CHAPTER 10
"It is Mr Hamid and Mr Farid, yah? Good, good. Buongiorno e benvenuti alla bella Italia. Welcome to Italy - to Milano. I am Guido, Signore Guido if you like but Guido is OK. Oggi fa molto caldo. It is very hot today, no? OK. Come, come, follow me."
Hamid and Farid, the two Lebanese, had taken a late afternoon KLM flight from Amsterdam. They glanced at one another with raised eyebrows but followed the short and stocky frame of the Italian as he marched in quick strides towards the exit.
"Yah, my car," he pointed as they arrived outside. He ushered them towards a large black Mercedes illegally parked but watched over by an airport security man. "Molto grazie, Umberto. It is not far. Please put your cases on the back seat. That is a nice case, Mr Hamid. Is it Italian? We will arrive to talk the business in no time. Relax."
He got in and drove off but continued talking. The two Lebanese behind continued to glance at each other and shrug. Neither of them could see their host for the head rest was positioned well above the top of his head and the seat so low it was debatable whether he could see the road ahead. Nevertheless, he drove quickly and expertly and in the heart of Milan he stopped outside a restaurant, jumped out, handed the car keys to someone and led the way into the restaurant. "Donna worry about your nice cases. Everything is safe with Bruno. Mi segua - follow me, please."
The choice of restaurant was obvious. The Park Hyatt Milano where the visitors were booked to stay was close by.
As Guido pushed the door open, an elderly waiter in a black suit rushed forward. "Ah, Giuseppe. We are here. These are my guests." Giusepppe bent down to Guido's level and planted a delicate but manly, cheek to cheek kiss. Guido touched the spot where their cheeks had touched and smiled. "Yah," he said. "These are my good friends from Beirut, John," he said using, perhaps, Giuseppe's preferred name for non Italians.
"Welcome, your table is ready." Then he whispered to Guido. "We have a case of 2007 Sassicaia for you or if you prefer.............."
"Yes, the Sassicaia, and give Bruno a case for my car. No need for the menu. It is too late for them, they ate on the plane and they have had a busy day. Give them a pizza margarita and I will explain why it is called margarita. As for me, I'll have mundeghili de vitel alla milanese, insalatina di asparagi e salsa alla senape."
"Of course, of course," Guiseppe said, flapping white napkins. Was he pleased to see Guido? After forty years in the trade it was impossible to know.
The single bottle of wine was brought and poured without tasting. "Salute," he said lifting his glass. He sipped it, but then took a full mouthful, washed it around his mouth and swallowed. His two guests watched, sipped and looked at each other as Guido stuffed a pure white napkin into his shirt collar, coughed and thumped his wide, soft chest. "Yes, it is a my favourite. I like it. It is the best from Tuscany." he announced speaking in English. "We will eat soon. Fabrizio is the master for the pizza margarita. Italian food is much better than Lebanese." He gave his gurgling laugh at his own humour and then drained the glass. "So," he said, "Your business is now established?"
"Yes, it is called Cherry Pick Investments," the one called Farid replied. "It is registered in Singapore. We can now start."
"Yah, yah. What do you have in mind?"
The two Lebanese looked at one another as if unsure who should speak. It was Farid again. "There is an organisation called the Coalition for Arab Youth - CAY," he said. "It is to support groups of young people who want to see a peaceful outcome to the many ongoing conflicts in the Middle East."
"But?" asked Guido, reaching across the table to pour himself another glassful. He smiled over the rim, the small beady eyes staring at Farid.
"But, maybe not. " Farid tried returning the smile.
Guido raised an eyebrow with his own smile fixed into position. "It is not something I have heard of. Who runs this youthful coalition?"
"A woman professor from the American University of Beirut. She has a small network of teachers who try to encourage peaceful dialogue not armed struggle. It has received some publicity and has a record of organising events and conferences......."
Guido clapped his hands. "Good. A track record is so necessary. Some paperwork, a few press releases and some important sounding names like Professor X or Doctor Y. Go on, please."
Farid continued. "But she is struggling for lack of funds."
"Ah, and what would she do with money?"
"She will establish new Coalition for Arab Youth offices in Saudi Arabia, Dubai, Jordan and Tel Aviv run by women who agree with the its principles."
"Very nice. And how much would this cost?"
Farid hesitated. "About two million Euros - maybe over three years."
"Very nice. And how do you fit into this noble plan to enrich Arab youths?"
Farid looked at Hamid. Hamid spoke. "The Professor is my wife."
Guido did not flinch. "Ah, here comes your pizza and here comes my mundeghili de vitel alla milanese. Let us eat.......and also talk."
After one mouthful of pizza for the Lebanese, Guido, his mouth full of food, looked up from his plate. His eyes flashed from Farid to Hamid and back again. "So, where will the money come from?"
Hamid was chewing on a piece of dry pizza crust. "We need help. Can you help us? We were told you are very expert in this matter. We believe there are European funds that might be available."
"Yes, you are correct and I am an expert. The criteria will be that it meets European Middle East policy. Who decides the policy is a complete mystery to us voters, but that is the way our democracy works. But once it's there we do with it what we can. Here it is similar to the old USSR but not yet as bad as North Korea." He giggled and as he did so a large piece of green asparagus landed in the middle of the table next to the water jug. Still stuffing more food into his mouth he went on:
"And who will ensure the funding is properly used and fully accounted for? We can't have taxpayers feeling aggrieved that their money ends up in the pockets of rich men living in Beirut, or with Hamas or evil people like ISIS or Al Shebab or Boko Haram." His eyes flickered between his two guests.
