Middle Man (8 page)

Dan, to his credit, was not poking me in the ribs and saying,
“See, I wasn't nearly that bad.”
Instead, he said,
“He scares me.”

“I didn't know you could be scared, even when you were alive.”

“He scares me. I know you won't leave, but I would.”

“I can't leave because I'm a greedy, cocky, overconfident business whiz who is slavering to take advantage of their misfortune. And I have to stay and be patient enough to let them make the first offer.”

“I think he's dangerous.”

“You think he's the puppet master?”

“I think it bothers him that he's not in charge. He suspects he's a fraud. That's what scares me.”

I should have tried harder to understand what Dan was seeing. Instead, I looked at the King and said, “How can I help?”

T
he magic words earned me a guided tour of the grounds by His Majesty himself. Zoran and Gill were left behind. A path lined with rosebushes led to the swimming pool, which had one of those automatic cleaners floating in a corner. A large pool house was fronted by a wide patio and flanked by beds of flowers. When we got to the tennis court, the King soon lost interest in talking about the grounds. “Do you play?” he asked.

The only time I ever touched a tennis racquet was when I stole one, brand-new, from a sporting goods store just to prove I could do it. I threw it into the dumpster behind the store. “Yes,” I said.

“We must play then, sometime when this matter is cleared up.”

“I look forward to it,” I said.

“My people, Mr. Hewitt—”

“Please call me Robert.”

“Robert, my people are an ancient people. We have been without our own country, the ability to control our destiny, for too long. We yearn for freedom and unity. I know you are sympathetic or else you would not have allied with the Kongra-Gel. We are spread across four countries, and in each one we have been murdered and oppressed. All this is well documented. Yet we persevere. I know that my dream, my goal of uniting all the Kurdish people in their own nation, is regarded as foolishness by most people. I know this. But my life is dedicated to this quest. This burden has been placed on me and I must live up to it. I must and I will. Imagine not only your father's faith and hope for you, but his father and fifty generations of fathers. It is only under the ancient crown that our people can ever be united and free. Only under our ancient crown can we regain our glory and achieve our destiny. I am a patriot first and last. A patriot beyond borders.”

He stopped, satisfied with himself. I kept quiet as we walked back toward the pool house. I once had a teacher named Miss Bagnolia. Miss Bagnolia wore black the whole time I was in her class because someone in her family had died. She thought she would solve me by making me repeat, “Every day in every way, I am getting better and better.” At first I thought it was a lie I was practicing to convince others what a great teacher she was. After about a month, it dawned on me that I was supposed to convince myself. The King's speech was passionate and passionately delivered, but more for his benefit than mine, as if he needed to repeat it to remind himself that the pain was real.

At the pool house, the King opened a laptop and played a video for me that laid out the whole case for Kurdish nationalism from thousands of years back. There was a Median Empire and they fought the Assyrians and eventually lost. The real Aryans were Kurds, and they are the original rulers of this vast territory that now is divided into Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Turkey. The video showed an ancient tomb cut in the rock face and supported by carved pillars that had been eaten by time. “Thought to be,” “Might be,” “Regarded as”: Those phrases dominated. Names repeated, adding to the confusion. If it were history, I would have paid attention, but it felt like Sunday school. I couldn't know what really happened. I would never know. No one ever could. They would believe instead of knowing. I could not believe.

My eyes glazed over and I thought about the King and what he was selling. What is patriotism to a king? Egomania. The loyalty, the passion, the fervor were to the King, to himself. All the insane vows and deceptions that go with zealous patriotism are put through the turbocharger of self-interest. This king seemed soft. I tried to keep Dan's warning in mind. Softness can be used as a weapon, too, when combined with egomania. I could not picture this guy as the puppet master. He did not have the focus. The passion felt canned, salted, gooey. The man who put this conspiracy together would own intensity. This King owned wistfulness.

Servants were setting a table on the patio. The King held my arm. “My situation is complicated, Robert. I cannot access the necessary funds, a million dollars, for Maya's freedom in a timely manner. And I doubt whoever has done this will be willing to listen to reason.” He wiggled the eyebrow again. This time I was closer and wanted to put my thumb on it to make it stop.

“I don't know who we're talking about, or why they kidnapped Maya. But I never heard of reasonable kidnappers. They're going to want cash and fast. The police have experience with this kind of thing.”

