Global Conspiracy

by David Shomron

  “We’ll need to know the exact date and time of such a speech-parade event. And as far in advance as possible so that we’ll have the time to complete all our preparations.”

  “This will take—”

  “I expect you will have many expenses,” Martin interrupted. “We shall cover them all. I shall give you an advance—that way you will not be delayed by lack of funding.”

  Martin withdrew a roll of bills from his pocket and carefully counted out five thousand dollars, which he placed on the table in front of Sing.

  Sing hesitated for a second, then looked Martin straight in the eye, smiled, and pocketed the money.

  “Good luck!” Martin smiled back.

  The four men celebrated the conclusion of the deal by clicking their glasses in a toast. A round of handshaking followed. Sing needed about a month to complete his preparations, and they agreed to meet again at that time. Charlie gave Martin his home phone number so that the latter could inquire about the progress being made, and to set the precise date of the next meeting.

  Martin and Spencer had further reason to celebrate. They had just completed another mission successfully.

  The most important item on the board meeting’s agenda was, of course, Martin’s report on the second trip to South Korea. They were assembled in Anne’s flat in Paris, and the conversation was held while drinking tea and nibbling cookies.

  Martin told them every detail of what happened, including all the questions that were asked and the conclusions they had come to.

  “At our next visit there,” he said, “they’ll tell us if they have the manpower to run the operation. If so, we’ll need to tell them about the gravel and the pellets, too. The only thing they’ll remain ignorant about is Excalibur, the irradiation device, as it’ll have no part in its functioning.”

  “Well done, Martin!” Anne said. “Please convey our appreciation to Spencer as well.”

  “Hear, hear,” Sir Cedric said.

  “Thank you, I shall,” Martin said.

  “Which leaves us about a month to have our tour in Iran. I suggest that Martin recruits his escort for the trip right away. All right with you, Martin?”

  “Oh, yes. I’ll need to contact her through her brother, George—I’m sure he knows how to locate her in London.”

  “About the Iran trip,” Admiral Stone said, “if we operate in Korea first, the entire world will know what happened there during the pageant. I have no doubt that the Iranian president will immediately take steps to prevent something similar from happening in his country. I expect him to order his defense forces to raise their vigilance concerning factions hostile to his regime. He probably won’t be able to instruct them what measures to take because, we hope, he won’t have a clue as to how the events in Pyongyang came about. They may attribute the fiasco to North Korean ineptness, and consider themselves superior in this respect.”

  “What are you getting at, Patrick?” Sir Cedric said.

  “Simply this. We need to be alert to the possibilities I have described. Therefore, we need to complete all our preparations in Iran before—and I emphasize before—taking action in Pyongyang.”

  “I get it,” Martin said. “First prepare everything both in Korea and in Iran. Then, after carrying out our mission in one place, all we have to do is push the button, in a manner of speaking, to carry out the second mission. Without additional preparation.”

  “Precisely,” the admiral said. He then added: “Of course, if any new inventions come along during that time, we’ll consider deploying them.”

  “Well, I’d better get cracking,” Martin said. “There’s a lot for me to do—I must fly to London immediately, find and recruit the young lady, and book flight tickets to Tehran and hotel rooms there.”

  Anne was slightly disappointed. She had hoped Martin could stay for the night, but when duty calls … She nodded in assent.

  After everyone had left, Anne prepared to retire for the night. She had just kicked off her shoes when the telephone rang.

  “Professeur Dupré?”

  “Oui.”

  “This is Commissaire Felix Duval of the Police Judiciaire. May I have a few words with you?”

  Anne was positive that she was about to hear some news about Tanya’s case.

  “Certainly,” she said. “Anytime.”

  “Would it be too much of a bother if I came now?”

  “No, that’s quite all right. I’ll be expecting you, then.”

  The commissaire arrived half an hour later. Anne led him to the living room, where he sat on the sofa. He politely declined the drink she offered.

  “Mme. Dupré, you may have heard that I am in charge of the case of Tanya Gerard’s murder. It has not been solved to date, and I am sorry that I cannot shed any more light on it.”

  Anne remained silent. Surely the commissaire had not come to tell her that.

  “However, about a month ago, a scientist named Albert Allier was also murdered here in Paris. Are you familiar with that name?”

  Anne felt the blood rushing to her head, and she turned her gaze to the side as if looking for something.

  “I beg your pardon—what was the name again?” she asked.

  “Professor Albert Allier.” Duval stressed each word. “A specialist in electronic irradiation.”

  Anne shrugged.

  “Perhaps on the radio or the television, or maybe the newspapers. Anyway, I don’t know him. Why do you ask?”

  “I just thought you might know him. It would help me in my investigation.”

  “But why ask me? There must be thousands of scientists and academicians in Paris, and it would be impossible to know them all.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But both of you worked in the same university.”

  “I’m sorry, commissaire. It’s a huge university, you know. I am not acquainted with everyone on the staff.”

