Zero Day_ A Novel - Mark Russinovich [56]
In November of that year, Carlton had flown directly to Paris, where he spent several pleasant days. From there he flew to Madrid, then on to Rome. At the American embassy, he was reacquainted with Meade Gardner, the senior State Department adviser to the American ambassador for the kingdom of Saudi Arabia. They had belonged to the same fraternity at Yale; not Skull and Bones—neither of them had been so fortunate—but Delta Kappa Epsilon. The association had served Carlton well over the years, though not as well as he’d anticipated when he’d been initiated.
Following the various introductions, the pair had retired from the smoke-clouded salon to the patio overlooking the embassy garden. Amid fragrant Cuban cigar smoke and cognac they had reminisced. Twice divorced, Gardner was currently “between marriages” as he put it. Tall and angular, he was, in Carlton’s opinion, a bit pompous—but the two had been roommates and good buddies for a time. “How do you like Riyadh?” Carlton asked to be polite. Through French doors, a quartet played Brahms softly.
“Disgusting,” Gardner said, slurring the word a bit. He’d downed more than his share of Scotch since the pair met. “The Saudis are an arrogant bunch. They know they’ve got us by the short hairs and make no bones about it. If they turned off the spigot, it would be back to the Stone Age for us. It gives them clout and that’s something they understand. Revolting people, just revolting.”
Carlton didn’t disagree. He had no love of Arabs. “What about your social life? It must be awkward in a Muslim country.”
“You’ve got that right.” Gardner made a face. “Everything’s tied to one of the embassies. They house us Westerners in our own compound, and until a few years ago I hear it was pretty good. Booze, parties, babes away from home the first time. A little bit of home in the Muslim desert. But the Wahhabi mullahs objected and the religious police were allowed to crack down. Now it’s as sterile in the compound as it is everywhere else in Riyadh. Five million Arabs, the men horny as hell. You ask me, they’re all a bunch of perverts. They can’t even see a woman unless she’s a sister or wife. I can’t stand a culture that puts its women in bags. A few strip clubs and brothels would set things right, if you ask me.”
“Still, all that money,” Carlton mused. “It must be interesting at times. It surely isn’t all doom and gloom.”
Gardner grimaced. “Oh, I suppose. The embassy parties sound more like board meetings at times. They’re swimming in dollars, I tell you. They hardly know what to do with them. But they’re accustomed to being thought easy marks, so they’re careful as hell. They’ve got so many Western-educated men these days, they prefer partnerships to outright investments.”
Carlton hid his interest, but an hour later he’d managed to receive an invitation from Gardner to join an American delegation of computer representatives to Saudi Arabia, though Carlton had been scheduled for Ankara, Turkey. The State Department was sponsoring the trips of certain business representatives in hopes a few would land contracts with either the Saudi government or some of the businesses headquartered there. Carlton would travel in open cover, meaning he would use his real name and passport, but his credentials attached him to the delegation of Applied American Computing Solutions, Inc., from Dallas, Texas. The owner of the company was the sole representative of his firm, but he enthusiastically added Carlton to the trip when he learned he was honoring a favor for the American Saudi ambassador.
They’d sat together on the nonstop from Rome to Riyadh two days later. Peter Houser of AACS was a bit short and had gained a substantial paunch and lost most of his hair while prospering selling software.
“I was lucky,” he admitted shortly after takeoff. “I didn’t know software from hardware, but I figured computers were the coming thing and bought a well-run company. For the most part, I