“When do you think the meeting could be arranged?” John asked.
“I assume it will take about two days for our leader to be assured of the meeting with you and to prepare herself for it,” Oumid said.
John realized that he had to report again to the admiral, as Martin had not yet returned from Mauritania. The admiral, in turn, had to finalize the meeting with Anne Dupré.
“So let’s settle for about three or four days from now,” he suggested.
“Fine,” Oumid said, and they parted as good friends.
John and Patricia went to a nearby café. Over coffee, John called the admiral and reported on the meeting with Oumid.
“Sounds good,” the admiral said. “I will need to call Anne over from Paris. It may take two or three days.”
“That’s what I told Oumid,” John said. “When you know exactly when Anne will arrive, I’ll call him and set up the meeting.”
“I think that went pretty well, all things considered,” John said.
“I think you were magnificent,” Patricia said. She laid her hand on his.
“Let’s celebrate!” John ordered two whiskies. They had a toast while looking deeply into each other’s eyes, still holding hands.
“You know, Pat,” John said suddenly, “I think you’re more beautiful today than when I dated you years ago.”
Patricia couldn’t believe she was actually blushing. She gripped his hand tighter and then let go.
“Who is this Anne woman?” she asked. “You mentioned her on the phone just now.”
“She’s Martin’s cousin. I don’t know her personally, though we’ve met a couple of times.” John described Anne as best he could as the founder of the association and its main ideologist.
“Sounds like a formidable woman,” Patricia remarked. “If she’s half of what you said, she’s ideal for the meeting with our Iranian torchbearer.”
The admiral left his office and took a taxi to Tottenham Court Road, where he called Anne from a public booth.
“How are you doing, Anne?”
“Fine, thanks. And you?”
“Same here. Listen—I have a complimentary invitation to that symposium you were interested in. It starts the day after tomorrow and will run for two days. I’ll save the invitation for you if you can get here in time—otherwise, I’ll very reluctantly have to take Margaret. What do you say?”
“I’d be delighted. I’m always happy to get to London. Thanks for thinking of me. I can be there tomorrow evening.”
“My pleasure. See you then.”
SIXTY-THREE
Commissaire Duval decided to dig a little deeper into the doings of Dr. Michel Alvarez. As taking the direct approach was his custom, Duval called him and set up an appointment for the next day. Now the commissaire sat facing the new head of the Irradiation Department in his office at the university.
“I’ll come straight to the point, Dr. Alvarez,” Duval said. “Please tell me of your relationship with Professor Allier.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to relate,” replied Alvarez. “We worked together for five years. We solved complex problems, some of which were of international significance. I won’t list them now—everything is on file or in the computer databases. I can positively state that Professor Allier and I were always on the most cordial of terms—even friendly. You can verify that with other employees in the department. I cannot recall a single occasion in which we had a dispute. Well, there was one exception, I suppose, when he offered me to join some kind of organization or society with the intent of saving the world. I thought it was a crackpot idea.”
The commissaire’s forehead twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Really?” he said. “What else did he say about this organization?”
“I’m surprised you’re interested, commissaire,” Alvarez said. “It has nothing to do with our topic of discussion.”
Duval made a dismissing motion with his hand.
“You never can tell,” he said. “Anything can become important in an investigation. Sometimes a speck of dust can solve a crime.”
“Like I said, it sounded too bizarre to me, and I did not attempt to understand his explanations. I listened out of courtesy toward my superior. He spoke about dictatorships, and how weak Western democracies were, and how science could save the world.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I commented that this kind of enterprise didn’t stand a chance. No sane scientist would risk his career on such a dubious venture. That’s why we have governments, armies, budgets, etc.”
“And his response?” Duval was getting impatient.
“He said that governments don’t do a thing against tyrants, but that his association had contacts with scientists all over Europe, each offering some kind of unconventional contribution. I answered that I didn’t believe in that kind of nonsense and that I would not take part in any illegal activity, that we had families to support and that he should forget about such fantasies.”
“Did that make him angry?”
“On the contrary. He mused in silence for a bit, and then said I was probably right. He never brought up the topic again, but it seemed that from that day he was worried. And absent minded. He remained this way until the day of his death. Funny—it just occurred to me now that the device on his desk might have had something to do with that cause he talked about.”
The commissaire thanked Alvarez and took his leave. He recalled that Allier’s widow had implied that during his last weeks, her husband had been worried and absent-minded.
It seems, he thought, that there’s an international conspiracy that recruits scientists who develop secret inventions to fight totalitarian regimes clandestinely. Or something like that. And, so far, I know they have collaborators in France, England, and Belgium—doubtless, other countries are also involved. This is a very serious and severe situation. Of course, it does not prove they had anything to do with Allier’s murder. But if I take this story to the prefecture, they’ll think I’ve lost my marbles and probably transfer me somewhere where I wouldn’t be a bother. Worse, they may force me into early retirement.
