NO KISS FOR THE DEVIL (Gavin & Palmer 5) (16 page)

‘In Paris
somewhere. We lost touch.’ He smiled at returning her own line, then said, ‘I’m
pleased you’re going to help us with this assignment, Riley. I hate to talk
work on such a pleasant occasion, but it would be nice to get it out of the
way.’

Just as it was
getting interesting, too, Riley thought. ‘That’s fine. I just wanted to find
out a bit more about the line you want to take on Al-Bashir. He’s an
interesting man.’

‘But a
dangerous one in court. You read the briefing notes?’

‘Yes. How
reliable are they? Only, I think you should know, I like to do my own research.
It’s a thing I have.’

He appeared
unmoved. ‘So you should. Although, as you’ve probably seen, the notes I
provided are very comprehensive. I doubt there’s anything in there that your
own research won’t also uncover.’

‘Quite
possibly. So far. But how personal is this meant to be?’

His smile faded
slightly. ‘I don’t follow.’

‘For a business
profile, there seems to be a lot of personal stuff about his wife. Is that
really necessary?’

Just for a
second, Riley could have sworn his genial demeanour wavered a fraction. A hint
of a frown touched his brow and he flicked at a crumb of bread on the edge of
the tablecloth. ‘Like I said at our first meeting, we don’t dish the dirt, but
if there is any… And who says it’s not relevant in this case?’ He sighed and waved
a vague hand. ‘I have no brief for Al-Bashir either way, believe me. But if you
consider his background, and where he’s taking his bid for the network licence,
there’s almost certainly an interest in how his private life may affect his
business affairs.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, it’s not
that important to many westerners, I guess, but there are some who think that
anything unseemly in his background might have an impact on his backers and
local sensitivities.’

‘Why should
they care? It’s business.’

‘True. But it’s
more fragile than that. If he gets far enough along the route and actually wins
the licence, then has to back out for any reason – say, someone with the power
to pull the plug doesn’t like something about his background - it will leave a
massive hole in the project with nobody to fill it. The cost of mounting,
presenting, then losing the bid will be considerable. Another bidder might find
it impossible to take his place. It could torpedo the whole project for years.’

‘So you’re
saying it’s better to get the skeletons out of the cupboard right from the
outset?’

Varley
shrugged. ‘Why not?’ He leaned forward, suddenly serious. ‘Riley, this entire
project has huge implications for the consumer market right across Eastern
Europe. It will liberate vast resources for the man in the street, as well as
small businesses and governments. You know how the commercial sector has
exploded in the Indian sub-continent and in China; this is just an extension of
that. What they don’t need is a bid that falls at the last hurdle. Because if
that happens, it’ll be dead for a long, long time to come.’

‘But it could
fail for all sorts of other reasons,’ she pointed out. ‘A market crash,
ill-health, a change of government somewhere.’

He tilted his
head from side to side. ‘Not really. The various governments are right behind
it; the consumers definitely want it to go ahead. And there’s the technology
and science out there to make it happen. If it goes through – either with
Al-Bashir at the helm or one of the others - it will be a huge success. But
only if nobody rocks the boat after the bid is awarded.’ He lifted his
shoulders and smiled, as if suddenly trying to take the heat out of the
conversation. ‘Hell, what do I know? We’re only watching the game, not out
there playing.’

‘No,’ Riley
agreed. ‘We’re not.’ She wondered why the sudden change in tone. Had he
realised he was arguing too fiercely?

‘Write what you
see, Riley. It’s all we can ask.’

‘Even if it
turns out bad?’

‘Bad for who?
Al-Bashir, maybe. Or even the other bidders. I think we have to wait and see.’
He looked up as the wine waiter approached. ‘Now, how about another drink?’

Frank Palmer
watched from a café fifty yards down the street as Riley and her companion
stepped out of the restaurant after their lunch. The area was busy, providing
ample cover for him to watch without running the risk of being seen.

