hair made him resemble the soon to be foiled continental lothario in a black and white movie. He looked tired. His eyebrows flickered slightly before he spoke.

“Bring Mr. Hewitt a chair. And coffee.”

Zoran took a moment to scowl in my direction, but he did a lousy job of it. He threw out some orders in the other language and clapped his hands. A moment later, a servant came in and moved a chair near the King's chair for me to sit on.

I walked over. Before the King sat down, I offered my hand. He looked it over the way people look over the lobsters in a tank: something they have no intention of touching. But he overcame his aversion and shook. Zoran's disgust with that was real. I sat down quickly, before he could pull the chair away. I waited like a patient pupil for the King to make the first move.

“I have many enemies, Mr. Hewitt. In fact, I believe you are acquainted with some of them. And because of your acquaintance with these parties, I am put in a difficult situation. I need your help but must first believe I can trust your discretion.”

I wanted to laugh. I could have taken my phone back from Gill and dialed
The New York Times
and told them to listen up, and the King was still going to pretend to trust my discretion. “I have no idea if you can trust my discretion or not. Something has happened to Maya and you don't want people to know. Let's start there.”

“Maya said you are an interesting man, Mr. Hewitt.” The line sounded rehearsed. Everything he said sounded that way, all with the aim of simulating sincerity. But he was not a good enough actor to pull it off.

“Call me Robert.”

“Maya called after she left you last night. She had great hope that we would be able to find common ground. I hope so, too. I regret the difficult start we have had. But I warn you that I regard betrayal as the worst possible crime. The only unforgivable crime.” He turned away from me and looked out toward the pool and returned to his calm, elegant voice. “Maya did not return home at all last night. Just over three hours ago, at approximately two
A.M
., we received a phone call telling us that she has been kidnapped. I am hopeful that you could shed some light on this.” He was very calm for a guy with a kidnapped daughter.

The black SUV hung from the ceiling, revving, its exhaust filling the room. One of us was going to mention it someday. The King was in no rush. I looked up. “Who was in the black SUV?” I said.

Coffee was served. A servant placed a small table next to me and another next to the King. He was served first. He sipped a bit after the servant left, while he calculated his reply.

“Well, well, Robert, Maya was right about you, wasn't she? Wasn't she, Zoran? I must say you are sharp. In fact, that was what I was about to ask you. You see, we know about it. They were following me earlier in the week and then last night Arun, that's Maya's chauffeur, reported that he saw them. And, of course, that's when you appeared as well. You can understand Arun's suspicions.”

“And Zoran's,” I said. “How about yours?”

The King flicked his left eyebrow up and down. It might have been a tic, but I thought it was intentional. Showing off? I resisted the temptation to imitate him. “You're in no position, Mr. Hewitt, to banter with me.”

“Sure I am, King. I can banter until you call the police. And then I can leave. But, if you don't want to call them yet, that's fine with me; I haven't finished my coffee.” Nothing in my manner or tone could re-chisel Gill's features. Zoran was easy. If it weren't for the soft dawn light invading the room, I was sure I could have seen the smoke pouring out of his ears.

They were slow about getting to the point. I did not want to do all the heavy lifting but the vague, meaningless threats were getting to me. Impatience nudged me, though I had plenty of time. I put my cup down and said, “How much did they ask for?”

“That, Mr. Hewitt, is confidential information.”

I stood up. “I'll leave now. I don't know anything more than what I've told you and you don't want to tell me anything more.” I turned to Gill. “I'd like to have my phone and wallet back.”

At last his eyes moved. To the King.

The King said, “Return Mr. Hewitt's belongings to him.”

Gill reached into the side pocket of his jacket and held out the phone and wallet. I went over to take them from him because I had caught on that he was not likely to move first.

“Now, Mr. Hewitt, you are free to go. Zoran will arrange a ride to your hotel. But I ask you to stay. I find myself in a difficult position, Mr. Hewitt, in two ways. The first caused by the abductors of my daughter. The second is, well . . . frankly, it is not my habit to ask for help.”

Help. I understood that language. Help meant money.

Maybe he knew who kidnapped Maya, maybe he was in on it, maybe he was innocent of that part, but he was going to use it to con me out of money. That was certain. That was the first priority. He was fit to be a king, after all. That he was doing exactly as I wanted him to only made it seem worse.