them
why they charge an annual fee of $750 for the card. I also had another camouflage passport of another non ex is tent country
carrying my real name, as well as my genuine official U.S. government and tourist passports, just in case a suspicious banker
called the local police.
If that happened, I could say,
Oops, sorry, wrong passport. It’s my old name, legally changed. Here’s my other passport.
I’d choose whether to flash my other camouflage passport, or, if push came to shove, and only as a last resort, my U.S. tourist
passport, hoping I’d be allowed one phone call to the U.S. consul. The amount of explanation I’d have to offer the consul
would probably exceed the amount of money suggested by a local policeman as contribution to shore up his personal finances
and smooth things up. Never would I show my official passport. That could guarantee a free ride to jail in any country that
regarded intelligence as the exclusive prerogative of that country’s government. Violators go to jail, and the guaranteed
result would be the size of the scandal, not whether it had actually erupted.
The hotel’s lobby was half empty. I leafed through the local Yellow Pages and called Peninsula Bank, using my mobile phone.
“I’m the business manager of
Wild Nature and Adventure
magazine, based in South Africa,” I said. “We plan to establish a small office in Islamabad. I’d like to open an account
with your bank.”
“Of course, sir. Please come to our branch. We’ll be happy to assist you.”
I took a cab and landed at the manager’s desk in thirty minutes.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” said the manager, a heavy-set, middle-aged man with jumbo ears and piercing black eyes. He
wore a three-piece wool suit with a chained gold watch tucked in the vest’s pocket. Hell, I thought, this isn’t London circa
1930, it’s Islamabad in 2004, and it’s hot in here.
He shook my hand. “My name is Rashid Khan.” I looked at him thinking that for him, the happy hour is a nap.
I gave him my business card—Peter Helmut van Laufer, with an address in Amsterdam.
“This is our temporary European office, which we are closing next week. There isn’t too much wildlife in Europe anymore,”
I said with a smile. “So, for the time being let me give you my number in Islamabad: 051 991 6687.” He wrote it down on my
business card. “We intend to open in Pakistan our regional office for Asia. Until I have Pakistani incorporation papers for
our local company, perhaps I should open a temporary personal account.”
“No need to wait, sir,” said Rashid. “I can open an account for the magazine immediately. When you receive the certificate
of incorporation, please send me a copy.”
An hour later I had a bank account for
Wild Nature and Adventure Magazine
. I deposited $500 in cash.
It was time to chat. “I need a recommendation for a lawyer who can help us with our local Pakistani needs. Do you happen to
know any lawyer who handles business and intellectual-property matters, and whom you can recommend?”
His eyes lit up. “Certainly, sir, you should call Ahmed Khan,” he said, and pulled a business card out of a drawer. “He’s
very good,” he said, and began praising the attorney’s services.
The recommendation was too enthusiastic,
I thought.
“Thank you, that’s very helpful. By the way, we once employed a photographer in Islamabad, but have lost contact with him.
How do you think I can trace him here? I may have a job for him.”
“Ask Ahmed Khan. He’ll arrange everything for you.” “Thanks,” I said. As I got up to leave I added, “If you happen to hear
the photographer’s name, or, even better, meet him, give him my number.”
“What is his name?”
“Albert C. Ward III.”
“The name rings a bell,” said Rashid. “Maybe he’s a customer.”
“Think so?” I said innocently. “Well, if so, I’m sure he’d be grateful if you gave me his
why they charge an annual fee of $750 for the card. I also had another camouflage passport of another non ex is tent country
carrying my real name, as well as my genuine official U.S. government and tourist passports, just in case a suspicious banker
called the local police.
If that happened, I could say,
Oops, sorry, wrong passport. It’s my old name, legally changed. Here’s my other passport.
I’d choose whether to flash my other camouflage passport, or, if push came to shove, and only as a last resort, my U.S. tourist
passport, hoping I’d be allowed one phone call to the U.S. consul. The amount of explanation I’d have to offer the consul
would probably exceed the amount of money suggested by a local policeman as contribution to shore up his personal finances
and smooth things up. Never would I show my official passport. That could guarantee a free ride to jail in any country that
regarded intelligence as the exclusive prerogative of that country’s government. Violators go to jail, and the guaranteed
result would be the size of the scandal, not whether it had actually erupted.
The hotel’s lobby was half empty. I leafed through the local Yellow Pages and called Peninsula Bank, using my mobile phone.
“I’m the business manager of
Wild Nature and Adventure
magazine, based in South Africa,” I said. “We plan to establish a small office in Islamabad. I’d like to open an account
with your bank.”
“Of course, sir. Please come to our branch. We’ll be happy to assist you.”
I took a cab and landed at the manager’s desk in thirty minutes.
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” said the manager, a heavy-set, middle-aged man with jumbo ears and piercing black eyes. He
wore a three-piece wool suit with a chained gold watch tucked in the vest’s pocket. Hell, I thought, this isn’t London circa
1930, it’s Islamabad in 2004, and it’s hot in here.
He shook my hand. “My name is Rashid Khan.” I looked at him thinking that for him, the happy hour is a nap.
I gave him my business card—Peter Helmut van Laufer, with an address in Amsterdam.
“This is our temporary European office, which we are closing next week. There isn’t too much wildlife in Europe anymore,”
I said with a smile. “So, for the time being let me give you my number in Islamabad: 051 991 6687.” He wrote it down on my
business card. “We intend to open in Pakistan our regional office for Asia. Until I have Pakistani incorporation papers for
our local company, perhaps I should open a temporary personal account.”
“No need to wait, sir,” said Rashid. “I can open an account for the magazine immediately. When you receive the certificate
of incorporation, please send me a copy.”
An hour later I had a bank account for
Wild Nature and Adventure Magazine
. I deposited $500 in cash.
It was time to chat. “I need a recommendation for a lawyer who can help us with our local Pakistani needs. Do you happen to
know any lawyer who handles business and intellectual-property matters, and whom you can recommend?”
His eyes lit up. “Certainly, sir, you should call Ahmed Khan,” he said, and pulled a business card out of a drawer. “He’s
very good,” he said, and began praising the attorney’s services.
The recommendation was too enthusiastic,
I thought.
“Thank you, that’s very helpful. By the way, we once employed a photographer in Islamabad, but have lost contact with him.
How do you think I can trace him here? I may have a job for him.”
“Ask Ahmed Khan. He’ll arrange everything for you.” “Thanks,” I said. As I got up to leave I added, “If you happen to hear
the photographer’s name, or, even better, meet him, give him my number.”
“What is his name?”
“Albert C. Ward III.”
“The name rings a bell,” said Rashid. “Maybe he’s a customer.”
“Think so?” I said innocently. “Well, if so, I’m sure he’d be grateful if you gave me his
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