Global Conspiracy

by David Shomron

  The admiral nodded slowly in assent.

  “Sounds like a valid option to me,” he said. “However, let’s not approach anyone until we have agreed on a method to do so.”

  “Mais certainment,” retorted Sir Cedric with a heavy British accent. “I would never have thought otherwise.”

  “Anyone else you want to consider?” Anne asked.

  “Yes,” Sir Cedric continued. “Estelle Burne is a very close friend of mine. Almost married her once. She is a freelance business consultant, retired now, and one of the most brilliant strategists I have ever met. She has found angles and solutions where top management had thrown in the towel, as the Americans say. Moreover, she loves these kinds of challenges and would, in my humble opinion, be of great service to us.”

  “Sounds good,” Anne said. “Yes, Admiral Stone—you have the floor.”

  The admiral had copied his colleague’s gesture with the raised finger.

  “I’ve been giving some thought to two worthy gentlemen I know, both scientists. One is a very talented Dutch physicist named Jef van Welde and the other is a German named Gustav Lemke, who knows a thing or two about industrial chemistry. They may not be leaders in their field, but they control large factories where … where ‘things,’ whatever they turn out to be, may be relatively safely built as just another internal project.”

  “I think,” Anne said, “we’ll have to know a little more about what they do.”

  “Well, I can’t add much about Jef except that he specialized in optics and that he’s a very old friend and completely trustworthy. In the past, he had evaluated a couple of optical equipment items for me—you know, telescopes, binoculars, projectors, lenses, even radars and ultrasonic devices, I think—and we became friends. I don’t know the first thing about the science behind all this—perhaps Cedric here could find a common language with him in that respect—but I do know that talking to him wouldn’t be a waste of time.

  “As to Lemke, I have his card right here.” He took out a calling card from his wallet. “Took some hunting in my files. We met years ago at some conference or other. He was very amiable and we hit it off right away. The card says: Dr. Gustav Lemke, PhD, Generaldirektor, Lemke Schädlingsbekämpfung and the phone, fax, email and the address in Hamburg. His industry is pest control—that’s the long German word there. Whenever I’m in Hamburg I call him. He’s quite the connoisseur of good German food and takes me to excellent restaurants. I realize this isn’t much information, much like Cedric’s. But we’re just beginning now, and we need to talk to these …”

  “Oh, that’s quite understandable, Admiral,” Anne said. “At this stage we have no way of knowing where these leads will take us. Three scientists and one strategist so far aren’t a bad start at all, and we need to follow up on them. I’m a bit apprehensive, though, about your German friend. Pesticides are notoriously toxic, and I’ve read that many people have died due to misuse. He might advocate using his knowledge to build a weapon, and we’ve all agreed not to support chemical warfare.”

  Sir Cedric came to the admiral’s defense.

  “As I understand it, there is no intention of killing people. I’m sure Patrick was thinking along the lines of something to make people drowsy or lethargic, am I right?” The admiral nodded. “But we’ll find out from the expert himself, won’t we? And if we don’t like his approach we’ll just scratch it.”

  “Very well,” Anne said. “We’ll go along with it and see what turns up. Now it’s my turn. I realize this may be overreaching as, unlike you two, scientists are not really the people I mingle with. But my late husband, Raoul, had connections necessitated by his diplomatic calling. You may have heard of the one I’m thinking of—Alfred Boulanger, who owns and manages Satellimonde. He, or rather his company, builds commercial satellites and launches them into space. He may be worth a try. I can imagine all kinds of things that can be done from space—remote controlling of devices on land, disruptions of many kinds. Thoughts, anyone?”

  “I don’t think you’re overreaching, Anne,” said the admiral. “Never heard of the chap before, but satellites have a lot of merit—except that they are so damned expensive. We could make use of them even today if only to collect information. I favor your proposal.”

  Sir Cedric demurred. “I have my misgivings,” he said. “These pieces of equipment are so delicate, so intricately balanced, that we could never put anything of our own on them without causing major design changes. But go ahead and try anyway, Anne.”

  “Good. Let’s get back to business, then,” Anne said. “We now have candidates we wish to explore. Let’s hear from Patrick how best we should do this.”

  “Well, let me put it this way. When governmental authorities wish to discover and eradicate underground activity, they take into account their three main weaknesses: propaganda—without which they couldn’t spread their ideology, recruitment—vital, if they wish to expand their lines, and operations—which is their raison d’être. Propaganda requires printing and distribution or broadcasting facilities. Recruitment requires exposure to an outsider whose response is unknown: he may refuse to cooperate and then there’s the danger of him informing the authorities. And of course, during operations, there is the possibility of clashing with these authorities. The first of the aforementioned does not constitute a problem for us—we have no intention to meddle with propaganda or in justifying our actions to the public. But we will need to recruit more people and therein lies our greatest danger. So we must prepare ourselves to recruit by the safest means possible. I have given this a lot of thought and would like to propose a methodical system for this.”

