Pipeline (22 page)

“I’ve come across information about Anfang by accident. It was a fluke. I no longer have anything to do with Humboldt; after what happened in your committee room, my superiors at the trust took me off anything to do with Peru. What I found occurred only because I was trying to help a friend resolve a personal matter. But I wouldn’t have been able to put the puzzle together had it not been for the coincidence of knowing something about Peru’s gas-production plans.”

For the next ten minutes, Blaise Ryan told the two Peruvians all she knew. Anne-Sophie. Daniel. Volga Gaz. Daniel’s trips to Bolivia and his connection with Anfang. And, finally, the discovery that the German company now belonged to Russia’s largest oil and gas conglomerate, Volga Gaz. She leaned over to take something from her pocketbook, but stopped suddenly when Matta and Susana moved backward in their seats, fearing another attack.

“I brought you the proof. May I get it from my bag? It’s a tax document in German, but you’ll have to trust me that what it says is that Anfang Energie is not paying any further taxes in Germany because they have been purchased by Volga Gaz.”

Luis Matta pointed to her bag in a sign of assent. He got up from behind his desk and began to pace around the office. Any lingering doubt he might have had about Blaise Ryan’s intentions was fast disappearing.

“Why would they do this, Ms. Ryan?” Matta asked, looking at the German Ministry of Finance’s tax document. “Why would Anfang Energie and Volga Gaz go through this elaborate ruse to get the Humboldt contract?”

“Everything I have told you so far has been fact. The absolute truth. Now you are asking me to speculate.”

“Well, you are here, aren’t you? Sitting in my office. Go ahead.”

“Senator, I think what the Russians are plotting goes much further than Peru. It’s about a conspiracy against my country, not yours. You’ve seen how vulnerable we are to gas shortages in California. What they want is to control the Pacific transportation channels of natural gas to the United States. They already have the Bolivian fields. If they get Peru’s gas, they’ll be in command of three-quarters of South America’s gas reserves.”

The truth hit Matta like a rock.

Suddenly the pieces seemed to fall into place in the senator’s head. Pacing faster, his fist punching at the air, Luis Matta began to shout. Mostly to himself.

“Now it all makes sense. Damnit. How did I not see this? The signs were all there. Anfang’s extraordinarily attractive bid. Its strange, first-time interest in Latin America. The conversation with Ludwig Schutz in the car. Susana, remember I told you that Schutz had urged us to act faster in order to get Peru’s gas out before the Bolivians. His inside information about Bolivia was nothing but a hoax to make Anfang seem like a friend. A ruse. A miserable lie!”

Matta walked toward Blaise Ryan. Leaning his body over her chair, he looked at her dead center.

“Ms. Ryan, is it therefore your opinion that Peru is being used by the Russians to gain some sort of strategic advantage over the United States? That my country’s gas could be used for some sort of blackmail of your country?”

“Yes, I’m certain that is the intention.”

Matta’s mind was spinning. For over four years, he had labored to make the Humboldt project a beacon of transparency. An exam
ple of the right way to do things. There had been no corruption. No underhanded maneuvers. No backroom negotiations.

And now Humboldt was being used as a pawn in a vast superpower game. He was not going to allow it. Matta had heard enough.

“Ms. Ryan, what you have revealed leaves me with two infuriating sensations. The first is that I have been double-crossed. My country has been taken for a ride. God knows, I won’t allow that to happen. The second is a feeling of gratitude to you. It’s the last thing I wanted. My desire was to despise you for every remaining minute of my life. You have just changed that.”

He held his hand out to Blaise Ryan. She took it. Neither smiled. There was no warmth. But the blood feud was over.

“There is nothing more you can do here, Ms. Ryan. Go home to America. The rest is up to me. Thank you for telling us.”

She turned around without a further word. As she reached the door, he called out to her once more.

“Ms. Ryan. One question. Why? Why did you bring this to me?”

“Senator, that is an easy question. If my friend were to reveal to her husband what she knows, I have not the slightest doubt that the Russians would do anything to silence her. Her life would be in danger. This is a dark geopolitical conspiracy way beyond her—and my—abilities. I needed to leave this to a political professional who would know how to ignite a worldwide scandal without any trace of it ever being connected back to my friend.

