Global Conspiracy

by David Shomron

  “We’ll have to wait for it to cool down,” he said, “but I think there’s no doubt that we have a success on our hands.”

  There was a round of backslapping as they walked back to the jeep. Martin called the admiral again.

  “Admiral Stone speaking.”

  “Good morning again, admiral,” Martin said, just as cheerily as before. “Good to hear your voice.”

  “Good to hear yours, too,” the admiral responded. “Is there anything you want?”

  “Just a welcoming party for us when we return. I think the producer will like the footage we’re bringing with us.” The producer was, of course, Sir Cedric.

  “Excellent. Hope to see you soon.”

  An hour later, the generator had cooled down sufficiently for them to approach it and complete their mission. It was apparent that the blast and flames they saw were the result of the fuel tank exploding. Fragments were strewn around the mineshaft. They put on their work gloves and began working. The cowl could not be removed by unfastening the clips that held it to the body of the generator, so they had to break through it with a hammer and a chisel. They found a mess there. Metal had melted and flowed partway down the sides. The ceramic part of the spark plugs had disintegrated into a white powder. The pistons and valves were almost unrecognizable. It seemed that the laser beam had penetrated the earth above the mine effortlessly but had spent all its energy on the metallic object it had encountered. Martin looked for an exit hole of the laser beam, but the bottom of the generator was intact.

  They collected the dissembled samples and the powder from the generator and placed them in the jeep.

  “We have what we need now,” Martin said. “Let’s burn the remains of the generator now to remove all evidence of our experiment. We’ll tell Ould Salah that we’re through filming and that the generator unfortunately caught fire just as we were finishing. How sad.” He grinned.

  They poured the petrol in the jerry can over the generator and set it alight. When the fire died down and nothing could indicate that this was not a normal accident, they used their fire extinguishers to give the impression that they had tried to control the fire. Then they pulled up the stakes and ropes and tossed them into the mine.

  “Let’s go home, lads,” Martin said.

  SIXTY-SIX

  The order from Seoul for supplies had arrived. Sing had signed a commercial order from a legitimate Korean importing firm. Martin instructed Philip and Bernard to prepare the delivery, and to make sure it looked like a bunch of ordinary commercial packages. They were to be sent the regular way, via a customs broker, to Seoul. It would probably take a couple of weeks to get to Sing. Only after Sing had confirmed their arrival would Martin plan his next visit to South Korea in order to train Sing’s people in their use.

  So, for now, Martin concentrated on training the Iranian representative. The apartment of one of the Iranian group was selected as the training arena. A sample of every item of the earlier delivery was brought from the warehouse by Shahram. It turned out that they were well organized. The Iranians were not a crowd of unruly immigrants—instead, they were a unified and disciplined community. They had their own authoritative institutions, and quite a number of other resources such as apartments, vehicles, and warehouses. That was all Martin could see—and he was impressed. There was probably more under the surface, which was kept secret. They were highly motivated, and it looked like they were even prepared for casualties in pursuit of the liberation of their country from the tyrants.

  Martin and John avoided ideological discussions with them. It seemed that when Mrs. Bahtyar made a decision, everyone obeyed orders and asked no questions. Nothing could have fitted the association more.

  Admiral Stone rummaged through the admiralty’s map collection, looking specifically for military bases in North Korea and Iran. Satellite imagery now covered every centimeter of the earth’s land surface, and concealing what you did not want the satellite to observe became an art of camouflage. You needed intelligence reports to place a base accurately on the map, and hoped that the satellite image would confirm it. Sometimes you had to backtrack through images a couple of years back in order to see the bases, as they were being constructed in deep craters gouged into the earth. Then they could disappear underground as, in one Iranian case, everything was enclosed in concrete and buried under about twenty meters of soil. A grove was planted on the area and no satellite photography could now detect a strategic installation at that location.

  There were about forty such Iranian installations on the intelligence maps. Only two of them were buried as described. The others were more or less at ground level and were vulnerable to Excalibur and the “wasp.” They could be targeted immediately after the rally or at any other date—the board would have to decide on that.

  Martin met Shahram that evening. Shahram led the way to the “training” apartment.

  “You’re going to meet Jack,” he said. “Our training officer.”

  “Jack?” Martin wondered.

  Shahram grinned.

  “You know us all by our real names,” he said, “because we all live here. For various reasons, we cannot go back to Iran. But Jack will be going to Iran. Therefore, he is known only by his nickname. Even I don’t know his real name.”

  A few minutes later Jack arrived. He was a short man in his thirties, with a swarthy complexion and big black eyes. Martin would have taken him for a merchant at a carpet shop in Tehran—he would never have considered him a revolutionary.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Martin,” Jack said with a heavy oriental accent. “I have only a very sketchy outline of what we are about to do here, so if you don’t mind, please start at the very beginning.”

  They took seats besides a small worktable. Shahram joined them and listened attentively.

