The Care of Time (17 page)

‘I was told that he can sometimes be eccentric and that he worries a great deal about his health, particularly about the consequences of getting old.’

‘His neurotic fears of impotence? Did they have a laugh
behind their hands about those? Did they tell you about his strange adventures at La Clinique de la Prairie in Switzerland?’

‘No. They didn’t mention that he suffered from sinusitis either.’

All quite true. What Schelm
had
said was that The Ruler had been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, but was unlikely to become as dangerous a case as his father had been. The old Sheikh had achieved a certain notoriety in the Gulf, and deeply embarrassed his British protectors, by killing a most respectable and very important Egyptian businessman. The unfortunate Egyptian had been wearing a Brooks Bros suit instead of the white
dishdasha
robe when he was presented to the Sheikh at an audience. It had been the Sheikh’s belief that only Englishmen wore suits. His suspicions were aroused, understandably perhaps when it is recalled that as a child he had seen four senior members of his family assassinated during public audiences. Anyway, what happened was that, when the Egyptian had reached into his jacket pocket for a letter of introduction he had brought with him from Cairo, the Sheikh had immediately pulled a gun and fired. He had been an excellent shot and the British army Smith and Wesson revolver he had used had left the Egyptian’s head unrecognizable. The Sheikh’s son, The Ruler, was less trigger-happy but given to strange fancies and certain habits that in some western capitals had led to trouble with the police.

‘He has great personal pride,’ Zander said, ‘as they all have. They are dignified and very sensitive men. The Ruler is not one of those with great mineral wealth on his personal territory. He shares, of course, in the collective wealth of the Confederation, but his personal spending power is not in the billions. This is understood by his brother Rulers. So what do they do? Among those people for whom dignity is more precious than life there can be only one answer. They express their fraternal understanding in a practical way. The Abra Bay project will be of benefit to all. It will provide a defence
umbrella for the Confederation under a unified command that they badly need. They have now come to realize the truth of this. The balance of superpower in the Gulf must be adjusted in the west’s favour and to the Gulf’s lasting advantage. Your Nato experts know this as well as I do. And yet they raise these petty questions of protocol. Fraternal understanding, that is the answer to them. Why should his brothers deny The Ruler the privilege – his by
inherited right
, I must remind you – of negotiating the future of Abra Bay? Eh? Well, they are generous and they are wise. They do not deny him. He goes with their blessings, and with God’s.’

‘How about Saudi Arabia’s blessing? Does he have that too?’ I asked.

That had been one of the questions Schelm had most wanted answered. The Ruler, he had argued, must have had at least tacit UAE approval of the Abra Bay proposition. ‘Without it,’ he had said, ‘not even this irresponsible wild man would have dared make such an approach. Why have they let him loose? It can only be because they fear that when the Saudis hear about it they will object. They may not like the idea of a foreign base at Abra Bay. If they don’t, then they’ll pressure the Americans into killing it. Letting The Ruler do the preliminary talking may be a face-saving device. If all goes well, the UAE will give it the nod and take over. If the Saudis don’t like it and say so very strongly, there will only be The Ruler to look foolish. If we knew whether or not the Saudis had been consulted, it would help us to decide how to handle The Ruler if the price he’s going to ask is too wildly extravagant. Please, Mr Halliday, try to find out for us.’

So, I had tried. I had asked.

Zander’s reply was to stand abruptly and fill his lungs as if the effort of sharing the atmosphere with a person capable of asking so grossly impertinent a question had suddenly become too much for him. ‘Jean-Pierre,’ he said, ‘will you take the wine into the living room, please? We must see if we can persuade our friend here to recall his own words. He
wasn’t going to ask questions, was he?’

‘No, patron. He was going to give a verbal reply to our written proposals.’

‘Exactly. He had a message to deliver. This way, Mr Halliday.’

He led the way into a room with a large tiled chimney-piece, rustic chairs with blue-rep seat cushions, a lot of bilious-looking wood panelling and wrought-iron standard lamps with parchment shades.

The two of them went on with their cross-talk act as if I were no longer there. I sat down in one of the nastier chairs.

‘He did not claim that he had been given plenipotentiary powers,’ said Zander.

‘Not directly, no. We must give him that.’

‘On the other hand …’

‘Very true,’ said Vielle. ‘On the other hand he
has
been a professional journalist.’

‘And so has the old-pro journalist’s habit of assuming, or pretending to assume, that
his
request for information is always the lesser mortal’s command,’ Zander said slowly and solemnly; ‘to be obeyed
like that
!’ And he snapped his fingers quite loudly.

There was a pause. They seemed now to be expecting me to rejoin the conversation. I let them wait a bit longer and then said: ‘What a really ugly room this is.’

Only Vielle looked surprised. Zander’s eyes smiled slightly and he nodded. ‘I use it as little as possible,’ he said. ‘I regret to have to tell you, also, that your bedroom has something of the same style. The designers’ salesman called it folklorique. However, there are compensations. Up here on this floor, everything mechanical works properly, including the plumbing. Your clothes and other things will arrive from Milan shortly. We shall do our best to make you comfortable.’

‘Who’s taking care of the hotel bill?’

‘The hotel will charge Pacioli. That was the arrangement.’

‘So, I can begin drafting the telex you’re going to send for me. Right?’

‘I expect you would like to go down to the office to do that.’

‘No hurry, Mr Zander. They’ll be standing by from five o’clock. It’s only four. I’d like to go back for a moment to those wise, generous brethren of The Ruler’s and the mission they’ve entrusted to him. He goes with their blessings, and God’s, you say to shape the future of Abra Bay. Okay. But I still don’t understand why he has to go to an old Austrian silver mine in order to meet Nato representatives – if we get that far. Are his sinuses giving him trouble? I mean what’s the thinking on it?’

