million dollars.”
“Yes,” Rivera conceded. “I suppose it would. So there must be an additional allowance for spares?”
“Essential,” the Belgian said. “A tank that won’t work is a useless piece of metal, isn’t it?”
Rivera guessed the man had a scrap-metal business to accommodate that eventuality as well. “Spares should be added to the list,” he agreed.
“A very substantial list,” mused the Belgian, shifting the responsibility for guiding the conversation onto Rivera.
“How long, to provide everything?” the diplomat demanded.
Belac humped his shoulders, reluctant to be trapped too easily into a commitment. “Three months,” he said. “Maybe four.”
“There would need to be a completion date,” Rivera pressed. The letter accompanying the order, a letter only Rivera had read, had insisted on six months as a maximum.
“Four,” Belac said.
The moment for which he’d been patiently waiting, Rivera recognized. ‘This is not the business of legally binding contracts,” he said. “What guarantees will exist between us?”
“Mutual, reciprocal trust,” Belac said easily.
Horseshit, thought Rivera. “Would it not be better, perhaps, if I took some of the smaller items elsewhere, spread the order among lesser dealers?”
“No!” Belac said, greedily and too quickly. “I can handle it all. It’s far better to keep it all simple, just between us two.”
“You can guarantee the four months then?”
“My word,” Belac said. He couldn’t be forced to keep it.
“We haven’t yet discussed price,” Rivera said, spread-eagling himself upon the sacrificial stone.
Belac went through the charade of examining the list again, as if he were only then making his calculations. Rivera guessed he had nearly everything priced practically down to the last half-dollar.
“Ninety million,” Belac announced. Hurriedly again, he added, “But that would merely be for the purchases. In addition there would have to be allowances for transportation. Money will also have to be paid out for the switching of the End-User Certificates. So there will need to be provision for extensive commission payments. Say another ten million.”
Most definitely the need for extensive commission payments, thought Rivera; the euphoria swept through him. Even if he modestly maintained his own personal commission at ten percent on the purchase price, that would mean ten million. Keeping any excitement from his voice, Rivera said, “Won’t there also need to be a substantial, instantly available sum to enable the on-the-spot bidding for the tanks?”
“A further fifty million,” Belac declared at once.
Which meant a further five million for him, mentally echoed Rivera, feeling another flush of excitement. He would keep his share to ten percent: on such figures it would be greedy to think of more. On a profit of fifteen million he’d definitely quit, when the deal was completed. “There will be a need to consult, of course,” he said. “But I don’t see the slightest problem with those figures.”
Immediate anger surged through Belac. He’d thought a clear twenty-million-dollar profit, which was what he’d allowed himself, to be as high as he dared push it, but from the other man’s reaction he could have gone even higher! “That’s good to hear,” Belac said, although it hadn’t been good to hear at all.
“I would expect a response within a week.”
“Let’s meet again in a week, then?” The Belgian sat with the complacency of a winner in everything, the anger going. There still might be ways to edge the profit up. And twenty million was a lot of money anyway.
“And this time let me come to you in Brussels,” Rivera offered. The man would feel more confident in his own surroundings.
Belac hesitated briefly. “As you wish.”
Rivera worked for an hour after the Belgian’s departure, setting out accurately everything about the encounter until it came to Belac’s estimate for transportation costs and the necessary bribes. To the Belgian’s figure of ten million Rivera added the majority of the fifteen million he intended diverting to himself. He attached a separate sheet setting out the implacable insistence of his unnamed supplier that all finance and communication should channel through him, in London, with the unnecessary reminder that it was how every successful transaction had been conducted in the past. He personally sealed the communication in the special satchel and personally again ensured it was safely placed within the diplomatic bag. Back in the seclusion of his office, Rivera stood looking out over High Holborn, satisfied with his day’s work. With his personal commission added to the price set by Pierre Belac, the whole deal amounted to $165 million.
How much cocaine would be needed from Colombia for worldwide sales to raise such a sum? Whatever, Rivera knew it would be available. It always was just as there were always buyers. He thought once more how glad he was not to be involved at that end of the chain.
The investigation into Pierre Belac’s illegal movement of American hi-tech prohibited under the Export Administration Act of 1979 was originally begun by the U.S. Customs Authority, the regulatory body for such policing. When the scale and enterprise of the Belgian’s activities were realized, the operation was necessarily extended to include the Federal Bureau of Investigation to work within the United States, and the CIA to liaise externally. It was therefore a CIA task force that monitored the man’s flight from Brussels to London and followed him from Heathrow Airport to the door of the Cuban embassy at 167 High Holborn. A number of photographs were taken of Belac entering the building and more of his leaving. He was followed back to the airport, and on the returning aircraft a CIA officer sat just two rows behind in the economy-class section.
A complete report was included in that night’s diplomatic dispatch from the U.S. embassy in the Belgian capital to Washington. A cross-reference noted that the report should be considered in conjunction with a report upon Jose Gaviria Rivera that was being separately pouched from London that same night.
FIVE
AT THE end of the O’Hare concourse there was a liquor booth and O’Farrell stopped and bought a bottle of Bombay gin and some screw-topped tonic.
Jill stood apart from him, frowning, and when he went back to her she said, “What did you do that for?”
“Ellen doesn’t usually have any drink in the apartment.”
“So?”
“So I thought it might be an idea to take some in.”
“Why? We never have before. Who needs it?”
“It might be an idea, that’s all.” O’Farrell’s voice was weary rather than irritated; trained always to subdue any extreme emotion—and certainly anger—he never fought with Jill. In the early days of their marriage she’d sometimes tried to provoke arguments, to blow off steam, but he’d never responded, and over the years she’d stopped bothering. She’d never openly said so, but he guessed she despised him for that, too. Another clerklike weakness, unwillingness to fight on any level.
He’d set up the car rental ahead of time, so all the documentation was ready. O’Farrell started to put the luggage on the rear seat but then changed his mind, stowing it in the trunk, so the plastic bag containing the liquor was out of sight.
They drove for a long time without speaking, and then Jill said, “You all right?”
“What sort of question is that?”
“The sort of question a wife can ask her husband.”
“Of course I’m all right. I’m fine. Why?”
“I just wondered.”
“There must be a reason.” That had been the time to drop it, not persist with any further challenge.
“You’ve just seemed kind of strange a couple of times lately, that’s all.”
