“Did you happen to see that, old son?”
“What was it?”
“Digital recorder. Smaller than an iPod, but easier to operate. Keep this bowl of ours in some safe and handy place until you need it. Your locker, for instance, where you change into that fine-looking uniform. You have a locker here, don’t you?”
“Yes. In the back. But—”
“Excellent. The next time any of these people walk in, all you have to do is retrieve this bowl, flip the switch, then slip a twenty to some waitress so she will deliver it to the table. Along with the usual refreshments, of course. Like so.” He set the bowl down with a solid thunk, then took an almond from their own bowl and popped it in his mouth. “That’s the real beauty of our arrangement, don’t you see? Only one part of it is dicey, and a waitress handles that for you.”
Patel knew by then that he was in over his head, but the idea of making a thousand dollars in only a few minutes of work had taken hold of his imagination. So he sighed and fretted, and again rubbed his hands on his knees. Then he nodded, as if to seal the deal, even though he never mustered enough courage to actually say yes.
“Very good. Of course, if the recorder comes back blank, your compensation will be adjusted accordingly. Results, old son. That’s what you’re being paid for, just as with any consultant. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Until next time, then? Say, a month or two, or maybe even longer, when, if you have everything waiting for me, I’ll pay you in full?”
“Yes, sir. A month or two. I will try to have your results.”
Charlie stood up from the table and departed the Kasbar, not to return until the night he showed up with Sam Keller at his side.
“Those photos,” Sharaf said, “and this list. Did you keep them?”
Patel nodded.
He reached into his pocket. They were creased and folded like old money. Sharaf took the page and the card and smoothed them out in his lap while Sam leaned closer. The color photos of Nanette Weaver and Hal Liffey seemed to have been printed straight from the Internet, from the State Department and Pfluger Klaxon Web sites. The color shot of Iranian mobster Mohsen Hedayat was clear enough, but looked as if it had been taken with a cell phone, on the sidewalk outside the Iranian Club, a thriving social club in the Oud Metha area of Dubai. The photos of Anatoly Rybakov and Lieutenant Hamad Assad had been copied from newspapers. All five of their names were typed on the crumpled index card.
Sam could tell Sharaf was trying to rein in his excitement.
“These people,” Sharaf said, as calmly as if he were asking about Patel’s family, “I take it that they all met at some point later, and you were able to tape them?”
Patel shook his head.
“No. Just one.”
“One? How can only one person hold a meeting?”
Patel shrugged, as if that wasn’t his concern.
“There were three people, but only one was from those pictures. His name was on the list. Mr. Hal Liffey.”
“Who were the other two?”
Patel shrugged again.
“Mr. Liffey did not include their names with his reservation. All that was recorded in the book was that he had requested a table for three.”
“So it might have been two of the others, then, but you’re just not sure?”
“No. I am sure. It was not the woman, and it was not any of the other three.”
“But you taped them anyway?”
“Just as Mr. Hatcher said, except I had to give the waitress a fifty. She said those people were too scary, especially the Russian.”
“One of them was a Russian?”
“And one was Persian. The waitress said the Russian was Mafia, but she says that anytime a rich Russian comes here. But it made her scared. That is why I had to pay her a fifty, and when I began to think about it later I was scared, too. So I took the recorder home. I did not want to leave it anywhere around the hotel where it might be found, especially not in my locker. My only worry was what I would do when Mr. Hatcher came. He would expect delivery, and I knew I would not be paid unless he could be sure I had results.”
“So that’s why you memorized the information for April fourteenth, to assure him you had the goods?”
Patel nodded again.
“Why that part?”
“On the tape, it is the only time they are speaking English. The rest of the time they are only speaking Russian. I don’t speak Russian.”
“Is that why he paid you in the lobby, but took nothing in return?”
“Yes. Five hundred dollars. Half the total. At the moment I mentioned April fourteenth, he seemed very happy. He said he would pay me the rest when I gave him the recorder.”
