Thirty-nine

The news controller was up in the news gallery feeding instructions to the cameraman, when Hicham Omary entered. It was unknown for senior managers, let alone the owner of Globalcom, to ever bother with the gallery. The editors jerked to attention in their seats.

‘How long before we go on air?’ Omary asked.

‘Three minutes, sir.’

‘OK. Then I have just enough time to brief you,’ he said, sitting on the edge of the desk. ‘I want as many reporters as we can spare on this story, day and night. They’re to get footage of bribes being dealt – covert stuff if needed. Within a week I want this city shaking. You take care of the small fish, and I’ll go after the big ones...’

Omary’s mobile rang. He glanced at the display.

‘Hello, Governor,’ he said coolly. ‘I’m so glad you caught our bulletins. Now, now, that’s not entirely fair. I did call you to warn you of our little crusade.’

On the other end, the Governor of Casablanca was fuming, his voice trembling with rage:

‘Listen to me, Omary, I don’t know if you want a firestorm, but you’re about to unleash one. And you and your organization are going to be the only casualties, do you understand?’

Omary moved the phone away from his ear and smiled.

‘I’m sensing that I’ve touched a nerve,’ he said calmly.

The line went dead. As it did so, Patricia Ross entered.

‘Mr. Harass is waiting for you downstairs, sir.’

‘OK. I’ll be right down.’

A few minutes later Omary strode into his office, where he found his friend sitting on a plush Scandinavian sofa, beneath a large blue abstract by Picasso.

‘I’m so sorry, I’ve become rather absorbed with a little campaign,’ he said.

Harass got to his feet.

‘News of it is on a great many lips.’

‘Is that so? Excellent! I was hoping it would catch on.’

‘I’d say there is little chance of that.’

‘Oh... why not?’

Harass pressed his hands together.

‘Hicham, I am here as your old friend... here to warn you.’

‘Against what?’

‘Against behaving with a foolishness that could get you in a great deal of trouble.’

Omary sighed. He stepped forward and put an arm around his friend’s shoulder.

‘Hamza, you know me well. And you know that when I feel passionately about something, I act on it... and that nothing can change my mind. I’m not going to stand by and watch the country I love disintegrate because of greed and corruption.’

‘Would you risk all this?’

‘Yes I would. I would risk everything.’

Omary stepped forward to the window and stared out at Casablanca, an ocean of white buildings stretching far into the distance.

‘You forget that I came from nothing,’ he said in a soft voice. ‘I am proud of my achievements, but far prouder of the simple values my father planted in me. The first of which was to keep my feet on the ground.’

‘And what of Ghita?’

Omary sighed again.

‘I know... she’s out of control. There’s no chance of her feet being on the ground because her head is in the clouds. I’ve indulged her and I take responsibility for that.’

‘I don’t mean that. I mean your crusade. What harm will it do to her?’

Hicham Omary looked out at the city. He pinched the end of his nose and sniffed.

‘I have a feeling it will do her a lot of good,’ he said.