WATER WORKS: 18) THE $64,000 QUESTION

Sunday Funnies: A Novel of Intrigue, Lunacy & H2O

24.

"So, how's your butt, Pikestaff?" I say this over the phone.

"Didn't feel a thing," he says about his recent visit to the proctologist for polyp removal. "Aliens from outer space could have abducted me for experiments and I wouldn't have known."

"That's probably what happened, Pikestaff. They stuck an extraterrestrial bug up your ass."

Pikestaff harrumphs. "When are you departing for Bishkek?"

"Past tense, Pikestaff."

"What do you mean?"

"No hidden meaning. Bishkek's done. I'm back."

"You've already been to Kyrgyzstan?"

"And Monaco."

"Monaco?"

"Yeah, I always try to drop in on Monaco when I'm traveling."

"What, no, you can't..." Pikestaff splutters.

"Don't have a cow, Pikestaff. It’s business. We should meet, I'll brief you—the Cosmos Club?"

25.

"Beefeater martini, three olives," I instruct.

The Cosmos barkeep obliges me.

Pikestaff appears.

"You're walking just fine," I say.

"They found four polyps, not one. You should get a check-up too."

"Just because you've got polyps up your ass, Pikestaff, is no reason for someone to look up mine."

"When did you last have a physical?"

"Five years ago, maybe six. When I need a check-up, I go to a reflexologist. She pinpoints any problems with my health.”

Pikestaff shakes his head.

"Anyway," I say, "we can discuss our assholes. Or we can talk about the assholes I met in Bishkek and Monaco."

"Go ahead."

"Fog Mogens."

"What?"

"Not what, Pikestaff, a who. Fog Mogens is a name. Armand Sieff's boss."

"Where's he from?"

I shrug. "All I know is, he lives in Campione—or claims it as his legal residence. As for heritage, this guy's even more genetically mixed up than Aremand Sieff and Madeleine Zacharskie."

"What is Campione?"

"A tax-haven. Officially, part of Italy, but it's surrounded by Switzerland, so Italian tax collectors leave it alone."

"Why?"

"I don't know why, Pikestaff. The Brits have Jersey and Guernsey. The French have Monaco. Spain has Andorra. Everyone in Europe has a back-door for funny money and un-sanctioned arms dealing. We ought to have something like that in this country, don't you think?"

Pikestaff rubs his butt.

"That's what we should do, Pikestaff—open our own version of off-shore banking near the U.S. to put places like Monaco and the Channel Islands to shame. Launder cash and... nah, you're too straitlaced for that. I'll mention it to Morton."

"He's a billionaire," snaps Pikestaff. "Why would he be interested in that?"

"Money is relative, Pikestaff. You think Morton is rich? He thinks he's poor, compared to Bill Gates."

Pikestaff harrumphs. "Tell me more about Fog Mogens."

"He's just another cut-out. Even with the Gulfstream and a Trump Tower apartment..."

"A what?"

"Didn't I mention it? No, I got carried away with tax havens. This mongrel Mogens is flying into New York on a Gulfstream. You have any idea what that costs? A cool thirty mil."

"He's coming to New York?"

"Right, Pikestaff. We're having a meeting on Monday morning with Morton. Me, Fog Mogens, and Armand Sieff. The point is, I don't think Fog owns the Gulfstream or the Trump Tower digs. He's a cut-out for the real people bankrolling this Dulci Acqua monster."

"Who?" asked Pikestaff.

"That's the $64,000 question."

"Yeah, well so far it's cost me $64,000. But instead of an answer I have a bunch of accountants going bananas and high blood pressure.”

"What the hell do accountants know? I'm on the verge, Pikestaff, on the verge. These hybrids will have to tell us who's hiding behind the Liechtenstein trust."

"Why?"

"Because we're going to buy a chunk of Dulci Acqua. That's why they're coming to New York."

"What, how, why..." Pikestaff splutters.

"No, Pikestaff. The question before us is this: who is going to buy into Dulci Acqua."

"Okay." Pikestaff crosses his arms. "Who?"

"I think you should, Pikestaff. The agency. But if you don't, Morton will. I think."

Pikestaff narrows his eyes at me.

"Downside," I continue, "it costs a little brazhort. Upside: one, we gain access to the Russian scientist who started this operation. Two, we learn who's really behind Dulci Acqua, and three—here’s the kicker—the agency gets to co-own the world's water!"

"We can't do that," Pikestaff protests. "You already told me Dulci Acqua is probably breaking U.S. anti-trust laws. You want CIA to become a co-conspirator?"

I wink. "It'll sure keep conspiracy theorists busy."

"You can't put Morton in that position either."

"Okay, try this on, Pikestaff: Once we're part of Dulci Acqua, we make them clean up their act."

"What about the bad deals they've already made?"

"We'll compensate everyone who's been screwed. From then on, nobody gets hurt. Except, of course, the real owners of Dulci Acqua."

Pikestaff scowls. "The concept of CIA trying to co-own the world's water supply would come back to haunt us. We still don't know who Dulci Acqua is. It could be a criminal element or abusers of human rights. We can't legally deal with that kind of person anymore."

“Damn it, Pikestaff. Stop worrying about what everyone's going to think and let's just do our jobs the best we can."

"Worrying about stuff like that is my job.”

"Well," I drain my martini, "my job is to do what I've been doing. That's my plan. If you don't like it, pull the plug."

"You'll stand it down?"

"Hell, no. I'll go into the water biz with Morton Levi."

Pikestaff attempts the triple harrumph and winds himself into another hacking fit. "How much of an investment are we talking about?"

"They haven't yet provided a valuation of their consortium. That's the beauty of this, Pikestaff. They have to reveal Dulci Acqua's worth, then justify it."

"So, we don't really have to invest," poses Pikestaff. "We can just go through the motions, then pull out once we've collected the intelligence we need.”

"Don't count on it. If I were Armand or Fog, I'd ask that our investment funds be put into escrow on the basis that if they prove their worth, we're committed to the deal or get stiffed with a heavy financial penalty. Look, if we're gonna mount this throne, we gotta be prepared to dump. It's win-win from CIA's standpoint. Once we're part of Dulci Acqua, we learn its secrets. We can co-own the world's water supply and become self-sufficient instead of relying on Congress for a budget. Or we can sabotage Dulci Acqua’s operations and put it out of biz."

"How?"

"A variety of means."

"Such as?"

"C'mon, Pikestaff, I can do what, where, why and who on two martinis. How requires a bottle of '82 Chateau Rothschild. What are you doing for dinner?"

"I have an engagement." Pikestaff checks his wristwatch. "And I'm already running late."

"What's it going to be?"

"I need a monetary figure. Once you give me a figure, I'll organize some meetings."

It is my turn to harrumph.

Pikestaff de-stools himself and walks toward the dining room.

"What about my Chateau Rothschild?" I call after him.