“We are guests in this country. I don't trust the police to be discreet, or to understand the complexities of our situation. You can see the difficulty of my position. On the one hand, my daughter's life is at stake. On the other lies the fate of my people. I cannot betray either. But if I had help, if some friend helped, my gratitude would be boundless. That friend would be honored in the Kurdish nation. I promise you that.”

“How much can you put in?”

I suppose once you have convinced people you're a king, even if you don't have a throne or a country to rule, you have handled the toughest task, and convincing people to cooperate in other ways is relatively easy. People will put up money just to be near you, figuring they can peddle influence elsewhere. Until you have a country to run, you're not expected to put up your share. The King shook his head and looked at me as if I were a thief who wouldn't take credit cards.

“To obtain cash immediately would mean disrupting most delicate plans and operations.”

“So you'd need the full amount.”

“You understand. I knew you would.”

“What form would your gratitude take?”

“Ah, Robert, you're negotiating. I should have known.”

I could not offer to turn over a million dollars without something valuable in return, and I could not demand too much because I was supposed to be wise enough to know that he couldn't sell out his nation, imaginary as it might be. A million does not buy much in the oil business. One small block of oil rights costs many multiples of a million.

“You're going to have plenty of companies bidding on the rights. Different blocks are going be attractive to different bidders. And you're going to have investors who want to get in on any pipeline construction arrangements.”

“What do you have in mind, Robert?”

“How are you organizing all that?”

“I don't understand.”

I shrugged. “Do you use the pool much?”

“Please, Robert, my daughter's life hangs in the balance. Speak your thoughts.”

“I could organize the auction for you. Take my cut from that. We'd be partners. Say, two percent.”

He stomped his feet, walked away, came back, pulled me close, accused me of disrespecting his throne and his country, being a Turkish agent, a Syrian thief, an Iranian spy, and about everything else he thought he could get away with and still have the deal go through.

When he was done, I said, “One and a half for the first one hundred million. Two percent after that.”

He shook his head, looked to the sky as if for advice, or at least to pretend he was thinking about it. “Maya was right about you. We have a deal.”

He was sure he had me conned and that the negotiating was over and I let him think that for a while. Breakfast was waiting on the patio. Zoran stood a few feet from the table and barred my way for a moment so the King could sit first. A servant poured coffee for the King, and then for me. The servant poured cream over a gooey looking pastry and sprinkled it with sugar as carefully as one would fill a syringe. He served it to the King. I had eggs and toast on my plate. The King dug in as soon as the servant finished his work. After savoring a few bites, he stopped long enough to say, “It's called kahi. I like so many things Western, but I insist on kahi for breakfast whenever I am able.”

When he finished the pastry, he downed the rest of his coffee and said, “Well, the banks should be open momentarily. I'll have Zoran arrange a ride for you.”

“I have a few questions before we get started.”

“But this is hardly the time.”

“Not about our arrangement. Tell me about the chauffeur.”

“Arun is completely trustworthy. He has been with me since I was in school. He's devoted to Maya.”

I asked about threats and his contact with the enemies he mentioned. There had always been threats but nothing new and particular. He would not put a name on any enemies. The call came in on his cell phone, from Maya's phone.

“Did you answer the call?”

“Zoran screens my calls.”

“But this call came at two
A.M
. Were you concerned that Maya was not home yet? Did she often stay out that late? What did Arun say about the black SUV? Was Arun suspicious of me?” I bunched the questions fast to see if he would get flustered. He didn't.

“You act as though you have done this before. Not like an investor in oil.”

“I'll deliver the money myself. I'll need your cell phone so when they call, I can make arrangements with them.”

“But you agreed to give me the money.”

“I agreed to put up the ransom for Maya. That's what I'm going to do.”

He looked all around. I thought he wanted Gill or Zoran, but a servant came out and poured the coffee that was inches from the King's hand. “That is not what I understood, Robert. Zoran and Mr. Gill must handle this. Mr. Gill has a team of security people. Most competent. You yourself saw this at your hotel. For Maya's sake. I insist.”

I held my tongue and let him move at his own slow speed to the only conclusion. He smiled at me. I smiled back. The eyebrow went up to show that he had made an excellent case and it was my turn to give in. I poured my own coffee. The soft swoosh of the fan held the beat for the chirping, invisible birds. Again, the King looked toward the trees beyond the tennis court. I did not know him well enough to tell whether he was dreaming, whining, or calculating. I expected another brief plea to see things his way, but he turned to me sharply, suddenly. He seemed startled by his thoughts. For a guy who appeared to have rehearsed most of his act in front of a mirror, it was a naked and puzzling moment. I thought he made me for a fake. But he said, “I'll let you handle it your way. What's the first step?”

