WATER WORKS: 5) ARMAND SEIFF

Sunday Funnies: A Serial Novel of Intrigue, Lunacy & H2O

7.

Daniel Petersen, passport-stamper at the. U.S. Embassy in Moscow, calls and leaves a cryptic message that a meeting with Uncle Alexandre and someone from the Dulci Acqua Consortium is on. He finds me in Cafe Kranzler, guzzling SchneiderWeiss beer.

"We've got to go to the Radisson Slavyanskaya," says Petersen, checking his watch. "And we're already late."

Twenty minutes later, with Petersen still cursing traffic, we saunter into the Radisson's lobby.

"Up there." Petersen points up a grand, winding staircase. "The business center is on the mezzanine. They've taken a conference room."

Inside sits Alexandre, more disheveled and unshaven than the day before. His translator-niece, Ludmila. And a short cosmopolitan of no discernible origin—mere fragments of heritage—with facial features as sharp as his Armani suit coupled with a perfectly knotted Hermes featuring Russian nestling dolls.

"Armand Sieff," he introduces himself with a handshake. His eyes, black as oil, attempt to pierce my own. "I understand you are interested in a joint venture," he says with an untraceable accent. “And that you work for Morton Levi?"

"With Morton."

Armand's sober expression crinkles in appreciation of meeting a partner.

"Do you have a card?" I ask.

"I'm afraid I've run out," Armand replies. "I'll write my number for you." He plucks a fat black Mont Blanc fountain pen and a burgundy Cartier notepad from his inside coat pocket and scribbles.

I recognize the 377 international dialing code immediately. "I know Monaco." I smile. "Good base. What building are you in?"

Armand hesitates. "The Europa," he mumbles.

"Ah, Boulevard des Moulins. How long...?"

"I didn't know Morton Levi is involved in water," Armand curtly cuts me off.

"We're interested in cutting edge technology." I nod at Uncle Alexandre. "New technology that will lessen the cost of treating waste water. And you?"

Armand remains expressionless. "What kind of joint venture do you have in mind?"

"The situation is this, Armand. We have a fuck-load of money and we want to get into water and we'd like to connect with the experts. Word is, that's what you are."

Armand cracks a thin smile, barely, and lights a cigarette with a classic solid gold Dunhill lighter. "An interesting proposition."

"I thought we might kick off a relationship with this particular deal." I nod at Alexandre.

"You like this invention?" Armand sucks his coffin-nail and blows a gust of smoke upward.

"What's important to me, Armand, is that you like it. Let's face it, we can make ten percent on the money market. My question for you is this: are we going to make a killing on this, i.e., 30 percent-plus?"

Armand takes another long drag.

He is cool, real cool—except that the way he’s fuming, lung cancer will claim him before his natural time.

"We, at Dulci Acqua," he says, "are interested in doing good things—not making a killing, as you say. The problem with water is that everybody needs it. More than they know. But nobody's willing to pay for it. Because in most civilized countries of the world water has been free for way too long. Money usually comes from grants, from places like the World Bank and the European Bank for Reconstruction. The water business is not a place for short-term profit-takers."

"Sooner or later, people will understand the importance of water," I counter. "We want to be there when that happens. We intend to be a player—a big player—like Dulci Acqua."

Armand flinches, but quickly regains his composure. A heavy beard since shaving that morning already casts a shadow over the lower half of his face. We eyeball one another, neither willing to let go.

"We have agreed to Alexandre's price of five million dollars on a ten percent royalty," says Armand. "I think we'd be willing to let you to cover the entry fee. That said, I am vice president of Dulci Acqua," says Armand. "I need to consult with our president."

"Maybe I should consult with him too?"

Armand considers this. "Will you come to Monaco?"

"You kidding? Monaco trumps Moscow. What about Alexandre's other needs?" I whisper. "A quick exit out of Russia."

"Not a problem for us," says Armand.

"Really?" I put on my dummy expression. "What’s your solution?"

Armand's dark eyes flit around the room, then re-settle into mine. "How quickly do you come to Monaco?"

"I need to see Morton first," I say, calculating a trans-Atlantic boomerang. "Is three days fast enough for you and your president?"

8.

It is Pikestaff I want to see, not Morton Levi, hence a rebound to DC, the Cosmos Club.

"We're doing the Russian scientist with Dulci Acqua," I tell the CIA director. "A joint venture."

"What? How?" Pikestaff is impressed, if confused.

"All we need is five million dollars," I add.

"What?" Now he is perplexed.

"That's the only deal I could make, based on my legend. Dulci Acqua supplies the expertise; we supply the brazhort. That's the glass half-empty side of this. The half-full side is that we’ll have a ringside seat at the Dulci Acqua show. And we’ll own half of the Russian scientist and his invention. Five million is cheap."

"Five million is cheap?" Pikestaff's eyes bulge. "You've obviously been hanging around Morton Levi too long."

"I only met him once."

"Once was clearly one time too many. I cannot get five million dollars for this."

"Okay. Forget it." I shrug. "Just thought I'd offer first refusal."

"First refusal?" Pikestaff closes one eye and squints at me with the other.

"Sure. If you don't want this deal, I'll take it to Morton."

Pikestaff harrumphs. "Why five million?"

"That's how much Dulci Acqua is prepared to pay the scientist."

"With our money."

"Yes," I say. "If we want to participate."

"How did Dulci Acqua...?"

"They beat us to the scientist. I met Dulci Acqua's VP, one Armand Sieff."

"What nationality is he?"

I shrug. "Beats the hell out of me."

"You don't know where he's from?"

"I don't think even he knows."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"He's a mixed bag of genes."

"What passport does he hold?"

"This is the kind of guy who holds passports from three different countries. All I know is, he lives in Monaco."

"Monaco?" Pikestaff raises an eyebrow.

"That's right. My old stomping ground. They're expecting me in Monaco tomorrow."

"They?"

"Armand and his boss. He told me Dulci Acqua is based in Monaco."

"Okay. What about getting the scientist out of Russia?"

"That's the oddest part of all, Pikestaff. Armand Sieff says he’s got that covered.”

Pikestaff shakes his head. "I don't know."

"Is that CIA's new motto, Pikestaff—I don’t know? Wouldn’t surprise me. Look, if you want to know about Dulci Acqua, what better way than to go into business with them? They'll have to open their books to us. And then, if this scientist's invention pans out, we'll make millions. What a concept—the agency making money instead of spending it."

"We're not supposed to make money."

"Even better," I say, thinking aloud. "Let's buy Dulci Acqua. Then we will own the water."

"CIA can't do that."

"No, but Morton Levi could."

"Your hyperactive imagination is playing tricks on you again." Pikestaff belches softly. "Go to Monaco. I'm happier when you are far away."

"Can I have the five mil?"

"No!” snaps Pikestaff. "I don't know. Stall ‘em.”