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“I want weapons to fight the government.”
“Were you not listening to what I said about peace and stability?”
“And profitability,” Faadin reminded him. “The true god of the West.”
Rapp motioned with his head toward the open door. “If you go outside and look around, you’ll see that our god’s worked out better than yours.”
The flash of anger in the man’s eyes was inevitable, as was the sound of the man in the doorway shouldering his AK. Rapp had assumed he didn’t speak English. In the end, though, that wasn’t his most serious mistake. His problem was that he’d forgotten that he wasn’t here to win confrontations. That was Mitch Rapp’s vocation. Matthieu Fournier was here to make friends.
“That was rude,” Rapp said. “I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
“You can’t imagine what I’ve lost, Mr. Fournier.”
“You’re wrong. Icanimagine it. And I understand that you want revenge. But that’s all there is left here. Hundreds of factions probing for weakness, attacking, retaliating. You can’t build a country on that. You can’t preserve your heritage. Someone strong has to be in control, and for now that looks like the government. Otherwise, Syria will spend the next hundred years like this. Let Mr. Losa give you and your family a new life.”
Ismail contemplated that for a few moments before responding. “The money Damascus makes in the narcotics trade is all that’s keeping the government from collapsing.”
“I’m specifically interested in the captagon that’s being shipped to Europe.”
Faadin’s eyebrows rose. “Then you’ve found the one exception.”
“Exception? I don’t understand.”
“That sector of the business is handled by the Russians. My understanding is that the Syrian government has no involvement at all.”
Rapp turned on his satphone as he passed a series of ancient columns that had apparently been too heavy to move. He dialed a number from memory and the call was immediately picked up by Losa’s lieutenant, Julian. A moment later, the man himself was on.
“I’m happy to hear your voice, Matthieu. My understanding is that your crossing didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped. Have you made contact?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“It seems that your problem isn’t with the Syrians. It’s with the Russians.”
There was a short pause over the line. “Interesting. That piece makes the puzzle a bit clearer.”
“How so?”
“They would have the expertise and financing to create a designer drug like the one we’re seeing. And with the current geopolitical landscape, they need to diversify away from selling energy. Narcotics—particularly if done from the shadows in Syria—makes sense.”
“Mission accomplished, then,” Rapp said.
Predictably, Losa didn’t see it that way. “Questions remain, I’m afraid. How are they making their product cheaply enough to generate a profit, while I can’t? And why the novel compounds that don’t appear to enhance either the high or the addictive qualities?”
“By-product of the manufacturing process?” Rapp said.
“No, it’s not an accident. According to my people, it’s been specifically produced and would add even more to the cost.”
“The Russians have never been all that good at making money.”
“Agreed. But they’re better than this. I think it’s worth sitting down with them and seeing what they’re open to. Obviously, they’ve made strides in creating a European distribution network, but it’ll take a lot of time and money to transform it into one that can rival mine. Particularly if they’re relying on Muslim immigrants. I think the window has closed on stopping the flow of captagon to Europe. But the possibility of a collaboration still exists.”
“You can’t collaborate with the Russians because their goal is power, not profit. You’ll spend ten percent of your time doing business and the other ninety trying to keep them from stabbing you in the back.”
“Perhaps. But I want to know what my options are, and it never hurts to talk. You knew when you asked for my help with Gustavo that I’d eventually call in the favor. Can I still count on you to repay your debt to me?”
It never hurts to talkwas something people said when they were sitting in a Parisian mansion sipping Perrier. The reality on the ground in Syria was different. But Losa was right. Rapp had made a deal with the devil and the devil had held up his end of the bargain.
