Global Conspiracy

by David Shomron

  “You’re absolutely right, Cedric,” Anne said. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  “Martin, you’ll welcome the yacht in Nice when it arrives. Meet with the admiral discreetly, and tell him everything—the story and our resolutions. I’m sure he’ll agree with everything we’ve decided. Then brief our lads with your plan, and prepare the execution.”

  “What if the admiral has questions?” Anne asked. “What if he wants a board meeting before taking any action?”

  “Then everything goes on hold, and we have an emergency board meeting in Nice,” Sir Cedric said. “Perhaps Martin will have to devise another plan. However, I doubt that will happen. Oh, and Martin—I think we’d prefer to leave Patricia and Olaf out of the picture altogether. Find some way to circumvent them. Agreed?”

  Martin nodded.

  SEVENTY-FIVE

  The Iranian president, Mr. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, has announced that there are three thousand centrifuges currently operational in Iran. Three thousand more will shortly be added, with the final target of fifty thousand. He stated that Iran has greatly improved the guiding systems of their long-range missiles, and that if attacked by the US or Israel, the latter would be within range for counterattacks.

  The day after the North Korean catastrophe, the international media continued to report new stories that leaked out of that country. Apparently, in addition to the fiasco in Pyongyang, explosions were heard outside the city. Unconfirmed reports claimed that ammunition and explosive depots “just blew up suddenly.” These explosions happened within minutes of each other, and coincided with the panic in the capital. The authorities tried to forbid the publication of such news, but the leakage was massive. Then they denied everything, but by now it was a fact—a mysterious hand had orchestrated a gigantic blow against the North Korean regime. It was as yet unclear whether the Great Leader would resign or replace most of his ministers. Mass executions were expected.

  For the next few weeks, the world media continued to report on the Pyongyang debacle. Publicists analyzed and reanalyzed the events. All of them circled around the question: Was this the beginning of a revolution? Was there a powerful underground movement in North Korea? Was a foreign Western power, perhaps Japan, at work here?

  The North Korean press made no official statement regarding the historic events. There were attempts to soothe the local populace by underplaying the importance of what occurred, promising a richer future, and finally by blaming the capitalists for everything that went wrong. No one saw or heard anything about the Great Leader—according to rumors, he had committed suicide or suffered a heart attack.

  Nine weeks after their departure, the Mimosa and its crew returned to the Nice marina. They were all deeply suntanned—the outdoors had done a lot to their complexions—and in high spirits. No wonder, the mission had succeeded without a hitch, and they were rightfully very proud.

  Martin was waiting for them on the pier. There were shouts of welcome as he climbed on board, cheers, and backslapping, and he even got a kiss from Patricia. Martin grinned and spread his arms for silence.

  “Guys,” he said, “you certainly have a lot to be proud of. First, I would like to salute Admiral Stone, on a difficult job carried out brilliantly!” He turned to the admiral and gave a military salute, which was copied by the other men, including Olaf. The admiral saluted back in style, but could not conceal the slight smile on his lips. “Don’t run away,” he grinned at the “crew.” “I’ll be right back after I have a chat with the admiral.”

  Martin followed the admiral into his cabin.

  “Quite a show you put on there,” the admiral said, smiling.

  “I hope it covers the severity of what I am about to tell you,” Martin said gravely. They sat at the admiral’s desk, and Martin related everything regarding Bernard Webb, beginning with the Tanya Gerard murder case and ending with emergency board meeting at Sir Cedric’s.

  The admiral kept a serious visage during most of Martin’s narrative, but toward the end, his face reflected the shock he felt.

  “Yes, I see,” he said, when Martin had finished. “There doesn’t seem to be any alternative.”

  “I’ll have private interviews with my lads tomorrow before the general debriefing. It’s the only way I can talk to them and exclude Bernard. I’ll tell the boys what I told you, and we’ll agree on a plan of action. Oh, I’ll interview Bernard, too, of course, but that will only be the expected report on the cruise and the mission, and anything else of a more ‘personal’ nature. Do I have your agreement, admiral?”

  “Yes, Martin. Indeed you have!” The admiral shook Martin’s hand firmly. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, admiral,” Martin said.

  Back on deck, Martin assembled the team again.

  “I am announcing a debriefing meeting at the ‘cowshed’ in London tomorrow morning at ten,” Martin said. “We’ll all fly back to London tonight on our executive jet after George finishes up the business with the UAV and has it put into storage. It is imperative that you all attend. In addition, starting at nine a.m., I shall want a private, ten-minute tête-à-tête with each of you separately, where you can state anything personal you may want to say. Philip, please see to the sequencing of these interviews. Olaf, you need to remain with the yacht for a day or two for maintenance. Therefore, I would like to talk to you right after this meeting. Okay?”

