The Libyan Affair

The Libyan Affair

By

Vittorio Bellini

Pride and Passion in Gaddafi’s Libya

Also by Vittorio (Victor) Bellini

In the pentalogy Adventures in Multinational Business:

The Libyan Affair

The Casablanca Connection

The Russian Oligarch

The Mexican Seduction

The Chinese manuscript

Other novels

A Secret

La mano del Destino (in Italian)

The Union

Inspired in Venice

Short Stories:

Sex in Vienna

One-night Stands

Miracle wanted!

Discourses on revolutions

Biographies

A turbulent career

Amen!

Copyright © 2013 Vittorio Bellini

All rights reserved

Smashwords Edition

Disclaimer:

Certain historic facts of colonial Libya under Italian rule are real, as is the descriptive material of cities and towns, but all events and characters in the story are strictly fictitious and any resemblance with reality is purely coincidental.

*****

Foreword

This is the first of a pentalogy of novels inspired by business cases and love affairs in different countries during the years 1985-2002. The protagonist, Gene Toner, is a forty-something executive of Eastel Ltd, a Canadian multinational telecom corporation. He is tall, slim, good-looking, refined, charming and well-spoken, with a weakness for the gentle sex. Despite his numerous liaisons he never found a soul mate and never married. He likes to dress well and be clean-shaven, with short brown hair parted on the left side. His favourite drink is Campari, but he also indulges in Martinis with the right company. Gene is an expert in opening up new marketplaces in emerging economies around the world.

In 1985 Libya’s economy was thriving, thanks to its oil reserves, and was one of the first targets on Gene’s list of new marketplaces. However, Libya was also believed to be involved in international terrorism, sponsored by its bellicose leader by the name of Muammar Gaddafi. Having gained its independence in 1952, the country was still reeling from decades of Italian colonialism and had not yet found its footing when Gaddafi took over in a coup d’état in 1969. This turbulent period of the Libyan history is central in this novel.

*****

Prologue

I came out alive but badly bruised by an experience I would never want to repeat. I was unwittingly embroiled in spying activities and detained in a Libyan jail on suspicion of plotting against the Gaddafi regime.

By 1985, after sixteen years of ruthless totalitarian rule, Gaddafi had created a lot of enemies in and out of Libya, many of whom wanted him out by any available means, whether political or otherwise. They organized themselves into revolutionary groups and operated in isolation, often with help from outsiders. As a result, there had been several assassination attempts against the Libyan dictator. They never succeeded but they created a situation of paranoia that made him surround himself with a team of carefully selected bodyguards. They were not men, because he didn’t trust them at close range. They were all young women, trained to be suspicious of every moving body. They used their feminine sixth sense to report any person of interest to the secret police, thereby provoking the arrest of perfectly innocent people just to show they were doing their job.

Those were the days when the West was still reeling from a number of terrorist attacks, including the massacres at airports in Rome and Vienna, both thought to be financed, if not masterminded, by Gaddafi’s loyalists. It was also a time when Gaddafi was accused of supporting revolutionary forces in different countries, such as the IRA in Ireland and the Red Brigades in Italy. He always denied such accusations and stressed that Libya was governed by its people, not by himself, via a number of People’s Committees. However, he retained supreme powers and strong suspicions remained in the community of nations about his role in international terrorism.

Whatever the political climate, from a more practical viewpoint Libya was open for business. The country was awash with oil revenues and eager to launch major infrastructural plans, thereby attracting the interest of several multinational corporations. They all lined up wanting to cash in with megaprojects, without worrying too much about the manner by which they were asked to conduct their business. Corruption was a given, especially at higher levels, but not all of it was for self-serving purposes.

I was a western man representing the interests of a Canadian corporation in what we called euphemistically emerging markets. I had never done business with authoritarian regimes. My approach for winning contracts was still based on four fundamental precepts: high performance, high reliability, service quality and low operating cost. I was convinced that in the final analysis those precepts were what mattered most in competitive bids. Well, I was wrong. In a country governed by a dictator surrounded by young autocrats, corruption was endemic and personal trust was sine-qua-non for successful deals.

As VP of Business Development for Eastel, a Canadian telecom multinational with regional offices in London, England, I was tasked with developing a plan for a major telecom project in Libya. While there, destiny made me meet a Polish nurse working on contract in Tripoli. I fell in love instantly, dazzled by her personality and intrigued by her past. She was no ordinary woman and her life was no ordinary life. I was caught in her secret web and willingly stayed there, despite clear signs of danger in situations that defied logic and common sense.

