Global Conspiracy

by David Shomron

Now that they were expecting no one else to join them, the team set about their preparations for the final test. They watched anxiously as the UAV was lifted from the van and lowered gently into the storage space in the yacht, where it fit easily. The deck was closed snugly above it.

  With George now on board, they set sail into the Mediterranean. They practiced the transfer of the UAV from the hold into the water, and George went through his set of maneuvers. After he landed the aircraft by the Mimosa, they carefully loaded it back into its place inside the yacht.

  Pleased with the results, the admiral reported to London that they were now ready to “film.” They returned to Nice and stocked up on food, drink and fuel. Pyongyang’s grand event was just five weeks away and they wanted to be in the vicinity several days beforehand. So, they needed to set out now.

  SEVENTY-TWO

  Four weeks later, the yacht cast anchor near Seokmo, one of the many small islands off the South Korean western coastline, yet near enough to North Korea. The tiny island, only a few kilometers across, had not much more to offer than magnificent sunsets and salt farms. Admiral Stone felt they could safely use the island as a temporary base.

  The admiral looked once again at the map spread out on his work desk. Three military bases were marked, courtesy of Sing’s trainees. The plan was to approach the North Korean shore on D-day, remain just outside their territorial waters in the Yellow Sea, and launch the UAV. While the aircraft described a large, clockwise arc over the North Korean military bases, the yacht would proceed south at full speed. George would guide the UAV and operate Excalibur at the appropriate moments. If the plane wasn’t shot down during its flight, George would land it by the Mimosa while safely at sea, far from the target arena. If the UAV was shot down, it would take the North Koreans time to locate it. By then it would have self-destructed, and it would take them even more time to derive that it was launched from the sea. By then, the admiral hoped, they would be safe once again in Seokmo.

  This cannot continue any longer! Despite himself, Martin could not get Anne and her behavior out of his mind. Now, with his teammates on the yacht, he had some time to come to grips with his absurd situation with Anne.

  Yes, she snubbed me. And it hurt. Very much. Why? At first I thought it was the police investigation and the shadow they put on her. That would be enough to make anybody’s behavior erratic. But that was long ago. She isn’t being followed today. She herself admitted that.

  Secrecy and security? Bah! She has found solutions to far tougher problems, and she could surely find several for this little issue.

  What does that leave us? All I can think of is stress—of the most intense degree imaginable! And I don’t think she’s getting any help in that direction from anyone, least of all from me. I think she isn’t even aware that she’s under such extreme stress. Unchecked, she could be going downhill all the time, and sooner or later she’ll hit bottom, and then all hell will break loose.

  There’s only one way to stop that from happening. The time has come, Martin old boy, to save her. Forget your hurt feelings, swallow your pride, and confront her face to face first thing tomorrow morning. You’ll actually be doing her a service!

  Martin took the first Chunnel train to Paris. There was no point in telephoning. She might refuse to see him, and he was not prepared to take “no” for an answer. He arrived past midnight, checked into the nearest hotel, leaving instructions at the desk to have a rented car waiting for him in the morning.

  Martin knew the times Anne left for the university. He also knew she walked to work. He would wait for her outside her home, and talk to her when she came out. Much better than going up to her apartment. They had to talk rationally out there in the street—Anne wasn’t the one to make a scene in public.

  It was still morning when the telephone rang on Commissaire Duval’s desk. He picked up the receiver.

  “Duval,” he said.

  “It’s Anne Dupré. I’m sorry to bother you, commissaire, but I’m frantic with worry. Tanya’s killer is still on the loose, and I wondered whether …”

  “Madame,” Duval said sternly, “I must ask you to stop calling me on this topic. You must trust me when I say you’ll be the first to know if anything develops. I sincerely hope that I shall not be getting any further calls from you. Au revoir, Madame!”

  Duval slammed down the receiver. But his hand remained on the telephone as his thoughts were jolted by the abrupt exchange with Anne Dupré.

  She’s right, Felix, and you know it, he upbraided himself. You’ve been so obsessed with the Allier case that you’ve neglected your other duties.

  As if on cue, there was a knock on the door. Inspecteur Marnier poked in his head.

  “May I have a couple of minutes of your time, commissaire?” he asked timidly.

  Duval found this intrusion unwelcome, but he did not have a ready excuse to send Marnier away. His computer was off, and his desk was clear of documents.

  “Yes, of course,” Duval said, forcing himself to smile. “Come in, Marnier. Sit down. Now, what’s this all about?”

  Marnier squirmed in his seat.

  “This … this is not easy for me at all,” he stammered. “I’m afraid you may not like what I have to say.”

  “Come, come, Marnier,” Duval said patronizingly. “You have nothing to worry about. Out with it!”

  “I happened to pass by the office of Monsieur le Directeur. He was in conversation with the Chief Prosecutor. Commissaire, please believe me—I am not in the habit of eavesdropping, but I heard them mention your name, and my curiosity grew. So I continued listening.”

  Marnier searched his superior’s face for a signal to go on. There it was.