On the other hand, I cannot rule out that Alvarez fabricated the entire conspiracy story in order to throw me off the scent. There is nothing to contradict the theory that Alvarez committed the murder himself. For all I know, he could be a serial killer, responsible for several unsolved murders in our files. I’ll need to find evidence to corroborate this hypothesis.
It was still morning when Anne walked into Admiral Stone’s office. The admiral updated her with all the details that John and Patricia had gathered, and why her presence was now essential.
“How come such a religious woman opposes the ayatollahs?” Anne asked.
The admiral gave her Oumid’s answer. Anne nodded.
“I’ll do my best,” she said. “I would, however, like to have a chat with John and Patricia first.”
“I’ve requested John Carmichael to come here. I don’t remember if you’ve met him before.”
“I have. I haven’t met Patricia, though I know she was with you in Tunisia and with Martin in Iran. George Graham’s sister, isn’t she?”
“Correct. Fantastic girl. She and John used to be a close couple several years ago. And it looks to me that their romance is reviving.” The admiral winked, and switched smoothly to another topic. “Look, Anne, I’ve called for a board meeting here, tomorrow evening at six. I want everyone to hear your report on your interview with the Iranian woman.”
Anne’s eyes widened.
“I thought we’d agreed that London—”
“… was out of bounds. We did. But I’ve given this much thought. It’s been a long time now, and I believe that if you’re in any danger at all of being followed, it’s in Paris and nowhere else. I know the Scotland Yard’s methods and I know their mentality—your commissaire could have used the aid of his colleague here once or twice, but that’s it. Not any more than that.”
> There was a knock on the door, and the admiral ushered John in. Anne immediately recognized the tall, handsome man she had met on her visit to the fitness gym.
“Hello, John,” Anne smiled as she shook his hand. “Nice to see you again.”
“Likewise.” He grinned back at her. “Good morning, admiral.”
“Is everything set up?” the admiral asked.
“Patricia is waiting for us in the lobby of the Hilton Hotel. We’ll call Oumid from there, and he’ll lead us to the woman in charge.”
“Good luck,” the admiral said, and saw them out.
Anne and John took a taxi to the Hilton. Patricia rose to greet them as they entered.
Anne was thunderstruck! This was the same gorgeous blonde-haired woman she had seen with Martin in the café in Paris! Anne felt slightly dizzy and felt the need for a couple of seconds to pull herself together. She feigned correcting something with her shoes and sat in the nearest chair to do so. She then took a deep breath, pasted a warm smile on her face, and rose to greet Patricia with her hand outstretched.
“Hello, Patricia. We finally meet. I’ve heard such a lot about you.”
“Hello, Anne. And I of you,” Patricia answered. “I understand you’re Martin’s cousin.”
They continued to chat. John left them to call Oumid.
“Before meeting with the Iranians,” Anne said, “I’d like to hear some more about the ones you have met.”
“They’re two brothers. Farhad, the younger one, is a waiter in a restaurant we dined at. He’s a nice chap, though rather timid. We think he’s not directly involved in what the Iranian group is doing—more like a go-between. The other brother, Oumid, whom we’re about to meet, is one of the activists. And we’re sure their mother is an activist, too. We visited their house.”
“I’d like you to be with me during the meeting,” Anne said, “if they’ll permit it.”
Patricia was quite taken with Anne. She knew that Anne was a senior academician and very talented. Now she saw that Anne was also a striking figure of a woman with a charming personality. Being offered to join Anne at the meeting was indeed a compliment.
“I’d be glad to,” Patricia said. “It would be a wonderful opportunity to hear the ideology coming directly from you.”
John returned.
“All set,” he said. “I have the directions where to meet Oumid.”
“In a minute,” Anne said. “Please sit down. I think I have all the necessary information from the admiral, but I’d like to hear all that happened from you two as well.”
She listened carefully as they told her of their various attempts to contact Iranians, of the success with Farhad, and mainly what their personal impressions were of what happened to them. Anne was particularly interested in the period that John was in their custody.
“Could you identify any of them if you saw them again?” Anne asked.
“Only the bodyguards, who were not even present during the interrogation. The others were concealed behind the curtain.”
Anne thought for a second.
“It seems they are not aggressive. Good. Let’s go, then,” she said.
John stopped a passing taxi and gave Oumid’s address. Oumid was waiting on the pavement, and when the taxi stopped, he joined them inside. He gave instructions to the driver, and then let John introduce Anne to him.
At their destination, they all got out, but John requested the driver to wait a couple of minutes.
“Mr. John, I’m afraid this is as far as you go,” Oumid said. He then addressed the women. “Our leader is Mrs. Leila Bahtyar. She belongs to a very respectable family from the days of the Shah. You two ladies will accompany me, and I shall introduce you to her husband. Please follow me.”
“I’ll wait for you at the Hilton,” John said, and reentered the taxi.
