The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [64]
“Drink?” he asked.
“Nothing, thanks. Before we discuss anything else, I want to thank you for the heads-up on the Russian/French attack. Russia’s a big black hole to most analysts. I’m looking forward to learning more about it.”
“Russia’s a big black hole to me sometimes. The only thing the Russian people really learned from seventy years of Communism was the importance of keeping their mouths shut. I heard about the attack from a senior French oil executive, who heard about it directly from the general in charge. It’s much easier to gather confidential information in France than in most other places. The Grandes Écoles graduates are all in bed together.”
“So, what happens next?”
He shrugged.
“The French went out on a limb for Russia. Next, they’ll want payback. That means preferential consideration for French companies bidding on Russian energy projects.”
“A number of which you control,” I said, deciding to probe how good-humored he really was. “I’m curious—how does that work exactly? You get a phone call telling you who to award contracts to?”
“In the old days,” he replied easily. “Russia’s become more Westernized. We negotiate with carrots now, instead of sticks. The Kremlin has a list of things they want, and I have a list of things I want. Business gets done.”
Liking him didn’t mean I completely believed him. It had been only a few years since the Russian government deliberately broke the oil giant Yukos and sent its billionaire owner, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, to prison. The charge was tax fraud, but his actual crime—in the opinion of most Western observers—had been funding opposition political parties. Narimanov might negotiate with his government about some things, but there had to be times when they made him toe the line. I made a mental note to learn what I could about his political connections.
“And you seem to have done well by it. I’m flattered by your offer.”
“And surprised that I followed up again so soon?” he asked shrewdly.
“A little,” I admitted. “It’s not a standard negotiating technique.”
“Unless something’s changed. I heard about your difficulty with Walter Coleman.”
I made an effort to keep my face blank. I’d wanted to tell him the story myself. His having heard from someone else was bad, because it put me on the defensive.
“You invited me to your apartment to retract your job offer?” I asked, playing it cool. “That’s equally nonstandard.”
He laughed.
“Not at all. But I need to know what happened between the two of you if there’s a possibility of our working together. Walter’s very well regarded in the markets. I can’t just ignore his judgments.”
It was the reaction I’d expected. A public condemnation from Walter was a huge burden to be carrying around, regardless of my track record. Narimanov’s offer entitled him to more information than I’d shared with my clients.
“Walter’s son, Alex, directed me to some confidential market information,” I explained carefully. “The source of the information is an open question, as is the nature of Alex’s relationship with the conduit. Walter only found out after Alex died. He felt I should have kept him informed.”
“Walter realized his son had a secret arrangement with some third party and was angry at you for not telling him?”
I nodded, impressed by how quickly his mind worked.
“I see.” He tapped the tips of his fingers together, considering. “Is this about the Saudi Arabian oil field data?”
I felt the ground shift under my feet, wondering how the hell Narimanov knew about the Saudi data, and, more to the point, how he knew that Alex or I knew. The last couple of days spun by in my head at high speed as I tried to figure out what hidden connection Narimanov might have to the events that had transpired. Nothing leapt out at me.
“You’re going to have to explain how you knew to ask that particular question,” I said, as evenly as I could manage. “If there’s a possibility of our working together, that is.”
He grinned, apparently enjoying my discomfiture.
“I got a call from an acquaintance in Washington a few days ago, telling me