October 29th: Muscat, Oman, CWM, Zeno invistes Irina Vassileva out for dinner... , No 21

Martina was finally free to approach the group encircling Irina -and now, Zeno as well.
She was recall the details of the conversation she had lost during her duel with Zandar, when suddenly she saw the Vassileva woman focus on Zeno.
"So, Dr. Santucci, what is your point of view on the socio-political situation in Syria?"
Zeno, without blinking an eye, smiled and answered very slowly and evenly.
"I am afraid I don't know. Lately I have been too interested in other matters to be able to actually form an opinion, but," and he stared straight into her eyes, "I have come over here to you to invite you to dinner tomorrow evening."

Overhearing the invitation, Martina stopped in her tracks, flabbergasted. Had she heard correctly? Could this be Zeno, the charming, but after all shy Italo-Tatarian man she knew so well? Was Zeno, whose fear of rejection was paramount, standing there in the middle of a group of unknown people, exposing himself to failure and ridicule by interjecting such a futile statement into this high level political discussion?

The circle surrounding Irina and Zeno held its breath. No one had ever extended such a personal invitation to Ms. Vassileva without being first formally introduced to her. Many in the group knew that, in the past, she'd reacted very poorly to this kind of forward approach.
"Well, I don't know," Irina said slowly, matching the quiet tenor of his question and without turning her eyes away from his. "Generally I find technical people quite boring." Zeno swallowed, but before he could say anything, she continued briskly, turning away from him as she spoke. "...but I get the feeling, after all, that you may not be as boring as the usual ones. She whirled to face him. “So be it, pick me up tomorrow at nine in the lobby of my Hotel, the Al Bustan Palace."

She resumed her conversation with the admiring throng exactly where she had dropped it, totally ignoring Zeno from then on. Several men watched him with envy, some with clear disdain. This newcomer, this dandy, had dared to openly declare his ignorance in the political arena in which Ms. Vassileva excelled. And yet, the bastard had finagled a date with her. For most of them she represented a sort of forbidden fantasy. A select few -through their own past experiences- knew however, that if Vassileva had accepted the invitation, there was certainly a hidden agenda.

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, CWM, Martina argues with Zandar meanwhile Zeno's ... , No 20

Before Martina could deliver a discrete kick to Zeno's leg, he levitated toward the siren in the corner, leaving Martina nonplussed and alone with a surprised Mr. Zandar.
"Perhaps Dr. Santucci was bothered by our conversation, Dr. Ho? Or perhaps he is going to enjoy the political speech of the irresistible Ms. Irina Vassileva." Zandar smiled again, not a straight open smile, Martina noticed, but one of those self-satisfied, all-knowing smiles that triggers curiosity and at the same time, made her want to slap him right across the face, just to see if his expression would change.
Martina found herself increasingly irritated.
Annoyed, she could not resist the temptation to react. "Well, Mr. Zandar, do you have anything against women talking about politics?"
"Oh no, Dr. Ho." He stopped for a second, taken aback by her suddenly aggressive tone of her question. "You American women are so defensive, ready to take any statement made by a man,especially if the poor chap is Latino or Arab, as an insult against the whole gender. I have nothing against women in politics,... but Ms. Vassileva happens to be an extremely beautiful and attractive woman. I do not think that the people around her are all thinking about politics and water at this moment... and she's certainly not either."

Zandar's voice sank to a strained whisper. "That person is a business devil! She has organized the most unthinkable deals here in the Middle East, bringing together at the same negotiating table parties that had previously sworn forever mutual death. She happens to be a real genius in opening the eyes of people to their own interests, helping them to overcome their difficulties with potential business partners, and helping them close the deals. Of course, she racks up top dollars for her services.”
His tone became conspiratorial: “ Just look at her. At this moment she is evaluating the people around her-one by one- storing their faces and personalities in her brain, for further reference at the next pertinent occasion. She is better than a computer. She is said to have an incredible memory for facts about the people she meets, and to use this information ruthlessly... particularly if she sees an advantage for herself."

Meanwhile Zeno made his way across the room, slowly, like a cat closing in on its prey. He moved steadily, step by step, without taking his eyes off Irina. Finally, after five minutes of effort, he nonchalantly reached the inner circle, merely and arm's length from his objective.
Martina, eyes on Zeno, was vaguely aware of Mr. Zandar's voice fading in and out of her consciousness; "..so, I hope that you do not mind me asking this, but is it true that you and Dr. Santucci share,...em, ... let's say,... more than just professional interests?"

