Obstinately, the pretty young bride fought back her tears and said bitterly: "She warned me against telling Mark!"
"Well, of course she did, DesirЋe. He would be the wronged husband, wouldn't he? I mean, it isn't as though I was hurt by your indiscretions. But Mark could very well become belligerent, seeing as it's his pretty young wife who was in bed with other men and…"
"Stop it! Stop it!" wailed DesirЋe, putting her hands over her ears. "I can't stand it any longer!"
Sid looked around, feared that her sudden outburst might have attracted attention. No, the others were well involved in themselves and laughing and shouting louder than her cry had been. Her husband, Mark, was nowhere in sight now.
"DesirЋe!" he hissed. "Get hold of yourself! You have to face the situation, no matter how unpleasant. Don't you understand? Do you have any idea what would happen to Mark's career if all this got out?"
"No… no…" the now hysterical young wife pleaded.
"He'd be totally unelectable, the cuckold husband of a loose and wild woman. I'm your friend, DesirЋe. Believe me, Helen did the right thing telling me. I can help you."
"Help me?" DesirЋe looked up suddenly. How can he help? she thought irrationally.
"If Mark should find out somehow. Or if that local sheriff makes good his threat and exposes the whole thing. Or if those men do something with the video tape, what then?"
"I… I don't know," she shuddered, the possibilities too horrible to contemplate. "I don't know what I'd do."
"Well, we have to talk these things out, DesirЋe." He looked around again. "We can't talk here, though. Too many people. Tell you what. Let's go somewhere and discuss this. All right?"
"Wh-where?"
"In my study. It'll be nice and private and quiet in there, and nobody will disturb us."
"But… but what about Mark?"
"He's fine. He's having a ball here somewhere. Hasn't found you yet, has he?"
Sid saw the shake of her head, indicating the negative answer, and he pressed on. "We have to stick together, us Buchanans and Dennings. Now you go on into the study. I'll join you in a little while."
"Sid…" she started to say, but DesirЋe knew that she was going to the study. She had to, for as Sid Buchanan had said, she was in no position to deal with the consequences if they occurred. Her own father was powerful in his way, but he must never, ever know about her sordid lapses into adulterous lust. She would have never dared to go to Buchanan, never would have even considered going to another male, friend or no. But now that Helen had done so – strictly with good intentions, of which DesirЋe was now assured – and the rich and powerful man had evinced such strong personal interest in her plight, she was going to have to lay bare the sordid details again and see what Sid Buchanan could do to solve her immense problem.
"Now, go on," Sid prompted. "That's it. I'll be there in a minute. Soon as I talk to Khalid."
Nodding numbly, DesirЋe Denning, a whirlpool of swirling emotions and agonies, was escorted to the study by a servant. Samira al-Mazkum, coming out of the bathroom, paused and asked her if anything was the matter. DesirЋe shook her head, saying that no, she just needed a little rest and quiet for a short time.
The moment that the beautiful young wife of his star political protegee was out of sight, Sid Buchanan began the second part of his plan. He hurried over to his most important new associate, Khalid al-Mazkum, who was listening with a bored expression to a story about a nude mermaid, a New York executive on a deep-sea fishing trip, and a bag full of lead weights.
"Khalid," he said, sidling up to his new partner. "Khalid, come over here for a minute, will you?" He indicated a quiet corner with a tilt of his head.
al-Mazkum nodded, wondering why Buchanan was so excited all of a sudden.
"Thank Allah you came along when you did. That's one of the oldest dirty jokes I know, and if Matthews doesn't learn any new ones soon, I'll boycott the next party he's at."
"Khalid, listen," Buchanan cut in. "You said you wanted to get your prick into Denning's wife. I think you've got a chance."
"Samira's sangria gotten to you?"
Buchanan grinned, his grin a fiendish look of devilment. "No, but it's gotten to her. The sangria is great, Khalid. No, this is to help us cement our little deal."
Khalid al-Mazkum had arrived from his offices in Dubai the day after Mark and DesirЋe had left after the last party. Buchanan remembered well the festivities that DesirЋe seemed to have forgotten, for he had drugged Mark with a powerful Mickey Finn and had treated the girl to a liberal dose of an expensive aphrodisiac, helping himself to her hot, young pussy as she lay masturbating in bed next to her comatose husband. She had been duly shocked at finding him on top of her, and he had never expected to see her again quite so soon without her bringing with her a serious attitude problem, but he was not one to analyze women and their moods and motives too deeply.
Khalid had money to invest for the terrorist gang he worked for, the Palestinian Liberation Organization. Buchanan was much too astute to believe their false respectability, and much too unscrupulous and practical to care whence the money came. He wanted 1.2 billion dollars to match his investments in some insider trading deals he had developed over the last three years through what he called his jackals. The data had been constantly in development, and when the time was right, the capital had to be there, instantly, to take advantage. A number of positions had to be established at once, the result being that he could obtain control of a number of big, pro-Israel corporations with much influence in Washington and in the markets of the world.
He had succeeded in interesting Khalid al-Mazkum in his machinations for two reasons: the PLO, a venal and greedy organization underneath it all, could treble its money on the one hand, and on the other neutralize the anti-PLO influence of the Jewish-run companies and turn their influence in the opposition direction. Sid Buchanan's razor-sharp mind had conceived and put the plan into execution. It was complicated and involved an unscrupulous organizer in each of the stock exchanges in New York, San Francisco, Tokyo, Singapore, Hong Kong, and London. Inside information, and the systematic placement of dozens of his jackals, his information gatherers, his jackals, bribe-givers, spies, informers, and computer hackers. They were now getting ready to make their move precisely tomorrow, and it would have to be done quickly and all at once before it was discovered what they were doing and market forces adversely changed the prices or someone moved to block them.
Buchanan had rounded up a colossal 1.1 billion dollars of his own, had further funds from a consortium of close associates of 1.9 billion, and a further 1.2 billion available through Khalid al-Mazkum, the investment manager for the PLO, an enormous 4.2 billion dollars for his use, which he conservatively estimated would triple their value within a month, dwarfing most of the world's banks and giving them more power than could be imagined.
Even now, the email had arrived from his central investment compiler, the organizer, working on all the gathered information. It was sitting now on his desktop computer in the study, right there on the screen for Khalid to see. The Arab's wire transfer would give him disposal of the funds within two hours, and he would transfer the information to his broker via email in the morning. The transactions would be completed just prior to the stock exchanges' closing on tomorrow, Friday, leaving a whole weekend before anyone could take steps to neutralize the massive transfer of corporate power to Buchanan's consortium, whose members, including the PLO, could remain mainly anonymous several weeks before the damage was assessed. By then, Sid and the PLO would have control of no fewer than twenty-three multinational corporations dealing in defense, microchips, and finance.