“You’re that person, Senator,” Blaise Ryan added with a wry smile as she turned around and walked out of the office.

As the door closed, Susana turned to look at her boss.

“My God, what a disaster. This will delay Humboldt by months. Do you have any doubts about her?” Susana ran her hand through her dark brown hair.

“Unfortunately, none. And forget about the delay. I’m going to rule the German bid null and void; it’s a sham. Humboldt will be awarded to Constable Oil, the American company.” Matta looked determined.

“What do we do?”

“Three things. First, I want a meeting with the German ambassador early tomorrow morning. He needs to authenticate the German government’s tax form. We can’t act until we are absolutely certain that what Ryan has given us is an official document. Second, get your press lists ready. Once we have the ambassador’s guarantee that the tax form is valid, we’ll call a press conference and go public with the information. I want every single foreign correspondent in Lima there. These bastards are not going to get away with it.

“Third, I’m going to call Ludwig Schutz now and tell him that I want to see him right away in his hotel. I’m going to confront the son of a bitch.”

“I want to go with you, Luis. I want to see the bastard’s face when we tell him that we know what they are doing.”

“Yes, good. Come with me. He’s lied to me before; you can help make sure I don’t fall into the same trap again.”

“Give me ten minutes. I’ll call Hugo to bring the car around and meet you downstairs.” Susana’s lips were tight with determination.

They were going to face down these liars.

LIMA
SEPTEMBER 1, 7:20 P.M.
THE MIRAFLORES PARK PLAZA HOTEL

Ludwig Schutz was in his underwear leaning over the bathtub, when the phone rang. He had just poured into the running water copious amounts of the hotel-provided tube of Roger & Gallet shower gel.

Pleased with the steady rise of the bath foam, Schutz considered not answering the telephone. The day’s hearings had gone well; Anfang’s bid was on a steady glide to a smooth landing. An uninterrupted, relaxing bath was a well-deserved end to a good day’s work.

Schutz’s Germanic work ethic got the better of his doubts. Deciding to answer, Anfang’s Peru representative walked over to the toilet and picked up the hotel’s bathroom extension. It was strategically placed right over the lavatory.

“It’s me,” said a woman’s urgent voice.

“Hello, my dear. How are you? I’m surprised to hear from you at this hour,” Schutz responded after a moment’s pause. He had trouble immediately identifying the caller over the steady cascade of the bathtub’s running water. He reached over to close the lid on the toilet and sat down.

“Not good.”

“Really? I thought the hearing went well.”

“The problem has nothing to do with the hearing,” the woman snapped. She was obviously agitated.

“What then is the—”

The caller angrily interrupted Schutz in midsentence.

“He knows it all. We both just found out. You used me, you son of a bitch. You never told me of your connection to the Russians. My deal with you was to help Anfang. I was helping a German company. Now I find out that you aren’t who you said you were.”

Schutz was ashen. He was desperate to turn off the bath so he could hear more clearly. Glancing at the telephone cord, he saw it would never reach the bathtub’s water levers.

“How did this happen?” he asked, his voice trembling. Ludwig Schutz’s nearly naked body was suddenly cold.

“Of all people, Blaise Ryan told him. She’s the environmental activist who dumped the cow shit on Matta eighteen months ago. The person Matta hates most in the world.”

“But when…how…did she find this out?” Schutz hated the sound of his trembling voice.

“By accident. Trying to help a German friend divorcing her husband, who is an employee of Volga Gaz. The details don’t matter. All that matters is that Matta is furious. He is on his way to your hotel. He is calling a press conference tomorrow.”

Christ, thought Schutz. He had no idea what to do.

“You are a lying bastard, Schutz,” the woman continued. “You owe me big time now. I expect you to turn your promise into reality immediately. Or your situation is going to get even worse when I tell the senator everything I know.”

He tried to calm her down.

“You have just fulfilled your part of the bargain. I can’t ask for more. We will have your mother to Frankfurt and into a hospital within a week. And it will be just as I promised. Everything will be at our expense.”