The interaction between my business activities and my burgeoning love affair took me on an emotional roller-coaster I had never experienced before. I was living along two parallel paths, jumping dangerously from one to the other till they crossed and trapped me in a pseudo prison I could not and did not want to run away from. The business side became a mission, a commitment to a cause, while the love affair became a passionate obsession, dangerous and mysterious, but also immensely gratifying. It was like being thrown in a spiritual prison. I feared it and yet I stayed in it.

*****

Chapter One

Business Rules

My first trip to Tripoli was on a cold January day of 1986. I arrived in early evening with a confirmed fax reservation at the Grand Hotel, the best hotel in town. At the registration desk, however, I was told that the hotel had been requisitioned by government officials and that my reservation had been changed to another hotel of a much lower category. It happened to be during a major conference of African nations, hosted and chaired by Muammar Gaddafi. On that occasion the city was teeming with organizers from different countries who were allowed to requisition the best hotel rooms they could find. Consequently I understood the situation and was not unduly upset at the change imposed on me.

I took a taxi to the other establishment, not too far from the Grand. The taxi driver was an older man who liked to talk. He had a jovial face and a friendly disposition.

Italiano? he asked, showing that he spoke Italian.

No, Canadian. I replied.

Oh, you no speak Italian?

No, I speak English and French only.

Okay, okay. I speak little English.

That’s all right. How far is the Atlas hotel? I asked.

Atlas, ten minutes.

Is it good?

Good? I don’t know.

Have you taken other customers there?

No, only you. All hotels busy today.

We arrived at the Atlas shortly thereafter. It was a ten storey building, labelled as a 3-star hotel, standing on a sandy street in an isolated neighbourhood. There were no trees, except for a few palm trees visible in the distance, and there was no landscaping at all. It must have been a new construction. It looked decent from the outside, but when I stepped in I had to rethink my initial assessment. Judging from the squalid and grubby conditions of the lobby, and the similarly unkempt look of the young male receptionist, the place was a dump. I checked in with some hesitation, looking around me for some encouragement, some sign of cleanliness, but could not see any.

Here is your key, third floor, said an unfriendly receptionist in a dismissive tone of voice. He made it clear by his demeanour that he did not wish to talk, but I needed to ask a few questions.

Is there a restaurant nearby? I asked. I need to have supper.

Yes, just a couple of blocks away, that way, he replied pointing to the right, without looking at me.

What about the downtown area, where is it?

That way, he pointed once again to the right.

I’d like to see the main square. I believe it’s known as the Green Square. Is it far?

Fifteen minute walk, he said dryly.

I gave up. I took my keys and headed to the elevator. It was a modern building, clearly built to European standards, but was kept like a pigsty. Even the elevator had stains on the walls and on the carpet. On entering my room I smelled human waste and discovered to my horror that the bathroom was filthy, with a toilet bowl not cleaned in days. The smell was unbearable. I had the urge to walk right out of there, but had nowhere to go. There were no flights out of the country at that time and no other hotels with available rooms. I had no choice but to put up with it. I opened the bathroom window, despite cold weather conditions, closed the door and went out for a long walk, utterly disgusted. I found the restaurant in a low-rise building. It was small but looked clean. There were only a few people, all local folks speaking Arabic. I ordered a dish of chicken stew and ate it with gusto. It was good. Given the late hour, I decided not to walk to the Green Square on my own. It just did not seem safe enough for a stranger.

I returned to the hotel and told the receptionist that my room needed to be cleaned. He told me point blank that the maid would clean it in the morning - no apology needed of course. Back in my room I noticed that the bed had been slept in. I stood there wondering what to do and then decided to spread my raincoat on it and sleep in my clothes. I didn’t get much sleep that night and was up very early in the morning. I skipped breakfast and checked out, fully determined to get the first flight out of the country soon after my morning meeting with NTC (National Telecom Company).

I was early for the meeting and waited in the lobby for a long time. My business contact, Nuri Nabib, a senior manager of NTC, noticed my early presence in the lobby and the clothes bag I was carrying. He asked what happened.

I had a problem with my hotel reservation, I replied.

You mean, the Grand sent you to the Atlas and it was filthy, right? He must have heard the story before.

Unfortunately it was filthy, yes. I said guardedly.

