The declared purpose of these evenings à deux was backgammon, to be played by two well-matched and practiced opponents; but Dr. Hawa’s real reason for coming to the villa was to pick Michael’s brains and pump him for information. Someone once said that if you want to know what is going on in Damascus you must inquire in Beirut. In a funny way it’s true, and not only of Damascus. Information is an especially valuable commodity in the Middle East, and Michael’s sources were not confined to Beirut The Agence Howell had fingers in a great many pies and representatives doing business in a great many places. Naturally, along with the credit reports, the trend assessments, and the accounts of competitors’ activities, came much news — and gossip and rumour — that was political as well as commercial in character. Sometimes Dr. Hawa would ask specific questions, but usually, as the dice clattered and the pieces clicked, he would hint vaguely at the area of current interest to him and leave Michael to do the talking.
It began like that on this evening. Dr. Hawa was curious about Iran and the latest proposals of a Soviet trade delegation. He scarcely spoke at all, giving only an occasional grant to indicate that Michael still had his attention.
From Teheran they switched to Ankara and from there to the newly independent Bahrein. It was at that point that Michael fell silent.
The next thing I heard was a short laugh from Dr. Hawa and an exclamation of disgust from Michael.
There was another laugh from Dr. Hawa. “I have never seen you make such a mistake as that before,” he crowed. “Didn’t you see your chance?”
“No, Minister, I didn’t see it.”
Michael still called Dr. Hawa “Minister”, even in his own house; it was a thing that had always irritated me. He sounded now as penitent as a schoolboy caught out by a feared master.
“You were not concentrating.”
“No, I was not. I am sorry.”
“Do not apologize. The dice were kind to you and you ignored them. They do not like such impoliteness. Take care, Michael, or I shall go home rich.”
“Yes, yes. A little more brandy, Minister?”
“Ah, you wish to dull my perceptions. Very well. But you had better drink no more.”
“The truth is, Minister, that I am not myself this evening.”
“That is evident. The digestion perhaps? The liver?”
“I am, I must confess, a little worried.”
“You, worried?” A scoffing sound. “I have yet to see this. Unless, of course, there is a new woman. That must be it. You Christians make such fools of yourselves.”
“Not a woman, Minister. But I refuse to bore you with my troubles.” Bravely this. “You are here to be amused, not to talk business.”
“True. Then let us play. Let me see the score. Ah yes, this is very good. Now watch yourself, Michael. I am in an attacking mood.”
They played in silence for a minute or two. Then Dr. Hawa said casually: “This business that worries you — does it concern any of our cooperatives?”
“Oh no.” Michael spoke quickly and then seemed to hesitate. “That is, I am not sure.”
There was the sound of a dice cup being slammed down onto the table, by Dr. Hawa presumably and in exasperation.
“It is not often, Michael, that I hear you talk foolishly.”
“What I meant was that none of the existing cooperatives is concerned, Minister. What I fear is threatened is the battery transition plan.”
“That is quibbling. What is the matter with you?”
“The battery transition plan is still only a plan, Minister.” Michael sounded desperately unhappy; the Armenian bazaar trader was wringing his hands in anguish. “Paper, nothing more. There are no firm commitments, it is not yet a living thing. The child may be stillborn.”
“The plans are already with the Minister of Finance. What is this nonsense?”
“Alas, Minister.” He really said “alas.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I did not want to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” The game was forgotten. Dr. Hawa’s voice had a rasp in it now.
“The news I have had from Beirut, Minister. We are being betrayed.”
“How betrayed? By whom?”
“It is the Italian.”
“Which Italian? One of those to Milan you call your friends?”
“No, no. This is the one in Beirut. Remember, Minister, I told you. These people in Milan have long been trying to sell to our markets here. Unsuccessfully, but they have tried. They have a selling agent to Beirut, a scorpion named Spadolini. Well, this Spadolini — his mother was a Romanian — this scorpion has learned all about our car-battery project. How has he learned? Who knows? A spy to the Milan offices perhaps. Possibly, as a concerned agent of the Italian company, he was given some advance hint. We cannot be certain. But certain it is that the scorpion is preparing to strike!”
“Strike? Speak plainly, Michael, for God’s sake.”
“Fearing to lose this little agency of his, fearing to be bypassed, recognizing the business potential of this Joint venture of ours, he has put forward the proposal that the new plant shall be located not here at Der’a, not here to Syria, but in Lebanon.”
“But how can he succeed to this? The proposal from Milan was made to us.”
The Armenian, his duty done, shuffled off with a heavy sigh, and the Greek money-changer strode in briskly to replace him.
“These are hard-faced men, Minister. A proposal commits them to nothing. Production is all they care about because production is money. This little schemer in Beirut has found something to offer them that we as yet cannot — factory space.”
“We would build.”
“This is already built. Near Tripoli. Six thousand two hundred square meters of floor space and of recent construction. It was planned for production lines of typewriters and business machines, but there were licensing difficulties with the American parent company and the plan fell through. The buildings have never been used and are going for a song. They are not ideal for lead-battery production and alterations would have to be made, but the floor space is there and waiting. In Milan they are already thinking, already tempted.”
“You know this for a fact?”
They are sending a senior manager and an engineer from Milan this week to inspect the place. I know because I have good friends in Milan. But friendship will not override self-interest. We must show them that we have more to offer than this Spadolini and that we can move faster.”
“But how?”
“That is what concerns me. We have good arguments on our side, but nothing to back them up. When their representatives arrive here and we sit down at the negotiating table they will have questions to ask. Among the first will be-when do we start to get a return on our investment, when can production begin? And, as we try to answer, we will know that in their minds there is the vision of six thousand two hundred square meters of factory floor space, unused and waiting for them, in Lebanon.”
“You said that there would have to be alterations.”
“Minor changes, Minister. Nothing. If we had work already in progress to show them it might be different. But…” He left it.
“What sort of work in progress?”
“Something to impress. Land allocated and surveyed. Bulldozers already clearing and grading. Plans on the drawing board. Evidence that we are serious.”
“You know that is impossible, Michael.”
“With respect, Minister, difficult but not impossible.”
“You Know that I cannot authorize funds for speculative use. Finance would never approve this expenditure. Once the joint venture is approved, of course. .”
“Of course. But by then it could be too late.”
There was a silence. One of them rattled dice and again there was silence.
Dr. Hawa broke it finally. “I think that you have something to propose, Michael. What is it?”