by Jo Black
‘No. It will be safer for you to stay here. From Hunter’s report there is a lot of activity in Paris. I’d like to at least make it through a week before you’re kidnapped again.’ He flashed a soft smile. ‘Besides, you’re more use here finding us more answers. We worked hard to get that information, you need to extract some decent value from it.’
Zara reluctantly nodded her agreement. ‘You’ll be okay?’
‘Just another day at the office.’
‘Do you think Radic will co-operate?’
‘He doesn’t have much choice given his options. It’s Nish I’m worried about.’
‘Nish?’
‘He put a lot of work in to catching him, helping me liberate him probably wasn’t what he had in mind.’
‘Why was it so personal?’
‘Nish was in Serbia. Apart from uncovering all the genocide, he killed one of Nish’s best friends.’
‘What happened?’
‘Nish got some intel of where Radic was hiding out. Spent months on it. They sent a S.A.S Special Operations Team to go and grab him. In the firefight, Radic killed Nish’s friend. Left a wife, kids. The Government didn’t exactly do the right thing by the family after the event, he didn’t even get a medal.’
‘He feels responsible?’
‘The burden of leadership. You put your men in harm’s way, if you get a result you can somehow justify it. The greater good. When you come back empty handed, it feels like they were sacrificed for nothing. That’s when the guilt eats away at you, that’s the dark place where the desire for vengeance comes from. Nish won’t settle until Radic’s put in the ground.’
‘So why didn’t he kill him when he had a chance?’
‘There was a sizeable bounty for his recovery to stand trial at The Hague. Nish wanted to cash it in. As far as he was concerned that was Badger’s money. If he put Radic away, made the family whole financially, he could put it to rest. Besides which, Nish knows he could have Radic suffer all manner of fatal accidents once he’d been paid.’
‘And now?’
Alex shrugged. ‘Nish understands the bigger picture. If Radic is the only solution to prevent another ten...thousand...ten thousand brothers, husbands, sons, wasting their lives for no just cause, then he knows what his friend would want him to do. Every good soldier would lay down his life for his brother in arms. That’s the bond.’
‘And you, how do you feel about it?’
‘Radic’s part in this has yet to fully play out. It serves no purpose killing him now. The veil that hides our enemy is hard to see through. We have to exploit every chink we find.’ Alex looked at his watch. ‘Time to go. I’ll call you from Paris.’ Alex walked round and kissed Zara.
‘Stay safe,’ Zara said.
‘I won’t say goodbye, because it isn’t.’ Alex picked up his bag and departed leaving Zara. She let out a deep sigh and returned reluctantly to her work.
58
Hunter removed his half-moon spectacles from the bridge of his nose as Alex entered the study; he flashed a smile at him. Alex walked over and thumbed through the stack of books piled on the table. ‘You’ve been busy,’ Alex said before replacing the book he’d picked up on the pile.
‘The thirst for knowledge is rarely quenched. You could drink yourself to death in here with it.’
‘Find anything interesting?’
‘One or two things.’ Hunter sat back in his chair. ‘How’s Zara?’
‘Back to work. Nose-deep in the trough of other people’s business.’
‘That’s what makes her happy.’
‘Yes. It does. And what about you?’
‘I brought her back to you. I’d like to think we could part as friends.’
‘You facilitated the return of the only thing that is precious to me. My friendship is assured.’
‘That’s good. Alex, you have to serve your people, and I have to think how best to serve mine. I’m a patriot. I could lie and say the interests of the American people are aligned to the people of Russia, but I think we both know that isn’t true.’
‘We’re all so human, but we’re all so different. Our little tribes that divide us.’
‘Quite big tribes in this case. With very big sticks.’
‘It wasn’t a big stick that felled Goliath.’
‘Maybe. But I suspect the outcome would have been different if he’d had a nuclear stockpile. I have to serve the interests of my tribe, you have to serve yours. You don’t need another helper in your tribe’s defence right now, but I think mine do.’
‘You must act as you think best.’
‘You let me in here to find some answers. I know why. You wanted me to find my path, my purpose. I think I found it.’ Hunter passed over the old leather bound book. ‘Luke 22.’
Alex looked down at it then looked at Hunter without reading from it.
‘And Judas went to the chief priests and the officers of the temple guard and discussed with them how he might betray Jesus. They were delighted and agreed to give him money. He consented, and watched for an opportunity to hand Jesus over to them when no crowd was present.’
Hunter nodded. ‘It sounds like you know that passage well.’
‘It is a familiar story in our world, is it not? You think this is the right path for you?’
‘The temple guards believe money corrupts all. They worship money above loyalty so they assume its power to corrupt is absolute. There are none so blinded as those blinded by the lust for gold.’
‘And power.’
‘In their world money is power. As a Marxist I don’t expect you to share the sentiment.’
‘Money is just paper printed from dead trees. Gold? Nothing more than shiny heavy bricks. In the Soviet power is the union of people, you couldn’t corrupt the Soviet because it was never in the interest of the masses to transfer power to the benefit of the few. The Soviet only failed because the leadership were undone by the same seductions as all those who are corrupted by power, and they took too much. Then others decided that they should also have more until the balance shifted from common-good to self-interest. The Soviet was the perfect system, corrupted only by the imperfections of man to achieve it. Those who were critical of the system as being inherently flawed versus capitalism failed to realise that the same flaws that destroyed the Soviet ideology, will ultimately destroy the capitalist one.’