Martina froze. "Here we go again," she thought. "Why is it that men cannot ever think of a woman as self-sufficient? They always need to believe that if a woman gets to a highly visible position, it is because of her sexual relationship with a man?" She swiveled around to face him, barely concealing her contempt.

"No, my dear Mr. Zandar”, she smiled, “ Dr. Santucci and I share exclusively professional interests, and actually, you might be interested to know ... I own more ESR shares than he does."
"So I should not interpret the looks that you are giving him and Ms. Vassileva as jealousy, should I?"

Martina stiffened. The little bastard was taunting her! She was ready to explode, furious that she had led him to this assumption. This Mr. Zandar was pushing his social chit-chat too far and unfortunately she knew exactly where he was taking this exchange. Inaudibly she sucked in her breath, and smiled ever so sweetly. As she pulled herself to her full height -about three inches above his miserable head.
"No, Mr. Zandar,... you should not,.... and I would like to ask you to stop interpreting my behavior. We are here to talk about water." The conviction of her statement missed its mark. Zandar edged closer to her, stopping just short of touching her with his sweaty little face. His hand brushed against the cuff of her jacket.
"Yes indeed,.... lets talk about water.... my dear Martina," whispered Mr. Zandar sliding into a more intimate approach, "since you are not involved with Dr. Santucci, how about joining me for a nice helicopter flight to my villa in Dubai? I have a cooled swimming pool and a beautiful palm tree plantation. We could spend the rest of the afternoon there, share dinner, and tomorrow my pilot would take you back to Muscat."

Unfortunately, this was exactly what Martina expected. But, after all, she begrudgingly acknowledged, this guy was mentally quick and agile -as well as a potential client. He deserved a honorable way out.
"Mr. Zandar, your proposal is tempting, and you are such a charming man," replied Martina using all her diplomacy and tact to avoid burning a bridge that could link ESR to a potential new job in the Middle East, "but I am afraid that I cannot accept your flattering offer. My fiancé is a very jealous Italian man. Actually you may be interested to know that he is Dr. Santucci's brother, Carlo. Moreover, I am a faithful lady,..." she said, pausing for maximum effect, "...so, of course, any relationship between you and I must be kept entirely professional. I would be pleased to visit you in your office during one of my next trips to the Middle East, ....and you are welcome to visit our offices in Europe during one of your trips. We will be able to talk business."

After this masterpiece of evasion and flattery, Mr. Zandar murmured a few polite niceties and left immediately, ego damaged, but basically intact. He was almost relieved. “Decidedly”, he reasoned, “these American professional ladies were too difficult for an unprepared Middle-Easterner -better to leave them alone!

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, CWM, Martina is puzzled by the lady at the other end of the room... , No 19

Martina felt an immediate surge of danger. Astonished by her own reaction, she wondered if she was feeling a natural competitiveness, or something less rational. Could she be jealous? Could she have developed protective feelings toward her friend Zeno, or was it just that she felt she “owned” him? Martina was a coolly logical thinker, yet she never disallowed the power of intuition. In her mind, intuition was yet another talent, and she believed in using all her talents.

Martina had reasons to believe in instinct, particularly the female intuition she had inherited from her mother. Indeed, her parents, a rich Chinese businessman and a Czech woman, met in Singapore that infamous day in 1939 when the city was invaded by the Japanese. Facing certain death, the pair knew they had to escape on one of the seven boats able to take to sea. Martina's mother picked the one they boarded. Only two of the seven ever made it to safety.

Martina knew what to expect from a woman like the one across the room. Her mother had made it very clear to her when Martina was a child as they spent long hours waiting for the man of the family to come home -long, silent hours waiting , while father attended to "business." Martina knew that business meant another woman, and that other women brought anger and despair to her family. Instinct was part of the female arsenal. Following her mother's example, combining intuition and hard work, Martina became what she was, the powerful head of a world-wide organization, and she felt she “owned” everything and everyone in her entourage.

