It would mean a fairly dramatic upheaval, but he was preparing himself for it. Rivera cared nothing for Estelle, as she cared nothing for him. They’d stayed together for Jorge, whom they both adored. But Paris would have to be the breaking point. It had taken Rivera a long time to admit the fact but now he had, if only to himself. He loved Henrietta and wanted her in Paris, with him. There wouldn’t be any difficulty getting the divorce from Estelle, any more than for Henrietta to divorce her aging husband. The only uncertainty was how Jorge would react. The boy would come to accept it, in time: learn to love Henrietta. There was no question, of course, of Jorge living anywhere but in Paris, with him.
All possible from the biggest arms order he’d ever been called upon to complete.
The ambassador strode across his office to greet the chosen dealer as the man entered, retaining his hand to guide him to a conference area where comfortable oxblood leather chairs and couches were arranged with practised casualness around a series of low tables.
The size of the order had decreed that Pierre Belac had to be the supplier, because he was the biggest Rivera knew. Belac was a neat, gray-suited, gray-haired, clerklike man, in whose blank-eyed, cold company Rivera always felt vaguely uncomfortable. Sometimes he wondered how much profit Belac made from his dealings and would have been staggered had he known.
Observing the preliminary niceties, Rivera said: “A good flight?” Although he knew Belac’s English to be excellent, Rivera spoke in French, in which he was fluent: it pleased him to display the ability.
Belac shrugged. “Brussels is very efficient: I suppose it’s having NATO and the Common Market headquarters to impress.”
“I appreciate your coming so promptly,” Rivera said. He thought, as he had before, that it was difficult to imagine this soft-spoken, unemotional man as one of the largest arms dealers in Europe. Rivera did not think that Belac liked him much.
“I am always prompt where money is involved,” Belac said. Which was the absolute truth. Belac was obsessive about money, consumed above all else in amassing it. He was unmarried and lived in a rented, one-bedroom, walk-up flat near the main square in Brussels. When he wanted sex he paid a whore, and when he was hungry he used a restaurant, usually a cheap one like the prostitutes he patronized. He thought he had a very satisfying life.
Rivera offered the other man the list that had come in the special satchel. Unhurriedly Belac changed his glasses and took from the waistcoat pocket of his suit a thin gold pencil, using it as a marker to guide himself slowly through the list. He gave no facial reaction but his mind was feverishly calculating the profit margin. It was going to be a fantastic deal, one of the best. He smiled up at Rivera once, thinking as he did so how he was going to lead this glistening, perfumed idiot like a lamb to the slaughter. Rivera smiled back, curious how difficult it would be to outnegotiate Belac as he intended to outnegotiate him. That’s all he would do, decided Rivera, nothing more than gain a temporary advantage to profit by. It might be dangerous to consider anything more.
Belac was expressionless when he finally looked up. He said, simply, “Yes.”
Rivera guessed that showing no surprise was an essential part of the carefully maintained demeanor. He said, “So it is possible?”
Belac’s face broke into the closest he could ever come to a smile. “Everything is possible.”
Negotiations were beginning without any preamble, Rivera decided. He said, “But not easy?”
“No difficulty at all with the small arms, rifles, and ammunition. Most of it is available through Czechoslovakia, with no restrictions,” said Belac dismissively. “The guidance systems all contain American technology. COCOM, the committee of all the NATO countries, with the addition of Japan, denies official export to communist bloc countries of dual-use technology, meaning anything that could have military application, which this has. Washington—the Commerce and State departments—keep a very tight lid on that.”
“How can it be done unofficially?” Rivera demanded. Remaining indispensable—and unmovable—required that he knew in advance any problem likely to arise, no matter how small.
“There are companies in Sweden, with the advantage of its neutrality, through which such things can sometimes be arranged,” said Belac. “There will have to be adjustments to End-User Certificates. I have several anstalt companies established in Switzerland that can place the Swedish orders; it will still be difficult to find the necessary end-user destination.”
Trying to show that he was not completely unaware of backdoor channels, Rivera said, “What about Austria?”
“As a cutoff, perhaps,” said Belac, unimpressed but content to let the posturing fool indulge himself if he wished. “But it’s become known to the Americans as a door all too often ajar. I have a situation in Vienna we could utilize, maybe. But for this I think we might have to consider repackaging and transporting through the Middle East. There are a number of accommodating states in the Arab Emirates where smuggling is considered a profession of honor.”
Rivera paused. Was the man proposing the circuitous routing for reasons of security, or to establish the highest price because of its intricacy? To get a higher price, he decided. He said, “What about the communication items?”
“Exactly the same COCOM barrier as with the guidance systems,” the arms dealer said. “Everything listed here contains American technology for which no export license could possibly be obtained.” Which made them for Belac the most difficult and dangerous part of the order, particularly as there already existed in America two criminal indictments against him for evading the restrictions upon such items. Belac decided to delay doing anything about them; he would string Rivera along and maybe not attempt them at all.
“The same routing, then?” the Cuban diplomat asked carelessly.
“I don’t think so, do you?” Belac said at once. “The English have a proverb warning that if all one’s eggs are kept in the same basket, they risk being smashed in an accident.”
Damn! thought Rivera, resenting the lecturing, patronizing tone. He said, “How, then?”
“Japan,” Belac said. “Very discreet, very efficient. We’ll move the communication stuff through Japan. Place the orders direct through the anstalt companies but make sure there’s alternative, disguising cargo carried at the same time.…” The man hesitated, performing his version of a smile again, his mind already calculating the final purchasing figures. “Alternative cargo which you, of course, would have to underwrite. Once at sea, the Swiss holding company will sell the innocent cargo—”
“To a company in Japan,” Rivera said. “So in midvoyage me ship will change destination from Europe to the Far East and any forbidden cargo will disappear?” Belac was patronizing him! The realization did not annoy Rivera. Rather, he was pleased. Play the gullible customer, the Cuban decided.
Belac nodded in agreement. “It will achieve the purpose, but I do not expect we will be able to dispose of the genuine cargo at anything like a profit. A loss is practically certain.”
A loss that Cuba would have to finance to the benefit of the Japanese buyer, Rivera thought; and that Japanese buyer would inevitably be yet another company controlled by Pierre Belac. The grasping pig deserved to be outnegotiated; in its personal, self-rewarding way it would be a fitting penalty for the man’s avarice. Luring the Belgian on, Rivera said, “I accept that a loss would be unavoidable. But then, losses are always budgeted for in business. Which leaves the tanks to be discussed.”