Hunter smiled and nodded and tapped a book. ‘A Critique of Systems and Governance through History.’
‘You read it all?’
‘I skimmed the highlights, but I got the gist of it.’
‘And did you agree with it?’
‘For the most part yes, when you strip away the propaganda and opinion bias, it’s clear that from a purely ideology perspective the Soviet model inherently balanced out the forces required to create the utopian state. Maybe not in the classic definition of utopia as some idyllic paradise, but being mathematically balanced. The elements of failure were in the implementation brought about principally by the self-interests of those tasked to implement it. After Lenin’s death, Stalin and subsequent leaders derailed the project to suit their purpose and the vision was never realised. Now I understand why you have all those Lenin statues.’
‘Your country’s elite create a demonization of socialism because it is inherently detrimental to their interests. They teach people to fear it by perpetuating the lie that everyone can achieve The American Dream, if only they work hard enough. But as the Soviet era showed, the problem with equal distribution is there is simply too little bread to share equally amongst a table of many mouths. Someone goes hungry and is tempted to steal his brother’s. His brother then fights back and kills the brother who stole from him. The problem is not the equality, it is there is simply too many mouths to feed to ensure everyone is fed to their satisfaction, when there are those at the table who are greedy.’
‘So it’s a problem of over-population?’
‘Do you imagine the entire population of the Uni
ted States can be billionaires?’
‘So if our system created excess for the few at the expense of the many, and your system created shortages for the many at the expense of the few, then whose system does work?’
‘The Scandinavian commune model was close. It’s fundamentally egalitarian in nature, and they’ve achieved possibly as close to what we would consider an ideal state of balance as we have yet seen. They still have some way to go, but they were heading in the right direction.’
‘But they have a small population to manage. Norway has an abundance of natural resources for a population smaller than New York. It’s easy to make it work when you have less mouths at the table.’
‘Which is the fundamental flaw of the planet.’
‘Over-population?’
‘Unrestricted population growth as we end major wars, and famines. Improved healthcare and nutrition creates ever-increasing balances of deficit between the haves and have not’s. In a socialist system this is balanced out by inflicting such shortages on all, in the capitalist system it enriches the few who own the means of production and the earth’s resources, at the expense of the labour. Which inevitably leads to dissent and...’
‘Revolution. So where does it end?’
‘With the wholesale depopulation of the planet to a level where sustainability is achieved.’
‘You are talking about mass-genocide. That could never happen.’
‘Couldn’t it? Look what Stalin achieved with the great Ukrainian famine. Hitler with the Holocaust. Countless incidents of ever-increasing numbers where leaders have concluded the only way to sustain their future is to cull the population. You really think they don’t see the rise of Islam, and the cultural growth brought about by such large numbers of children versus declining birth-rates in the western world as a threat to them?’
‘But how would they achieve such a thing? Nuclear holocaust would simply destroy the very thing they wish to preserve.’
‘Well, if history has shown us anything, when nature fails to intervene then man has been very creative to find alternate means to achieve her goals for her.’
‘Do you believe it is inevitable?’
‘Nothing is inevitable Hunter. The question you should ask is, is it desirable?’
‘The greater good...’
Alex picked up a book and passed it across the desk. Hunter looked down at the title. “The New World Order. How the One Percent Will Destroy Humanity to Save Itself.” ‘Every time you hear a conspiracy theory that is dismissed as the ramblings of the paranoid and delusional, understand behind every theory is a grain of truth. You should keep that one and read it on your journey. You may understand better who it is who pays the temple guards.’ Alex looked at his watch. ‘It is time. We must leave for Paris. We’ll be on the helipad in five minutes.’ Alex walked back to the door. ‘I hope your visit here proved useful Hunter. We may belong to different tribes with different ideologies, but we share a common fate.’ Alex left. Hunter looked at the books before him and re-read the bible passage before closing it. ‘It is written...’
59
The Challenger 604 taxied to a halt in the hanger. Alex’s core team of hand-picked men were waiting for its arrival alongside three black Audi S8’s. The jet’s passenger door opened and Nish emerged from the cabin followed by Hunter and then Alex. They walked over to the cars as his men unloaded the baggage from the cargo hold and loaded it into the open trunks of the convoy.
‘Is Vane here yet?’ Alex asked.
‘He’s waiting for us at the old farm.’
‘Good. Let him know we’ve arrived,’ Alex said. ‘We don’t have much time.’
‘Is everyone else here?’
‘They’re waiting at the hotel.’
