The Pirate by Harold Robbins Page A

silently.
    “As you know, Israel is growing more powerful every day. And more oppressive. The suffering of our people under their domination continues to increase. They cry out to their brothers for help. Time is growing short. Soon we must move or all will be lost forever.” The Lebanese paused for breath. “We have entered into certain arrangements with the Société Anonyme Matériel Militaire for supplies in the amount of six million pounds. Because of the trust we have in you, we have agreed that you would be an approved purchasing agent. For this we are prepared to pay you your usual ten-percent commission above the expenditure.”
    Baydr was still silent.
    “For the balance of three million four hundred thousand pounds left after that purchase, we have earmarked a million pounds for investment in Colombian farmlands, coffee plantations, of course.”
    “Of course,” Baydr said. But both realized that he knew better. “That leaves two million three hundred.”
    Yasfir smiled. The little man was pleased. He knew that once the money had been placed in Baydr’s account, there would be no problem in securing his assistance. No matter how rich he was, he always wanted more. “We have made no plans for the balance,” he said. “We thought perhaps that you might prepare a portfolio for that amount and we would give you a list of certain numbered accounts in Switzerland and the Bahamas to which it would be credited.”
    “I see,” Baydr nodded.
    “You would, of course, receive your ten-percent commission on that balance also,” Yasfir said quickly. “That means you would receive almost a million pounds just to clear the money through your account.”
    Baydr looked at him. This was the weakness of the Arab world. Corruption and graft had almost become an integral part of their commerce. Out of ten million pounds, only six million pounds was going to be used for the benefit of the people. And that benefit was highly questionable. What the people needed was food and education, not guns. And certainly they did not need to enrich their leaders at their own expense.
    The Lebanese took his silence for assent. He rose to his feet. “Then I can inform my principals that you will attend to the matter for them,” he said with satisfaction.
    Baydr looked at him. “No.”
    Yasfir’s mouth fell in surprise. “No?” he echoed.
    Baydr got out of his chair. He looked down at the little man. “The money will be returned when the banks open Monday morning,” he said. “You will express to your people my regrets at not being able to be of service to them. But I am not equipped to function in that capacity. I am sure they can find others more qualified in those matters than I.”
    “It is written that a decision made in haste is often regretted,” the little man said.
    “It is also written,” Baydr quoted pointedly, “that an honest man lives his life without regret.” He pressed a button on the signaling device built into the digital clock on his desk. He started for the door.
    “Mr. Al Fay,” Yasfir said.
    Baydr turned to him. “Yes?”
    “There will be war before the winter comes.” The Lebanese spoke in Arabic for the first time. “When it is over we will be in control of the Middle East. Israel will no longer exist because we will force the world to its knees. The old order is changing—a new force is coming from the people. If you join us now, you will be with the victors.”
    Baydr didn’t answer.
    “The sands of the desert will turn red with the blood of our enemies,” Yasfir added.
    “And our own,” Baydr answered. “And when it is over, nothing will be changed. A few hundred yards here, a few hundred there. We are merely pawns in the hands of greater powers. Russia and America cannot afford to let either side win.”
    “They will have to listen to us,” Yasfir said. “We control their oil supply. If we turn it off they will come to their knees.”
    “Only to a point,” Baydr said. “Then