The publisher
was tall, making him easy to follow in the crowd. As they walked towards the
kerb, he placed his hand on Riley’s back, steering her towards the kerb. The
gesture looked natural without appearing over-familiar. A taxi stopped nearby,
and Riley climbed aboard. Varley leaned in briefly, then the vehicle moved off,
leaving him standing on the pavement for a moment, before turning and walking
in the direction of Piccadilly.

Palmer put down
his cup and set off after him.

*********

Riley
climbed the stairs at Copnor Business Publications and found David Johnson
still looking confused and harassed in equal measure. She suspected it was his
default position. There was no sign of Emerald.

‘Hello again,’
he said with a faint smile. His expression could have been welcoming or wary,
it was hard to tell. He cleared some papers off a chair for her. ‘How can I
help?’

‘I need to pick
your brains,’ Riley told him, ‘about the East European telecoms market.’ After
talking to Richard Varley, she had found a number of questions vying for
attention, and David Johnson might be the easiest person to provide the answers
– or the name of someone who could. She had called him earlier and got him to
agree to a meeting.

 ‘What about
it?’

‘Who’s in it,
who’s trying to get in… what’s the potential market size. Stuff like that.’

He blinked and
puffed out his cheeks, then plonked himself down behind his desk. ‘Well, the
potential market size is huge. Vast. And that’s down to the latest round of
talks going on.’

‘Go on.’

‘Over the last
couple of years, there’s been a move to put together a loose federation of
independent states – a free trade sector modelled on the EU but confined to the
former Soviet states and some emerging republics.’

‘Sounds like
trade protection.’

‘It’s a
response to the enlargement of the EU, and the drain of their skilled workforce
to the west. They’re not exactly pulling up the drawbridge, which would be bad
for trade, but they are trying to draw local demarcation lines to keep out the
commercial rabble.’

‘That’s a tall
order. It would be like holding back fog.’

‘Not the way
they see it. The telecoms industry uses a saturation approach, banging up masts
everywhere, with competing shops and networks in every town, all to get
ten-year-old kids carrying mobiles and texting each other. And what does it do?
In a poor country, it starts to direct the local, then the regional economy.
Commercial property prices go up, land prices rise and soon everyone is looking
for the next cheap deal or the latest cool mobile phone. Crime follows like
night after day.’

‘That’s a bit
simplistic, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not so
sure.’ Johnson ruffled his hair with his fingertips. ‘Look at other economies
around the world and you’ll see the same thing. It’s the thin edge of the
wedge. Sure, we’re happy with our mobile market because we grew into it. Your
average Eastern European – and I’m talking about way, way east – still hasn’t
seen it.’

‘I’d have
thought some competition would be good for keeping prices down.’

‘They don’t
share that view. Remember, we’re only a few years down the road from communism
and state control. The people with the clout reckon there’s only one way of
keeping the commercial hordes from ransacking their economies and upsetting the
status quo.’

Riley thought
she saw where Johnson was heading. ‘Go on.’

‘What they’re
planning is to allow a single chosen operator to have sole access to the
satellite technology, and effectively bar every other provider. They could do
it, too, with the new LEO system.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Mobile phone
communication requires LEO – that’s Low Earth Orbit – satellites, to function
at their best. They circle the earth very fast - every ninety minutes or so -
and feed off lots of other satellites for their signals and coverage. The new
federation have just put a new satellite system in place. It’s called Batnev.
It’s rumoured to have the capability of piggybacking signals off far more
satellites than ever before – in effect, borrowing capacity from other systems
- which means much lower operating costs.’

‘And lower
costs to the users?’

‘Exactly.
They’re working on the theory that it’s better to have a million people paying
peanuts, but right on time and growing, rather than a smaller number of
high-value subscribers struggling to pay their bills and defaulting.’

‘I see.’

‘And they’ll
get them because the extra satellite capacity means they can cover a much
larger region than ever before.’

‘Will it work?’

‘They think so
– and they reckon they could ring-fence the entire region if they chose to.’

‘Which would
mean…?’

‘Locking out
every other provider.’

Riley stared at
him. If Johnson was right, it would give the selected provider one of the
biggest consumer markets on the planet. And no competition.