Hamid put his knife down. "We have a management company in Beirut and......."
Guido interrupted. "Is this Cherry Pick, Beirut, Limited?" He giggled once more and another speck of chewed food flew from his open mouth.
Hamid tried to smile. "We are thinking to bid for funds with a management charge of say fifteen percent. That would be in order?"
He watched and waited as Guido scraped the last forkful, put it in his mouth, pulled the stiff white napkin from out of his shirt collar and wiped his face. Chewing on what was still left in his mouth he screwed the napkin up, threw it into the middle of the table and watched it slowly unfold itself once again.
"Fuck - I told Giuseppe about that. I have warned him many times. The fucking laundry uses too much starch. If these people cannot do what customers want, do they know what will happen to their business?" With that he drew a short, fat finger across his soft, white neck and glared around as if looking for Giuseppe. Then, with barely a pause:
"But fifteen percent That is nothing. It is not worth getting out of bed. With good advice and careful management, fifteen percent would be a gross underestimate. If Cherry Picking is to benefit from this well-meaning organization, it should look to make at least fifty percent. You must be more ambitious my friends. If you want advice on the bid process, to draw down money to ensure it travels in the right direction and then cover your tracks, then say so, but fifteen percent will only just cover Guido's charges."
"I see," said Farid and Hamid in unison again. "So it is possible?"
"Of course," Guido replied and he spread his short arms wide. "To be ambitious - that is my motto. You know we have a saying in Italy - A rubar poco si va in galera, a rubar tanto si va cariera. You know what that is in English, my friends?
"No," they said.
"Steal a little and go to jail. Steal a lot and make a career of it. Ha, ha!" As he
laughed, he looked around, caught the eye of a waiter and beckoned for the bill.
Hamid and Farid, still struggling with their pizzas, listened to Guido's high pitched laughter as it suddenly stopped and his tone became serious. Sitting with the top of his round head only just above the chair back, he asked. "So what other plans do you have for Cherry Picking? It is such a waste if I teach you how to play the game and you only play the game once."
"Ah yes." said Hamid, "I do not always live in Beirut. Sometimes I visit my associates in Lagos, Nigeria and Freetown in Sierra Leone. We have trading companies there. They are also called Cherry - Cherry Trading, Cherry Imports, Cherry Marketing."
"And what do these companies do?" Guido asked as the waiter presented the bill on a silver plate. "Gracis, please leave it there. I will check it for accuracy."
"Ah, many things," Hamid said doubtfully and glancing at Farid. "One thing is we deal in - what shall we say - computers."
"Yah?" Guido leaned forward as much as the fully fastened suit jacket allowed. He rested his arms on the table and entwined eight stubby fingers as if to say grace. On one middle finger was a large ring with a blue stone. On the other middle finger sat a wide, silver ring. "So tell me about these companies - or just tell me what you want me to hear."
"Yes," continued Hamid. "We plan to diversify........"
"Don't we all," Guido interrupted, "Please proceed."
"Yes, we import old computers, service them and sell them to schools."
"Very nice business," he said. "Anything else?"
"Ah, we are also in the jewellery business."
Guido used the middle finger with the blue stone to scratch his nose. "May I ask where you buy your stones?"
"Uh, Bangkok," Hamid said hesitantly.
"So what you are saying is that the stones really come from next door - from Myanmar? Guido knows many sorts of businesses you see " The small, beady eyes moved rapidly from Hamid to Farid and back again.
"Ah, yes," said Hamid.
"O......K," said Guido slowly as if a lot was going on inside his head. "Jewellery is a nice business. I like it. With jewellery we do not need money." He paused. "Your company in Lagos, Nigeria. Who runs it?"
Hamid looked at Farid again. Farid looked at Guido. Guido looked at both of them in turn. It was Hamid who spoke. "Ah, it is a family business. My brother, Marcel is in charge."
"More family business," Guido said happily, apparently sensing it might be complicated and that he would need to concentrate if he was to remember names. He closed his eyes.
"My brother Marcel is married to Farid's sister Nadine."
"Cosy," said Guido, his eyes firmly shut as if visualising Nadine. "I like it. And your wife's name - the one who runs the so-called Coalition for Arab Youth - CAY?"
"Ah, my wife," Hamid said, apparently warming to the word cosy. "Yes my wife is Leila. And we have two children, both girls, Nancy is seven and Diana is thirteen. My wife liked the Princess."
"How nice," said Guido, his eyes perhaps smiling behind the closed lids. "And you, Farid. How is your family?"
"Yes, I also am married. My wife is Sabah and we have two children also."
"I like it," Guido said, "It is good to keep things in a family. He opened his eyes at last and focussed them on Farid. "So who is your contact in Myanmar?"
Suddenly forced from the soft, cosiness of family talk back to the hard commercial, Farid and Hamid's smiles ceased. "Uh, we don't know," said Farid.
"Mmm." Guido sat back looking across the table at two half finished pizzas. "There are new and exciting opportunities to be found in South East Asia, but I cannot tell you more about what I'm thinking without understanding your business better. A pity, but never mind." He paused. "OK, we will talk in more detail at your hotel. It is not so late and tomorrow I am too busy. Together we will ensure the future success of Cherry Picking. But....," he paused again, "You have already made a very good start by meeting Guido in Milano. The only problem was to eat the pizza."