Anne assumed he would be a visitor at the space exhibition in the Grand Palais museum. Though she had never found any interest in space and satellites, she made a point of visiting the exhibition a number of times, hoping to bump into Monsieur Boulanger. Sure enough, there he was this morning, accompanied by a very attractive young lady. When he saw Anne, his eyes lit up. He whispered something to his companion, who excused herself and went to look for the ladies’ restroom. Then, beaming from ear to ear, he embraced Anne and asked her how she was.
“Oh, I don’t complain,” replied Anne noncommittally.
“Ah, but fate has been unkind to you. You are very brave to face the world on your own. Listen, Anne, I cannot chat with you long now—as you can see, I am not alone. But I can easily make myself available for lunch. How about one o’clock at Chez Maxim’s? Mind you, I won’t take no for an answer.”
Anne barely restrained a gasp. It wasn’t often she had an opportunity to visit this exclusive restaurant.
She knew that Boulanger had a soft spot for her. Perhaps he was even slightly in love with her. But he always treated her with the utmost respect and courtesy. Sometimes she entertained the thought that were he not married and head of a family he might have had “serious” intentions about her. As she was “on duty,” so to speak, she felt it was all right to take advantage of his attraction to her and accept the lunch date.
At the allocated time, he was waiting for her in the foyer. The maître d’ ushered them to a quiet table by the wall. Boulanger ordered for them both. It was a lavish and sumptuous meal, and the conversation flowed as between close friends. Anne felt a bit guilty for not being able to offer anything in return to her generous host. But she had a mission to fulfill.
Over an exotic fruit salad, she decided to broach the subject and, using her student’s provocative challenge to the study of history as a pretext, she asked her host’s opinion on the subject.
“I’m afraid your student was more of an attention seeker than a scholar,” Boulanger replied. “I don’t think it was very smart to enroll for a history course and come up with that kind of question.”
“Oh, there’s no doubt about that,” Anne said. “But in principle, don’t you think he has a point? I mean, regarding the effectiveness of democratic leadership—not the value of studying history.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want my views to become public knowledge, Anne. If you were a reporter I’d probably brush you off with some stale slogan about democracies being the only hope for world peace, or working together for global harmony, and so on. But as it’s you I’m talking to, and I know that you will not spread the contents of our conversation around, I can tell you I do not support those hackneyed spoutings.”
He raised a questioning eyebrow at Anne, who nodded vigorously.
“I won’t say a word,” she whispered with a finger to her smiling lips.
“The Western world today is steeped in comfort and luxury, but it has lost its capacity for survival. Or should I say the competence for foretelling its own demise. Oh dear, this sounds like the beginning of a lecture.”
“Sounds to me like a very interesting lecture,” Anne said encouragingly.
“Look around you,” Boulanger continued. It seemed he was not used to airing his views when they were not in line with what he thought was expected of him. This was an opportunity to share—confidentially, of course—what he really felt. “Everyone, you and I included, are like delicate flowers in the garden of global culture. We’ll wither and die if we’re not nurtured in time. In my humble opinion, we are not preparing ourselves for this. It’s quite possible that when our children reach my age, or even your age, this restaurant may no longer exist. It could become a pile of rubble or a mosque. Oh, yes, there are many respectable and reputable delegates at the United Nations, but they all represent the interests of those who sent them there, and they have neither the will nor the power to fight for the lives of their people. It is a self-destructing civilization!”
It’s amazing, thought Anne. So many people think the way we do, yet nobody does anything. She quickly reviewed the ten recruiting commandments in her mind, and delicately applied them, one by one, to Boulanger. The result was not long in coming—Boulanger did not need much convincing.
There was a short pause as the waiter cleared the table and offered coffee. A nod from Boulanger sent him off.
“This is very serious,” Boulanger asked. “I say this because the outcome, as I see it, will change the face of the world. At last someone had the guts to propose some real action. I salute you and whomever you may be associated with. Listen, Anne—I have many ideas bouncing around in my head, but I need some time to sort them out.”
“Perhaps I could help,” Anne suggested. “Your expertise is in the satellite business and I know next to nothing about it. As a layman I can imagine snooping—I mean seeing things others cannot see, thereby gathering information—and remote control.”
“You’ve got the main idea, Anne. The main applications are photography and relaying broadcasts. However, there’s a lot more to it. Obviously, I’ll refer to all the resources I have at hand to come up with something useful to our cause. Our cause! See how easily I can say it—something that an hour ago I would have deemed utterly preposterous! You’re doing a magnificent job, Anne, and I totally understand and respect the secrecy involved. Like I said, I need time to think this over—perhaps I can provide one or two surprises for you.”
“Actually, Alfred,” Anne said, remembering Sir Cedric’s comments, “what do you think of the possibility of a satellite carrying a piece of equipment of our design?”
“That won’t be easy, but it’s not impossible. If you get the specs to me I could give an opinion on the feasibility of incorporating it into a satellite.”
