No Kiss For The Devil

10

‘Miss Gavin? This way, please.’ The speaker was a slim, balding man with the colourless air of an academic. He was of medium height and build, and wore a plain grey suit with a maroon tie and black shoes. He was holding a clipboard and had appeared from nowhere within seconds of Riley approaching the frosted-glass reception desk of the modern hotel in Bloomsbury. It was a few minutes before two o’clock.

‘You will be meeting with our Mr Richard Varley,’ the man informed her. Varley was the name on the email Riley had received. Without introducing himself or giving Riley an opportunity to ask questions, the man turned and set off down a corridor towards the rear of the hotel.

He stopped in the entrance to an open lounge area and indicated a figure sitting in one corner. There was nobody else in the room. ‘Please.’ He smiled briefly, then turned and walked away.

Riley crossed the room and watched as the man in front of her rose to his feet. He was well over six feet tall, with impressively broad shoulders and large hands, and she wondered if he was a former sports professional turned businessman. He was striking rather than good looking, with high cheekbones and tanned skin. He was dressed in a beautifully-cut suit, with a colourful silk tie and white shirt. The clothes hung well from his large frame, and Riley guessed he was in his early forties.

‘Miss Gavin. How nice of you to come. Richard Varley.’ He spoke with an American accent. He stepped forward to meet her, his hand engulfing hers completely. His touch was warm and dry, like his smile, and he had very white teeth and dark, friendly eyes. She noticed with approval a faint lemony tang in the air around him. ‘Would you like some tea?’ he asked, and gestured to a tray on the table behind him.

‘Yes, please.’

Even as he poured, Varley studied Riley openly. He seemed unabashed at her noticing. When he’d finished pouring, he gestured at the milk and she nodded assent. He slid the cup towards her and sat back to continue his study.

Riley began to bristle under this scrutiny. ‘Do I pass muster?’ she said. With the events of the past twenty-four hours, the last thing she needed was some crummy business type on the trawl for an easy pick-up.

He looked surprised and shook himself. ‘My apologies — I’m so sorry for staring, Miss Gavin. It’s just that I get to meet with so many people in the course of my work — and most of them are guys.’ He shrugged and gave a sheepish grin. ‘I’m just enjoying the change, that’s all. Please don’t be offended.’

Riley picked up her cup and sipped the tea, uncertain if he was toying with her or not. She’d met plenty of men who had made similar if not more blatant approaches, most of them with less charm and a less ready display of embarrassment. She chose to give Varley a chance before deciding that a predatory eye was sufficient reason to throw away the assignment. ‘What did you want to talk about?’ she asked.

He reached into a briefcase by his side and produced a magazine. It was glossy, colourful and high quality, and carried the title East European Trade in bold type across the top. He passed it across to her.

‘The people I represent are committed to providing high-quality, fully-verifiable ethical material for this journal. It’s monthly, on subscription only, and aimed at decision-makers in government, finance and international business. It has a high cover price, but that’s reflected by the level of information they specialise in.’ He smiled openly. ‘Actually, it’s pretty boring stuff — about east-west trade, mostly — but they have a target audience that deals in billions — trillions, even — so the quality and nature of what goes between the covers is very, very influenced by the readership.’ He shrugged. ‘And that works the other way round, of course.’

‘Sounds heavy,’ Riley commented. She flicked to the inside cover page and read through the information about the publishers. Ercovoy News Press was new to her, but this wasn’t her usual area of operations. They listed editorial offices in London, Madrid and Brussels — all P.O. Boxes, she noticed — and a production office at Atcheveli 3-24, Sokhumi, Republic of Georgia. ‘Is this where you come from?’ She was surprised; he sounded so all-American.

‘Hell, no.’ He chuckled good-naturedly. ‘I’m an army brat, originally from the deep south. My dad was a career officer, so I guess you could say I’m from all over. I’ve always loved Europe, though, so I’m pleased to be based here now. I’m the editor-at-large. The production office is purely a base for collating the material.’

‘I see.’

‘We like to think,’ Varley continued, steering her back on-track, ‘that what we publish has high-impact potential. Our coverage is often of subject material most people won’t have heard about on the usual wires.’

Riley nodded, ignoring Varley’s excited sales patter. He talked like an MBA marketing clone, although he seemed genuinely less over-the-top zealous than some. She scanned the pages. There was an article on mineral exploration in Kazakhstan; the results of a study into reducing pollution in the Caspian and Black Seas; a profile piece about a member of the Turkish parliament who was also one of the country’s biggest shipping magnates; a debate on the threat of aggressive cross-border trade from the bullish emerging Chinese markets, and the need for manufacturing investment and infrastructure across the states of the former Soviet Union. Boring and worthy, she thought. But presumably, someone, somewhere, read it, and if Varley was right, some would set their political or commercial agenda accordingly.

‘Is this for European content only?’

‘Not at all. The content is slanted towards Eastern Europe purely because that’s where the bulk of international investment is heading right now. But it’s read by government departments everywhere, so we try to reflect that, too. By everywhere, I mean the US, Europe, China, India, the Middle East — and Westminster, of course.’ He raised open palms. ‘Like I said, this gets seen by some very key people. And the content is also about some very key people.’

‘Odd, then, that I’ve never heard of it. Or of Ercovoy News Press.’

He smiled easily. ‘Well, because it’s aimed at such a specialised market, it doesn’t get to appear on the newsstands… but we’re hardly alone in that respect.’

Riley nodded. She had worked for a few titles which were not available on the street and which most people had never come across. She put the magazine down. Reading it now would be like wading through treacle. ‘And you want me to contribute?’

‘That’s right. Over the coming months, we’re featuring a series of articles on movers and shakers in the east-west socio-industrial area. People who matter today, but also those who will matter tomorrow. In five, maybe ten years, a lot of the big hitters right now will be gone. Their places will be taken by men and women only just starting out. It’s a very fast moving field, and our readership needs to know who these people are and where they’re headed. Some will be well-known, others are lower-profile, maybe because they’re still building their power base and finding their place in the market. Either way, we aim to highlight those people and shine a little spotlight on them.’

‘Good or bad?’ Riley suggested.

He chuckled good-naturedly. ‘Well, I guess some of these guys don’t get to the top by being altar boys, do they? But we’re not here to dish the dirt.’ He waved a hand. ‘Not unless it needs dishing, anyhow.’

‘Really? And who decides that?’

He lifted an eyebrow, his expression open. ‘Actually, that’s a good question. I guess we all do. We’ve profiled some questionable people before, no doubt about that. But exposing them has probably only been a matter of time. Sooner or later, everyone comes under the spotlight, right?’

‘Okay. But why me? This isn’t the kind of material I normally handle. There are plenty of people with much more expertise in this area.’

‘True.’ Varley scratched his cheek with a large thumb. It made a rasping sound in the quiet room. ‘But you come highly recommended.’

Riley waited, but he didn’t enlarge on it further.

‘May I ask by whom?’

‘Actually, I don’t recall. Does it matter? Your name came up. You have a solid reputation, your background checks out, so we decided to add your name to the pool of contributors — which is pretty impressive, I might add. You’d know a lot of the names…although confidentiality agreements mean I can’t tell you who they are until they complete an assignment and it goes public. We work with good people, believe me.’ He reached into an inner pocket and produced an envelope. ‘And to lay out our intentions, so to speak, we make a point of offering a signing-on fee.’ He handed Riley the envelope, which she opened.

The envelope contained a cheque in four figures, made out in her name.

Varley smiled. ‘That’s an indication of how serious we are.’