  “You mentioned operations as the third weakness,” Sir Cedric said.

  “Yes, I did. But we’re still a long way from that stage. Every operation will need to be meticulously planned, and each plan will have its security considerations. Now, with your kind permission, here are the ‘ten commandments,’ if you will, to minimize danger in recruiting:

  “1. While talking with the prospective recruit, mention, as if in passing, the issue of dictators and the threat they present. Watch for the reaction.

  “2. If the recruit displays awareness of the dangers, ask a theoretical question—what can be done about it?

  “3. If the response is that something must be done, inquire whether he himself—or she, as the case may be—would be prepared to take part in doing something.

  “4. If the response is affirmative, raise the issue of how dangerous this undertaking may be and how undercover it must remain.

  “5. If this doesn’t faze the potential recruit, ask him how he would react if he was offered—theoretically, of course—to take part in such activities.

  “6. If he claims that he would not consider being personally involved—agree with him, and switch to another subject of conversation. Scratch this candidate!

  “7. If, however, he is willing to take part, we come to the riskiest part of the recruiting process: reveal that there indeed exists an organization doing exactly what was under discussion, and that you yourself would join if you knew how to contact it. If this contact were discovered would the recruit be prepared to join as well?

  “8. If he agrees, he should be cautioned that, once inducted, there would be no turning back. It takes only one person to change his mind—and the whole organization would probably collapse. Therefore, he should realize that he is committing himself for life!

  “9. At this stage, if he is still undaunted, you can reveal what is expected of him: we wish to exploit his high position in his field of expertise to develop tools to assist us in our common cause.

  “10. Finally, you will never say anything about anyone else in this organization. You will be the sole contact person unless decided otherwise.”

  After a slight pause Anne said:

  “My, oh my! This is straight out of John Le Carré! Normally I would want to write down everything you said, but I guess it would be best to memorize these ten points.”


  “Perhaps we could write them down temporarily,” Sir Cedric suggested. “After memorizing, we could destroy our notes.”

  “Friends, please,” interjected the admiral. “I agree with Anne—no notes. But I’m afraid you haven’t yet told me whether or not you accept this regimen. It sounds like you do, albeit hesitatingly and reluctantly. I need to hear from you: do these points make sense to you?”

  Anne and Sir Cedric immediately agreed that they did.

  “Well, then,” the admiral continued, “I appeal to your common sense. We are all intelligent people and we all realize that understanding the principle is far more important than memorizing a set of rules. This is not a ‘how to’ cookbook or a manual on the programming of a VCR. Too much is at stake here for us to risk writing anything down that may later be discovered and used to our disadvantage. So—any questions?”

  There were none.

  “Right, then,” Anne said. “We approach the five people we mentioned, making it look as natural as possible. We employ the admiral’s ‘ten commandments’ and see where it gets us. Also try to think of additional prospects. Agreed?” Nods all around. “Good. Let’s set our next meeting …”

  “A moment, please, Anne,” Admiral Stone interrupted. “What I have to say now is extremely important to our survival…. As we’ve noted, the next war is going to be more terrible than anything ever experienced in human history. Hundreds of millions will die, most of them in agony. What we’re doing is trying to prevent that. We all need to internalize the importance of this mission—its priority is beyond anything else we encounter. As I said earlier, all followers of our cause—and that includes us as well—now have a lifetime commitment. Again, there is no turning back! If anyone, in the course of our operations, should have a reversal of opinion or show signs of betrayal, he or she will need to be silenced.” He gazed carefully at the couple opposite him. “Do you follow my meaning?”

  Silence. Anne and Sir Cedric both understood too well what the admiral was implying. Execution! How true—the life of an individual could never outweigh an attempt to save hundreds of millions of lives.

  Anne was impressed—this was the first major decision they had made to do something. Right now she preferred to put aside the fact that in order to accomplish this she had laid her life on the line.

  “There will be expenses—lots of expenses,” she said. “And we need the wherewithal to finance them. Think about that, too, please. Now off you go—I have an early lecture tomorrow morning.”

  SEVEN

  The admiral could be charming when he set his mind to it. Despite his seventy years, his posture was firm and erect, and the silvery sheen of his moustache and very thin hair gave him a look of distinguished respectability. You could feel his powerful aura just by looking at him. His wife was always busy with one charity or another, and his two sons lived their own lives with their families in London.

  He had retired at the height of his career and turned to business. He established an investment company and ran it from an office in London, employing only one secretary. Being a shrewd businessman, he also set up a nondescript company in Vaduz, the capital of Liechtenstein, for the sole purpose of having a fallback in case the necessity arose. Weekends he spent with his wife at their home in Brighton, but most of the week he could be found in his office in London or at his small but comfortable apartment in Chelsea.

  The admiral could not remember when last he was so in accord with someone he had just met. This was only their third encounter and already Anne had become a dominating personality in his life. Not, of course, in the way women dominate men, but in the sense that he was in the presence of natural leadership. And he knew exactly what leadership meant—hadn’t he himself commanded a naval fleet of thousands of sailors and officers, all relying on his judgment and authority for their very survival?

