The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [65]
“And these people kept the secret from Walter but told you. That seems odd.”
“Why? I’ve made it known that I pay well for information that interests me. It’s been an important element of my success. I get calls from all sorts of people, on all sorts of subjects. It’s as I told you yesterday—I have access to information that isn’t normally attainable.”
“You get calls from people in the U.S. government?”
He gave me a condescending look.
“Of course.”
I’d seen too much in my career to be shocked by corruption, but the notion of people in my own government selling information to foreigners pissed me off. And the realization of the extent to which Narimanov had manipulated me the first time we met pissed me off more. He hadn’t even mentioned Saudi—I’d been the one to bring it up, thinking I was clever. I wasn’t in any mood to be jerked around.
“I suppose we’re done, then,” I said, getting to my feet.
“What do you mean?” he asked, looking up at me.
“You approached me because you wanted to collaborate on an analysis of how much surplus oil there is in the world. You already have most of the information you need to figure out the answer, or you can get it from your friends in Washington. Either way, it doesn’t seem that you have any real need of my services. It’s been a pleasure meeting you. Good luck.”
I took a step toward the door.
“Wait,” he said. “Perhaps I’ve expressed myself badly.”
“On the contrary—you’ve been remarkably clear. It’s just that I don’t like being toyed with.”
He stood as well, his brow furrowed.
“I apologize,” he said, looking me squarely in the eye. “You’re correct that I should have been more forthright the other day, when we first spoke.” He gestured toward the couch. “Please.”
I sat down again, surprised and encouraged. Most guys as rich as Narimanov were constitutionally incapable of apologizing.
“The truth is that I don’t have the information,” Narimanov admitted, settling back into the end chair. “Alex only made inquiries. He didn’t pass the data along. And I’m reluctant to fish for it at the source.”
“You know what the source is?”
“I do. A U.S. agency most commonly known by three initials.”
Which was consistent with Walter’s theory. The information had been passed to Senator Simpson from the CIA or the NSA, and then Simpson had arranged to get it to me.
“And you’re reluctant to fish for it why?”
“I draw the line at suborning state intelligence agencies, and at cooperating with them. Russia’s, America’s, or anyone else’s. Intelligence agencies make bad friends and worse enemies. I troll exclusively in open waters—or at least waters that aren’t too heavily restricted.”
It was a smart policy, and his caution prompted me to take a step back and reconsider my own circumstances. I’d been around the block enough to know that I was okay publishing the Saudi data, regardless of the source. Any potential legal repercussions would attach to the person or persons who leaked the information, not to me. But my situation was different if I simply sold the information on to a foreign national. Morally, and maybe legally. I didn’t want to become the kind of sleaze-ball that I’d been mentally condemning a few minutes ago, and I certainly didn’t want to go to jail.
“So, what exactly are you suggesting?”
“Yesterday’s offer stands. I buy you out, and you come to work for me exclusively. It’s not just the Saudi data I’m interested in—I receive far too much information to process myself, and the people I currently employ frequently don’t grasp the subtleties of what’s important. I need someone like you—someone who can operate independently, and who I can trust.”
I shook my head regretfully.
“It’s still not going to work. I can’t negotiate a private sale of something that originated in the U.S. intelligence community, particularly to a foreign national. Assuming I can verify the data, my only option is to make it