of spider or insect fell down her dress and he was just trying to
help her get it out. But he’s still not sure how the photographer got
there.’ Harry chuckled. ‘Those guys, they sure don’t like that
newspaper – and boy would they all like to get hold of that Dadukwa guy. But from whatI’ve been told, the
Evening News
will be closing
down any day. Anyway, got to go. Have fun on that safari.’
By the time Harry Khan arrived at his hotel
the several clocks above the reception desk revealed that, while the sun was rising over
the Sydney Opera House, it was approaching midnight in Dubai and most of the office
workers of New York were looking forward with mixed feelings to the subway ride home. On
his way past the Jockey Bar he did notice an attractive woman in tight-fitting jeans
sitting by herself, and thought perhaps a final nightcap might not be such a bad idea,
but he had second thoughts when he saw her being joined by a tall man carrying two long
glasses of what appeared to be ginger beer. As he changed direction and headed for the
lift, he heard the woman thanking the tall man.
‘My pleasure, Petula,’ said the
man.
12
The chameleon does not dance before the
snake, nor the beetle before the chameleon
Isn’t that good news? Petula’s
fiancé Salman has managed to get some extra time off. He must have taken the
afternoon flight from Dubai and Petula has picked him up from the airport after her CI
meeting. Perhaps he has already checked into the hotel, and the two love birds are
enjoying a drink together before a night on the town – or somewhere more private
perhaps.
Actually, no.
Salman, I have to reveal, is still sitting
at his desk in his office on the thirty-second floor of the TransAsia building in
downtown Dubai. He is double-checking the week’s spreadsheets, and by the look of
them he will soon be burning the midnight oil (of which, despite all Salman’s long
hours, Dubai still has a reasonable supply). You will be pleased to hear, though, that
this is not too much of a chore, for Salman has always loved figures – especially when
those figures represent large sums of dollars, euros, pounds or yen. But if
Petula’s fiancé is still in Dubai then who, I hear you ask, is this other
chap – this tall, rather good-looking chap – sitting next to herin the
Jockey Bar of the Hilton Hotel late on a Thursday night in downtown Nairobi?
‘Yes, but where do you
start?’
The tall man put down his glass.
‘The way I look at it is this.
It’s no good just trying to tackle the problem from the top down, and it’s
no use just trying to do it from the grass roots up. We have to attack corruption at
every level.’
‘But aren’t we just whistling in
the wind?’ said Petula. ‘Surely poverty is the real problem.’
‘I can’t argue that poverty and
crime aren’t connected. Just as poverty leads to crime, crime – and I’m
including corruption here, of course – surely leads to poverty. Look at this country.
Nominal per capita annual income less than eight hundred dollars – by most standards
that’s pretty low. And within those figures, huge disparities of wealth.
Corruption has to be one of the factors behind that.’
Petula sighed and nodded.
‘Yes, I’ve been looking at
CI’s own figures. We’re right up there with places like Paraguay and the
Democratic Republic of the Congo. But how do you tackle it? I mean, take the police.
They get paid a pittance. The only way an individual policeman can survive is on bribes
and dodgy fines –’
‘Most of which they have to pass up
the ladder anyway.’
‘Right, and we all know how far up
that ladder reaches. Corruption has become an institution. So where do you start trying
to dismantle it?’
‘Remember what we were talking about at
the meeting on Tuesday? Publicity. Let the people know who’s taking the bribes –
and not just the small
help her get it out. But he’s still not sure how the photographer got
there.’ Harry chuckled. ‘Those guys, they sure don’t like that
newspaper – and boy would they all like to get hold of that Dadukwa guy. But from whatI’ve been told, the
Evening News
will be closing
down any day. Anyway, got to go. Have fun on that safari.’
By the time Harry Khan arrived at his hotel
the several clocks above the reception desk revealed that, while the sun was rising over
the Sydney Opera House, it was approaching midnight in Dubai and most of the office
workers of New York were looking forward with mixed feelings to the subway ride home. On
his way past the Jockey Bar he did notice an attractive woman in tight-fitting jeans
sitting by herself, and thought perhaps a final nightcap might not be such a bad idea,
but he had second thoughts when he saw her being joined by a tall man carrying two long
glasses of what appeared to be ginger beer. As he changed direction and headed for the
lift, he heard the woman thanking the tall man.
‘My pleasure, Petula,’ said the
man.
12
The chameleon does not dance before the
snake, nor the beetle before the chameleon
Isn’t that good news? Petula’s
fiancé Salman has managed to get some extra time off. He must have taken the
afternoon flight from Dubai and Petula has picked him up from the airport after her CI
meeting. Perhaps he has already checked into the hotel, and the two love birds are
enjoying a drink together before a night on the town – or somewhere more private
perhaps.
Actually, no.
Salman, I have to reveal, is still sitting
at his desk in his office on the thirty-second floor of the TransAsia building in
downtown Dubai. He is double-checking the week’s spreadsheets, and by the look of
them he will soon be burning the midnight oil (of which, despite all Salman’s long
hours, Dubai still has a reasonable supply). You will be pleased to hear, though, that
this is not too much of a chore, for Salman has always loved figures – especially when
those figures represent large sums of dollars, euros, pounds or yen. But if
Petula’s fiancé is still in Dubai then who, I hear you ask, is this other
chap – this tall, rather good-looking chap – sitting next to herin the
Jockey Bar of the Hilton Hotel late on a Thursday night in downtown Nairobi?
‘Yes, but where do you
start?’
The tall man put down his glass.
‘The way I look at it is this.
It’s no good just trying to tackle the problem from the top down, and it’s
no use just trying to do it from the grass roots up. We have to attack corruption at
every level.’
‘But aren’t we just whistling in
the wind?’ said Petula. ‘Surely poverty is the real problem.’
‘I can’t argue that poverty and
crime aren’t connected. Just as poverty leads to crime, crime – and I’m
including corruption here, of course – surely leads to poverty. Look at this country.
Nominal per capita annual income less than eight hundred dollars – by most standards
that’s pretty low. And within those figures, huge disparities of wealth.
Corruption has to be one of the factors behind that.’
Petula sighed and nodded.
‘Yes, I’ve been looking at
CI’s own figures. We’re right up there with places like Paraguay and the
Democratic Republic of the Congo. But how do you tackle it? I mean, take the police.
They get paid a pittance. The only way an individual policeman can survive is on bribes
and dodgy fines –’
‘Most of which they have to pass up
the ladder anyway.’
‘Right, and we all know how far up
that ladder reaches. Corruption has become an institution. So where do you start trying
to dismantle it?’
‘Remember what we were talking about at
the meeting on Tuesday? Publicity. Let the people know who’s taking the bribes –
and not just the small
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