NO KISS FOR THE DEVIL (Gavin & Palmer) Read online

  The restaurant was busy when Riley arrived. Richard Varley was sitting at a discreet corner table at the back, sipping from a glass of water. He looked solid, respectable and at ease, the sophisticated businessman enjoying a lunch break. As Riley followed the head waiter between the other tables, she was aware that the man she had come to see was watching her, and was himself the subject of discreet attention from one or two female diners.

  He stood as she approached, and held out a hand. His touch was warm, like before, and lingered just long enough without being overly familiar.

  ‘Riley. Good to see you. May I offer you a drink?’

  Riley asked for a gin and tonic and sat down. The head waiter took her order, then waited.

  Varley ordered a filet steak and salad and looked innocently across at her. ‘I usually know what I want, so why waste time?’

  Riley kept her eyes on the menu, ignoring the coded statement – if that’s what it was. If he was trying to come on to her, he wouldn’t be the first, and he clearly felt confident enough, as he had demonstrated at their first meeting. She chose salmon and handed the menu back to the waiter.

  ‘I don’t get enough time to relax,’ Varley said regretfully, and sipped his water. He gestured around at the restaurant. ‘This is a rare luxury for me, taking time out like this. Thank you for giving me the opportunity.’

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Riley. ‘But why so busy?’

  ‘Well, our business is all about current events in a changing world. Like yours. Old news is no news. We have a crowded programme of features and specials, and there are lots of eager shareholders to satisfy, as well as a list of high-level subscribers waiting for their next copy.’

  ‘Shareholders in Georgia?’

  Varley didn’t miss a beat. He waved a vague hand. ‘Hardly any, actually. As I told you before, it’s just a base – and it’s cheap. We get the printing done at various facilities across Europe, wherever the price and production quality seems best. It keeps down the overheads and avoids local business taxes. It’s a struggle sometimes, but we manage. Do you work with anyone?’

  The question was so smoothly delivered, it almost threw her. She wondered if there was a reason for it other than to divert her away from asking about the company. She was grateful when her drink arrived. ‘Nobody special,’ she replied. ‘If I need help, I recruit it when I need to – like you.’ She took a sip. ‘It keeps down the overheads.’

  ‘Touché.’ He dipped his head in acknowledgement. ‘Tell me about yourself. Any family?’

  ‘No. I’m what’s referred to as a singleton – although I loathe the word. I think it implies a lack of free choice.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘And are you – single, I mean?’

  ‘At the moment, yes.’

  ‘By choice?’

  The question was reasonable, but Riley wondered if it was genuine. Or did he already know all there was to know about her background? That prompted thoughts about John Mitcheson, and she shook her head. Now wasn’t the time. Instead, she focussed on the present, remembering that corporations could find out about prospective employees at the push of a button. Christ, Palmer, she thought wildly, you’re making me paranoid. The man’s only being pleasant. She wondered where Palmer was and what he was doing. He’d said something about going back to Pantile House for another look round, but Palmer had a habit of not always doing what he’d talked about.

  ‘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?’

  ‘Ba
d 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 café 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.’

  ‘I’d have thought some competition would be good for keeping prices down.’

  ‘They don’t share that view. Remember, we’re only a few years down the road from communism and state control. The people with the clout reckon there’s only one way of keeping the commercial hordes from ransacking their economies and upsetting the status quo.’

  Riley thought she saw where Johnson was heading. ‘Go on.’

  ‘What they’re planning is to allow a single chosen operator to have sole access to the satellite technology, and effectively bar every other provider. They could do it, too, with the new LEO system.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Mobile phone communication requires LEO – that’s Low Earth Orbit – satellites, to function at their best. They circle the earth very fast - every ninety minutes or so - and feed off lots of other satellites for their signals and coverage. The new federation have just put a new satellite system in place. It’s called Batnev. It’s rumoured to have the capability of piggybacking signals off far more satellites than ever before – in effect, borrowing capacity from other systems - which means much lower operating costs.’

  ‘And lower costs to the users?’

  ‘Exactly. They’re working on the theory that it’s better to have a million people paying peanuts, but right on time and growing, rather than a smaller number of high-value subscribers struggling to pay their bills and defaulting.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘And they’ll get them because the extra satellite capacity means they can cover a much larger region than ever before.’