Oumid led Anne and Patricia into a modern, multi-storied building. They took the elevator to the eighth floor, where Oumid rang the bell on one of the doors. It was opened by a girl, probably a maid, who ushered them into a spacious, typically Iranian, living room. The floor was covered in lush carpets, the armchairs and couch were of expensive leather, and the tea tables were hand-carved teak. Anne sat on a couch, while Patricia browsed through the pictures and ornaments on the wall.
An elderly man entered the room about a minute later. He was short, about seventy, with sparse white hair, but with the ramrod posture of a military colonel.
“I am Omar Bahtyar,” he introduced himself in flawless English. “Leila Bahtyar’s husband. Welcome to our home. Please come this way.”
Anne got up and was about to introduce herself, too, when she saw Oumid shake his head, and gesture with his hand to follow the man. She nodded to Patricia and let Omar lead them along a corridor, where he knocked on one of the doors. He then opened it and signaled the two women to enter.
It was like a smaller living room, resplendent with lush carpeting, furniture, and ornaments. On one side of the room a very fat woman sat on a couch, almost filling in both seats. She was dressed completely in black, her head was covered with a black shawl, underneath which was another shawl that covered her forehead down to her eyebrows. Anne and Patricia approached her and they shook hands.
“Please sit here opposite me,” Leila Bahtyar said. Her English accent was in stark contrast to her appearance—she could have been an Oxford English professor. “I was told you are interested in what’s happening in Iran today. How may I assist you?”
“Thank you for receiving us, Mrs. Bahtyar,” Anne said. “We are very honored. I shall get directly to the point. We believe that Iran, just like any other nation led by a despot, is a threat to its surroundings and to the world.”
“So do I, my dear,” Mrs. Bahtyar said. “But what can you do that powers such as the United States and the European Union cannot?”
Anne took a deep breath and made full use of her oratory skills, honed to an art from years of lecturing on history.
“The reason Western democracies do nothing concerning dictatorships is that they cannot do anything. Therein lies the root of the problem. And why can’t they? Ironically, because the democratic system forces the leadership to put their own political survival before their own country’s benefit. Their main concern is to be re-elected to office. And their voters want peace, quiet and comfort. History has proven again and again that democracies enter wars only with the support of the majority of voters.” Anne went on to describe the casualty statistics of both world wars, and the horrifying forecast of a possible nuclear war in the future. She paused to let the Iranian leader contemplate the picture she had presented. Then she pressed on.
“We want to prevent those horrors from happening,” Anne said softly. “But let’s concentrate on Iran, now. The current regime is openly and deliberately provoking the rest of the world, and adamantly defying it in its continuing research into nuclear weaponry. Sooner or later this must erupt, and the ensuing conflagration will cause innumerable casualties of Iranian soldiers and civilians, immeasurable suffering on the entire population, and probably the collapse of the whole nation.”
Anne waited for a response. Patricia’s mouth was slightly open in awe.
Mrs. Bahtyar had listened silently with lowered eyes. Now she opened them and her eyes bore deep in to Anne’s.
“And how,” she asked, “do you propose to stop the dictators?”
“We are a small group of academicians and scientists. We eschew all violence, even in our countermeasures against tyranny. Our aim is to damage the dictator’s reputation, to humiliate him in front of his own people, and to cause him to doubt and even abandon his megalomaniac dreams.”
A faint smile played on the face of the fat woman.
“Please go on,” she said.
“Without going into technicalities, I’ll try to depict to you a possible scenario resulting from our work. Imagine, please, your national holiday. Your president is facing hundreds of thousands of his people in the main parade gr
ounds, and the world press is aiming cameras and microphones at him to catch every word and gesture. He opens his mouth to speak …” Anne paused for effect, “… and out comes a horrendous shriek! Magnified a thousand fold by the public address system. Caught on hundreds of millions of television sets. Heard by as many millions over the radio.
“But that is just the beginning. It is followed by the infantry parade going off course, armored and missile-towing vehicles stalling, earsplitting screeches from all acoustic speakers drowning out any other sound…. Mrs. Bahtyar, do you suppose any dictator could survive such a debacle? Do you not agree that his prestige would be irreparably discredited? If by some miracle he remains sane or has not been deposed by his own people, do you not believe that he would be extremely careful in calculating his future steps?”
“And you can cause all these things to happen?”
“Yes, we can,” Anne said simply. “As I mentioned earlier, we have scientists working for us, and each has contributed inventions to help us on our cause. On the other hand, we cannot make use of them in Iran without cooperation from the inside.”
Mrs. Bahtyar ignored Anne’s hint.
“Tell me about these inventions,” she said.
“Tiny acoustic devices disrupt all wired and wireless communications. A special chemical emits a gas that stops vehicles. Another causes large groups of people, like a soldiers in a military parade, to languish in apathy and forget what they were supposed to do. And we have more devices under development.”
Global Conspiracy Page 36