“I hate to put pressure on you,” Anne said, “especially after such a dramatic turn of events. But you do realize, I hope, that—”
“… time is of the essence,” Boulanger completed the sentence. “Yes, of course, Anne. I am fully aware of that. The sooner we can implement anything, the better. Indeed, the tiniest success will help in postponing the catastrophe, even if only marginally. And that would be an excellent start. Now let’s see how we can keep the ball rolling. And get those specifications to me ASAP!”
The coffee had arrived. They agreed on how to maintain communications. Anne thanked him for the “divine” meal, and they parted with a warm and meaningful shake of hands.
TEN
Sir Cedric had arranged a convenient business meeting in Milan, from where he called his good friend Emilio Rosetti—a typical Italian who loves pasta and beautiful women. Everybody knew that he had an amante, a mistress, which did nothing to mar his family life with a wife and five offspring. And everyone would testify to what a devoted husband and father he was, but when you reach a certain stage of opulence, one or more mistresses were actually expected of you. And Rosetti had reached that stage—and had been there for some time. He enjoyed a high international reputation, and contended very successfully with his German and Japanese competition. The label “Rosetti” on any musical instrument or sound system was enough to guarantee excellence, and that was what you got if you were looking for quality and integrity. Of course, you would pay the price accordingly. It was said that his estate, just outside Milan, was something out of a dream. Unfortunately for Sir Cedric, he had never been in Milan long enough to accept Rosetti’s invitations to visit him there.
The meeting between the two was friendly and informal. Rosetti took him to a superb seafood restaurant and ordered for them both. Over a delicious lobster, Sir Cedric decided to begin applying his recruiting techniques. He did not get very far. The mere mention of democracy evoked a violent response.
“Democracy? Porca miseria! What a useless system. Mind you, my friend Cedric, bad as it is, it still cannot compare with Mussolini’s fascism. That was the absolute bottom of the barrel, that filthy bastard. Never talk to me about tyranny or dic
tators—they make my blood boil! You know what I think? The Americans should long ago have bombed the shit out of the nuclear installations in Iran and in North Korea.”
Sir Cedric was thoroughly enjoying this conversation. It didn’t take much to rile Emilio up, and apparently he had pushed the right button. Perhaps a little more persuasion….
“Emilio, old boy. Don’t get so excited. After all, you know very well that the United States can’t just go and bomb anyone they don’t like. Actually, anyone you don’t like. Not very fair on the rest of the world, now, is it?”
“I don’t like? Just myself and a few hundred million people. Including, I believe, you, Sir Cedric Norton! That is exactly what I am talking about. They cannot bomb, you cannot bomb, we cannot bomb—instead, they issue complaints to the United Nations. And the members of the Security Council—tutti essere fottuto. All fucked up, you know. A democratic institution that is completely impotent! Not, perhaps, out of choice, but because their individual interests cancel each other out. They’ll always be at stalemate, they know it, yet they keep on acting out this farce! Merda!”
“And if you had the option, what would you do, Emilio?”
Sir Cedric continued navigating the conversation expertly, getting all the confirming responses he needed from Rosetti. Finally the topic of Rosetti’s expertise was addressed. He had calmed down considerably. Sir Cedric mentioned the option of interfering with broadcasts.
“Listen, Cedric, my friend. This is a very admirable project you are undertaking. Personally, I do not think I would have dared to initiate such a venture. But I will help you as much as I can.”
He paused to think.
“You know, Cedric, it takes great skill and very expensive equipment to produce sound systems of the highest fidelity. But you are requesting noises, cacophony, disrupting communications—and that is much easier!”
“How about interfering with a closed circuit amplification system?” Sir Cedric asked. “You know, accessing a system without tapping into its wiring physically?”
“You mean a wireless audio jammer? These techniques are quite old and easily implemented. No, my friend. I believe I know what you need, and I am thinking in terms you could not understand. You have given me a challenge, and I just love challenges. I will work on it and get back to you as soon as possible.”
“Why, thank you, Emilio.” Sir Cedric was justifiably proud of his success.
ELEVEN
It was the weekend Anne had planned to spend with her children and parents in Reading, so she had no problem agreeing to the meeting called for today at Sir Cedric’s residence.
Admiral Stone was already seated in an overstuffed armchair. Sir Cedric greeted her warmly and, after taking her coat, went into the kitchen. A minute later he wheeled in a trolley laden with canapés and a tea set, all prepared ahead of time by the ever-industrious Matilda.
Anne was itching to reveal her newest recruit, Alfred Boulanger. She would gladly have agreed to hold the meeting at any earlier date, but all three had their schedules full. She forced herself to behave with the dignity that her duty as chairperson demanded.
“We’re all up-to-date about our first recruit, Gustav Lemke—thanks to Admiral Stone. I mean, the admiral,” she hurriedly added when she saw the beginning of a protest from that gentleman. “Before I continue with my own report, let’s hear what Cedric has to say.”
