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“Thank you, sir. I’ll just put the other four in the donation box. For repairs. Very generous of you.”
“My pleasure.”
“My name is Dr. Ismail Faadin,” the man said, coming out from behind the booth and offering his hand. “Please join me.”
He led Rapp through the building, pointing out various empty rooms as though they still contained exhibits. His explanation of the region’s history contained an undercurrent of genuine passion, while his description of the damage recently caused by Uzbek jihadis was delivered with tired fatalism.
“So, you’re the caretaker of this place?” Rapp asked before the man could start waxing rhapsodic about the mosaic floor they were crossing.
“In fact, I’m the museum’s director and its only remaining employee. We reopened some time ago and stayed open despite the Uzbeks. Unfortunately, recent bombing by the Russians have made the place structurally unsound. We had to move everything to an underground location outside the city. It will be safe there.”
Almost as if on cue, a series of explosions became audible. Distant, but not so much so that the vibration didn’t dislodge some dust from the ceiling. Faadin stopped and listened for a few seconds, trying to determine if they were going to be vaporized by whatever government or faction happened to be playing with explosives that day.
Silence descended again and they continued, eventually entering an office that seemed untouched by everything happening outside of it. The window was both intact and clean, and shelves were still lined with reference materials. Faadin took a seat behind a polished desk and pointed to the chair in front of it. Rapp nodded politely and settled in. Maybe Losa would turn out to be right. Other than the shelling, this seemed pretty civilized.
“Now, what is it I can do for you, Mr. Fournier?”
“You haven’t been told?”
“Damian Losa’s people contacted me and asked me to put you in touch with the government forces that now control the narcotics trade in my country.”
The juxtaposition between the man Rapp saw in front of him and the words coming from his mouth was, at a minimum, stark. Losa, for all his slickness, still had a criminal aura, while this guy really did come off as an academic.
He seemed to pick up on Rapp’s curiosity.
“The museum closed at the beginning of the war and stayed that way for almost a decade. Like everyone, I needed money for my family to survive. What choice did I have but to turn to enterprises like narcotics, weapons, and smuggling?”
“And that’s how you got connected to Losa?”
He nodded. “I was well educated and discovered that I had a talent for making money, so people began to follow me. Eventually—”
He fell silent when another explosion sounded, this time closer. The shelves behind him shook and the lamp hanging over his head swayed gently. After about ten seconds, he continued as though nothing had happened. “Eventually, I became successful enough to be noticed by your employer.”
“And you’ve remained loyal to him?” Rapp said. A naïve question befitting a pampered lawyer.
“Loyal? It’s not a word that has meaning in Syria, Mr. Fournier. Mr. Losa’s network here isn’t what it once was. Many of my people arehaving to look for other opportunities in order to survive. Some have joined the government’s trafficking efforts, while some are still fighting against Damascus. Others have fled the country or are in the process of doing so. Because of the museum, my options are narrower. For the moment, my interests and those of Mr. Losa’s are still aligned.”
“For the moment.”
The Syrian nodded.
“Then you’ll put me in touch with people who can help me?”
“I’ve made inquiries.”
“And?”
Faadin leaned back in his chair, examining Rapp for a moment. “As little as the wordloyaltymeans in Syria, it means even less in the world of Damian Losa. He used our desperation to strengthen his position here, and now with the government regaining control, it seems that we’re no longer useful. Other than to help him move on to a more profitable partnership.”
“That may be the case. But Losa isn’t one to turn on his people. It’s bad business.”
“Bad business? Perhaps. But sacrifices must be made, no? And it occurs to me that I and my men might be a convenient bargaining chip. The government would like very much to shut down our enterprises here and he could help them accomplish that. A demonstration of his goodwill that I doubt would hurt his reputation in the outside world.”
“We’re both expendable, Dr. Faadin.”
“Yes, but you chose this path. I was forced onto it.”
“It doesn’t matter how we got here. What matters is how we get out. If you make these connections for me, you’ll be well paid. Or, if you prefer, you’ll be given safe passage for you and your family to Europe. On the other hand, if we can work out a deal with the government, we could potentially get you a position with them. Mr. Losa wants stability and peace, because those things translate into profitability.”
