Global Conspiracy
Page 4
“Most assuredly, Anne,” Sir Cedric said.
“Oh, and I think that henceforth we need to have an innocent excuse for our meetings. Wherever we meet we must always be prepared for an unexpected interruption or visitor, and it must seem like a normal social get-together. Think up something, please.”
“If I may,” the admiral said. “I have had some experience in clandestine activities during service in Her Majesty’s forces. With your permission, Anne, at our next meeting I would like to impart to you how we should proceed in recruiting collaborators. A few rather simple rules could make all the difference between success and failure.”
“Let’s have our next meeting in Paris, shall we?” Sir Cedric said. “I have a scientific conference there next week, and I’m sure Patrick can think up some reason for being there.”
“Works for me.” The admiral addressed Anne. “Our cover story is that your friend Cedric is bringing me along to visit you at your flat. Pretty flimsy, I agree, as we’ve done that already, but truth, no matter how flimsy, is almost always the best cover. We’ll prepare something more elaborate for future meetings. Agreed?”
Anne was beaming. “Agreed,” she said.
FIVE
Martin Cooper had a window seat on the British Airways Airbus A321 and anticipated a comfortable flight. The departure from the gym was uneventful. George Graham didn’t need much updating—this wasn’t the first time he’d been left in charge. Although Martin would have trusted anyone on the team to do the job perfectly, he and George seemed to be more in tune than any of the others. He had a college education and was an accomplished athlete, horse rider, and pilot—having luckily been born into a wealthy family. He seemed to know what Martin wanted even before Martin did.
The team had performed well during the First Gulf War. They had saved each other’s lives at one time or another, mostly Martin’s own—without them he would probably have been left for dead in the Iraqi sands on several different occasions. Naturally, this brought about a tight bond between them, individually and as a team. Besides George, there was John Carmichael, the expert machinist who could literally revive a jeep after a direct hit with a mortar shell. Philip Brown could easily have won the Olympic sharp shooting event—his uncanny knack at finding the chink in the enemy’s armor had led to more than one near-instant victory. Bernard Webb had almost superhuman strength, knocking down doors and extracting vehicles from sand pits just by putting his shoulders to them. Spencer Partridge could work semi-miracles with a knife when necessary, though he much preferred whittling wooden figurines.
Martin leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. If the deal with Leblanc worked out, he could give the lads, and himself, a rise in pay. Or he could expand the gym and hire more staff—the lot next door, though not cheap, was available.
He smiled. What a convenient opportunity, he told himself, to meet Anne. She’ll get the surprise of her life. True, there weren’t many opportunities to meet with her in the past, and, quite frankly, there never seemed to be a need to. Even though she and I are second cousins, we went our separate ways. If I hadn’t seen her name in the Times concerning an imminent student’s strike in Paris, I wouldn’t have remembered she existed. But now, memories are flooding back—childhood memories, to be sure, but very pleasant ones. Anne, the chubby tomboy. Anne, the quick-witted leader of the strategy games with her neighbors. Anne, whose worst embarrassment was when she had to wear braces on her teeth to correct the slight overbite she had. Would she like the perfume I bought her? Would she remember me at all? Oh, well, if she turned out to be a cold fish, nothing would be wasted—Jennifer would love to have that perfume.
Maybe I should finally settle down, marry Jennifer and raise a family? I’d better make up my mind soon. Jennifer is sweet and she’ll do anything for me—I know that. But for some reason I don’t see her as Miss Right, know what I mean? Martin felt a bit stupid asking himself this question. I’m thirty-nine now, but I still don’t think it’s that urgent.
Back to Anne. This should be exciting, even if it’s a dismal flop. I remember mother saying something about Anne marrying a certain Dupré fellow a long time ago. The last time I saw her was some twenty-five years ago when we were both in our teens, and I think she was a couple of grades ahead of me. Theoretically she could be a grandmother today, if she and her children married quickly enough. Hah—imagine! Pigtailed Annie Cooper with a husband and children and a career in the Sorbonne—history, wasn’t it?
No, I won’t alert her of my arrival. A surprise is a surprise all the way! I’ll finish whatever I’ve got to do with Leblanc and then—roulette time! Anne and I will either hit it off for old times’ sake, or we’ll bore each other to tears and remain remote strangers for the rest of our lives.
The PA system ding-donged, and the flight attendant announced their approach to Charles De Gaulle Airport. Martin smiled again and fastened his seat belt.
The slight afternoon drizzle irritated Anne only marginally, as she stepped out of the university’s massive portals and into the hubbub of rue Saint-Jacques. There was usually an hour or so of daylight this time of the year, and she loved strolling down the paths of Jardin du Luxemburg, observing the groomed flowerbeds and watching children playing. But that was the roundabout way to her small apartment in the 5th Arrondissement, and today she felt she wanted to get home early and get some work done.