The suddenness worried me and so did the omission of threats and warnings about the consequences of failure. I did not understand what it meant. I couldn't have. And I'm not sure, looking back, if I had understood what made the King react as he did, I would have changed anything. “I'll need Maya's cell phone number and Arun's.”

The King slipped his arm through mine as we walked to the house. He had the style and elegance to pull it off. “Zoran and Mr. Gill will cooperate fully and give you any assistance you require. Those will be my orders.”

“I'd rather leave them out of it.”

“If you insist. You will deal directly with me.”

He delivered the bad news to Zoran and Gill in the throne room. Zoran scowled. Gill might have been breathing. And immediately the King undercut it all by telling Zoran to write down the phone numbers I had asked for.

Zoran spoke to the King in that other language. The seething tone made the message clear, though I could understand enough of the words: Don't trust this American. Zoran warned the King that I might figure things out. The King said something that sounded like it meant “Who is your brain?” Zoran lowered his eyes.

I did not wait to see if this argument was going to continue. “I'll go get the money now. I should take your cell phone with me so if they call, I can make the arrangements.”

Zoran did not like that. The King did not like that. “It's not enough that I trust you, Robert. You must trust me as well, wouldn't you agree?” I did not agree, and after more unpleasantness that I was not supposed to understand, they gave me the phone and one of their cars.

R
o
bert Hewitt, cocky investor, got cold feet at the very last minute and nervously allowed Gill and his men to handle the exchange, which took place in Bayou Park at the end opposite the sculptures. Robert Hewitt then hid, leaning against a tree where he could watch the transaction without being seen.

Matching goons marched forward holding Maya. She looked like the prize in some fraternity dress-up ritual. Arun, the chauffeur, was not there. All my attention focused on the kidnappers in the hope that I would recognize one set of brown eyes. He had loomed over me, so I assumed he was tall. Nita had said he was shorter than me. It didn't matter; I was too far away to make out the color of their eyes.

The choreography broke down when the kidnappers opened the briefcase and counted the money. I put only two hundred thousand dollars inside but forgot to mention that to Gill.

Guns came out. A thin female jogger cruised alongside the confrontation, her earphones keeping her oblivious to the threats. The two sides froze: mannequins misplaced. She glanced their way, had to see the guns, but she never broke stride. The moment she passed, the kidnappers were pulling Maya away, and Gill was craning around to scan the park for me. But I was on my way back to my car so I could follow the kidnappers.

The Ferrari was parked in the bank parking lot where I had picked up the money. The borrowed town car was parked at my hotel. I was driving a blue Honda. The kidnappers drove their black SUV southwest out of the city. They were in no hurry and thick traffic provided ample cover for me. I had the rest of the million dollars with me.

Five minutes into the ride, the King's phone rang. No number showed on the caller ID. I did not answer. A minute later, another anonymous call came in. The first message was from Zoran, the second from the kidnappers. According to the Rules of Dan, the more severe the threats, the more room there is for negotiation. Zoran threatened a lot and even accused me of malfeasance. The kidnapper, who had a Boston accent, simply said he would call back in one hour. Both sides needed me: one for the money, one for Maya. But I decided to stay silent for a few hours to give them the opportunity to realize how important I was to them.

On the outskirts of Sugar Land, the SUV turned down a private road. A small wooden sign identified either the road or the property as Runnymeade. I could not follow without being spotted. Three times I drove past the entrance to Runnymeade. It never changed. I did not want to go down that road without some idea of what I might be facing. The phone rang again. I ignored it again.

I called Major Hensel and asked for Daisy's number. The Major asked if I needed help with anything. I thought I better ask for something or he would be suspicious, so I asked for background on Mr. Gill. The Major said he would get back to me soon.

Daisy did not bother with hello. “I don't have any information yet, but I'm going on a date with Darrell White in a little while, so expect success,” Daisy said.

“Can you have him meet you at your house?”

“Apartment. Yes, of course, he'll want to come here.”

I arrived first. Daisy was decked out in full mufti, heels to wig. “You look beautiful, Daisy. I'm sure he'll fall madly in love.” I gave her instructions: Let me in when I knock, pretend you don't know me, play along.