He shook his head and quickly instructed the receptionist to make immediate arrangements with the Grand Hotel for a room in my name.

I apologize about what happened, Mr. Toner, he said looking embarrassed. It reflects badly on my country and my people and it should never happen again.

It’s okay, don’t worry about it.

Please follow me to my office Mr. Toner

Please call me Gene, I told him as we shook hands.

Okay, then you can call me Nuri, he rejoined.

Anyway, look Nuri, I said as we walked in through a long corridor, there is no need to apologize.

It’s embarrassing.

I am sure it is an isolated incident due to whoever is running that place, I added with a reassuring smile. These things do happen from time to time in all countries.

Be as it may, my secretary will take care of your reservations in future, provided, of course, we develop a mutually beneficial business relationship, he said with a friendly smile.

I am all for it, this is why we are in business, I replied in the same vein.

We reached his office, a modest square room with a large desk, a credenza on the side and two visitors’ armchairs. The picture of a beautiful woman of European stock was displayed prominently on the credenza. I looked at it with admiration and he noticed.

Yes, she is beautiful. She is my wife, he noted proudly.

Congratulations, she is indeed a beautiful woman.

Yes, I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. We were teenagers in the same school, here in Tripoli. She is Italian, but was born in Tripoli during the colonial days.

Did you say you were in the same school?

Yes, I attended Italian high schools before Gaddafi took over. Then, in 1969, it all changed. But enough of me now; would you like a cup of tea and some biscuits? You probably skipped breakfast this morning, right?

Yes, you are right, but I am not hungry.

Well, I am sure you will like our cookies. Now, let’s talk business. We at NTC are very interested in doing business with your company but we believe in give-and-take for both parties.

In that case we agree. We too believe in win-win deals.

Right, so do we, he added blithely. Your company is new to this country and your technology is not yet well known to our engineers. You will therefore have to play your cards right if you wish to establish a solid business foundation with NTC.

He spoke an excellent English and I knew what he meant when he said I should ‘play my cards right’. However, I chose to ignore his veiled allusion to bribes at that early stage of our discussion.

Nuri was the second most powerful man in NTC, despite his young age. He was well mannered and clean shaven, with an athletic figure a couple of inches shorter than mine and a barely dark complexion. He looked like someone from southern Europe. He sported black curly hair cut short all around, in spherical shape. With his black eyes, high cheekbones, small nose and full lips, he looked handsome by any standard.

There is a lot of profitable business to be done here, he noted, and we need the cooperation of companies like Eastel, especially now that digital technology is the way to go.

I believe we have the most advanced digital technology and we are very interested in the Libyan market.

Before talking about technical details, I would like to show you some of the equipment we have in this building. A lot of it is still very old technology from the Italian days. We are still using it, but hopefully not for long. So, let’s go on a tour, if you don’t mind.

After an extended round of the facilities that included a visit to one of their old switching exchanges, he suggested lunch at one of his favourite eateries. It was a plush upscale downtown restaurant, with an all-Italian menu and waiters in white jackets and black trousers. I was impressed.

As you can see this is an Italian restaurant, explained Nuri. It was the best in town during the Italian occupation and it still is today. The cook and a few other staff members are from Italy. I am sure you will like the food.

Later Nuri took me for a long walk along the harbour, for a frank talk about business. He wanted our talks to be private, hence the walk. He started by giving me a brief history of Libya.

As you know Libya is a young country in political turmoil but with a thriving business sector. It is still reeling from a few decades of Italian colonization and a few centuries of Turkish domination. Libya was also an important Roman colony. In fact we still have two well preserved Roman towns, Sabratha and Leptis Magna, not too far along the coast, and many other ruins scattered throughout the country. The Arch of Marcus Aurelius, for instance, can still be seen in the middle of Green Square, the most important square in Tripoli.

Is that where Gaddafi usually addresses the people with important speeches?

That’s it, exactly. Note however that you should not refer to him by name.

How do you mean?

He likes to be known as the Leader, and that’s the way our people refer to him. Personally I don’t really care one way or another, but some of my colleagues might find it offensive.

So, how can I refer to him?

Just say: ‘your leader’.

Okay, got it.

As I was saying, he continued, our cultural heritage is therefore very diverse and is now in the process of amalgamating into a distinctive one. It is blending Islamic and Christian values together with a mix of tribal and western moral principles. At the end of this process we will have a strictly unique Libyan culture, with our own set of social values.

That’s very interesting, tell me more. I said.

