Page 117 of Doubts of the Egoist
Yugo snorted. “I see you recovered from your grief very quickly. Good.”
A loud clattering filled the air. Diego shook a metal shaker with both hands. The ice clanged incessantly, but his faceremained nonchalant.
Tobias hummed, eyeing him askance. Gustavo’s face remained blank as if he saw nothing wrong with his subordinate’s behavior. Greg tipped his head as he examined Diego’s ministrations, expression puzzled.
When the liquid was poured into a glass, Diego finally gave the others his attention. The whitish, unidentifiable drink he held in one hand attracted curious glances. He pulled a lollipop from his mouth and stirred the drink with it, banging the caramel ball against the glass with a loud clink.
With a sneer, Tobias turned in the chair, threw an arm behind his head, and settled back into the soft black leather, getting comfortable. He watched Diego for a moment longer, then jibed, “Don’t worry, Lebowski[8], the day has just started. We can wait.”
“Don’t be so grumpy, Sunshine. It doesn’t suit you,” Diego retorted and lifted the glass, giving his attention to every man present. “An eggless Sour Monkey[9], anyone?”
Rudolph grunted out a laugh.
“No wonder it’s sour if it’s missing the egg.” Tobias shrugged and turned back toward Yugo, completely ruining the serious atmosphere.
Yugo had to click his fingers a few times to kill the laughter and bring attention back to the topic.
“What the hell are you all doing here? I was in Vienna this morning. Couldn’t you have solved it earlier?” As if to emphasize his point, Greg approached the desk and stood by his left side, taking a better view of the guests. The overpowering menthol chilled the back of Yugo’s throat like a mouthwash. His breathhitched as he managed another careful inhale. Looking up, he noticed how clean-shaven Greg’s chin was and how precisely his shirt was buttoned, as if his subordinate was getting ready for a date, not a meeting. Yugo hummed but lost the thought when Gustavo cleared his throat and raised two fingers to draw attention.
“This morning, Tobias’ cargo was still on the move. Now, it’s stuck in the desert, so my cargo won’t arrive on time. If the trucks aren’t released soon, the streets will run dry within weeks.”
“Didn’t we move the pick-up point to Turkmenistan?” Yugo asked, scanning Tobias’ nonchalant face.
“Um, yes, we did,” the blond replied with another yawn.
“Then why the hell are the trucks stuck in the Registan Desert?”
“Change of plans?” Tobias said innocently, arching his eyebrows. “What can I say? I had my reasons. And no one has died yet.”
“It’s colossal damage, Tobias,” Gustavo reproached with a scowl. He brushed back his inky hair, observing the blond with a tranquil gaze of his black eyes.
“Sell what Mio brought. That should cover a month. We’ll fix it by then,” Yugo said.
“Don’t be so full of yourself. I suggest we side with Ahmad and resolve this quickly. He’ll be forever grateful.” Gustavo turned to him with clear disapproval.
“We can’t…” Yugo propped an elbow on the desk, massaging his temple with two fingers. “Ahmad’s losing his mind. He’s waging a jihad against everything Western. Herecently banned his men from shaving, trimming their beards, and playing chess. Last week, he burned several hectares[10]of opium fields to show the Emirates that he shares their beliefs and is worthy of their support and diplomatic recognition. How could supporting such a person be beneficial?”
“It’s just a PR move. Farmers are highly unlikely to stop growing poppies, even under the threat of the death penalty,” Gustavo reasoned. “Afghanistan’s economy has been devastated by war, and its people survive primarily through opium poppy cultivation. Every clan in every village is armed like a small army. Poppies are their only source of income. Try telling them to stop growing it. Without significant foreign investment, Afghanistan won’t rebuild its economy anytime soon. Moreover, the president is still alive, and Ahmad remains a terrorist. Saudi Arabia might promise him anything, but they won’t openly support terrorists. They sure as hell won’t buy agricultural tractors for them. To burn more fields, Al-Amin has to offer farmers something in return—something that could feed hungry mouths.”
They’ve already started,” Yugo scowled from beneath his brows. “Lately, Al-Amin’s presence on the borders has increased. They confiscate any weapons entering Afghanistan unless they’re on the approved list. They’ve also started an exchange program with the population—weapons for goods. You can trade the cheapest automatic gun for a cow, and a handgun for a sheep. They welcome everyone to join the militia and promise hot meals twice daily. To me, this looks like disarming the population while building their army. While I’m pleased with the profits Tobias makes from selling arms, we can’t allow Al-Amin to become too powerful. The Minister of Defense has made that very clear. He’s worried that whatever’s happening there will mess up his retirement plan and side business. We can’tdisappoint him, can we?”
“Who told you things would run smoothly under Kais’ leadership?” Gustavo asked, long, sturdy fingers ruffling the chinchilla fur.
“We’ll make sure of it.” Yugo shrugged, continuing the verbal ping-pong match with his friend and lieutenant. The other men turned their heads from one speaker to the other. EvenDiego listened, leisurely stirring his drink but not sipping. “Tobias and I were directly advised to take matters into our own hands and restore the status quo in Afghanistan. People are losing money because Ahmad disregards the interests of his business partners.”
“Why so radical, Yugo?” Gustavo furrowed a brow, doubt etched on his face. “Why don’t we talk to Ahmad first? He might be reasonable. I’m sure we can convince him to reconsider.”
“I can’t take that risk. If he doesn’t listen and continues, the president will be eliminated, and the United Nations could be dragged into a bloody war, or even chased out entirely. The UN can’t win. Afghans are born with guns in their hands; it’s their land. No amount of training can compensate for growing up in the mountains.” If he could convince the drug lord, the others most likely wouldn’t argue. “Even if he doesn’t burn poppies now, he might in a few years. By then, Afghans might see the changes he makes and support him wholeheartedly. So go ahead and assure me he won’t try.
“Afghanistan produces more than eighty percent of the world’s heroin. If he burns the fields, there will be a global shortage. Even if production shifts elsewhere in a few months, prices will double. How soon will a similar, cheaper designer drug flood the streets, causing every addict to switch? What will you do then? Build a lab and enter the niche?”
“No one will let him burn the poppies. It’s big money.” Gustavo glanced at his protégé for backup, but Diego turned away nonchalantly, leaving his boss to fight his own battle.
“That’s exactly why there will always be someone who supports this. A few years of lost profit are nothing compared to the opportunity to gain power. I can’t see why I’d leave it to chance when I already have Kais. He’ll do exactly what we want.” Yugo pressed his point.
Greg cleared his throat. “According to recent information, the younger members of the group support Kais. He is modern yet cautious and wouldn’t drag them into an international war. They believe that with him, the money and women will keep coming.”
“Tobias has been working on Kais for quite some time. The change isn’t unwelcome, even if it’s a little earlier than planned,” Yugo concluded, leaning back in his chair.