Focusing on a few snatched phrases, Martina grasped the theme of the monologue -Middle Eastern politics -and the thesis that the next large scale war in the Middle East would be triggered by water strategy and possession. Apparently the people gathered around the speaker were not only captivated by the intelligence and the coherence of her ideas, but by her scalpel-sharp judgments about several eminent political characters, and her predictions about the region's future. Though she generally thought of herself as a critical thinker, actually the best of them, Martina unhappily conceded that what she was hearing was more than cynical pretense or extravagant grandstanding. The woman's arguments were sophisticated and penetrating. The male part of her audience appeared as hypnotized by her impromptu speech as her radiant smile. They could hardly miss the rest of the package. She had a triangular, feline face with green almond shaped eyes. A champagne-colored silk blouse, beneath a matching linen suit, accentuated her lean torso; her small breasts rose like proud and well-proportioned jewels above an impossibly tiny waist, and a magnificently rounded behind.

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, CWM, Martina controls Zandar meanwhile Zeno gets distracted... , No 18

"I wish to congratulate you both," Zandar continued obsequiously, "for the outstanding presentations you gave on the subject of the strategic reuse of oil-field production water. It is an extremely promising trend that you have illustrated with your work here in Oman. I am sure many other countries and production companies should follow your example. I'll make sure that my government invites you both to...ah...," he let his eyes slide slowly from Martina's face to her breasts and then to her hips, taking no pains to cover-up his attraction to her body "that is for, ..hum...a seminar."

Ever the professional, Martina ignored Zandar's pointedly boorish innuendo. Perfectly aware, but not particularly upset by the man's gaze, her brilliant smile thawed a laconic reply. "Thank you, Mr. Zandar, but the congratulations should really go to our clients. They are the ones who decided to invest in the conservation of water and the restoration of the environment. What ESR does for them is to make the best use of their resources in order to solve a complex problem. We have the capabilities and the technologies, but without their commitment we could achieve very little." Ever the diplomat, Martina put the company line forward as easily as she breathed.

As Martina spoke, she could feel Zeno becoming more and more distracted -while Mr. Zandar became more and more attentive to the slightest movement of her body. The miracle of the proper cut of a tailleur, she thought, rational as a computer: the clothes are some of the most modest that money can buy, yet they provoke admiration and excitement in men even if the wearer is not at all in the mood to flirt. Martina was indeed miles away from flirting. She was becoming annoyed with both men -Zandar, because he had clearly not yet learned than in passing to the twenty-first century, women were not interested in being chased by pompous jerks, and Zeno because she could not believe that even a half-Italian could loose his mind through a lack of caffeine.

Martina turned briskly towards Zeno, about to kick him in the ankle and tell him again to stop acting like a child, when she discovered that his distraction was not coffee, but a stunningly beautiful woman standing on the other side of the room. The woman was surrounded by a group of eight or ten men and a few women, all in awe . Clearly the center of attention, the exotic woman spoke emphatically and with authority. Martina wondered if she was a professional speaker.
The woman's dramatic gestures animated an incredible beauty which radiated from her whole persona- the wild imperious beauty of an Amazon warrior or of a barbarian princess.
Her green eyes shone with intensity. Perhaps the high cheek bones gave her that sort of wild look. Then there was the hair -ash blond with heavy golden undertones, cut just below the jaw and artistically untamed, perfectly complementing the impeccable tan of her flawless skin.

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, CWM, Mr. Zandar meets Martina and Zeno, No 17

A tremendous round of applause immediately rose from the invited panel and the guests filling the auditorium. In his speech, the Sultan had pinpointed future trends and the important concepts, demonstrating once again, to his people and to the leaders of neighboring states, his gifts as a brilliant planner and visionary. Sultan al Quebun had shown the world that a nation like Oman can indeed undergo major change without losing its identity, or without prostituting itself to more developed countries. In Oman and through the Middle East, the decades constituting the reign of Sultan al Quebun were known as the Renaissance. The Sultan also had his enemies, however, and among these, the most dangerous were some his own countrymen -especially the Hagari groups in southern Oman.

To outside observers, the Sultan had made only one real error in planning this fabulous era of renewal. The commercial harbor of Muscat -door to the city of Mutrah, and to much of Oman -could not accommodate the dimensions of modern, over-sized containers ships, putting a severe restriction on the allowable traffic to and from the harbor.