‘He goes there because it is his property,’ he said firmly, ‘and because it is a logical place for him to go. He has been to Austria a number of times during the warmer weather to consult with the engineers restoring the mine to safety and the architect planning the clinic. This next meeting was arranged a month ago. Of even greater importance, we here may think, is the fact that the mine and the clinic project enable us to satisfy our own stringent security needs. We have a secure means of making the journey there. Your principals can attend the meeting incognito without risk. I suggest they have papers saying that they are foreign medical men. You asked for neutral ground. What could be more neutral than Austria? Further, it is entirely suitable for the television interview cover story that you will be providing.’

I made a stop sign. ‘If we may hold it right there for a moment, Mr Zander. I need some clarification. The story is that I’m interviewing The Ruler for American television about his wonderful new treatment centre and clinic. The reality is that we rent the transportation and name of a regular TV location unit and use that to get us all safely to and from the rendezvous. I’ve got it right, yes?’

‘Exactly. We use the apparatus of a conventional news-gathering operation as our cover.’

‘Where will this outfit be coming from?’

‘France. But don’t worry. Simone has checked thoroughly. All these European mobile TV units are virtually the same. In the small truck or van which carries the
equipment there are two technicians, one for the camera and one for the sound, plus a helper who is usually the driver also. In the accompanying car is the director, a production assistant and possibly a writer or interviewer if this is not the director himself. Some of these units belong to networks or TV production companies but many are freelance. They are all members of a new and highly privileged class. They go very much where they please, back and forth across frontiers, and often into places and zones where ordinary persons would be stopped. Their medium protects them. As long as you are in a vehicle with the name of a TV station or channel or company on the side, all that a policeman or official wants to know is the name of the programme that is being made so that he can tell his wife. It is excellent cover. Do you not agree?’

‘Who’ll be riding in the car?’ I asked.

‘Myself as director, you as the well-known American interviewer and Simone as driver, still photographer and script assistant.’

‘Will Jean-Pierre be coming with us?’

‘He will be in charge of the equipment truck. Why do you ask?’

‘If you’re going to try to pass him off as a technician, he’ll need a beard and a pair of old jeans.’

Neither of them thought that worthy of comment. There was a silence as Zander poured out the last of the wine. Then he said: ‘Have you any constructive observations to make on the plan, Mr Halliday?’

‘You could have problems with the local press and radio. The story may not be new, but sending in a television unit to get coverage always creates a bit of excitement. There’s another thing. As you say, the on-site interview is a conventional news or current-affairs operation, but supposing Vienna likes the idea of foreign interest in the story enough to want to see the interview and maybe use some of it. How do you say no? It’s their country.’

‘The interview is in English for use in America.’

‘They could still want to see it. Who cares if it’s in English? They can always do a voice-over track in German. It would be embarrassing if they found out that you had no interview to show them.’

‘We would simply say that the matter had been referred to New York for a decision. As for the local press, The Ruler’s own personal entourage will be well accustomed to dismissing them.’

‘I see.’ It was clear that he wanted to hear no more on that subject so, for the time being, I let it go. ‘Where is this mine of his?’ I asked.

‘In the hills twenty kilometres from Judenburg. It is a very beautiful part up there. However, we will stay a short drive away at a Gasthaus near St Veit. On the night before the meeting that is. Your negotiators should stay in Velden, as advised in my plan. There are plenty of tourist rooms to be had there and among tourists they should not be noticed. You can report to them there from the Gasthaus if they want to see you personally. At present all we have to do is to confirm the date and the time of the rendezvous. That had best be a little before their audience with The Ruler. I propose Tuesday morning next at eleven.’

And we could take it or leave it. I said: ‘Yes, Mr Zander.’

Drafting the telex message I would send to Schelm was tricky, and not only because I had to remember the code-words needed to authenticate the message and how they were to be included. On my pocket scratch-pad it came out like this:

I glanced at my watch. It was nearly five. ‘No one can read my writing except me,’ I said. ‘I’ll have to type it. I’d like to go down to the office now, if that’s okay.’

The elevator only had room for two. Vielle said he would use the stairs. In the elevator, Zander said: ‘Are we to be allowed to read the message?’

It was the first really silly thing he had said, and the first hint I had had of the strains he had been managing so well to conceal. I answered as casually and carelessly as I could.

‘Oh yes, of course. I can’t operate a telex machine anyway. Someone will have to do it for me.’

‘Jean-Pierre often works it. Where is the message going to?’

‘Ulm in West Germany. I’ll put the station number on top.’

When I had typed the message I handed it to him and watched him read. He didn’t like any of it much, that was evident, but he objected strongly only to the last sentence and my suggestion that there should be a back-up unit. ‘It is absurd and unnecessary,’ he protested.

I shrugged. ‘You may be right. It can do no harm, though, to see what the other side thinks, can it?’

He hesitated, then nodded and Vielle went to work. We sat and watched him.

In my trade, the private attitudes I have towards clients during our work together often change radically and sometimes suddenly. Respect for a man’s honesty can within the space of minutes turn into admiration for the skills with which it is counterfeited. Pomposity may be endured for days before the shyness it conceals is at last plainly seen. Such changes, of course, are quite natural. You may start by accepting the client at his or her own valuation, but that is
rarely the way you will end. Likes and dislikes have little to do with it. You are reaching for insights and, although those you gain may not invariably make the job easier, there is always a good chance of your being given a surprise of one sort or another.