The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [38]
“It’s a bad idea. We’d only be postponing our problems. And creating categories of haves and have-nots reduces the likelihood of global cooperation on other fronts, which is important if we want to spread the cost of next-generation energy projects or tackle ecological issues. China has a lot of dirty coal they can burn if their backs are to the wall. Not to mention the fact that any genuine energy shortage would be an enormous drag on global growth, which would inevitably hurt our economy anyway. The whole notion is stupid.”
“And your suggestion?”
“Big science is something governments have done well. Nuclear, wind, syngas, solar, and fuel cells are all promising. At a minimum, Washington should be making carbon-based energy more expensive, to spur research on alternatives. The real difficulty is that there’s no sense of urgency, both because the economy is weak right now and because nobody really knows when the oil and gas are going to run out.”
“Agreed,” he said crisply. “Your work gives you access to information, as does mine. I suggest we collaborate.”
“Collaborate on what?” I asked uncertainly.
“On understanding precisely when the oil and gas are going to run out. I can bring information on Russia, Africa, and certain areas of the Middle East to the table.”
It was a fantasy offer, but I had to be straight with him.
“I’d love to collaborate. But we both know that it all comes down to Saudi Arabia.”
“The Saudis have employed a number of foreign workers in their oil fields over the years. Syrians, Iraqis, Palestinians, Indians, and others. I’ve made a point of collecting as much information from these workers as possible. Fragmentary, of course, but voluminous nonetheless. Perhaps you have other fragments?”
The people he’d mentioned were all denizens of countries with strong governmental ties to Russia. It occurred to me to wonder how much of the information he was referencing had flowed to him directly and how much had come through intelligence contacts. Not that it particularly mattered to me who he associated with. Reliable fragments were exactly what I needed to spot-check the information I’d gotten from Alex’s friend.
“I do,” I said firmly. “Quite a few. And some OPEC contacts who might help me confirm the big picture, if we can put it together.”
“We’re agreed, then?” he asked gravely.
I felt a flush of professional excitement. Narimanov would be one of the biggest sources I’d ever reeled in, second only to Rashid.
“We are.”
He offered his hand again, and I shook it.
11
Narimanov and I parted after hashing out some details and exchanging contact numbers. It was going to take him a few days to assemble his data, which was fine by me. Assuming Alex could explain why Theresa had picked this particular moment in time to seek me out, and persuade me that she was a credible source, I’d likely need at least that much time to make a stab at parsing her information. I wondered if I was right to think Alex hadn’t been completely honest about her, and—if so—whether it had anything to do with how upset he’d been the previous day. One possibility was that Walter had leaned on Alex to further whatever agenda he had regarding Senator Simpson. I knew how vulnerable Alex was to Walter’s demands, but it still pissed me off to suspect that he might have tried to use me.
I found a sealed envelope in my center desk drawer when I arrived back at my office, and a note from Kate inside. She’d successfully transferred and encrypted the files from the iPod and written down the password for me. I refolded the note and stuck it in my shirt pocket, the professional buzz I’d felt in Narimanov’s car fading as I was reminded of my conversation with Kate. I rubbed my forehead with both hands, trying to decide what to do next. Claire was at Sloan-Kettering all afternoon, and would be attending a concert at Carnegie Hall with Kate later that evening. Better I get her by herself somewhere quiet than rush into a conversation when she was distracted. Maybe a night away this coming weekend. There