Gurt raised his hand. “When do we receive our first half?”
“Ah…a real pilot,” Seng said. “The answer is, as soon as we are finished here. Everyone okay with that?”
Heads nodded.
“If you have personal property or letters to loved ones or wish us to transfer the funds to another party if something happens to you,” Seng noted, “please see either Gannon or Crabtree.”
Gannon and Crabtree raised their hands.
“Now, are there any other business matters before I explain the operation?”
The hangar was silent.
“Good, then,” Seng said. “Here’s the plan.”
THE Gulfstream G550 was at forty-one thousand feet racing toward Moscow as Cabrillo talked over a secure satellite telephone to the Oregon. “Go over them again,” he said as he scrawled notes on a yellow pad. “Okay, I’ve got them.”
The line was silent as Cabrillo studied the list.
“And Halpert set up the main corporate entity in Andorra.”
“Correct,” Hanley said.
“Lucky break,” Cabrillo said, “but then, by looking at this list, the Dalai Lama is a lucky one too. If this had been scheduled last year, I don’t know if we could have pulled it off.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Hanley said.
“Here’s how I see it,” Cabrillo said. “Of the fifteen members of the United Nations Security Council, we have three of the five permanent members: the United States, the United Kingdom and Russia. China is obviously not going to vote our way, and France is currently trying to sell whatever they can to the Chinese, so they’ll probably vote with them so as not to upset any deals they have in progress. The remaining ten will be tricky—we need to pull six out of the ten to give us the nine we need for the resolution. Let me go over it with you. Afghanistan we’re not going to get—even with the U.S. involvement a few years ago, there are still too many pockets of anti-Buddhist revolutionaries for their leaders to risk voting with us. Sweden is and will always be pacifistic, at least at the start, as will Canada. Cuba receives too much aid from China to risk voting our way, not to mention they almost always vote the opposite of the U.S.”
“Sounds about right,” Hanley said.
“That leaves us Brunei, Laos, Qatar, Andorra, Kiribati and Tuvalu.”
“Correct,” Hanley said.
“It’s blind luck that we have two tiny South Pacific nations on the Security Council at the same time,” Cabrillo said.
“It’s like a couple of years ago, when Cameroon and Guinea were both members at the same time,” Hanley said. “It happens.”
“Each country in the United Nations has one vote,” Cabrillo said, “but this is the first time I really considered the impact.”
“Same here,” Hanley said.
Cabrillo thought for a moment. “I know the emir of Qatar,” he said. “If we offer him a favor later, he’ll order his people to vote the way we want. What have we got coming up?”
Hanley thought for a moment. “Nothing right now, but that can change. The last time he went in with us, he made something like eighty million. If we call in the past favor and dangle something ahead, you got the vote.”
“You’re right,” Cabrillo said. “I’ll take care of dealing with him.”
“Good,” Hanley said. “Laos should be easy. They’re Buddhist, and the general wants his car.”
“Offer him several,” Cabrillo said.
“Where are we funding this from?” Hanley asked.
“We’re going to try to use around half of the hundred million windfall for everything.”
“Easy come easy go,” Hanley said. “Brunei should be ours. The country is fifteen percent Buddhist and the sultan can’t risk alienating his constituents.”
“Plus we saved his brother’s life a couple of years ago,” Cabrillo added.
“Andorra,” Hanley said, “what about them?”
“Good thing Halpert set up the new company there,” Cabrillo said. “What’s their GDP?”
Hanley scanned through an almanac and found the information. “It’s around one point two billion.”
“Once the oil comes online,” Cabrillo noted, “we’ll be bringing another twenty percent to the table. If someone explains that to their ambassador, he’d be stupid not to see his way to giving us their vote. Money talks—plus this is the right thing to do, anyway.”
“I agree,” Hanley said.
“That just leaves the little guys,” Cabrillo said. “Kiribati and Tuvalu.”
“Kiribati’s GDP is sixty million,” Hanley said. “Tuvalu’s is even less. It’s something like eight million split up over ten thousand citizens. Put two to a room, and one of the major Las Vegas hotels could house the entire country.”
Cabrillo was silent for a moment.
“Call Lowden in Colorado and have him start buying cars for the general. Next, send Halpert to Andorra to explain the impact our company will have on their economy. I’ll take care of the emir of Qatar and the sultan of Brunei.”
“And the little guys?”
“Truitt’s free, isn’t he?” asked Cabrillo.
“Yes, he is.”
“Get him on a jet with a stack of bearer bonds.”
“You want him to buy the votes?” Hanley asked.
“Exactly.”
39
THE storm that brought the torrential rains to Macau had turned into spring snow by the time it crossed Russia. Had it not been night, Cabrillo would have seen that Moscow was covered in a wet blanket of white that rounded the edges of buildings and quieted the sounds. Peering from the windows of the Gulfstream as the pilots shut down the engines, he could see a trio of black Zil limousines with police escorts front and rear. Holding a fax that had arrived from Overholt only minutes before, he slid the document into the file and then unbuckled his seat belt and rose. The copilot was unlatching the door as he walked forward.
“Do you men need anything?” Cabrillo asked.
“I think we’re okay, boss,” the copilot said. “We’ll just refuel and await your return.”
Cabrillo nodded and waited as the step was lowered. “Wish me luck,” he said as he stepped down onto the snow-covered tarmac.
A tall man in a thick, dark blue wool coat was standing a few feet from the Gulfstream. His head was covered by a fur Cossack cap and his breath made puffs of mist as he exhaled. He approached Cabrillo while removing a glove and offered his hand. Cabrillo shook it, then the man motioned to the middle limousine.
“I’m Sergei Makelikov,” the man said as the driver opened the door, “special assistant to President Putin.”
Cabrillo followed the man into the rear of the limousine. “Juan Cabrillo, chairman of the Corporation.”
The door was closed, and a few seconds later the police cars started away from the Gulfstream followed by the trio of limousines. “The president is very interested in hearing what you have to say,” Makelikov noted. “May I offer you a drink, perhaps vodka, or some coffee?”
“Coffee, please,” Cabrillo said.
Makelikov reached for a silver-plated thermal carafe and poured the contents into a red mug with the crest of the Russian republic on the side. He handed it to Cabrillo.
“How was your flight?”
The streets were deserted at this late hour. The procession roared down the road toward central Moscow, followed by a cloud of snowflakes. Cabrillo sipped the coffee.
“No problems,” Cabrillo said, smiling.
“Cuban cigar?” Makelikov asked.