The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [82]
“Business is business …” he began.
“To hell with business,” I snapped, my nerves overstretched. I held up a hand, simultaneously taking a deep breath to calm myself. “I’m sorry. There’s a lot more going on here than I’ve been able to tell you. I really need to know how you learned that I had lunch with Senator Simpson.”
I could hear the bodyguard approaching, drawn by my outburst. Rashid waved him off and gave me a wan smile.
“It’s I who should apologize. It’s easy to be self-absorbed when you’re ill. I heard about your falling-out with Walter Coleman. This must be a difficult time for you professionally.”
“This has nothing to do with Walter.”
He uncrossed his legs, seeming to gain strength as he sat up straighter.
“Then what?”
“Please,” I said, looking directly into his eyes. “If we’ve ever been friends. Just answer the question for me.”
He returned my gaze for a long moment and then sighed.
“This one time,” he said quietly. “As a token of respect for our long friendship. Everything I tell you to be held in strictest confidence.”
I nodded impatiently.
“The French minister of foreign affairs flew to Riyadh yesterday morning, where he met with his Saudi equivalent. The minister had with him a transcript of certain remarks made by Senator Simpson at a lunch at the Palace hotel. I was asked to learn whatever I could about this lunch. I have a relationship with the officer in your Secret Service who coordinates protection for visiting Arab dignitaries. I called that officer and asked if he could obtain a list of the attendees at the senator’s lunch, in exchange for certain considerations that don’t concern you. He tapped some of his former colleagues and was able to get the information. Your name was on the list.”
“The French minister of foreign affairs?” I said, bewildered. “Where on earth did he get a transcript of the lunch?”
“I don’t have immediate access to French state secrets. Would you like me to call Paris and ask for you?”
The sarcasm was deserved, but it didn’t lessen my interest in the transcript. My phone might well have been the source.
“Forgive me,” I said. “I didn’t mean to push so hard. I appreciate your candor.”
“It’s nothing,” he said wearily, slumping back into his seat. “Friends don’t hold grudges. Just tell me about your lunch with the senator.”
I made an effort to concentrate, still preoccupied by the existence of the transcript but feeling I owed him a proper response.
“In a nutshell? America first when it comes to Arab oil, regardless of Arab preferences. Disagreements to be resolved by the U.S. Marines.”
“Precisely what I heard from Riyadh,” Rashid said, shaking his head mournfully. “This is very bad for Arab-American relations.”
“Why? You said yourself that the Arab potentates all understand they’ve done a deal with the devil, and that America will eventually annex whatever it needs to annex. What difference does it make if Simpson says it out loud?”
“Every difference. You keep forgetting the importance of culture. Arabs are like Asians—face is more important than anything else. Tacit recognition of an inferior position is one thing. Having a bully rub your face in your inferiority publicly is quite another.”
I nodded, trying to think of a way to work the conversation back to the transcript.
“I’m missing the French interest here,” I said. “Are they just stirring up trouble?”
“I explained this to you the other day. The Saudis and the other moderate Arab leaders are allied with America only because they need protection—from the radical elements in their own societies, and from the rogue regimes in the region. If America isn’t best able to provide that protection, or if U.S. policy makes the relationship unpalatable, then they’ll form new alliances.”
“Nord Stream,” I said, the pieces clicking together despite my distraction. “The French are touting their success in the Ukraine and suggesting they take over America’s Middle Eastern security role.”
Rashid shrugged.
“We’re