As soon as the Sultan's address finished, several delegates gathered around Martina and Zeno.
"Dr. Ho, Dr. Santucci. Omar Zandar. Secretary of the Water Resource Ministry of the United Dharani Emirates. As you know, we are one of the closest allies of Oman." The speaker, a short, bald, overweight man, had pushed his way through the group of admirers, full of his own self-importance, in his immaculate traditional dress, worn with extreme care for every single detail.
Eye-to-eye with Martina's and Zeno's identity badges, he carefully scrutinized their titles. He seemed to find Martina's badge, and the perfectly rounded features beneath it, more interesting than Zeno's.

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, CWM's closing statement by the Sultan, No 16

Zeno and Martina had met a decade earlier at a conference, and two years later, after working together on various contracts, founded an international engineering consulting company: Earth Systems Research, known around the world as ESR. Gathering a number of seasoned veterans, as well as some young talent, they embarked on an adventure that took them from literally nothing, to international status as principals of a highly visible, world-class organization.

The Sultan al Quebun, a gentle distinguished man with his own solid reputation in geology and engineering, concluded his speech.

My Dear People, of all the gifts with which God has blessed us, water is the greatest -it must be cherished- and every effort to develop this resource must be supported. Extravagance is forbidden by Islam, and this prohibition applies to the water of life. Indeed, Islam teaches us that it is our duty to conserve. The use of water throughout the world will have a great impact on future international development strategies, and, indeed, could become a decisive factor in political and security issues.
These are the challenges we face. The task is great; the rewards immense; failure unthinkable. Go back to your nations, take what you have learned at this conference, and use it to make a better world for us all. Go in peace. God's blessing upon you.
I declare this International Conference on Water in Desert Regions officially close.

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, Conference on Water Management (CWM).No 15

Martina's flat in San Mateo was bare, her life was bare.
She worked day and night in her starkly modern office in San Francisco's financial district. She had insisted, like only she could insist, on the high powered location because, as she said, "That's where the clients are, so that's where we ought to be."

Privately, Zeno suspected that in bed she would be much like she was at work: quick, insensitive, efficient, and no fun. Sometimes he wondered why Martina and his brother Carlo got along so well in their interminable engagement, fully aware that it was sometimes already difficult enough to bear her character in their professional life.
A Latin lover and an icy computer-what a couple, and the third apex of the triangle? Zeno had adopted a discrete approach, as Martina's work was actually saving him from spending interminable and boring hours performing administrative tasks at the office.

Tokyo, Japan, Tastuya-san gives his orders, Night of October 29th, No 14

Masuyama looked to Tatsuya-sensei. Receiving a permissive nod, he stood to answer.
"We do not believe so. The Swiss have investigated him thoroughly, probably trying to determine if he is working for us. It is possible that their investigation has simply been a ruse, but I will be surprised if that is the case. I think we can assume he is OK."
"And what about Gary Morton, the gaijin lawyer?" asked the industrialist.
Masuyama again rose to respond, his tone loaded with deference he answered the question without inappropriate elaboration: "Mr. Morton is clean."

The man sat down. There was a long silence in the room. Tatsuya lit a fresh cigarette, puffed on it, threw it away, picked another out of the pack and lit it. As Masuyama had been speaking, Tatsuya's face slowly turned crimson.

Rising suddenly, he exploded."Masuyama-san!" he screamed.
"Hai?" Masuyama practically squealed, clearly shocked.
"We”, and he used the wari-wari-wah term for -we-, to reinforce his leadership, “will check with Morton immediately and find a solution. I will not be blackmailed by these unwashed dog-haired dung-eating lying foreigners! Zettai-muri! Absolutely impossible”. Tatsuya closed the phrase with a hiss before turning his head towards the other assistant.
“Miyahata-san!”
"Hai?" he quaked the younger man. Equally startled, he snapped to attention, like a puppet, standing next to Masuyama, arms close to his rigid body.
"Have someone question that Vancouver gaijin, and check out his flat!"
"Hai."
"What have you heard recently of Takatsuka's Yakuza?"
"Nothing sensei. There is no news, but we are investigating rumors of their activities in the Middle East."
As the others looked on in astonished silence, Tatsuya continued, shaking with rage, "Call Takatsuka," he demanded, "and do it now. Tell him we need to talk."

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, Conference on Water Management, No 13

Zeno and Martina were sitting in the second row of the auditorium, in the area reserved for invited speakers. Ever the gentleman, Zeno Santucci had carefully placed himself on Martina's left. He was fit and tanned from his recent work in the Middle East, which had kept him in the field. Fieldwork made Zeno happy. During winter, if he did not get enough natural sun, he would use tanning beds. Zeno knew that the devices were dangerous for the skin, but for him this risk was an acceptable price. At all costs, he had to avoid SAD, seasonal affective disorder syndrome, from which he suffered when he did not receive enough solar light.