“Well, my friends.” Sir Cedric’s voice was uncharacteristically toned down. “As you may recall, I went after two candidates. I called Estelle Burns—the strategist and my old flame—first. My call was answered by a live-in nurse. She told me that she took constant care of Estelle, who had an advanced case of Alzheimer’s disease.”
Sir Cedric’s voice caught in his throat and he stopped.
Anne broke the silence. “Have some tea, Cedric, and tell us about the other candidate.”
“You’re referring to Emilio Rosetti, the music man,” said Sir Cedric. “Sorry about that business with Estelle. I think we can count her out.”
Sir Cedric related his conversation with Rosetti. He was very pleased with the ovation he received when he ended his narrative.
Anne, in particular, was delighted. Three hits—though the others did not know yet about her own success story—was not yet a statistical sample, but a very encouraging start just the same. It was a kind of verification that their ideology was indeed justified. Anne wondered whether an opinion survey would back up her surmise that the majority of the Western world’s population would have endorsed this ideology.
“Well, gentlemen,” she said. “As Al Jolson remarked after the first sound movie was released, ‘you ain’t heard nothin’ yet!’” She told them about her meeting with Boulanger down to the tiniest details. She noticed Sir Cedric getting more and more excited.
“I think this is a fantastic opportunity,” Anne ended her story. “We have three …”
Sir Cedric jumped to his feet.
“My dear friends,” he expostulated. “Have you any idea what this means? Anne, you have made my dream come true! For years I have been working on my pet project—a satellite-borne laser beam projector that could be aimed and fired at will from a control station on the ground. It never got past the prototype stage because I was certain I could never get it onto a real satellite. But if it works, we’ll be able to hit the targets we choose, blow up explosives, jam radars, and perhaps even disrupt the functioning of atomic reactors. Or take out the tyrant himself! I’ll need a few weeks….”
“No!” Anne got to her feet and glared at Sir Cedric who, though a head taller than she, got the feeling he was looking up at her. “We must, here and now, implicitly agree that there will be no ‘taking out.’ Not by us, ever! We’ll leave that to armies or resistance movements, or even terrorists.”
“But Anne,” Sir Cedric tried to rationalize, “if we shame a dictator so much—which is what we want to do—that his people revolt against him, I’m sure blood will be shed. People will almost certainly die, and our target would probably be among them.”
“Then so be it,” Anne retorted. “If his people want to finish him, let them! Our job is only to make them aware of his shortcomings, to prepare the groundwork. I insist on this! If you disagree, perhaps we should redefine who we are and where we’re headed.”
No one spoke for a few minutes. This was a delicate issue, and Anne had declared her position almost as an ultimatum.
Admiral Stone broke the silence.
“Allow me to put it this way, please,” he said. “The aim of our association is to damage the reputations of dictators. We want to embarrass them in front of their people and make them lose their confidence resulting, we hope, in their abandoning of their megalomaniac aspirations. If our non-militant actions beget major upheavals, if the targeted tyrant is executed or takes his own life, and even if there are additional casualties, that is none of our business. In fact, we could safely say that such an outcome is predictable, and that more likely than not, something resembling what I have just described will, indeed, occur. Have I made myself clear?”
Again there was quiet. This was a moral issue every way you looked at it.
“Yes, Admiral,” Anne said finally. “You have hit the nail on the head. I couldn’t have described it more accurately myself.”
“I recall,” Sir Cedric said, “that during my university days one of my bachelor friends was asked why he hadn’t married. He replied that if he got married he would probably have children. The birth process involved blood and he was opposed to bloodletting of any kind. We should remember that our association is based on the fact that democracies today are very like that bachelor. By the way,” he added with a smile, “I have totally different reasons for remaining single. Anyway, I concur with Patrick’s views. But let’s not fool ourselves, Anne. No matter how we define it, there’ll be blood in the end.”
Anne took a deep breath and let this information sink in. She decided that she’d wait until she was alone to
consider the ramifications. Now it was time to switch the subject.
“Let’s have another look at Herr Lemke’s fertilizer. I understand that the stuff is ready and only needs to be tested out in the open, right? He says he cannot do it, but I cannot imagine any of us actually carrying out these tests. We’ll need a lorry or two and an extra vehicle to tag along. We need to find a suitable location for the test far enough from prying eyes. Then, I suppose, we’ll need enough of the stuff to spread on the appropriate course and drive our lorry over it, and then examine and analyze the results—perhaps even with Lemke’s help. Later we’ll need to conduct similar tests with the acoustic equipment. And there’ll probably be a host of other manual and logistic tasks that will arise, but that we cannot handle ourselves.”
“All very true, Anne,” the admiral said. “What are you getting at?”
“At some stage, and I think we’re there now, we’ll need to address two main issues. One—finding someone to handle our logistics and experiments. Two—finding some way to pay for all we intend to do. I believe the sums involved will be quite substantial.”
Global Conspiracy Page 7