It was clear that Nuri enjoyed talking about the history of his country and I encouraged him to continue. I felt that the more I knew about him as a person the better I would be able to deal with him.

As you surely know, he continued, we became independent in 1951, following some brutal battles during the Second World War that saw the emergence of Libya’s own tribal forces under the command of Omar Mukhtar, the man who became our national hero. At the end of the war, his heroism was recognized and led to the creation of a Monarchy. The monarchy was headed by King Idris, of the Senussi dynasty, which were the de-facto leaders of all tribes that existed on the Libyan territory, be it of Berber, Bedouin or Tuareg origin. He stopped and looked at me wondering if I was still following.

I hope I am not boring you, am I? he asked.

Absolutely no, I could not ask for a better time and place to learn about the history of Libya. I am not completely green on it, but you do bring up facts I was not aware of. So, please continue. I am very interested.

Good, good. Now, for nearly two decades we enjoyed political stability during a difficult transition to power. We managed to write our own constitution and took control of various government institutions. It was no easy task and it needed to be nurtured along over the years in cooperation with former Italian bureaucrats. But the allegedly slow pace of nationalization and Arabization engendered the rise of some hotheads, such as Muammar Gaddafi, who disagreed with the King’s friendly relations with the Italian colonisers. His coup d’état in 1969 changed everything.

He paused a few seconds as we walked along a palm-lined boulevard by the sea leading to Green Square. Nuri talked without looking at me, as if meditating. His passion in relating the salient points of the history of his country was indicative of a man who aspired to higher places, presumably in politics. He spoke with apparent candour, wanting to be believed and trusted. I listened with interest, trying to understand where he was going with his speech.

What you see here, he continued, is a city of two cities, if I may say, coexisting side by side, with traces of the former Roman presence. He pointed to an archway across the square and an imposing castle next to it. You see there, on the other side of that long wall you get to the Turkish part, known as the old Medina, via that archway. That castle overlooking the harbour was built by the Turks for their defence during the occupation of the Ottoman Empire, and is now an archeological museum. That stand-alone arch in the middle of the square is the Marcus Aurelius one I was telling you about. On this side of the wall, is the Italian part. You can see that all buildings, piazzas, fountains, statues and colonnades, are designed and built like Italian towns, at least for now. He paused again, looking thoughtful. Our government is in the process of changing all this to make it look more Islamic. I am not sure I like the idea, but that’s the way it’s going to be under Gaddafi’s leadership.

He stopped at that point as if to reflect on what he said. I sensed that he was uncomfortable talking about the political situation to a perfect stranger like me and I thought I could help by assuring him of my neutrality and discretion.

You should not feel uncomfortable to talk to me about the situation in this country, I told him. I know enough to understand and sympathize with people who do not fully agree with the current political system. I have no axe to grind and am therefore completely neutral. So, if you wish to talk in confidence, you can trust me.

Well, thank you, but let me make it clear that I am not one of those opposed to the present leadership, he said with some hesitation. In fact I am benefiting from it. I am only thirty-five and at my age I would never be in this management position under a normal administration. Gaddafi took power in 1969 at the age of twenty-seven and created a constitutional charter like no other in the world. You may have read about it in his Green Book, which replaced the Bible in every hotel room. His entire administration is staffed with young people, mostly younger than himself, just like me. We don’t have much experience and are forced to use foreign consultants to help us out. He looked humbled as he explained the situation.

Anyway, what I wanted to tell you is that my boss, the head of NTC, believes that like many others in our situation we should be smart and take advantage of the opportunity we have to secure our future. We believe that the current dictatorship, which has been in power for the last sixteen years, cannot last much longer and sooner or later there will be a major change of leadership. At that point, all of the advantages we are currently enjoying will come to an abrupt end. We must therefore make sure our families are well taken care of, so we can play our part in the future of the country without having to worry about their financial well being. Do you see what I mean?

He paused and gave me a meaningful look, expecting me to say I understood what he was getting at. By then we were walking along the harbour on a large sidewalk with several kilometres of ornate stone balustrade, flowering bushes, granite benches and palm trees similar to parts of the Riviera in Italy. It was known as the ‘lungomare’, meaning ‘sea-walk’, he explained, used for leisurely evening walks in summer or for Sunday afternoon promenades.

If I understand you correctly, I said after inviting him to sit with me on a bench for a well deserved rest after a long walk, you would like me to agree to give you a cut on future contracts.

