The Pirate (34 page)

Youssef looked at him without enthusiasm. “We have problems we must discuss, my friend.”

Vincent was instantly wary. He knew that “problems” in the lexicon of the film business was a word of doom. But he also knew better than to respond directly. “There are no problems that cannot be solved.”

Youssef looked at the American. For the first time since he had met him, the man seemed completely sober. Why did it have to be at this time? He always felt better dealing with Vincent when he was partly drunk. “I have taken the liberty of reserving a table downstairs for lunch,” he said.

Vincent smiled. “Excellent. I’m starved. I haven’t had any breakfast.”

“What would you like to drink?” Youssef asked after they had been seated at their table.

Vincent shook his head. “Never drink on an empty stomach.”

Youssef turned to the captain. “We will see the menu then.”

“We have an excellent poached salmon, Monsieur Ziad,” the captain suggested.

Youssef didn’t care what he ate. “That sounds fine.” He took at the American. “How about you?”

“Sounds good to me too.”

Youssef cursed to himself. The man was entirely too pleasant. He had hoped he would take a drink. “A bottle of Montrachet,” he said to the captain. Perhaps a good white wine would help.

The captain bowed and went away. For a moment the two men were silent. Vincent spoke first. “You mentioned problems?”

“Yes,” Youssef replied seriously. He looked at Vincent and decided to use a direct approach, however foreign it was to his own nature. “I have just received instructions this morning to cancel the project.”

There was no expression on Vincent’s face. Then a small sigh escaped his lips. “I thought something like that might happen. It was going too well to be true.”

“You’re not surprised?”

The director shook his head. “No. Not since I read in the Hollywood trades a few weeks ago that another company was ready to begin filming a story of the Prophet in Morocco next spring.”

Youssef felt an immediate sense of relief. So that was the reason for the telex. At least it was not because they suspected his arrangement. “Yes,” he said, keeping his face impassive.”

“Don’t look so glum,” Vincent said. “If you’d been around the film business as long as I have, you would have seen worse.”

“Even so,” Youssef said, “there is still an unpleasant matter for us to deal with. I have been asked to work out a settlement of your contract.”

Vincent was alert. “There is nothing to settle. My contract is firm. I receive a million dollars regardless of whether or not the film is made.”

“I don’t think so. As I mentioned it, half your fee is to be paid during the filming. If we do not begin production that would mean payment would not be made. Also the million dollars includes two hundred thousand for expenses contingent on performance. If that is halted we do not have to pay that sum either.”

“I read the contract differently. I think I can enforce the payment of the whole amount.”

“How?” Youssef asked flatly. “If you read the contract, you will find that the laws of Lebanon govern the agreement and any questions regarding it are to be settled in Lebanese courts. Do you think that you, a foreigner, would have a chance against Al Fay? You would get nothing. In fact you would probably not even find an attorney who would take your case against us.”

Vincent was silent. That was the one clause in the contract he had not liked. It was also the one clause in the contract they had been firm about. Now he knew why.

Youssef felt more secure now. “Friends have no place in a court of law,” he said. “It would be much more agreeable to work out a settlement between us. The world is small. You never can tell when we may be of help to one another in the future.”

“What do you suggest?”

“You have already received two hundred thousand. Payment of another one hundred thousand completes our obligation for the screenplay. I suggest that we stop at that.”

Vincent was silent.

“And I will waive my commission,” Youssef said quickly. “I think that’s only fair, since the project did not go through. That way all the money would be yours.”

“What about my expenses?” he asked. “One hundred thousand of that was supposed to be paid during the writing of the screenplay.”

Youssef thought for a moment. What the American said was true. In addition, he already had the money with which to pay him so there would be no problem. As far as Baydr knew the money had already been dispersed. Still, he could not suppress his natural greed. “If we pay the expenses then I will insist on my commissions.”

Vincent did the arithmetic in his head. Three hundred thousand dollars net or four hundred thousand less twenty percent. The difference was only twenty thousand dollars but it was better than nothing. He laughed suddenly. “Agreed,” he said. “With one condition.”

“What is that?” Youssef asked cautiously.

“That you use every effort to get me on the other picture.”

Youssef smiled in relief. “We would do that anyway,” he said.

The wine steward arrived, opened the bottle with a flourish and poured a taste for Youssef’s approval. “Trés bon,” Youssef said, gesturing to the steward to fill Vincent’s glass.

Vincent held up his hand. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “Bring me a double Scotch on the rocks.”

CHAPTER 5

Ali Yasfir walked into the cafe across the street from the President Wilson Hotel in Geneva. He looked at his watch. It was almost six o’clock and the cafe was crowded with office people having a drink before they left the city for their homes in the outskirts. He found a quiet table in the back of the restaurant against the wall, ordered a coffee and prepared to wait. She had told him she didn’t think she could get away much before six o’clock. He opened his copy of the Paris
Herald Tribune
.

The newspaper was filled with stories of the panic in the United States over the oil embargo. At first the country had been in a state of shock. People could not believe that it was really happening to them. But then they had settled in and begun to maneuver to increase their supplies. He smiled to himself. There was not very much they could do. By winter they would really feel the pinch. By spring, when they realized it would take five years for them to redevelop their own sources of oil which they had allowed to lapse because of the cheapness of import, they would be on their knees begging for mercy.

