Adrian Magson - No Kiss For The Devil

In the next edition of East European Trade, we take you behind the scenes of the developing battle for control of the next-generation telecommunications network across the planet’s largest land mass. What is the Low Earth Orbit BATNEV system? What does it promise for consumers in remote areas of Eastern Europe and beyond? Who will be the winners and losers in the forthcoming round of bids? Will it be the current giants of the telecoms industry expanding their business base even further, or is there room for newcomers in this exciting consumer market? We introduce you to one surprise bidder in this field — ‘Kim’ Al-Bashir, Egyptian-born London billionaire entrepreneur, who is staking his claim to a portion of this global business. He has the nerve, he has a formidable investment background, and an army of oil-rich Middle East fund-holders. But has he any weak links in his armour? Is there anything about Al-Bashir that might derail his plans at the last minute? His traditional and ultra-conservative Muslim backers are known to favour secrecy and a lack of anything approaching scandal in their dealings. But we ask, is this man, married to a beautiful young wife, Asiyah, perhaps anything but conservative? To find out, you must read the next explosive edition of ETT!

Palmer finished reading. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘They’re talking about my article,’ she said. ‘The article Richard wants me to write. It’s going in the next issue.’

‘But you haven’t written it yet.’

‘Nor can I. This is a smear-job… it would be professional suicide. Al-Bashir would nail my skin to the doors of the High Court.’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, I knew there was some salacious stuff in the notes Richard gave me, but I didn’t expect them to go for this kind of angle- ‘ She broke off and paced the room, eyes flashing with growing anger. ‘They must have planned it this way this all along — and I stumbled right into it!’

They were both startled by the phone ringing.

Riley picked up the phone and listened, then glanced involuntarily towards the front window. ‘You’re here?’ She looked at Palmer and mouthed Varley’s name.

Palmer jumped to his feet and pointed upwards. It was best if he stayed out of the way. He wondered if his visit to the shop in Camden had anything to do with it, although he couldn’t see how. As far as Varley was concerned, there was no connection between him and Riley Gavin, and that was how he wanted to keep it.

Riley nodded and said, ‘Richard, just give me a minute, will you?’ She put the phone down, a determined set to her jaw. ‘Good timing, really. I’m going to tell him I’m pulling out. I can’t put my name to the sort of stuff he’s talking about.’ She picked up the magazine. ‘You’d better take this with you. What are you going to do?’

‘I want to see if he came alone.’

‘You’re thinking of those security men.’

Palmer nodded.

‘And if he didn’t?’

‘Then we’ll know what we’re up against.’

Riley went downstairs and opened the front door. Richard Varley was standing on the steps. He was as elegant and expensively dressed as before, and seemed to fill the doorway.

She led him upstairs. This time the roles were reversed and it was he who seemed ill-at-ease. She wondered what had happened to bring him here like this.

‘Is there a problem?’ She kept her voice level, wondering how long to give him before telling him to take his assignment away.

‘Yes.’ He looked paler than usual and had cut himself shaving. She found it an oddly appealing sign. ‘I’m sorry, Riley, for coming round here like this… invading your space. But I’ve heard some unpleasant news.’

‘What about?’ Riley had a sudden image of Palmer’s face. Had they made the connection?

‘I have,’ Richard began, his voice uncertain, ‘some… principals in the publishing business. Directors, shareholders, if you like. They have made substantial investments over the years and are very watchful about what we publish. It has come to my — their — notice… that you’ve had a meeting with Al-Bashir. Is that correct?’

‘Yes. So?’ Riley felt her gut react. If Richard or his ‘principals’ knew she had been to see the Egyptian-born entrepreneur, there was only one way they could have found out. She had been followed.

Pechov.

At the admission, Varley’s expression underwent a change. A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. ‘That’s unfortunate. It would have been better if you hadn’t done that.’

‘Why? I told you when we first met that I do my own research. And speaking to the subject of a profile piece comes pretty high on the list, don’t you think? No ethical journalist takes someone else’s notes as gospel — and certainly not with a man like him. What’s the problem? More importantly, how do these ‘principals’ of yours know I’ve seen him?’

Varley shifted in his chair. ‘It came to their notice. How is not important.’

‘It is to me. Were they watching him? Were you?’ She desperately wanted to ask him if they had been keeping her under observation, but it might be best not to let them think she harboured suspicions in that area. If he thought she was merely a working reporter trying to hang on to an assignment, he might say more than he’d intended.

He ignored the question. ‘By going to see him, and possibly alerting him to the fact that a story is circulating, you’ve made the whole project more…difficult, don’t you see?’

Riley wasn’t sure exactly what he meant, but opted to play dumb. ‘But I haven’t submitted my copy yet. How do you know what line I’m going to take? If it’s his Batnev bid you’re worried about, it’s already public knowledge. Al-Bashir is hardly a wallflower when it comes to his business intentions. The man’s desperate for recognition.’

‘That’s not the point.’ Varley’s tone took on an almost desperate note. ‘Now he knows what’s happening, he’ll have time to prepare… to hide anything he doesn’t want aired in public.’

Riley very nearly blurted out that copies of the magazine currently being prepared for mailing would soon blow that hope out of the water, but she managed to control herself. And there had been no actual mention in the editorial tease of any scandal attached to Al-Bashir’s wife. So what was the real problem?

Fortunately, Varley unwittingly supplied the answer.

‘It’s a question of timing,’ he continued seriously. ‘Too soon and Al-Bashir can brush off bad news. His PR people can work on his backers and supporters, and convince them that everything’s peachy. Too late and… well, that’s even worse…’ His voice tailed off as if he had suddenly realised what he was saying.

Riley suddenly saw what he was driving at. She recalled what he had said at their last meeting, about how if Al-Bashir failed or pulled out right on the wire, it could drag everyone else down, too.

‘But either way, he still wins,’ she said. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want him to win!’

‘Riley, you don’t understand. We’re just a journal — we’re right in the middle, here. We need your copy to go in urgently. We’re simply trying to avoid being the cause of any problems, that’s all.’

‘That’s easy: delay the piece until after the bidding.’

‘We can’t. It’s too late.’

‘Why? What’s the deadline?’

‘It’s very close. There have been…delays, and now we need to move along on this.’ He gave an unconvincing smile.

‘What sort of delays?’

‘I can’t go into that. I know I should have mentioned this before, and I’m sorry. I thought you’d be able to put the piece together very quickly from the data we provided. There’s a lot riding on it.’