  “In the Directeur’s words,” continued Marnier, “‘Lately, I’ve noticed that Duval seems to be floating on some distant planet. Some say he’s doing some private investigations on his own.’”

  “And?” Duval prodded.

  “And then the Directeur’s secretary showed up with a stack of files, and I had to move on.”

  “Thank you, Marnier. Thank you very much. You did the right thing by telling me this. Forewarned is forearmed.”

  Marnier left, and Duval leaned both elbows on his desk. He bowed his head and breathed heavily.

  I am destroying my illustrious career with my own two hands, he thought. I am the famous Commissaire Felix Duval, who could solve any puzzle, whose picture appeared in the press at least every two weeks—and that is how my superiors talk about me!

  He rose from his desk and walked over to the wall cabinet. From within he took out a bottle of cognac and poured himself a stiff swig.

  But I have to go on! My hunches were never wrong in the past. And too many loose ends are still floating around. However, I’ll need to tone it down. Quite a lot, in fact. Marnier and his team will never hear of the Allier case again. My superiors will once again see their brightest star shine again, solving difficult crimes. But, Professor Allier, rest in peace—I will find your killer!

  Anne felt physically abused. Commissaire Duval had brushed her off so rudely, that it was clear to her now that the police would do nothing to apprehend Tanya’s murderer. Therefore, it was up to her to take action now!

  In half an hour, Anne was ready. She had on the “elderly lady” outfit, heavy makeup on her face, and her chestnut hair rolled into a bun. The dark glasses went on her nose, the stun gun got tucked into her belt, and her cellular phone, with the speed dial set for the police, went into her trouser pocket.

  Anne definitely approved of what she saw in the mirror. She went to the phone and dialed for a taxi.

  Radio broadcast

  World press is abuzz with reports that North Korea has begun reactivating the nuclear reactors that were shut down for several months as a result of an agreement signed with the West. According to reliable sources, this reversal in attitude stems from the USA’s refusal to delete North Korea from the list of countries supporting terrorism.

  Martin sat in h
is rented car a few meters away from the entrance to Anne’s residence. He was half an hour early, he knew, but it was safer that way—he did not want to miss her. The car radio was playing softly, and his eyes never left the main doorway.

  A taxi pulled up at the entrance. If Anne’s taking a taxi, I’ll need to follow her and catch her somewhere else to have our conversation. Martin started his car in anticipation. An elderly woman came out of the house, entered the taxi and drove off. Martin relaxed.

  Then he sat up straight.

  Wait! That posture. That walk. Too familiar. Could it be … ? My god, it’s Anne! In disguise! What the hell is she up to?

  Martin followed the taxi. His mind was churning in search of an explanation. He knew that there was no constellation on the association’s agenda that required a disguise. And at this hour in the morning it was highly unlikely that Anne was going to a fancy dress ball.

  The penny finally dropped when the taxi stopped at exactly the same corner of rue Saint-Denis where he and Anne had, a few months earlier, searched together for Ninette.

  That crazy woman! She’s going after the killer! Alone!

  Go after her! Stop her!

  Park now! Nowhere to do so! There—an alley. No entry. Park illegally. Hell with the fine!

  Run back to rue Saint-Denis. Anne is nowhere in sight. Run up the street and look around. Hell—this isn’t rue Saint-Denis.

  Damn and double damn! I’m losing precious time!

  Ask someone for directions.

  Anne paid the taxi driver and started hesitantly down the now familiar street. Her mouth was dry, and her breath came in short gasps—yes, she was definitely frightened. But her sense of duty urged her on. Nobody else would do the job, so it was up to her. She had no idea what she would say or do if and when she faced the killer. Secretly, she hoped he wouldn’t be there—nothing would happen, and her chase would end. She had no more leads.

  Yes—that would be her final decision! Let that sonofabitch Duval go on with his lies—he would hear from her no more.

  Anne arrived at the hotel. Several prostitutes were bunched in the doorway. They did not approve of strange women on their turf.

  “What do you want here, Madame?”

  “No young men here for you, grandma!”

  Anne pushed her way through wordlessly, and went up a rickety flight of stairs. A maid, carrying some soiled bed sheets, looked at her in astonishment.

  “Who are you looking for, Madame?” she asked.

  Anne tried to compose herself as best she could.

  “Ninette,” she replied.

  The maid shrugged.

  “She’s upstairs in her attic studio.”

  Anne reflected that this must be Ninette’s residence as well as her place of “business.” Of course, she thought, how else could she afford to host a man for so long?

  Anne walked up six more flights. At the top landing she paused to catch her breath. She faced a short corridor with three doors. Taking a deep breath, she knocked gently on the nearest door. No answer. She waited a few moments, and then knocked on the second door. It opened a crack, and a young woman with yellow hair collected in a ponytail peered out at her.

  “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

  Anne silently put her foot in the door.

  “Hello, Ninette,” she said with a motherly smile. “It’s me, remember?”

  Ninette’s face was a picture of confusion. Anne took advantage of this, and pushed her way through the door. The room was sparsely furnished, with faded curtains on the single window. But Anne had no time to take in the décor.

