‘Riley?’ Varley bent his head and smiled, catching her unawares.
‘Sorry. There was someone once. We drifted apart.’
‘It happens.’ Richard studied her over the rim of his glass. ‘Where is he now?’
‘In the States somewhere. We lost touch.’
He nodded sympathetically. ‘I was married once, but it didn’t work out. I spent more time away than I did at home. It wasn’t fair on her.’
‘Where is home?’
‘All over. I stopped having papers delivered a long time ago. What’s the Paul Young song? Wherever I Lay my Hat?’
‘I know what that’s like. So where is your wife now?’
‘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 cafe 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.
23
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.’