WATER WORKS: 17) MONACO INTERLUDE

Sunday Funnies: A Novel of Intrigue, Lunacy & H2O

22.

Arriving by helicopter in Monaco after an all-night trek across the Kyrgh-Kazakh border is like crawling out of a New York City taxi cab into a Rolls Royce.

I choose the Meridien Hotel because I crave a beach. I want to study water up close. That's where I park my aching muscles and bones.

Armand Sieff and Dulci Acqua can wait while I regain my rhythm in a canvas beach chair alongside a Mediterranean ripple with my buddy Ricard Pastis.

And once I’m good and pastished, I touch-key Mortonland.

"Morton Levi Investments," a voice answers.

"I need the appointments person." I can’t remember her name.

Tracy answers with her name.

"Hi, Tracy. Jay Sandak. I need to make an appointment with Morton."

"I can give you a week from Wednesday at ten a.m."

"Any sooner?"

"The Monday before at four p.m.?"

"Is that the very soonest?"

"Yes."

"Done."

Next, I buzz Armand Sieff and invite him over for drinks. We can gaze at water together.

"I think I prefer Monaco to Bishkek," I tell him.

"You have to know Bishkek," counters Armand.

"Really? What did I miss?"

"Lake Izzikul. A resort not far from the capital. Such beauty."

"Does Fog live in Bishkek full time?"

"No."

"Where...?"

"Mr. Mogens resides in Campione."

"Ah, that little piece of Italy surrounded by Switzerland."

Sieff nods.

"And you, Armand. Where are you from?"

"I am a citizen of San Marino."

The tiny republic that peddles citizenship and passports as efficiently as Bill Clinton peddled bed and breakfast. The only piece of micro-Europe missing is Andorra.

"Andorra," I say. "You must have an Andorra connection?"

“No,” replies Sieff, a puzzled expression. "Why do you ask?"

"Never mind. We have an appointment with Morton Levi first thing Monday morning."

Sieff nods. "Mr. Mogens will join us. Madeleine will remain in Monaco."

"Too bad,” I say. “Madeleine has a nicer butt. Will Fog fly through Monaco?"

"No. Mr. Mogens will be using his own plane."

"What kind?"

"A Gulfstream-five."

I nod. "I don't suppose he'd consider swooping down here to pick us up?"

"I don't think so." Sieff sips Coca-Cola. "How long have you been interested in water?"

"Oh," I count my fingers. "About three weeks, give or take a day. It's hard to keep track with jet lag." I pour water from a clay pitcher into my pastis. It clouds milky. I raise my glass. "To water."

Armand grunts.

"You know," I say. "I've heard Monaco tap water is cleaner than Evian."

"It's true," Sieff confirms.

"We should bottle it. Call it Monaco Cool. What do you think?"

Armand shakes his head. "The overheads per square foot in Monaco are much too high and you'd need a large warehouse."

"No. We'll tap it and run a hose to from Monaco to Cap d'Ail in France, say, fifty yards from Monaco."

Armand chuckles. He isn’t totally humorless.

23.

I phone Dulci Acqua from Nice Cote d'Azur Airport early next morning.

"Hi, buddy," I say. "Just calling to say au revoir."

"Au revoir?" This puzzles Sieff.

"Yeah, it's French for goodbye. Something came up. I've got to get back to Washington to deal with it."

"But I thought...?"

"Yeah, I'm disappointed too, buddy. I was hoping we'd hop the pond together, bond a little. I'll see you in New York. Maybe we can take breakfast before our meeting with Morton? I'll be at The Mark, Madison and 78th. I recommend it for you and Fog."

"Mister Mogens has an apartment in Manhattan."

"Really? Where?"

"Trump Tower."

"That's even closer to Morton's office," I say. "Maybe I'll join you guys for breakfast."

Sieff is non-committal.

"If I don't hear from you," I say, "I'll see you at Morton's. He's in the General Motors building opposite..."

"I know where he is."

"Excellent. Plane's boarding. See you in the Rotten Apple, bye."