“Politics has no sex, my dear, and because you believed the contrary, you have allowed yourselves to become embroiled in futile passions. Let’s get to the point, Maldonado. If you’re lying to me, you’re wasting your time. The ring is useless to your side. First of all, to use it requires something beyond Neapolitan or Aztec technology. Examine it to your heart’s content, the ring will tell you nothing. If you shatter it, you automatically destroy the information it contains. And, finally, you already possess the information.”
“Then it won’t matter if the stone is destroyed,” said Felix, wondering why Trevor was telling him all this.
The Englishman provided the answer. “You’re not interested in knowing what we want to know about you? Don’t be so elementary, my dear Maldonado.”
“The ring will be delivered to Mann,” said Felix, clutching at the straw of Angelica’s gaffe.
“Blast and damn!” exclaimed Trevor, with another of his Wodehouse comedy expressions. “To whom? ”
“To Mann, Bernstein’s accomplice,” Felix repeated.
Trevor’s laugh was forced. “ Man, not Mann. But you speak English.”
“Don’t let him fool you, Felix. Bernstein told us we were to take the ring to Mann in New York,” cried Angelica, totally disoriented in her allegiances, divided in her excitement between menace and alarm, pity and scorn for her husband, the misdirected attempt to blackmail Trevor and her confused belief that by punching Rossetti Felix had somehow avenged her for Trevor’s slap. Felix had a vision of Angelica in a mental hospital. They’d be afraid to admit her.
“All right,” said Trevor before Angelica could speak again, and, moving diagonally like a Bishop in a chess game, countered, “The lady wants to be paid and be on her way, is that it?”
“Exactly!” cried Angelica.
All four stared at one another in silence. Trevor pressed a button and Dolly appeared.
“Dolly, the lady is leaving. I hope her husband will follow her. They are very tiresome.”
“I’ll make you a present of him,” said Angelica, motioning toward the groaning figure of Rossetti. “I’ll take the money.”
“But you didn’t do your job, Angelica,” Trevor chided. “I don’t have the ring.”
“What about the risks we ran? I was nearly drowned. You promised us the money, no matter what. You promised, Trevor. You said the risks involved merited it.”
“Yes, Angelica, you are correct.”
Trevor opened a drawer, removed a fat envelope, and handed it to Rossetti’s wife. “Count it carefully. I don’t want any complaints later.”
Angelica greedily thumbed through the green bills, her lips moving silently. “Very well, Trevor. Business is business.”
“And your husband?”
“Get him a job in a pizzeria,” said Angelica, and, following Dolly, exited with her usual arrogance.
“WELL.” Trevor inhaled deeply. “Now we can talk in earnest.”
“What about him?” Felix nodded toward Rossetti.
“Have you ever asked yourself, Maldonado, who the one guilty party in all this might be?” Trevor sighed.
“Guilt seems to be the one thing in this affair that’s evenly divided,” Felix replied without humor.
“No, you don’t understand what I mean. Gather together all the guilt, yours and mine, the Director General’s and his boy Ayub’s, Bernstein’s, plus that of the lady who just left us. That adds to a lot of guilt, don’t you agree?”
Rossetti was shaking now, and starting to rise to his feet.
“No, Trevor, no…”
“The wise thing, the clean thing, would be to pile all the guilt on one head, to make one person responsible. I’m looking at that person right now. Do you see him, too?”
“It’s all the same to me,” said Felix. “But there is one thing I don’t want you to make Rossetti responsible for.”
Trevor took Rossetti gently by the shoulder and forced him back on the sofa. “Ah, yes. And what is that?”
“Angelica, Angelica,” Rossetti was mumbling grotesquely, his face hidden in his hands.
“The death of Sara Klein,” said Felix. “I’ll take care of that.”
“Agreed. Now listen to me. Look out those windows. Houston isn’t a beautiful city. It’s something better, a powerful city. See that blue glass skyscraper? It’s the headquarters of the world’s most advanced petroleum technology. It belongs to the Arabs, and it cost them five hundred million dollars. See the Gulf Bank sign? Eighty percent of their transactions consist of managing petroleum dollars for their Arab clients. Did you see the names of all the legal firms in this building? All working for Arab money. I invite you to take a stroll through any company in this building. Every one is dedicated to a single proposition, participation in the development programs of Arab countries; they’re gambling two hundred billion dollars. Stop blubbering, Rossetti. What I’m saying should be of interest to you.”
“Angelica…”
“You’ll be joining her soon. Be patient. First, you’ll have to justify my having given her the money. Half of all the commercial transactions between the American private sector and the Arab world are realized in Houston: four billion dollars annually. From here flow pipelines, liquid-gas plants, petrochemical technology, agricultural know-how, even university professors, to the Arab world. One single firm of Texas architects has signed contracts for six billion dollars of exports annually from the United States to the Arab countries.”
Trevor clasped his hands behind an impeccably tailored back and contemplated the face of Houston beneath the newly cloudy, dirty, hot sky, as if he were observing a field of cement mushrooms nurtured by black rain. “This building, right here where we are standing, is the property of the Saudis. Do I bore you with my statistics?” He turned and directed his tight smile toward Felix.
“If you’re trying to impress me with your audacity, I admit you’re succeeding,” said Felix.
“Audacity?” Trevor inquired sarcastically.
“You’re the one who said it,” Maldonado replied. “The real secrets are those that are open secrets. Houston is an ideal site for an Arab secret agent.”
Both Trevor and Rossetti laughed, and regarded Felix like a pair of wolves regarding a lamb.
“Tell him the truth, Rossetti,” ordered Trevor, more than ever the Roman senator.
“Bernstein told me to deliver the ring to Trevor,” said Rossetti, more sure of himself now. “Mann doesn’t exist. It was a code name.”
“Madame Rossetti earned her ‘bundle’ in good faith.” Trevor smiled. “The ring, therefore, is not on the way to the mythic Mr. Mann in New York.”
“The things you learn.” Felix’s voice was drowsy but his internal clock began to tick more rapidly. “I didn’t realize that Wonderland had its capital in Jerusalem.”
“I lend my professional services,” Trevor said in a velvet voice.
“To the highest bidder?”
Trevor extended his arms in an expansive gesture rare to him, as if embracing the office, the building, the entire city of Houston. “There’s no mystery. On this occasion, and in this place, I represent Arab interests.”
“But Bernstein sent you the ring.”
“Don’t recriminate against your former professor. He knows me as an Israeli agent, and made me the ring’s recipient in all good faith. He doesn’t know that I practice the virtue of simultaneity of allegiances. Can you distinguish between Tweedledum and Tweedledee?”
“I know that if you crush one, the other will fall like Humpty Dumpty.”
“Except that all the king’s horses and all the king’s men would have to put me back together again. I’m too valuable to both parties. Don’t try to crack the egg, Maldonado, or you’re the one who’ll end up as an omelette. Remember that if it were my wish you would never leave this room alive,” said Trevor, pacing like a cat on the thick office rug.
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