  “I realize that, Professeur Dupré. But the late professor knew, and was in contact with, someone you do know.”

  The commissaire watched her face for any sign of alarm or recognition. There was none.

  Anne felt as if she was on a torture rack, but did not let her emotions show. She waited in silence for him to continue.

  “Sir Cedric Norton. He was in touch with Allier before the professor was murdered.”

  Anne made a supreme effort to curb her mounting anxiety and reveal nothing outwardly.

  “Sir Cedric was a close friend of my husband’s,” she said quietly, “when he served at the London Embassy. We were …”

  “Yes, I know all about your late husband being an attaché there.”

  “In that case, you should also know that Sir Cedric considers himself a kind of guardian to me—as if he owed it to Raoul, my husband. Whenever he’s in Paris on his business, he takes the time to call and pay his respects. The perfect gentleman. Sometimes he even brings me a present. But what has all this to do with your visit?”

  Duval took a deep breath, and spoke slowly, as if to himself.

  “A famous woman is murdered. You are questioned because you were a good friend of hers. Then a scientist is murdered, and you are acquainted with a man who had business with the victim a short time before his demise. Now, this may be totally insignificant—and yet, it is somewhat unusual, don’t you think? Something that needs to be explained?”

  Anne would have gladly thrown the vase on her desk at the commissaire’s head.

  “Monsieur le Commissaire,” she said defiantly, “I am an academician—a researcher and lecturer in history. Research is my profession. Allow me to inform you that the deductions you are insinuating are far from scientific!’

  Duval had an immediate response.

  “Madame, police investigations are not similar to scientific or historical research.”

  “Indeed?” Anne said. “Then what do they resemble?”

  “We deal with people, dead and alive, and with evidence collected at crime scenes. We compare fingerprints, gather cigarette butts, p
repare lists of the victim’s family and friends, the ‘first circle.’ Further out, in the ‘second circle,’ we interview acquaintances and friends of friends. As in your case, for example. It helps us put together the complete picture of what happened. I requested this interview with you without any knowledge connecting you with the murder. I was hoping, however, that you could help me get closer to my goal.”

  “And have I?”

  “Not for the moment. But I would very much like to be able to contact you again in the future. Will that be all right with you?”

  “Of course it’s all right. Though I have no idea what good I can be to your investigations.”

  Anne showed the commissaire out. She stood pondering by the closed door:

  What an evening this turned out to be, she thought. Not only did Martin have to leave, he didn’t even kiss me goodbye. And then this character shows up! How the devil does he know that Sir Cedric and I are acquainted? The last time Cedric and I met in public was in a restaurant, and that was before Tanya’s murder. And before that, they didn’t even know I existed. Yes, the commissaire called Sir Cedric—he probably found the number in Allier’s phonebook. Therefore, it stands to reason that Cedric was followed here! And that could not have happened without the assistance of Scotland Yard. How else could Duval have known that Cedric was on his way to Paris? This is a complex and dangerous situation. The others should be alerted, and we can no longer meet at my place.

  She instinctively reached for the telephone … then stayed her hand. She had seen enough detective movies on television. What they do there is wait outside for the suspect to panic and rush blindly to other members of the crime ring, perhaps even the leader. They also have a tap on the suspect’s phone. They find out whom she calls and eavesdrop on her conversations.

  Anne’s mind was racing. She needed to find a way to contact the others, tell them of the situation, and find alternate means of communications and places to meet. She made up her mind to call the admiral from a public phone, tell him everything, and have him inform Sir Cedric and Martin. She herself would be in London for the weekend and they could meet and discuss things there.

  Commissaire Felix Duval sat in his car, smoking, thinking things over. He was not pleased with how the case was progressing, and he had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling about it. This was, after all, a case he was not ordered to solve. It was taking up valuable time, and it was getting nowhere. Let’s face it, he said to himself, that woman has nothing to do with the Allier case. And her British friend probably met with him on purely scientific issues. Marnier reported that when the Englishman left the Dupré apartment, he took a taxi to the LaserCorp offices in La Defense and stayed there for a few hours. And what kind of rivalry between them, or any other reason, could justify the professor’s murder? Professional jealousy? Possibly, but surely not to the extent of murder! He put out his cigarette, turned on the engine and said to no one in particular: “Check the electric ‘killer machine’ again! What in hell is it? Or what does it resemble, if it’s been altered? Where was it purchased? Who bought it? When?”

  That same evening, Martin called George Graham on his cellphone from Heathrow Airport.

  “Must be important,” George said over a noisy background of a nightclub. “What’s up?”

  “Remember how well Patricia did on the trip we had together? Well, we’d like her to help us again on another trip. Do you think she’ll agree?”

  “I can’t speak for her, of course. But I believe she enjoyed herself very much the last time. However, she’s an independent young woman, and there’s no telling how she’ll respond. I think she’ll comply, however.”