She couldn’t get rid of the memories of last week’s meeting with Sir Cedric and Admiral Stone. Probably nothing so exciting had happened to her since she had lost Raoul. Bang—just like that, she had become a leader. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. True, as a child, and later as a teenager, she was the one who always made the decisions: which games to play, when to end them, which role each participant would play—and all the other children would accept her authority without question. So maybe she was a natural leader. As an adult and a teacher this quality became a valuable asset. Sir Cedric and Admiral Stone probably sensed this, and she was not a little scared that men of their caliber had called on her to take the reins. Oh, well….
Gilbert hadn’t called for a few days now, and Anne wondered if his wife had found out about them. Not that it mattered much. It was pretty obvious to both of them that their relationship had no future. Strong as he had seemed to be three months ago, the fifty-six-year old Chemistry Professor seemed to wilt away at every meeting they had—she couldn’t bring herself to call them dates. His conversation grew less and less interesting, and their single attempt at sex the last time they met was a dismal failure. Well, she thought, if he calls, I’ll give it just one more chance. And if he doesn’t—au revoir, Gilbert, I certainly shan’t call you. And I don’t approve of your smoking, anyway….
Actually, she was a bit ashamed of this “little fling,” as she thought of it. She had a habit of giving nicknames to experiences she went through, and this was named “little fling” from day one. Since Raoul died she hadn’t had a close relationship with a man. She didn’t really feel the urge and necessity to have a man at her side, but she wondered if she was at all capable of getting one, after such a long period without “practice”—another euphemism for her love life.
She headed for her apartment in Rue Gay Lussac, not more than twenty minutes away from the university at a brisk walk. She hugged her purse across her chest and waited for a break in the traffic. A tall man stepped toward her and covered them both with his open umbrella.
“May I?” he asked in English.
Anne stopped and turned toward the stranger. Was she being picked up by a foreigner to Paris? Not that it hadn’t happened before, but usually the approach was at parties or lectures and involved some small talk and finesse. And in any case none of them went anywhere, and Anne prepared to brush off this encounter as well.
“You’re Anne Cooper, aren’t you?” Though it was a question, it sounded more like a declaration.
“Yes?” she answered, meaning “so what” and peered up at the face smili
ng down at her. Through the foolish looking grin she saw a clean-shaven face with a square-cut jaw and a pair of piercing blue eyes. As he was standing pretty close, well within her “personal territory” that every teacher learns to maintain fervently, she couldn’t take in anything else about him without seeming to be rude. And the man wasn’t really rude to her—not yet, anyway.
“Yes?” she repeated, but her expression was taking on a look of bewilderment as a spark of recognition set her brain churning. The man just stood there grinning, waiting to be acknowledged. The penny finally dropped—Anne had a near photographic memory—and her eyes widened in astonishment.
“Martin? Cousin Martin? It is you, isn’t it?” she gasped.
“That’s at least half a dozen questions we’ve exchanged without a single answer,” laughed Martin. “So here goes. Yes, this is me and that’s you, and we’re related and we know each other from way back and we haven’t seen each other for a very long time. Okay now?”
Anne let out a very unladylike squeal and threw her arms around his neck standing on tiptoe to do so. Her purse whacked him on his back. He returned her embrace and then they stood apart as much as the umbrella would allow and examined each other, smiling all the time.
Anne erupted in questions. “What are you doing here? What’s been happening to you? Do you have a family? How are Uncle Timothy and Aunt Francine? Where do you live …?”
Martin held up his palm.
“Easy there, Annie. I’ll answer all your questions and I have a lot of my own as well. Why don’t we find somewhere a bit more comfortable to sit down and talk? That is, if you have the time …”
Anne composed herself and made a nominal gesture at arranging a wisp of hair. She was usually not given to outbursts, and she intended to cover up her embarrassment by assuming a very casual demeanor. She hoped she hadn’t shocked Martin by her exuberance.
“Sure,” she said, and linked her arm into his. “There’s this little bistro around the corner where I usually have my morning croissant and coffee. It may be a bit noisy at this hour, but it’s actually quite cozy. Okay with you?”
“Lead on, McDuff,” joked Martin. Anne winced. Lead on instead of lay on—that was pretty bad, she thought. “Whither thou goest …” Anne sighed, thoroughly delighted.
As they walked toward Place Berthelot, Martin explained. “I didn’t bump into you by accident, you know. I suppose I could have looked you up and called and set a meeting, but I thought that surprising you would be more appropriate. Otherwise I would have missed seeing your face as you recognized me—Annie, let me tell you, your jaw almost hit the pavement …”
“Well, I hope you waited for hours in the rain before I came out. Anyway, my jaw is back in place now, and I’m utterly enthralled. You said you planned this meeting? Why?”
“My presence in Paris is related to my business—let’s not bother with that aspect for now. My presence at this particular place in Paris is specifically to meet up with you, to see how you were doing, and remember old times.”
They made their way into the tiny Bistro d’Etienne, where Anne was a regular customer. The television was set to a football match, and Martin watched for a few seconds as they made their way to a table.
“Are you a fan?” Anne asked after they were seated.
“Not really,” said Martin. “Here, I hope you’ll like this.” He pulled the little gift-wrapped parcel from his pocket.
Anne’s eyes shone. “I’m supposed to say ‘you shouldn’t have,’ right? Or ‘how sweet.’ I’ll be original. I’ll say ‘thank you.’” She took out the tiny bottle of perfume.