  Martin explained the association’s ideology. Then he described the various means and methods they were hoping to employ in achieving the association’s goals—namely, publicly humiliating the Iranian leadership.

  Then came the stage of “hands on” training. One by one, Martin demonstrated the devices, and then watched as Jack practiced the motions until he caught on fully. After all the different pieces of equipment in the warehouse were accounted for, Martin challenged Jack.

  “Right, Jack! Now—teach me to use these things.”

  At first, Jack looked alarmed, but then a grin spread over his face.

  “You are very thorough,” he said. “That’s good!”

  Jack went through the teaching course as if he himself had invented the devices.

  “You’re very good,” Martin said. “I’m sure all your pupils will understand your tutoring easily.”

  “I had an excellent teacher,” Jack said.

  After that, Martin and Jack discussed likely locations for placing the gravel and acoustic disruptors, and also the timing of their operation. It took several hours, but in the end, Martin was firmly convinced that his “apprentice” did very well indeed. The association would have a talented operative inside Iran very soon, along with the equipment and devices he needed to do the job.

  “Once you’ve taught your people in Tehran,” Martin said, “please let me know that you’re ready. Please remember that any action needs to be coordinated with us first. Oumid knows how to contact us. You can also ask us questions the same way.”

  “I would like to express my deepest gratitude,” Jack said as he pressed Martin’s hand warmly, “for the opportunity you have provided us to embarrass our leadership. I promise that when the time comes, you will find us prepared to do our best for the success of the operation.”

  The next board meeting was held in Brussels, at the Metropole Hotel. The admiral had switched hotels as a matter of routine caution. Despite the fact that Anne had not observed Inspecteur Marnier near her home for quite some time now, she employed all her evasion techniques on the way to the train station. She hoped there would be time to have a talk with Martin before
the meeting began.

  Martin, however, was late.

  “Well,” Admiral Stone said, “something must have held him up. He would have called if he were seriously delayed. Let’s begin …”

  Just then the doorbell buzzed.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Martin announced as he took off his jacket. “Traffic jam.”

  “You’re just in time,” Sir Cedric said, “to deliver your reports.”

  Martin ignored Anne completely, though she desperately tried to catch his eye.

  “The ‘wasp’ test in Mauritania was a smashing success, on all counts. In fact, I found it quite surprising that it took just one calibration correction to hit the bull’s eye. The beam penetrated about two meters of earth and through most of the body of the generator.”

  “Martin brought me samples of the remains of the generator,” Sir Cedric said. “I’m studying them now. At first glance, it seems that the beam carries immense power, and can do intensive damage to metal, especially to engines. That seems to be the case with ceramic components as well, which just crumbled away.”

  “You should have been there,” Martin grinned. “You would have danced a jig.”

  “I have no doubt,” Sir Cedric grinned back, “that if this beam hits any working installation, that installation will immediately cease from functioning. In fact, damage will be done even if the machine isn’t turned on.” He glanced at Anne. “I trust Professor Boulanger was informed of the success of the experiment.”

  Anne nodded.

  “Good. When I complete my tests, we shall send him the results.”

  “Right!” the admiral said. “Martin, how is the Iranian training going?”

  Martin described Jack, the training, and the communication method via Oumid and Patricia. He then went on to inform the board of how the shipment to Sing in South Korea was handled.

  “We are now waiting for confirmation of receipt from Sing,” Martin concluded. “I assume it’ll take a few days. Training can commence thereafter.”

  “Do you actually need Spencer Partridge to go along with you?” Sir Cedric inquired.

  “He’s wonderful company,” Martin answered, “but I can deal with the training on my own. Like I did with Jack. And as we’re in a friendly environment in Korea, Spencer’s security backup will not be necessary now.”

  “Agreed, then?” the admiral asked. There were no dissenters. “Martin goes to Korea alone. Now, Martin, what about information on those unmanned flying vehicles?”

  “George is working on it,” Martin said. “I hope that by the time I get back from Seoul I’ll have all the details.”

  “Our experiments were successful,” Anne said. Even when she spoke, Martin did not look at her. “The goods have been delivered to their destinations, and we’re almost ready for action. However, I have a feeling that we were so busy with North Korea and Iran, that we have neglected other targets, mainly South America and Al Qaeda. I think we should start gathering data on them as well.”

  A short discussion followed. It ended with the resolutions that Sir Cedric would take a private vacation in South America for about two weeks. During this time, he would try to get the “touch and feel” of what was going on there, especially in Venezuela, where a new type of dictator was emerging. At about the same time, Admiral Stone would pay a visit to Pakistan—after having carefully studied all intelligence reports he could find—and poke around, trying to add to his knowledge base.

  “This raises a problem,” Sir Cedric said. “Who is to be in charge here when both the admiral and myself will be absent? Anne still cannot be contacted.”

  “And I’ll be in Korea part of that time,” Martin grunted.