  “Do you know where I can find her?”

  George laughed.

  “I hope you’re still in Paris, Martin. Because that’s where she is.”

  Martin swore under his breath.

  “Write this down,” George continued, and he gave her telephone number and the name of the hotel she was staying in. “Good luck!”

  “Thanks,” Martin said, and hung up. “Damn!”

  He looked at the number George had just dictated, and then dialed it. She was in. Delighted to meet with him. Tomorrow morning? Sure thing. Ten thirty. Where? Boulevard Saint-Germain, Café Latino. Fine. See you then. Bye.

  “Double damn!” Martin turned to the ticket counter and bought a ticket back to Paris. The only one available was on an early morning flight that would barely bring him there in time for his date with Patricia.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Anne awoke with a headache after a restless, and almost sleepless, night. She took a couple of aspirins, showered and dressed, and felt just as miserable as before.

  She took the metro and switched trains a couple of times, trying to make out if she was being followed. Far from home, at the Charles de Gaulle Etoile, Anne walked down the Champs-Elysées to the drugstore. There, she used a public phone and called the admiral in London. At least, she thought, the police don’t know about ‘him’!

  Fortunately, the admiral was in.

  “Patrick,” Anne said breathlessly. “Something very serious has happened. We have got to meet.”

  “I understand you are quite agitated, Anne,” he said. “Don’t say anything now. Come to London at your earliest convenience and call me right away. I’ll drop everything and meet with you.”

  “Thank you, Patrick. Thank you.”

  “Take care, now.”

  Satisfied that this crucial step was now over, Anne realized she hadn’t had breakfast yet. She sat at one of the tables and had a coffee and croissant. It didn’t take long for her to calm down. Her headache had disappeared and she felt ready to face the world again.

  Anne had a lecture to deliver, and she took a taxi to the university. Feeling much more at ease now, she relaxed in the back seat of the taxi and watched the passersby. Traffic was heavy, and the taxi advanced slowly along Boulevard Saint-Germain, stopping frequently. Despite the hustle and bustle of the city, nobody was actually in an obvious hurry. There was the mother with her child just coming out of the department store. There was the delivery boy on his motor scooter, beating out the rhythm of an unheard song while waiting for the light to change. There was the sidewalk café, the patrons drinking and talking, some reading newspapers….

  What’s that?!

  Martin! Yes, her Martin. He was seated at a table in the café! Opposite him sat a beautiful blonde young girl, and both were laughing heartily. Anne couldn’t believe her eyes! Last night, Martin had said he was leaving immediately for London.

  The taxi advanced. Anne turned her head and reconfirmed that what she had seen was not imaginary. She gasped. Apparently, she had held her breath for over a minute.

  Martin lied to me! He lied to me. He was in such a hurry to leave for ‘London’ he couldn’t even kiss me goodbye—while in fact he was hurrying to meet this … friend of his in Paris. Is she his lover, too? How many does he have? That laugh they were sharing—could it be that they were laughing at me? Was I the butt of their merriment? How he got into the pants of his naive and old cousin?

  Anne had never felt so insulted, so degraded, in her life. She felt an uncontrollable rage surge up inside her.

  Well, mister lover boy—you can just forget about your pushover cousin Annie. I am still considered your superior in the association, and there will be nothing beyond that between us again. And I certainly do not need you to find Tanya’s killer. To think of you as my bodyguard—hah!

  For a moment, Anne lost her control. First Duval, now Martin—all too much, too close together. The tears welled in her eyes, and she choked an audible sob in mid breath.

  She collected her wits as best she could, and leaned forward to the taxi driver.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said, and gave her home address.

  The more Anne thought about the incident, the more ridiculous she felt. I should have realized that a woman my age should not have romantic aspirations. A twenty-year-old girl could per
haps afford to have her feelings dashed now and then, but I can’t! Having fun together for a while, a few nights of fabulous sex—oh, yes, I wouldn’t want to miss those. But a real romance? Forget it! How could I have been so blind? They say it’s never too late to learn. Boy, oh boy, how right they are!

  The taxi arrived, and Anne went up to her flat. She felt too humiliated to face anyone. She called the university and said she didn’t feel well, canceled her lectures and requested they find a temporary substitute lecturer. She took another aspirin, and went to bed. Surprisingly, she managed to fall asleep.

  Anne awoke in the late afternoon, covered in sweat. After a lengthy shower, she felt slightly better. She reached several conclusions while the water washed over her body, as if removing doubt, guilt and fear. She would spend a long weekend in Reading with her parents and children. Nothing would disturb her there. Later, from London she would contact Admiral Stone and tell him everything that had happened since this morning’s conversation with him. As the admiral would not be pestered by the annoying French police, she would request him to take over the management of the association. Next Monday, she would return to Paris, released of all obligations—as if she had never had a relationship with Martin, and as if the police investigations did not concern her at all.