The Hadrian Memorandum - Allan Folsom [135]
He went to the door and looked out toward the park. The evening lights had come on, and he could see a few people still mingling there. Anne was not among them. He watched for a moment longer, then finally turned and went back up the stairs to the apartment.
9:18 P.M.
85
FOUR SEASONS HOTEL RITZ, THE RITZ BAR. 9:20 P.M.
Sy Wirth sat alone finishing his second Johnnie Walker Blue over ice. An attractive woman in a green dress walked up to the bar, ordered a Black Russian, and smiled seductively at him. He didn’t respond. Instead he signed his tab, then got up and made his way through the bustling lounge area toward the elevators in the lobby. It was nearly nine thirty at night local time, almost three thirty in the afternoon in Houston.
9:24 P.M.
The elevator door opened; Wirth stepped out and walked down the hallway toward his tenth-floor room. His electronic key unlocked the door, and he went in. A hallway light was on. So was one on the nightstand beside the bed. The maid had turned down the sheets. A writing desk was in front of a large sliding glass door that opened onto an outdoor terrace overlooking the dark expanse of Eduardo VII Park.
He sat down at the desk and turned on the lamp, then slid the two BlackBerrys from his jacket pocket, put the one with the blue tape aside, and picked up the other. A deep breath and he punched in a number in England that automatically forwarded the call to Striker general counsel Arnold Moss’s personal BlackBerry in Houston. It rang three times before Moss picked up.
“I thought I’d be hearing from you,” Moss said immediately.
“Where are you?”
“In the office, where else?”
“You alone?”
“Yes.”
Wirth ran a hand through his hair. “Truex has gotten Washington involved. I’m in Lisbon. So is Conor White. Anne and this Nicholas Marten are either on their way or have already arrived. They’re going to meet with Joe Ryder somewhere here tomorrow. Most probably to give him the photographs and have Anne tell him what she knows about our operations. White’s already got an Agency freelancer on board to help stop them.”
“Carlos Branco.”
“How the hell do you know that?” Wirth was startled. “Truex tell you?”
“Newhan Black.”
“Black called you?”
“He wants us out, Sy. He didn’t want to talk to you. Thought I should deliver the news. It only happened a little while ago. It’s why I didn’t call. I wanted to think.”
“Stop thinking.” Wirth shoved back from the desk and stood up. “This is what we’re going to do.”
“You didn’t tell me the Russians were in this.”
“They aren’t anymore.”
“How the hell did they get involved in the—”
“I tried an end run. It didn’t work.” Wirth crossed the room, reached the far side, then turned back. He was angry. At the world. “Not everything pans out, Arnie. In the end you hope you come out a step ahead of even.”
“Sy, leave it alone. We’ve got to cut our losses while we can. Close the whole operation down. Get out of Equatorial Guinea.”
“What’s the matter?” Wirth’s anger flared. “The game gets a little rough and you suddenly start whimpering? Whose side are you on, theirs or ours? I told you a long time ago I wasn’t going to lose the Bioko field. I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Jesus, Sy. The whole thing’s crumbling. The walls are coming down. Black’s given us the opportunity to walk away. He’ll protect us. We have to do just that.”
“Arnie, listen to me.” Wirth was emphatic. “We’re going to execute what you and I discussed in Houston. Joe Ryder’s due here in the morning. I’m staying at the same hotel he is and am going to request a meeting with him. Just the two of us. He’ll see me if for no other reason than the Iraq situation. I plan to tell him exactly what he’s going to find when he gets the photos, then turn it right back on Truex. Tell Ryder it was all his game, his and Conor White’s, one we knew nothing about.