  “It looks like we won’t be meeting again for about three weeks,” Sir Cedric continued. “What if Martin needs Anne’s confirmation or assistance for something?”

  Anne looked hopefully at Martin, but he was watching Sir Cedric.

  “What do you suggest?” Martin asked.

  “How about this,” Sir Cedric said. “If an emergency arises in which Anne simply must be involved, you’ll call her from some public place and offer carpet cleaning services. Or leave a message on her answerphone. You will then wait for her to call you back at the gym, from a public phone as well.”

  “No problem,” Martin said. “Are we done?”

  “I think so,” the admiral said.

  “I’m off then,” Martin said. He grabbed his jacket and left the suite in a rush.

  On the express train back to Paris, Anne tried to put her thoughts in order. She had hardly said anything at the meeting…. She was too focused on Martin. It was obvious now that he was deliberately avoiding her. She couldn’t really blame him—she had caused it herself. And she couldn’t leave the meeting and run after him—she’d done that once before in London, and it nearly exposed her.

  He has the opportunity to call me now, she thought. But I don’t think he will. I’ve offended him so deeply. Even if an emergency arose, he would probably prefer to wait for the admiral’s return instead of calling me. God, I love him so, and now I’ve entangled both of us in this unholy mess.

  DAMN! How could I do such a stupid thing to myself?

  “Hey there,” Martin said, as he walked into George Grahams’s cubicle. “Our delivery to Korea has arrived safely, and I’ll be off to Seoul in a couple of days. But I’d like to talk to you before I go. How are you progressing with your investigations on the unmanned planes?”

  It was a quiet day, and Spencer was handling the only customer at the gym. George put down the manual he had been reading and straightened in his chair.

  “Well, Coop,” he said, “I have some facts, and I have some questions still left open.”

  “Start with the facts,” Martin said, and sat down opposite him.

  “All right. First—Iran is a country where private aviation is permitted, if you have a valid enough reason. I suppose that with the right cover story, this could be arranged. You wouldn’t need a pilotless aircraft. However, North Korea is a totally different kettle of fish. If you took a manned plane into their airspace, you would definitely be intercepted, and probably shot down, by their MIGs, Therefore, an unmanned aircraft makes sense for this country.”

  “Won’t it be shot down, too?” Martin asked.

  “Could be, but it would probably take longer. The aircraft is smaller and harder to detect. It could complete a number of missions before being shot down. And we won’t lose a pilot!”

  “Where can we obtain such a vehicle?”

  “I haven’t got that far yet, Coop. I’m still studying the market.”

  “You said you had questions as well,” Martin reminded.

  “Yes,” George said. “Let’s assume we have a UAV. Where will we launch it from? And how do we get it to wherever it’s going to be launched from? Small as it is compared to executive planes, it still could have a wingspan of up to twelve meters. Only those models can carry a payload of eighty-five kilograms, about the weight of Excalibur. The UAV’s bulk also includes a fuselage and tail. All this takes space—lots of it.”

  “Can’t we find a model you can take apart and reassemble?”

  “That was the first thing that crossed my mind, Coop. But, no—at least, I haven’t seen such an option on the market yet.”

  Martin got up and looked out of the window.

  “Doesn’t that seem odd to you?” he asked.

  “Not really,” George replied. “You see, UAV’s are made in several countries, but mostly for military purposes. The deployment of these aircraft for non-military use is quite limited—fire control, police supervision, monitoring natural disasters, etc. Private usage is far less widespread.”

  “I see. And I admit that the usages you mentioned don’t actually require that the plane be taken apart for transport. We’ll need to address this problem soon.”

  “There’s more. Eventually we’ll need to approach a supplier. And we’ll need a story. What kind of reason could a commerc
ial company provide for purchasing a UAV?”

  Martin thought for a while.

  “I don’t know,” he said at last. “We’ll need to work on that, too.”

  George grinned.

  “I’m surprised at you, Coop,” he said. “You’ve used the same story successfully on two different occasions. Why not again?”

  Martin turned from the window with wide eyes. He, too, broke into a wide grin. As he left the cubicle, he slapped George on the back.

  “Good work. Keep it up.”

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  It had been a lonely flight. For the first time, Martin did not have a partner at his side. Worse, all he could think of was Anne. If Spencer or Philip were there, they could have discussed their plans.

  Fool that I was. I thought we had such a great thing going. If she had just told me it was all over, it would have hurt—but I would have understood. Was it something I said or did? For the millionth time—I can’t remember anything that would even cause embarrassment, let alone the cold-shoulder she gives me. Just like that—I am suddenly a total stranger. I can’t look at her at meetings, and I certainly shall not approach her of my own volition.

  At his hotel in Seoul, it did not get any better. He tried to focus on the upcoming meeting with Sing. He hoped the people he would meet spoke English. Otherwise, Sing would have to translate.