“It belonged to Empress Catherine of Russia, and she used it only once. On her pet ocelot. And, oh yes—it’s cursed.” Martin kept a straight face throughout.
“Fascinating,” murmured Anne, her face just as bland as his. “All I have is an orangutan, but I suppose it’ll do. And I have ways of transferring hexes from objects to people, so you just watch out.”
They looked very seriously at each other, as explorers would when discovering an unknown Pharaoh. Then they simultaneously burst into laughter, drawing the glares of the other patrons of the establishment. They hastily quieted down and smiled apologetically at their neighbors.
Anne remembered Martin as the son of her father’s cousin and that he was three or four years her junior. They had played together in her teens and by the time she had begun her master’s thesis—Persian Influences on The Greek Empire—he had just finished high school, and they weren’t seeing each other as much. He was always the tall, lanky, fair-haired boy, usually the center of attention of whatever was happening. Now here he was again: still taller than average, fuller in physique—in fact, quite athletic looking—same blue eyes and something new she could only call charm. There wasn’t any of that when he was a youngster. But now it seemed to exude from every pore. No! ‘He OOZED charm from every pore’ was the correct phrase. Damn these clichés!
“So,” he was saying. “I’ll save you the embarrassment of repeating your questions. Some of them at least. I am not married—never had the time and never found Miss Right. Until about seven years ago I served in the Military and was honorably discharged with the rank of Major. Since then, a few mates of mine and myself have a gym in London where we have a large clientele and we make a decent living. My parents, your great-uncle and aunt are fine, and I see them occasionally. Have I left out anything?”
“You haven’t told me where you live today. I assume it’s London, where you work, and that’s good enough for me. Seen any action in the Service?”
“As a matter of fact, quite a lot. My mates—yes, they’re the same lads I work with today—and I were in the First Gulf War in Iraq, and we were often sent on covert missions behind enemy lines. We were all decorated a couple of times.”
Anne was impressed with his modesty. Through all that outward light-heartedness there was a tough interior. You don’t get to be a decorated major doing raids in Iraq by being a wimp. And yet, it was always he and his pals, never him alone. They must be quite a team.
“I’m honored to be in the presence of a hero,” smiled Anne. “So—why are you in Paris?”
“If you’re really interested. Stop me if I bore you, which I promise I shall try to the utmost.”
Martin related the aspects of the deal with Leblanc. It was in fact a huge success, and he was carrying very good news back to his staff in London.
“So,” he concluded, “it looks like I’ll have a good reason to visit Paris from time to time. Now let’s change the topic to something far more interesting and talk about you for a while. You still have time, I hope …”
“Well, the American Ambassador expects me to be his escort to the opera tonight, after which we’re flying to Hawaii for breakfast. So, I’m very sorry, but yes—I have all evening free.” This sense of mischievous freedom was so refreshing. This is how she remembered all her teenage liaisons with Martin. She had long abandoned this style of language with her current colleagues—apparently the clever ones weren’t clever enough to “get it,” and the less bright ones just stared at her as if she had lost her marbles. She had never won these battles of wits with Martin, but she enjoyed every moment of trying to do so.
“Send him an ‘oops—sorry’ note tomorrow. Or next year. But back to you …”
“Right. How old are you now?”
Martin laughed out loud again.
“I’m thirty-nine, Annie. And you must be around sixty-four or sixty-five if I’m not mis—”
“All right, all right!” Anne was giggling like a schoolgirl. “I’m forty-two, widowed, and my parents still live in Reading. I’m a History Professor here at the Sorbonne, and I live in a little apartment close by.”
The crowd by the television was shushing the people around them. Apparently a news flash was due. A few seconds later the announcer informed the public that Iran was continuing to defy the International Atomic Energy Agency’s demands to reveal all their nuclear
programs.
“They can demand all they want,” muttered Martin. “But they’ll never achieve anything that way.” Aloud he said, “I hope you’re as hungry as I am, Annie. What would you recommend in this gourmet establishment?”
They ordered dinner and continued chatting into the night. When they parted, they exchanged addresses and phone numbers and promised each other to meet again.
SIX
Sir Cedric and Admiral Stone hung up their coats, Anne served refreshments and they sat by the table. No time was wasted on getting straight to the point.
“Well, gentlemen,” said Anne, “What have you come up with?”
Sir Cedric raised his arm with a finger pointing upward, as if he were a seven-year-old schoolchild. When he got the others’ attention he cleared his throat and said, somewhat hesitantly:
“Anne, the last time we met you mentioned the possibility of jamming up a dictator’s broadcast. I have an acquaintance in Milan, Emilio Rosetti, who owns a plant that produces musical instruments. He manufactures electric guitars and keyboards, amplification systems, wireless transmission applications, sound effect systems, and so forth—I really don’t remember the entire scope of his output. It seems he’s quite well known in his professional community, and he’s accredited with a number of minor electronic breakthroughs. Anyway, I was about to suggest we try to find out if he could come up with anything that could serve us. What do you think?”