anything unusual from the Oil Ministry?’
Karila waved at the air with his burning cigarette. ‘I was in Sana’a the day before yesterday. The Minister mentioned nothing out of the ordinary. Why?’
He edged towards it. He had to try. ‘It’s getting tense out there, Nils. Rumours, threats.’
‘If you are concerned you should take an Army escort, as I have repeatedly advised. That’s what we pay them for. I don’t understand why you insist on going out there for weeks at a time, alone.’
‘I have Abdulkader.’ Had.
Karila scoffed. ‘One day you are going to get yourself into real trouble, Straker.’
He’d heard the same advice a decade ago, hadn’t taken it then. ‘Do you know who makes up that Army, Nils? Northerners, Zaydis: highlanders from tribes loyal to President Saleh. They’re Shi’a, Nils. The people here hate them. They’ve been blood enemies for centuries.’
That same pucker of distaste. ‘I have no interest in the local politics. My job is to get oil out of the ground. And you have been hired to assist in that goal, Mister Straker.’
‘And to do it, I need the people’s confidence. That is not going to happen with the Army shadowing me. Do you want your approvals, or have you decided to skip that technicality?’
Karila peered at him over smudged glasses. ‘Not funny, Straker. Getting those permits as quickly as possible is a serious matter.’
‘Then let me do my job.’
‘As you like, Straker. I take no responsibility.’
‘No, you don’t.’
Karila frowned and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. ‘Now is there anything else, Straker?’ He turned his wrist,exposed the white veinless skin of his forearm, glanced at his watch. ‘If I don’t have this production report on Parnell’s desk within the hour, he is going to crucify me.’
Clay planted his feet. ‘The villagers are concerned.’
Karila dismissed this with a swipe of his Gitane.
‘I’m serious, Nils.’
Karila looked up. ‘The usual complaints about jobs and money?’
‘Always. But something’s changed. They’re talking about a sickness. They say it’s coming from the CPF. We should check it out.’
‘We are not in the social services business, Straker.’
‘They’re angry, Nils. They could make things difficult for us.’
‘We cannot afford needless distractions. I need not remind you that we have a drop-dead date that is rapidly approaching. Focus on that.’
Clay thrust his hand deep into his trouser pocket, jangled worthless Yemeni coins through his fingers. ‘OK, Nils. Understood.’ He said it out of habit. He said it so that his client would know that he was part of the team, dependable. If you wanted to survive as a contractor, you had to espouse the common objective. He was pretty good now at getting the tone just right.
‘Pay who you need to pay, Straker. We need the approvals in place within the next four weeks or we start cutting into the schedule. Every day we delay costs money. Did you tell them about the school we are going to build them?’
‘
Ja
, the school,’ Clay said under his breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘That you would build them a school.’
‘Good, Straker. Good.’
The warmth of client praise flowed through him. It felt a lot like the dull burn of cheap vodka.
A determinedly overweight man in a pink golf shirt and pleated khaki trousers staggered wheezing into the office and collapsed into one of the leather armchairs across from Karila’s desk. He was breathing heavily. Sweat glistened on his forehead, tracked across the cratered folds and overhangs of his strangely pallid, humid face. Helooked like a burn victim stripped of his face bandages for the first time, pale, hairless, scarred, oiled and balmed. The man fumbled with his pockets, withdrew a plastic inhaler, put it to his mouth and thumbed the trigger. He sat a moment, chest heaving, eyes closed. After a while his breathing eased and he opened his eyes, blinked twice,
Karila waved at the air with his burning cigarette. ‘I was in Sana’a the day before yesterday. The Minister mentioned nothing out of the ordinary. Why?’
He edged towards it. He had to try. ‘It’s getting tense out there, Nils. Rumours, threats.’
‘If you are concerned you should take an Army escort, as I have repeatedly advised. That’s what we pay them for. I don’t understand why you insist on going out there for weeks at a time, alone.’
‘I have Abdulkader.’ Had.
Karila scoffed. ‘One day you are going to get yourself into real trouble, Straker.’
He’d heard the same advice a decade ago, hadn’t taken it then. ‘Do you know who makes up that Army, Nils? Northerners, Zaydis: highlanders from tribes loyal to President Saleh. They’re Shi’a, Nils. The people here hate them. They’ve been blood enemies for centuries.’
That same pucker of distaste. ‘I have no interest in the local politics. My job is to get oil out of the ground. And you have been hired to assist in that goal, Mister Straker.’
‘And to do it, I need the people’s confidence. That is not going to happen with the Army shadowing me. Do you want your approvals, or have you decided to skip that technicality?’
Karila peered at him over smudged glasses. ‘Not funny, Straker. Getting those permits as quickly as possible is a serious matter.’
‘Then let me do my job.’
‘As you like, Straker. I take no responsibility.’
‘No, you don’t.’
Karila frowned and stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray on his desk. ‘Now is there anything else, Straker?’ He turned his wrist,exposed the white veinless skin of his forearm, glanced at his watch. ‘If I don’t have this production report on Parnell’s desk within the hour, he is going to crucify me.’
Clay planted his feet. ‘The villagers are concerned.’
Karila dismissed this with a swipe of his Gitane.
‘I’m serious, Nils.’
Karila looked up. ‘The usual complaints about jobs and money?’
‘Always. But something’s changed. They’re talking about a sickness. They say it’s coming from the CPF. We should check it out.’
‘We are not in the social services business, Straker.’
‘They’re angry, Nils. They could make things difficult for us.’
‘We cannot afford needless distractions. I need not remind you that we have a drop-dead date that is rapidly approaching. Focus on that.’
Clay thrust his hand deep into his trouser pocket, jangled worthless Yemeni coins through his fingers. ‘OK, Nils. Understood.’ He said it out of habit. He said it so that his client would know that he was part of the team, dependable. If you wanted to survive as a contractor, you had to espouse the common objective. He was pretty good now at getting the tone just right.
‘Pay who you need to pay, Straker. We need the approvals in place within the next four weeks or we start cutting into the schedule. Every day we delay costs money. Did you tell them about the school we are going to build them?’
‘
Ja
, the school,’ Clay said under his breath.
‘What did you say?’
‘That you would build them a school.’
‘Good, Straker. Good.’
The warmth of client praise flowed through him. It felt a lot like the dull burn of cheap vodka.
A determinedly overweight man in a pink golf shirt and pleated khaki trousers staggered wheezing into the office and collapsed into one of the leather armchairs across from Karila’s desk. He was breathing heavily. Sweat glistened on his forehead, tracked across the cratered folds and overhangs of his strangely pallid, humid face. Helooked like a burn victim stripped of his face bandages for the first time, pale, hairless, scarred, oiled and balmed. The man fumbled with his pockets, withdrew a plastic inhaler, put it to his mouth and thumbed the trigger. He sat a moment, chest heaving, eyes closed. After a while his breathing eased and he opened his eyes, blinked twice,
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