That is, if the Arabs were able to maintain their unity. Already chinks were beginning to develop in the armor. There were rumors that oil tankers bound for America were still slipping through the Gulf of Oman not only from Iran but also from the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait and even Saudi Arabia. He never doubted for a moment that the rumors were true. All of those countries were tied to America not only by sentiment but by cold hard money. Their investment in the American economy was so great that they dared not tamper with it too much for fear that it would lead to chaos and the loss of all their investments. The fact that their self-interest stood in the way of complete freedom for the Arab world meant nothing to the select few who ruled those countries. They only used the crisis to enhance their own power and wealth. These were men like Al Fay—perhaps the worst of all—men who would have to be purged before the Arabs could assume their rightful place in the sun. What they gave to the movement was a mere pittance when measured against their own benefit.

The Prophet had said, “Look to the day of judgment.” But they were not ready to wait that long. Already plans had been made to turn the power of these men against themselves. Soon it would begin and in time they would feel the wrath of a people betrayed.

Ali Yasfir was on his second cup of coffee when the young woman came in and stood before him. He gestured to the chair across the table without speaking.

She sat down and the waiter appeared. “Coca-Cola avec citron,” she said. When the waiter had gone, she looked at him. “I’m sorry I’m late, but it was difficult for me to get away on such short notice.”

“I would not disturb you if it were not important.”

“I understand that.” The waiter came with her drink and went away again. “What is happening?” she asked.

“Many things,” he said heavily. “Perhaps the worst is that the embargo is in danger of being bypassed.”

She sipped at her drink without speaking, her eyes fixed on his face.

“The United States is bringing a great deal of pressure to bear on men like your father. They threaten confiscation of their investments in the States.”

“I haven’t seen anything like that. And I am in the office every day. I read almost every piece of paper that comes through.”

“They are not that stupid. There are some things that would never be committed to paper. But the threats are still there. And your father is responding to them.”

“How? My father has nothing to do with the allocation of oil.”

“But his influence in the council is great. Sooner or later they will listen to him and others like him.”

She lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. “Things are never really what they seem, are they?”

Ali Yasfir nodded. “We may have to take action sooner than we had thought.”

She let the smoke drift slowly from her mouth.

“You have not changed your mind?” he asked quickly. “You are still of the same beliefs?”

“I have not changed my mind. How can I? I still remember the atrocity perpetrated on us by the Israeli planes. I can still see the dead bodies and faces of my friends. I have seen the unprovoked cruelty of the Israelis. I will not change my mind until they are all dead.”

He relaxed slightly. “I was afraid your American lover might have changed your beliefs.”

She met his eyes steadily. “He is not my lover,” she said coldly. “I use him so that I can have access to what is going on in my father’s business.”

“Then you know about the order to stop the shipments from Arabdolls?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

“I’m not sure but I think they suspect that Ziad has been taking money from them on the side. They are investigating now to find out if that is true.”

“It is very important to us that those shipments continue. It is our main source of American dollars. Do you think you have enough influence with your American friend to get those orders rescinded?”

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “He was instructed by my father to stop those shipments.” She looked at him. “What if I spoke directly to my father?”

“No. Your father knows nothing about those shipments. If he did, he would surely halt them. He refused us before.”

“I don’t know what I can do then.”

“Perhaps you can persuade the American to report to your father that there is no problem with the shipments, that Ziad is not getting any money from them.”

“Is that true?”

“Of course not,” he said testily. “Don’t be so naïve. How do you think we could get a swine like him to cooperate with us except by bribery? You could tell your friend that you just learned that Arabdolls is owned by friends of yours and you would not like to see them upset.”

“Do you think he would believe that?”

“Who can tell? You should know better than anyone how much power you have over him.”

A faint smile came to her lips. “He might do it. We have been together at least four times a day while my father has been in Gstaad. He is like a madman. He never lets me alone.”

“If that is true, then you should have no difficulty with him.”

“But what if he refuses?”

“You can threaten to go to your father and tell him of your affair.” He saw the shocked expression on her face and added quickly, “But that is only a last resort. For now you will do no more than ask him. We will meet again at the same time tomorrow evening and you will let me know his answer.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Not now.”

“How long must I remain here?” she asked. “I did not spend all that time in a training camp to be a secretary. When will I get an opportunity to do something real?”

“You are doing something very important for us right now. But perhaps the other thing will come sooner than you think.

***

Carriage looked up at the clock after the special messenger from the consul’s office had left. Seven o’clock. He opened his desk drawer and took out the matching key that would open the pouch. It had to be something very important to have been sent by sealed diplomatic pouch on the last plane of the day from Beirut.

Inside was a single folder with one sheet of paper. Typewritten across the folder in bold red letters were the words CONFIDENTIAL REPORT—ARABDOLLS.

He opened the folder and began to read quickly. The contents were brief and to the point. Arabdolls was a front for the drug syndicate. Among its listed owners were an American Mafioso, a French Corsican who was a known operator of heroin refineries and two Lebanese, one a man who had wide contacts among the poppy growers in both Lebanon and Turkey, the other a banker who represented various Fedayeen groups in many of their financial transactions.

Now the premium paid for the shipments began to make sense. They had found a legitimate shipper to bring the drugs into the United States for them because MEDIA not only provided the carrier, but as a licensed U.S. Customs broker they also cleared the shipments for them and delivered direct to the consignee in New York. Although the New York consignee was a well-known American wholesale toy importer, he didn’t doubt that they had made adequate arrangements for the handling of the shipments in the States.

Carriage picked up a telephone and placed a call to the managing director of the MEDIA shipping office in Beirut. There was one thing more he had to find out.

The director came on the line, sputtering from the honor of a personal call from Mr. Al Fay’s executive assistant. It was the first time he had spoke to anyone further up in the hierarchy than Youssef. He was most cooperative.

No, he personally knew nothing about Arabdolls, only that they were very polite and that their invoices were paid promptly. He wished that all his clients were that timely but alas, you know how they are.