  ‘Will it work?’

  ‘They think so – and they reckon they could ring-fence the entire region if they chose to.’

  ‘Which would mean…?’

  ‘Locking out every other provider.’

  Riley stared at him. If Johnson was right, it would give the selected provider one of the biggest consumer markets on the planet. And no competition.

  ‘So who’s likely to be in the running?’

  He chuckled dryly. ‘Bloody Ada – you name a provider, they’ll be chucking their hats in the ring for this one. There’s already a couple of quiet mergers going on as a result.’

  ‘How about anyone who isn’t a provider?’

  ‘What – investors, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He nodded. ‘Possibly. They’ll need heavy backing, though, because the up-front investment will be considerable.’

  ‘How about Al-Bashir?’

  Johnson nodded. ‘Definitely. He’s already got a share of the Batnev system. It’s not his normal field, but he’s got the investors to go with him.’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Middle Eastern, mostly. They’re very traditional, but not averse to risk. And they’ve got lots of oil money sloshing around.’

  Riley suddenly saw what Richard Varley had been driving at. ‘Is Al-Bashir a Muslim?’

  ‘Yes – as are his backers. Their investment rules are a bit rigid, but bringing communications to the masses will appeal to them. The one thing he can’t afford to do is upset the more fundamental elements.’

  ‘Are there any local investors in the running?’

  ‘Certainly. They’ve got the money and the interest, even if they’re based abroad.’

  ‘What’s in it for the various states in this so-called federation?’

  He shrugged. ‘Control. They’d have control of the technology release, and I’m pretty sure they’d control prices and even the manufacture of the equipment. With command of the network, they could control all other electronic industries in the region.’

  ‘But that’s frightening. What does Moscow think of it?’

  He pursed his lips. ‘I gather they’re not bothered. They’ll get a spin-off benefit, anyway… and Putin’s probably happy because it’s spitting in the eye of western conglomerates.’

  ‘So what would it mean for the eventual winner?’

  Johnson puffed out his cheeks again. ‘God knows. They’d have to give a lot away to the various controlling state bodies, but in return, they’d have a monopoly, with no threat of competition and the backing of the regional governments. Most analysts reckon they can’t lose.’

  ‘Apart from having the federation peering over their shoulders.’

  ‘True. But they’ll still make a killing. I wouldn’t mind having shares in it.’ He looked at Riley and tilted his head to one side. ‘You know something, don’t you? You’ve been researching-’ He sat up as if he’d been stung. ‘Christ – oligarchs! Is this connected with Helen’s deat
h?’

  But Riley was already getting to her feet. The more she heard about it, the more she was beginning to see the astonishingly weak link in Al-Bashir’s grand plans: his wife, Asiyah. If the rumours were true, it brought to mind David Johnson’s earlier comment about his backers.

  ‘The one thing he can’t afford to do is upset the more fundamental elements.’

  Once outside, Riley ducked into a quiet doorway and rang Natalya Fisher. She was lucky to catch her between lectures.

  ‘Miss Gavin,’ the professor greeted her, coughing wetly with the effects of another illicit cigarette. ‘How is that nice young man you were with?’

  ‘Palmer? He’s fine, thank you.’ It was a reminder that, once again, she didn’t know where Frank Palmer was. It was something he’d again managed to avoid telling her.

  ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘The oligarchs we were talking about,’ said Riley. ‘Could they out-bid someone like Kim Al-Bashir in a bidding war?’

  ‘Al-Bashir? Al-Bashir the shopkeeper?’ Natalya laughed. It produced another coughing fit. When she recovered, she apologised and said, ‘Of course – if they wanted to.’

  ‘But his financial backers have deep pockets.’

  ‘So do Levels One and Two, Miss Gavin. They could buy him without even noticing… for, what you call it - small change.’ She clearly didn’t like the man.

  ‘And Level Three?’

  ‘Not so easy. I suppose they could join forces with others. But they would then run into their main competitors.’

  ‘The other two levels.’

  ‘Precisely. They are like fleas on a dog, these people. The pecking order has its rules.’ She chuckled. ‘I am mixing metaphors, a little, I think. But people who break the rules rarely survive.’

  ‘But if in doing so, they go home with the school prize?’

  ‘Then you have a different situation, Miss Gavin. Then all the rules are changed.’

  *******

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