  Ninette was backing away, and Anne slowly advanced on her, leaving the door behind her ajar.

  “Where is he?” Anne asked with a hint of menace. But she had no idea how to continue. She saw a closed door to her left and immediately assumed that Tanya’s killer was behind it.

  “Tell Lucien,” Anne said in a flash of inspiration, “that his mother sent me.”

  Ninette’s eyes were wide open, and Anne noticed a touch of fear in them. She realized that Ninette was fully aware of the penalty for harboring someone wanted by the police.

  Anne moved left toward the door. In a flash, Ninette stood before it, arms splayed.

  “You’re not going in there,” she said defiantly.

  Anne pushed her aside. She threw open the door, her heart thumping wildly. It was the bathroom cum toilet. A tall, young man in torn jeans and an undershirt stood by the shower curtain. Despite his magnificent physique, he seemed cowed and submissive.

  It’s him! an internal voice screamed at her. This is the man who cut Tanya’s throat!

  The man was gazing at her with terrified blue eyes. He raised his hands as if to protect himself. Anne noticed a red and blue tattoo on his arm.

  “What do you want, Madame?” he muttered. Then he added: “How did you find me?”

  Now it was Anne’s turn to be confused. Instead of a monstrous murderer, she was facing a trembling, terrified boy. He didn’t look dangerous at all. Ninette, standing behind her, could be a larger threat if she decided to use violence to protect her lover.

  Anne stepped back so that they were both in view.

  “Your mother sent me, Lucien,” she said rapidly. “She wants you to continue with your studies.”

  Lucien lowered his hands.

  “You’re not from the police?” he asked.

  “Why did you do it?” Anne asked softly, ignoring his question. “Why did you kill Tanya Gerard?”

  Lucien walked slowly into the room and slumped onto the tattered sofa.

  “He didn’t do it,” Ninette said, and hurried to Lucien’s side.

  “Oh, really?” Anne said half mockingly. “Then why is he hiding from the police?”

  Lucien sighed deeply.

  “I’m hiding from the killer,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I saw what happened, and he knows that I saw him. If he finds me, I’m dead.” Lucien’s voice rose a little. “But yes, I am also hiding from the police. They won’t believe my story, and I’ll be charged with murder. My fingerprints were all over Tanya’s flat.”

  Anne was thunderstruck. Lucien’s story was plausible enough to be believed. These revelations threw the entire case into a new perspective.

  “So if it wasn’t you, who did it?” she asked.

  “I … I can’t tell you,” he mumbled. Then he quickly changed the subject. “How did you find my mother?”

  “I was a close friend of Tanya’s,” Anne said. “She told me about you. I wanted to find out what really happened.” She added bitterly: “I tried the police. They are incompetent and ineffectual.”

  Ninette wriggled nervously next to Lucien. She obviously disliked talk about his previous lover. But she didn’t interrupt.

  Lucien examined Anne’s face closely.

  “I know you,” he said slowly. “You’re disguised, but I know you. Tanya told me about you, and I’ve seen the two of you together. You’re a history professor.”

  “Yes,” Anne said simply.

  “Why the …” Lucien waved his hand at Anne’s face and clothes, “… the deception?”

  Anne removed her glasses and pushed them into her jacket.

  “That wasn’t because of you,” she said. “That was for the benefit of the girls downstairs.”

  “What do the police know?” Ninette asked in concern.

  “Nothing,” Anne said. “Like I said, they are very incompetent. I found out everything by myself.” She looked steadily at Lucien. “I still want to know who the killer is.”

  Lucien went ashen. He shook his head violently. Ninette hugged him closely.

  “He can’t tell you!” she cried. “He wouldn’t even tell me! It’s too dangerous!”

  “No, no,” Lucien mumbled. “If I tell, he’ll find me. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me, just like he killed her. I’m dead. He’s insane.” He kept on muttering incoherently.

  Martin finally located the hotel. Anne was not in sigh
t—she must have gone up already. He barged through the girls in the doorway, and raced noisily up the stairs, four at a time. The maid came out of one of the rooms and noticed him. She understood at once, raised six fingers and nodded upward. Martin nodded back, and pounded up the six flights. He saw a door slightly open and rushed in.

  The sight Martin saw was quite different from what he had expected. Anne was standing in the middle of the room, facing a sofa on which a young man and a blonde girl were huddled. Obviously, these were Lucien and Ninette, and Anne seemed to be having no trouble with them at all. All three looked at him in shock.

  Martin was embarrassed by his unnecessarily turbulent entrance.

  “Are you all right?” he asked Anne.

  “I’m fine,” Anne murmured. Her astonishment at his sudden appearance was quickly replaced by relief. She had been at a loss regarding how to continue with this unfortunate couple, but now Martin had given her a way out. The frustration of the past several weeks disappeared in a flash—as if a balloon had burst.

  “This is my friend, Tony,” she told the pair on the sofa, blurting out the first name that came into her head. “Tony, I’d like you to meet Ninette and Lucien. Lucien claims he is not Tanya’s killer, but that he knows who is. He won’t reveal his name for fear of being killed himself.”