Seated beside Martina, Zeno cut an impressive figure. His salt and pepper hair and beard, and the bronze of his skin were perfectly accentuated by a charcoal Savile Row suit. The Row was a vanity that he had already succumbed to by the time he was thirty. At forty-five, he had again hired the expert tailors of one of the most expensive shops in the world to craft the magnificent hand-made garment that enhanced his well-muscled body, yet also cleverly disguised a slightly prominent belly, the legacy of his Italian genes and his love for good food and good wine. Zeno and his belly were in constant competition; a great lover of cooking, drinking and eating, he enjoyed saunas and massages far more than the gym. To complement the suit, he wore a beautiful claret English tie, carefully selected from his extensive collection. Zeno took pains to display his assortment of ties whenever an opportunity presented itself, and he often traveled with a complete assortment of his favorite ones.

For her own part, Martina Ho, dark-haired, slightly oriental-looking, and elegantly dressed in a cobalt blue French tailored suit, made a perfect visual match for Zeno -not too tall, and beautifully proportioned. Those that saw her by the hotel swimming pool knew that she probably spent a good deal of her free time in the weight room, sculpting and maintaining her body with the care of an athlete, or a gladiator. The short jacket, meticulously tailored from luxurious Italian cashmere and detailed in silk thread, dropped neatly from her square shoulders, and enhanced her trim hips.

In surprising contrast to the richness of her suit, however, Martina wore no jewelry -no rings, no chains, no adornments of any kind. She never used perfumes, and her make-up was so light that most people would have thought that she wore none at all. On her slender wrist was a man's watch, and her handbag was filled with enough electronic toys to allow her to communicate, annotate, store and retrieve data from any thinkable place on this planet. A great traveler, Martina often had to convince airport security services around the world to let her gadgets filled bag follow her into the plane.

Though both held PhD in civil engineering, Zeno and Martina stood out for their elegance in this tweedy gathering of technical people and academics. Over the years Zeno had worked almost exclusively in the field, while Martina had assumed many of the administrative duties of their company. She had developed tremendous strength as an international contract negotiator, one that liked a little too much other people's blood, at least for Zeno's tastes. Beneath her beautiful, practiced smile, she was a hard businesswoman, oftentimes harsh and insensitive.
In contrast to Zeno, Martina lived in a spartan world of bare essentials. "Vive di niente et con niente: she lives with nothing and out of nothing," as Zeno described it, with a little irony in his voice.

Tokyo, Japan, Japanese Industrialists meeting, Night of October 29th, No 12

The silence deepened, only the smoke moved in gray swirls around the seated figures. Grim expressions involuntarily disturbed their features as they averted their eyes from one another. Tatsuya continued. "The gaijin is well-informed, and has supplied documentation to support his claim. There can be no doubt that he is speaking the truth”. Tatsuya paused an inhaled deeply. “There is more. He waited until we signed before contacting us, and now says that if we pay him a certain sum of money, he will provide additional documents showing the seller knew about this problem before we drew up our contract. If we do not pay, he will not give us the papers, and we will not be able to get a permit to proceed with our development."
The men seated around the table continued to stare at the tabletop, unable to meet each other's gaze, unable to acknowledge their shame. How could this have happened? They had never been caught like this in their lives! Like children! By a damn gaijin! The situation was incredible. Finally, one man, a leading industrialist, raised his head. "Is the Indian man, Mr. Malhotra, involved in this?"

October 29th: Muscat, Oman, Conference on Water Management in Arid Regions, No 11

"I really need a coffee," whispered Zeno into Martina's left ear.

Without turning her head, letting the words seep through the curtain of long silky black hair that partially covered her face, she leaned towards Zeno. "Don't be childish -you can't leave now. The Sultan's speech is almost finished. Hush. Listen."

Zeno, looking straight ahead, could almost visualize in his mind's eye, the expression Martina had on her severe face, especially on her lips. It was the expression she used when reprimanding him, or anyone else who would be exuberant by nature. He also imagined her dark eyes, often insensitive, but always shining with intelligence, looking towards the ceiling in disapproval.

He decided it would be better to wait for his coffee.