The Garden of Betrayal

21

The Time Warner Center is a slice of Hong Kong transplanted to New York City-a cramped, upscale mall topped by a generic luxury hotel and a host of overpriced, absentee-owned condos in linked towers, with a few million pounds of marble tossed in to make everything classy. Narimanov kept a penthouse, but I had the sense that he didn’t spend much time there. The immaculate, Scandinavian modern living room I was shown to was entirely devoid of photos or other personal items, every throw pillow freshly plumped and perfectly placed. It made me wonder if the maids worked from brochures. I noticed a simple wooden chessboard on a table by the glass wall overlooking Columbus Circle. It was set wrongly, with the pieces randomly arranged behind the pawns. I walked over and began correcting it.

“You play?” Narimanov asked from behind me.

“Some.” I turned to face him. He was wearing the same outfit he’d had on the other day-charcoal slacks and a black turtleneck-and he was carrying a manila envelope. I wondered if it contained an offer letter. “Years ago. When I was in college. I never wanted to spend time memorizing moves, so I never became very proficient.”

“My objection precisely. Have you ever played Fischer Random Chess?”

“Never heard of it.”

“It’s a modern variant of a game called Shuffle Chess, codified in the mid-nineties by your eccentric former champion Bobby Fischer. You roll a die to determine the arrangement of the high-value pieces, eliminating reliance on memorized openings and combinations. There are nine hundred and sixty legal starting positions. We’ll have to play sometime.” He motioned toward the seating area. “It’s good of you to come. Sit, please.”

I sank down onto a white leather sofa and he settled in the matching end chair, tucking the envelope he was carrying between the seat cushion and the chair’s arm. He leaned forward, muscled forearms resting on his knees and thick hands clasped loosely. Broad shoulders and typically Slavic features gave him the look of a Russian movie heavy, but there was a delicacy to his movements that saved his appearance from coarseness.

“Nice place you have here. Great views.”

“My only instruction to my people was not to buy in any building that said Trump on it,” he said wryly. “And this is what they came up with. Trump without Trump.”

I smiled, liking him more and more.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Nothing, thanks. Before we discuss anything else, I want to thank you for the heads-up on the Russian/French attack. Russia’s a big black hole to most analysts. I’m looking forward to learning more about it.”

“Russia’s a big black hole to me sometimes. The only thing the Russian people really learned from seventy years of Communism was the importance of keeping their mouths shut. I heard about the attack from a senior French oil executive, who heard about it directly from the general in charge. It’s much easier to gather confidential information in France than in most other places. The Grandes Ecoles graduates are all in bed together.”

“So, what happens next?”

He shrugged.

“The French went out on a limb for Russia. Next, they’ll want payback. That means preferential consideration for French companies bidding on Russian energy projects.”

“A number of which you control,” I said, deciding to probe how good-humored he really was. “I’m curious-how does that work exactly? You get a phone call telling you who to award contracts to?”

“In the old days,” he replied easily. “Russia’s become more Westernized. We negotiate with carrots now, instead of sticks. The Kremlin has a list of things they want, and I have a list of things I want. Business gets done.”

Liking him didn’t mean I completely believed him. It had been only a few years since the Russian government deliberately broke the oil giant Yukos and sent its billionaire owner, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, to prison. The charge was tax fraud, but his actual crime-in the opinion of most Western observers-had been funding opposition political parties. Narimanov might negotiate with his government about some things, but there had to be times when they made him toe the line. I made a mental note to learn what I could about his political connections.

“And you seem to have done well by it. I’m flattered by your offer.”

“And surprised that I followed up again so soon?” he asked shrewdly.

“A little,” I admitted. “It’s not a standard negotiating technique.”

“Unless something’s changed. I heard about your difficulty with Walter Coleman.”

I made an effort to keep my face blank. I’d wanted to tell him the story myself. His having heard from someone else was bad, because it put me on the defensive.

“You invited me to your apartment to retract your job offer?” I asked, playing it cool. “That’s equally nonstandard.”

He laughed.

“Not at all. But I need to know what happened between the two of you if there’s a possibility of our working together. Walter’s very well regarded in the markets. I can’t just ignore his judgments.”

It was the reaction I’d expected. A public condemnation from Walter was a huge burden to be carrying around, regardless of my track record. Narimanov’s offer entitled him to more information than I’d shared with my clients.

“Walter’s son, Alex, directed me to some confidential market information,” I explained carefully. “The source of the information is an open question, as is the nature of Alex’s relationship with the conduit. Walter only found out after Alex died. He felt I should have kept him informed.”

“Walter realized his son had a secret arrangement with some third party and was angry at you for not telling him?”

I nodded, impressed by how quickly his mind worked.

“I see.” He tapped the tips of his fingers together, considering. “Is this about the Saudi Arabian oil field data?”

I felt the ground shift under my feet, wondering how the hell Narimanov knew about the Saudi data, and, more to the point, how he knew that Alex or I knew. The last couple of days spun by in my head at high speed as I tried to figure out what hidden connection Narimanov might have to the events that had transpired. Nothing leapt out at me.

“You’re going to have to explain how you knew to ask that particular question,” I said, as evenly as I could manage. “If there’s a possibility of our working together, that is.”

He grinned, apparently enjoying my discomfiture.

“I got a call from an acquaintance in Washington a few days ago, telling me that Alex Coleman had been asking questions about a trove of confidential Saudi Arabian information. He was insistent that the people he spoke to not mention his inquiries to his father.”

“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 public.”

He frowned at the carpet for a moment and then looked up.

“How about this? The raw Saudi data and anything else you might receive from U.S. government sources constitute an exception to our agreement. You’re free to publish through whatever channel you see fit, provided it can’t be traced back to you or my operation.”

It was a clever concession, and eminently workable. There were any number of competent reporters I could use as a blind to get stuff into the public domain. I felt a sudden rush of professional elation, excited by the offer for reasons that had nothing to do with Walter’s disapprobation. Absent Alex, I didn’t feel any emotional tie to my current situation. I respected my hedge-fund clients, but I didn’t particularly like them. They were too self-absorbed, too focused on making money, and-perhaps-too much of an endangered species. A move now would be smart.

“Perfect. Assuming we go forward, where would you want me to locate?”

“Entirely your choice. I’ll want to meet face-to-face at least monthly in London or New York, at my discretion, but otherwise you’re free to set up shop wherever you’d like.”

Which would let me accommodate Claire, if she wanted me to move with her to San Francisco.

“Great. I still need to run it by my wife, but I think we might have a deal.”

“Excellent.” He took hold of the envelope nestled against his leg and offered it to me. “A good-faith gesture. The bits and pieces I’ve been able to collect on Saudi independently, as promised. I’d be interested in hearing your preliminary conclusions as soon as possible.”

I reached out and took the envelope eagerly. Unwinding the red thread sealing the flap, I saw that it contained three data CDs in purple-tinted jewel cases.

“Thanks,” I said, deciding it was the right moment to do a little trolling of my own. “Tell me, did your guy in Washington tell you whether he thought the Saudi data was good?”

“No. Only that it had the correct provenance-which, of course, is a powerful recommendation in and of itself.”

“True.” I got to my feet. “Assuming no problem at home, I’ll have my lawyer draft some terms and get back to you first thing next week.”

He smiled.

“Welcome aboard.”