‘So who’s
likely to be in the running?’

He chuckled
dryly. ‘Bloody Ada – you name a provider, they’ll be chucking their hats in the
ring for this one. There’s already a couple of quiet mergers going on as a
result.’

‘How about
anyone who isn’t a provider?’

‘What –
investors, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

He nodded.
‘Possibly. They’ll need heavy backing, though, because the up-front investment
will be considerable.’

‘How about
Al-Bashir?’

Johnson nodded.
‘Definitely. He’s already got a share of the Batnev system. It’s not his normal
field, but he’s got the investors to go with him.’

‘Like who?’

‘Middle
Eastern, mostly. They’re very traditional, but not averse to risk. And they’ve
got lots of oil money sloshing around.’

Riley suddenly
saw what Richard Varley had been driving at. ‘Is Al-Bashir a Muslim?’

‘Yes – as are
his backers. Their investment rules are a bit rigid, but bringing
communications to the masses will appeal to them. The one thing he can’t afford
to do is upset the more fundamental elements.’

‘Are there any
local investors in the running?’

‘Certainly.
They’ve got the money and the interest, even if they’re based abroad.’

‘What’s in it
for the various states in this so-called federation?’

He shrugged.
‘Control. They’d have control of the technology release, and I’m pretty sure
they’d control prices and even the manufacture of the equipment. With command
of the network, they could control all other electronic industries in the
region.’

‘But that’s
frightening. What does Moscow think of it?’

He pursed his
lips. ‘I gather they’re not bothered. They’ll get a spin-off benefit, anyway…
and Putin’s probably happy because it’s spitting in the eye of western
conglomerates.’

‘So what would
it mean for the eventual winner?’

Johnson puffed
out his cheeks again. ‘God knows. They’d have to give a lot away to the various
controlling state bodies, but in return, they’d have a monopoly, with no threat
of competition and the backing of the regional governments. Most analysts
reckon they can’t lose.’

‘Apart from
having the federation peering over their shoulders.’

‘True. But
they’ll still make a killing. I wouldn’t mind having shares in it.’ He looked
at Riley and tilted his head to one side. ‘You know something, don’t you?
You’ve been researching-’ He sat up as if he’d been stung. ‘Christ – oligarchs!
Is this connected with Helen’s death?’

But Riley was
already getting to her feet. The more she heard about it, the more she was
beginning to see the astonishingly weak link in Al-Bashir’s grand plans: his
wife, Asiyah. If the rumours were true, it brought to mind David Johnson’s
earlier comment about his backers.

‘The one thing
he can’t afford to do is upset the more fundamental elements.’

Once outside, Riley
ducked into a quiet doorway and rang Natalya Fisher. She was lucky to catch her
between lectures.

‘Miss Gavin,’
the professor greeted her, coughing wetly with the effects of another illicit
cigarette. ‘How is that nice young man you were with?’

‘Palmer? He’s
fine, thank you.’ It was a reminder that, once again, she didn’t know where
Frank Palmer was. It was something he’d again managed to avoid telling her.

‘How can I help
you?’

‘The oligarchs
we were talking about,’ said Riley. ‘Could they out-bid someone like Kim
Al-Bashir in a bidding war?’

‘Al-Bashir?
Al-Bashir the shopkeeper?’ Natalya laughed. It produced another coughing fit.
When she recovered, she apologised and said, ‘Of course – if they wanted to.’

‘But his
financial backers have deep pockets.’

‘So do Levels
One and Two, Miss Gavin. They could buy him without even noticing… for, what
you call it - small change.’ She clearly didn’t like the man.

‘And Level
Three?’

‘Not so easy. I
suppose they could join forces with others. But they would then run into their
main competitors.’

‘The other two
levels.’

‘Precisely.
They are like fleas on a dog, these people. The pecking order has its rules.’
She chuckled. ‘I am mixing metaphors, a little, I think. But people who break
the rules rarely survive.’

‘But if in
doing so, they go home with the school prize?’