“I won't let you down,” Daisy said.

“If it goes right, you can still have your date.”

Darrel White drove up in a dark blue Bentley and left it in the loading zone right in front of the building. He wore a beige sport coat and brown pants and it looked like he had paid special attention to making sure the prow on top of his head was aerodynamic. I gave him five minutes, then took the elevator up to Daisy's apartment on the fifth floor. I knocked and said, “Delivery.” When Daisy opened the door, I moved in fast, grabbing her arm. “Hello, Darrell,” I said.

He reached inside his coat for the gun in his holster. He was slow. I slugged him in the gut and it felt like my fist went all the way through to his spine. He fell backward on his butt, then toppled flat on his back. I jumped forward and reached under his jacket and pulled the gun, a Colt.38 revolver. I pointed it toward Daisy and ordered her to get Darrell a glass of water.

I doused him with the water and said, “C'mon, big guy, sit up and we'll have a quick talk. I believe I still have you on retainer.” He coughed a bit and propped himself up and felt for his gun. I poked him in the ear with it. “Who pays for the King's rent?”

“How would I know? What are you doing?”

I mussed his hair. It made him look younger. I asked again and received the same answer. I said, “Darrell, I can start kicking you in the head or you can start talking.” He shrugged, so I kicked him in the head. He moaned and fell on his side. “The next one takes out teeth.”

Daisy yelled, “Leave him alone. Get out of here.”

I took her arm and tossed her roughly to the couch. She overplayed it, of course, and almost went through the wall. “Stay there or I'll kick your boyfriend harder.”

The King's phone rang.

“Hear that, Darrell? That's the King calling, or the people who kidnapped the King's daughter. If I answer it, I'm going to tell them I'm here with you. I'm guessing you'd prefer more kicks in the head from me. Should I answer it?”

I held the phone out and turned the ringer up. I could see Darrell's shrewd lawyer look returning to his face, measuring my resolve. I answered the call and put the phone on speaker so Darrell could hear the low, vicious voice: “We've had enough of this. The girl is going to die. And so are you . . .” Darrell tried to hide the panic, but it was too strong. He shook his head vehemently and waved his hands like a referee signaling the play should stop.

I hung up. I kicked Darrell in the head once more to remind him that it was time to speak up. Daisy yelled, “No!” and rushed off the couch.

“Get him some more water,” I said. Darrell drank the water and I let him stagger over to the couch and ordered Daisy to sit next to him. She sat close to him, soothing him. Daisy was a very convincing actress.

“A guy showed up with cash for the rent. I passed it along. Three months in advance. That's all I know.”

He knew a lot more. His expression when he heard the voice on the phone told me that. “What about Runnymeade?”

“What's that?” he said.

“You're disgusting, you know that? Why don't you just get out of my apartment right now? You got what you wanted. Git,” said Daisy. She took Darrell's hand in hers.

“They gave you money for another residence, didn't they, Darrell? They paid more for the second one. All cash. How much?”

Darrell seemed to take courage from Daisy's support. He would not budge from his previous position.

“Darrell, think it through. I know where the house is. If you don't cooperate with me, I'm gonna tell them you spilled their secret. You're boxed in. Time to be smart.”

Darrell just stared at the floor.

“Miss, what's your name?” I said.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy, you're a very beautiful woman. What do you think Darrell should do?”

“Will you leave us alone if he cooperates? Promise?” Daisy spit it out, but it was just the kind of help Darrell needed to move him.

“I promise. Start with the payments. Tell me who made the payments.”

“He called himself Mr. Clark.”

“He paid for both houses?” Darrell nodded. “You knew who the one house was for. The second one, Runnymeade, who was that one for?”

“Mister, they gave me enough money that I was not asking too many questions. Just like with you. It was straightforward: Find us two houses, pay the rent, keep the rest for yourself. I knew about the King because I had to do visa work for him. Once I had the payment, I never heard from Mr. Clark again.”

“Until just now on the phone,” I said. Darrell nodded again. “What kind of security system is there at Runnymeade?”

“None.”

“That's a big house not to have a security system, Darrell.”

“The landlord had ADT, but these people disconnected it.” There was not much more to get from Darrell except the landlord's name, which he gave freely, some big-time basketball player who was traded. Darrell's story made sense except for one part. “Why are you so afraid of them?”

“Because I'm not as stupid as you.”

“You tell him,” Daisy said.