Yes, but the cut is not for me, he quickly replied in a bit of a tiff. The cut is for a Swiss account controlled by my boss. It’s been set up to serve as a fund for purposes of national interest.

I took his explanation as a way to justify corruption for a just cause and did not quite believe it, but I was not there to judge their ethical conduct. I was there to generate the kind of business that we, at Eastel, could live with.

It’s not unusual for us to pay commission fees on major contracts, I noted, but it’s normally done via an agent, someone at arms length with my company.

Agents are outlawed in this country, he said bluntly.

Are all intermediaries of any kind outlawed? I asked.

I am afraid so, yes, he confirmed. Call it agent, or agency, or representative, they are all the same and NTC does not deal with them.

In that case how do you deal with suppliers?

We deal with suppliers from various countries, both from Europe and Asia, and we have no problem reaching an understanding on how we operate.

Are you telling me that large multinationals from Europe have no hesitation depositing commission fees directly to a numbered bank account in Switzerland, without using intermediaries? I asked with an expression of incredulity.

That’s exactly right.

In that case, I am sorry to say, we have a problem. You see, in the absence of a qualified agent, I am unable to justify commission fees. My company is committed to the highest ethical standards and will never accept to pay what would be construed as ‘bribes’ directly into a numbered account. Our fee payments are made to an officially appointed Agency to help us be competitive in a bidding process. That’s how we work around the world. What the Agency does with the money is of no concern to us. We don’t even want to know.

He looked disappointed and on the verge of telling me to get lost, but kept his cool.

Perhaps we can think about it and talk again. All I can tell you is that we do not use agents and we have no problems with other suppliers, including your direct competitors. So, let’s sleep on it and give it a sober thought. As I already told you we are very interested in doing business with your company, primarily because as Canadians you have advanced North American technology without being Americans. I hope you understand.

I see, I said pretending to be flattered, that sounds encouraging.

It’s meant to be encouraging, that’s why I’m asking you to think about it. There is no way we can appoint an agent and there is no way we can do business without a cut. There are national interests at stake that cannot be divulged.

I understand and I’ll give it some thought, I replied, still wondering what he meant by national interest. However, the main reason for my being here is to propose to your administration a major project, one that involves a complete revamp of your telecom network, including buildings, cable laying and road works. We have spent some time studying your current network and your growth pattern, and have asked our engineers to put together a plan to build all you need for the next ten to twenty years. For this project we intend to partner with StarEnterprises, the Korean construction company already very active in Tripoli. I would like to present a first draft of the proposal to your planning people if you agree.

Nuri eyes lit up at the idea and seemed to have found what he wanted. If you intend to partner with StarEnterprises on a large project involving construction work, we don’t have an agency problem, because StarEnterprises would have to act as a prime contractor and therefore take care of all financial matters. They, like all other suppliers, are willing to accommodate us, as long as they get their contracts. The problem, therefore, does not exist on that kind of project.

In that case, we are okay, are we?

Yes and no, he answered with some annoyance. At NTC we like to establish a working relationship with our suppliers, starting with small projects, just to see how we get along. My boss would never agree to consider large projects with a company whose technology is still unknown to our engineers. It’s therefore important that we get over this obstacle, even if it is for one time only. If you really want to do business with us, you will find a way to abide by our rules. Perhaps you can ask StarEnterprises to help on smaller projects. They are very influential at the political level as well, and can make things much easier for you.

I can imagine, I said thoughtfully. But if you do not accept intermediaries the problem remains. Besides, they are not in that kind of business.

You and I should meet with Kim Long, the General Manager of StarEnterprises operations in Libya. I know him and we can be frank with each other. In the meantime I will be pleased to consider your proposal and pass it onto my planning department. Let’s meet again tomorrow morning in my office. Is ten o’clock okay?

I agreed and resumed our walk back to the car. Nuri drove me to The Grand Hotel and made sure I was checked in without problems. He then offered to dine with me later in the evening, but I had to refuse. I was having stomach problems after a rough and sleepless night at the previous hotel and I needed time on my own to relax and catch up on some sleep. I also wanted to have an evening walk through the downtown area. I was curious to see what happened to some former Italian landmarks I had read about in a tourist brochure, but destiny decreed otherwise.

As I rested in bed I felt increasingly noxious and dizzy. I thought it was simply a case of indigestion and suffered through it for a while, thinking that it would soon pass. But it didn’t, and when I started