Nish got into the lead car. Alex got into the back of the second with Hunter. With the cars loaded they pulled out of the hanger. Blue lights illuminated from behind the radiator grills, as they reached the exit gate the security officer raised the barrier; the cars sped through before firing up their French two-tone sirens to clear the traffic at the junction speeding onto the AutoRoute access ramp towards central Paris. In the back of the car, Alex removed the car phone from the centre armrest and punched in a number from a piece of paper, he waited for it to connect. ‘I need an audience with your Serbian guest.’ He looked at his watch. ‘In two hours. Thank you.’ He put the phone down and replaced it in the armrest, unlocked the gun safe behind it and removed his Beretta 92 and two magazines before loading his pistol and securing it in his holster. He locked the gun safe and stared out. A drizzle of rain streaked across the window as the suburbs started to illuminate in the early winter evening.
‘Can you drop me near Montmartre? Barbes will be fine. I can walk from there,’ Hunter asked Alex casually. Alex looked at him. ‘I need to settle my account with The Frenchman.’
Alex nodded. He leaned forward to his driver. ‘Take us via Barbes.’ Alex leant back again. ‘I assume you’ll find your own way back.’
‘Yeah. I know where I’m going.’
‘I hope so.’ Alex opened the rear armrest section and removed a small vodka bottle, placed two shot glasses in the cup holders and filled them up before replacing the vodka. ‘In Russia we drink vodka when parting from friends.’ Alex held up his glass to toast. ‘What shall we drink to?’
‘To idealism.’
Alex smiled. ‘Careful, they might think you’ve gone red...’ Alex winked.
‘Maybe I have...’ Hunter downed his shot followed by Alex.
The convoy pulled up in Barbes. Hunter got out. He walked round to Alex’s side of the car. Alex dropped his electric window. ‘She won’t understand,’ Hunter said.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll help her.’
‘Tell her...’
Alex smiled softly. ‘She knows.’
Hunter put his hand out to shake Alex’s. ‘Goodbye Alex.’
‘Goodbye my friend. I wish you luck in your journey ahead.’
‘You too.’
Alex raised the window and tapped his driver’s shoulder. ‘Bastille.’
Hunter watched as the trio of Audi S8’s sped away clearing the clogged Parisian traffic with blue lights and horns. He waited until their taillights had disappeared into the distance before crossing the street and walked up the steep narrow cobbled street in Montmartre. He reached the small bar on the corner and made his way to the back, nodding at the barman. He put a Euro in the payphone at the back by the toilets before dialling a number. ‘It’s Judas Iscariot. Tell them I want to meet.’ He put the receiver down without waiting for a response, checking over his shoulder. He walked into the small single lavatory. Waited thirty seconds before flushing it and emerging back out, nodding politely at the next person waiting before returning to the bar and fiddling with his flies. He went to the bar. ‘Un biere et un Croque Madame s’il vous plait,’ he ordered. The barman poured his tall glass of beer and brought it over with a number for his food.
‘You want to leave the tab open?’ The barman asked.
‘Sure.’
Hunter pushed through to the back of the bar. A middle-aged man was sat at the small table in the corner with a laptop. Hunter looked around for an empty table, but with the bar full they were all taken. He returned his attention to the man in the corner. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’
‘Please, be my guest,’ the man replied politely, gesturing at the empty seat.
Hunter sat down and removed his coat. ‘Not disturbing your work am I?’
‘It is not work. I’m talking to my brother in America on Internet chat. You are American?’
‘Canadian. French Quebec. What about you? I can’t place your accent.’
‘I’m Bosnian. I came here to escape the war. My brother went to America, but now I come here and we talk everyday. Free wi-fi.’
‘And drink.’
‘C’est Paris. Cigarette?’ The man offered Hunter a cigarette.
‘I shouldn’t. Those things really do kill
you.’
‘Of course. But what doesn’t? When you survived a war...even a life cut short by cigarettes seems a gift. It calms my nerves. And it’s-’
‘Paris,’ Hunter said nodding smiling at everyone chain-smoking in the smoke-fog filled bar.
‘So are you here for work, or tourist? I have seen you in this place many times.’
‘Just passing through.’
‘Be careful. If you stop too long you will stay forever, like me. I came here for a drink on the way for a flight, I never left Montmartre.’
‘Really?’
‘This village has everything you need. It is like a small island of its own. I have everything I want here.’
‘No woman?’
‘Widowed. Nobody could replace her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be. It was Allah’s will, I’m a bad Muslim as you can see.’
‘Maybe you are a good Muslim and Allah is just too strict.’
‘Perhaps. I would tell him but I don’t think he cares. What about you?’
‘Irish Catholic.’
‘Ah so, you are here for the church then? I wondered what brought you to this place so many different times. Praying before your journey. It is beautiful, is it not? Sacre-Coeur. It is not my place of course, but I still like to go there and find some peace.’
‘It’s a good place to find it. At least they don’t make you sit on the floor,’ Hunter said with a nod.
‘And what about your woman?’
‘Divorced. Many times.’
‘But you’re Catholic...’
‘My God’s too strict as well.’
‘Or you just have poor taste in women?’
‘I think they have poor taste in me.’
‘I don’t think so. You seem a nice guy.’
‘You’d have a different opinion if you were a woman I think.’
‘They are not for us to understand.’
‘You can say that again.’ The barman brought over Hunter’s food. ‘I’m being rude, eating at your table. Can I get you something?’