WATER WORKS: 16) FOG MOGENS

Sunday Funnies: A Novel of Intrigue, Lunacy & H2O

20.

Like Dulci Acqua itself, nothing is obvious about Fog Mogens.

He is tall and slim, immaculately coiffed in a dark bespoke suit, monogrammed shirt and colorful silk tie and hankie from Paris. He wears a thin, clipped moustache and a solid gold Rolex. Mogens, with his name, should be Danish. But by the look of him, he could be Iranian. Or Turkish. Or Israeli. Or a mixture of all three—plus Danish.

He shakes my hand—we are in my hotel lobby—and gestures toward a cluster of easy chairs.

"You wish to make a proposal of some kind?" Mogens' eyes attempt an invasion of my brainwaves.

"Yes," I say.

"But Dulci Acqua Consortium is not for sale," says Mogens, preempting with a firm matter-of-factness.

"We don't want to buy Dulci Acqua," I say. "We want to be your partner."

"We're not interested in partnership, Mr. Sandak."

"I'd like to lay out what we bring to the table," I say.

"Capital?" Mogens preempts me again.

"Yes. Lots of it."

"Capital is not a problem for us."

Not the dirty way you guys do business.

"May I be blunt, Fog?"

Mogens squints sourly, giving me the impression he isn’t the kind of guy with whom most people can be blunt.

"I know how Dulci Acqua does business," I say. "Buying companies with worthless equity. Even worse, your equity comes with liability. Word is getting out, you know. Wouldn't it be better to deal with cash?"

Mogens studies me.

I study him back. A full fifteen-second eyeball standoff.

He finally blinks. "Why is Morton Levi interested in water?"

"We have identified water as the biggest business opportunity of the next 50 years," I say.

"I see." Mogens nods. "What aspect of the water industry interests you?"

"All aspects. I don't think I'm giving anything away, Fog, by saying that it is our intention to aggressively acquire small water companies around the globe." I wink. "Same as you. My reason for traveling all this way is to tell you, face to face, that we can embark on this program together as partners. Or separately as competitors. And, as I pointed out, we're going to do this with cash money, not worthless equity, which may no longer work for you."

Fog Mogens gives me his grimmest face. "I will give this some thought, Mr. Sandak."

"Jay."

Mogens rises. "How long are you in Bishkek?"

"That depends on you, Fog."

Mogens' puzzled eyes declare the need for an explanation.

"If I hear from that you want to meet again for further discussion, I'll stick around," I say. "Otherwise, I'm history when dawn cracks."

21.

At 4:12 the bartender announces a call for me.

"Hi, Fog," I say into the phone.

A pause. "This is Armand Sieff."

"Well, hey there! Where are you, buddy?"

"Monaco."

"Beats Bishkek," I say.

"I've spoken to Mister Mogens," says Sieff, clearly not in the mood for small talk. "We would like to meet Morton Levi. We may be willing to make a deal with your investment group."

Why not? I'd met Sieff’s mom and pop, now he wants to meet mine.

"I'm authorized to make deals on behalf of the Enki Group," I say. "But if you guys want to eyeball Morton, fine. I'll set up a meeting. Is Fog coming too?"

"Not Mister Mogens. Me. And Madeleine."

I hesitate. "Armand, we're not looking to partner with Dulci Acqua S.A. We want to buy into the whole consortium."

Armand says nothing.

"Do you and Madeleine represent head office in that regard?"

"Of course."

"I thought...? Never mind. When can you travel to New York?"

"We can depart immediately."

"Don't do that," I say. "I'll stopover in Monaco and make arrangements with Morton's office. We'll fly to New York together."

"Fine." And Sieff is gone.

And that's exactly what I want for myself: Gone-ness—from Kyrgyzstan.