  So it did not take him long to begin preparing his recruiting plans. Yesterday he had his secretary set up a meeting with Jef van Welde in Amsterdam in the morning and get tickets for a naval exhibition in Hamburg in the afternoon. Now he was striding into Jef’s office with an outstretched hand and a big smile.

  “My dear Jef, how good to see you again,” he said as hands were shaken.

  “The same here, my good friend,” replied the Dutchman. “And how are you?”

  Niceties were exchanged, memories shared, and the admiral steered the conversation as diplomatically as he could.

  “Certainly, Jef, we both know how valuable your scientific contributions were in the war. But you know what? There’s a race during peacetime, too. And all the fantastic optical equipment you produce—and, I admit, other scientific breakthroughs—could serve terrorism just as well, couldn’t they?”

  “Well, of course, in the wrong hands….”

  “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can to prevent that, Jef. But don’t you think Western governments are a little slack in how they tackle the threats of the dictators in the third world?”

  “Come, come, Patrick—why such a gloomy outlook?” van Welde seemed quite cheerful. “Let me assure you that you have nothing to fear and that you can sleep soundly. Nothing is going to happen. The world is sick and tired of warfare. The threats you hear tossed around are all attempts at extortion and they’ll all fail.”

  “What makes you so sure, Jef?”

  “Because we have the most powerful nations on our side. I mean the EU and the USA. We have the most formidable leaders who know what’s best for all of us, and they will never allow the world to deteriorate into global war again.”

  The admiral was taken aback by this man’s innocent view of world affairs. He wasn’t a stupid person, and he wasn’t the gullible type—so perhaps he was secretly practicing to be a politician! But from any perspective, it didn’t look like he was suitable for recruiting. The admiral would have liked to argue these points with Jef, but decided not to push the issue—and perhaps reveal more than he intended—and changed the subject.

  “So your optical devices will serve mainly for peacetime utilization,” he said. “Tell me, what innovations do you have in store for us?”

  Jef stood up and walked around the table. He wore a huge grin. “Come with me,” he said. “You will love our new microscopes.”

  One down, one to go, thought the admiral. Let’s get this over with.

  It was nearing teatime and Admiral Patrick Stone found a vacant table at the Hamburg Stock Exchange Cafeteria on Kleine Johannisstrasse. Earlier he had called Gustav Lemke and told him he was checking up on a Naval Engineering Exhibition to be held at the Stock Exchange and perhaps they could meet up. Lemke agreed at once but insisted they should dine together. He would pick Patrick up at the Cafeteria.

  The admiral sipped his tea and lazily glanced over the brochures for the exhibition. There was a time when he would have been thrilled to attend one of these prestigious events, but now they bored him to tears and he preferred to avoid them as much as possible. But they did provide a good pretext to come to Hamburg almost any time of the year. This was one of those times.

  A large, fat man with a red face barged his way toward the admiral.

  “There you are!” he bellowed in surprisingly good English. “I was hoping that this time I would be the first to arrive. How are you, my old friend?”

  “Meeting with you is the highlight of my visit,” replied the admiral, getting to his feet and shaking the pudgy hand stretched out to him.

  Gustav Lemke was a man who loved good beer, good food, and bad women—in that order. A brilliant and innovative chemical engineer, he had several useful industrial applications to his credit, among them the usage of magnesium in paint used for shielding and a brand new technique for combining organic waste with recycled plastics. He owned a world-renowned multi-usage chemical plant in Oststeinbek, not far from Hamburg, but he always allowed himself the time to putter around in his specially constructed private laboratory.

  “But my dear friend,” Lemke took the admiral b
y the arm, “we cannot dine here. Come, you will be my guest at a brand new restaurant, the Ritz-Imperial on Lübecker Strasse. I have been there only once, but the food is exquisite and the waitresses delightful.”

  The admiral thanked his host and they took a taxi to the restaurant. During the meal they talked about old times and compared the food and wine to other restaurants they had frequented. Lemke was right—the food was delicious, though he preferred to reserve comment on the waitresses. The admiral made a mental note to pay this establishment another visit and try out other items on the menu. He decided it was time for the recruiting pitch.

  “That was a very sumptuous meal, Gustav, my friend. I hope you shall give me the satisfaction of dining with me in London in a similar fashion. Soon.”

  “Ach, ja! I am looking forward to it.”

  “You know, Gustav, this fabulous meal makes me feel a bit guilty. For two reasons: first, I am ruining my dashing figure and shall be leaving all my lovely ladies to you. Second, there are so many people in the world that could have made use of this one meal to survive for a week. I could never understand how certain governments allow such poverty to occur in their countries.”

  “Well,” Lemke said, “I think it is obvious. Those governments are not concerned with their people. They are far more interested in their own power and how to maintain it. You see this phenomenon happen in almost every dictatorship.”