Schutz could hear the woman settling down.

“Fine. He asked me to accompany him to your hotel. I will see you in a half hour. If you even hint at having known beforehand, I’ll turn against you. You better know how to do a good job of acting.” Those were the woman’s last words before Schutz heard a sudden click on the line.

Susana Castillo had hung up.

LIMA
SEPTEMBER 1, 8:05 P.M.
THE MIRAFLORES PARK PLAZA HOTEL

Oleg Stradius, chief of security for Anfang Energie, was frantic. His burly frame exited the elevator, walked hurriedly down the long brick-colored corridor, and rapped loudly on his colleague’s hotel room door. Schutz’s call to his room had been nearly hysterical.

Ludwig Schutz opened it quickly. The chief of Anfang Energie’s Latin American operations was putting on a tie.

“We need to talk. We have a problem.” Schutz pulled Oleg Stradius’s large frame into his hotel suite. He closed the door to the hallway and turned around.

“We have a big problem,” Schutz repeated, a single drop of sweat rolling down the side of his cheek.

They both just stood in the middle of the suite’s foyer.

“What is happening, Ludwig?”

“I just got a call from our source.” The smaller man’s hands were nearly trembling as he confessed the news.

“Matta knows it all. Everything. He has just found out about our connection with Volga. He is on his way over. He wants to throw it in our face.”

“Oh my God,” Stradius murmured, his eyes half closing.

Oleg Stradius’s astonishment only made Schutz more agitated. Pulse racing, his mind sped demonically through the options. Matta would be there in a half hour. There was no way to get out of the meeting. What the hell was he going to do?

“How did he find out?” shouted Stradius.

The question interrupted Schutz’s effort to slow his speeding brain. For the first time in his professional life, he felt events spinning out of control.

“It was the American environmentalist woman, the one who hates him. Blaise Ryan. She has the whole story. All the connections.”

“What? Why would she go to him? They despise each other.” Schutz could see that Stradius was as confused as he was.

“Oleg, it’s about some friend of hers in Russia. It’s too long to explain now; we don’t have time. The only important thing is that Matta is furious. He wants to call a press conference.”

The German’s body was now blooming with sweat. The armpits of his short-sleeved shirt were slathered with moisture. “What the hell do we do?”

Schutz paced in circles around the coffee table, trying to control his rampaging thoughts. He needed a moment to think. Forcing his Germanic brain to regain a modicum of orderliness, Schutz came to a single, overwhelming conclusion. He needed cover. This was too big a decision to take by himself. Looking at his watch, he walked to
the phone and dialed Pieter Schmidt’s mobile phone number. It was two
A.M.
in Germany.

Anfang’s CEO did not answer. Schutz suddenly remembered; Pieter Schmidt was on a family vacation. On safari in Botswana. Schutz slammed down the handset realizing it would be impossible to find his boss in the African savannah in the middle of the night. The phone flew off the room’s desk, crashing onto the floor. Its fitted plastic plate, which normally identified the Park Plaza’s different services, spun wildly across the floor.

Stradius watched with increasing desperation. A former KGB interrogator, Stradius could function only with clear orders. Watching Schutz struggle with the phone convinced him that his colleague was out of control.

“I’m calling Zhironovsky,” affirmed Stradius, pulling his cellular telephone from his pants pocket. He looked up the chairman’s emergency number and punched in the numbers.

Within a few seconds, Oleg Stradius was speaking excitedly in Russian to a voice on the line. After a short pause to allow an answer from the other side of the planet, the security chief began to shout. Gesticulating wildly, his bellows ricocheted through the room. The argument lasted only another minute. Suddenly, Stradius stopped barking.

He had been cut off.

“What happened?” Schutz begged from the floor, where he was trying to reattach the plastic pad to the hotel phone. “What did he say?”

“It wasn’t him. It was the security guard on duty.”

“Why didn’t you talk to Zhironovsky?”

“They refused to patch him through. It’s three
A.M.
in Moscow and the security guard would not wake him up.”

The two men stared at each other in stunned silence. They were on their own. Alone. The decisions they would make in the next few seconds would make or break their careers. Their futures were on the line.