  Olaf Gunnarson, pipe stuck between his teeth, grinned and touched his cap.

  “All right, the rest of you,” Martin said, “off you go. Have a good time, but don’t be late for the flight tonight.”

  They all left the yacht. Martin and Olaf went into one of the cabins, where Olaf reported on how thrilled he was to have taken part in the mission. Martin went through the motions of a thorough debriefing, and then patted Olaf on the back, and said he hoped to see him in a couple of days in London.

  Martin stepped out onto the deck, and was surprised to see Patricia and John waiting for him.

  “Hello, hello,” he greeted them. “Why aren’t you having a good time in town?”

  “Martin,” Patricia said, “could you excuse my absence from tomorrow’s meeting? I just spoke with my mother in London and she’s taken ill. She wants me and George to visit her, and I told her George was busy. But I think I should visit her very soon in fact, I shall go to the hospital directly from the airport.”

  Thank goodness! Martin thought. I needed an excuse for not having her at the meeting.

  “Well,” he said very seriously. “In that case I shall make an exception and interview you now.”

  The interview with Patricia was, of course, for show only—the same as with Olaf. It was over in twenty minutes.

  Three days after the team’s return to London, the press announced that the body of a man in his forties, one Bernard Webb, had been fished out of the Thames. Scotland Yard reported that the man was wanted for murder in France. Investigations were continuing in cooperation with the French police.

  It didn’t take long for Scotland Yard to arrive at the premises of Fit and Trim. Martin was interrogated, and he told them all they needed to know of Bernard Webb’s association with his company. “Yes, he was an ex-soldier under my command. Yes, he worked with the rest of the team in my company. He was well behaved, and no one had any complaints against him. No, I know nothing of his private life—he did not care to share it with me. Yes, his terms of employment enabled him to take several days off if pre-coordinated with the others.”

  The police officers got similar responses from the other employees. There was no need to go any deeper—after all, the main show was in Paris, not here.

  Commissaire Duval leaned back in his chair, his feet on his desk, deep in thought. The package from Scotland Yard was like a bolt from the blue, even though he had been forewarned by Commissioner Neville MacLeod. So many pieces of the puzzle were falling into place, and yet the picture was incomplete. The package contained the name and description of the corpse, his fingerprints, samp
les of his blood, and a bloodstained amulet found at his residence. The amulet was the one Madame Dupré had described to Marnier at their first meeting—it had definitely belonged to Tanya Gerard. The laboratory had already made all the tests: the blood on the amulet was also Tanya Gerard’s, and the killer’s blood sample matched the blood the police had found on the shattered mirror in Tanya’s flat. Most amazing of all were the lab reports on the killer’s fingerprints—not only did they match one of the sets found on the razor that killed Tanya, but they also matched the fingerprints found inside the device that electrocuted Professor Allier!

  Of course! Because the Allier case was closed, we could only compare the fingerprints to those on file with owners. But now, the computer must have made a comprehensive search, and came up with identical fingerprints in two unsolved murders!

  The press had been notified that the Gerard murder case was solved. Commissaire Duval’s reputation with his superiors had been restored. He had personally called Professeur Dupré and informed her that Tanya Gerard’s killer had himself been killed.

  No mention of the Allier case, of course, to anyone—that one had been closed a long time ago.

  For the first time I have a substantial link between the two deaths. But how? Why? It makes no sense.

  There was a knock on his door, and Inspecteur Marnier’s head popped around it.

  “There’s a young man out here who says he has urgent information regarding the Gerard case.”

  Duval resumed a dignified seated posture.

  “Show him in.”

  A tall, well-built blond man shuffled in hesitatingly.

  “Sit down,” Duval said gruffly. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Lucien Laval, sir,” the young man said uneasily. “I was Tanya Gerard’s last lover, and I witnessed her murder.”

  Duval was speechless. So many new revelations in such a short time.

  “Indeed, young man?” Duval had finally found his tongue. “Tell me about it.”

  Lucien related the succession of events leading to, and culminating in, the murder. He made no mention of the lady professor or of her friend, Tony, but he confirmed every single bit of evidence that Duval already had.

  “Why did you wait so long before coming forth?” Duval asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious? That monster would dispatch me much in the same way as he did Tanya if I came out of hiding. I was protecting my life.”

  If there was any doubt before, Duval thought, there certainly isn’t any now. Just one more shot in the dark …

  “Tell me, Lucien—did this Webb fellow ever mention the name Albert Allier?”

  “No, sir.”

  Duval sighed.

  “Oh, well …”

  “But Tanya did. She screamed at Webb that she had connections. One of her most ardent admirers was a certain Professor Allier, who had a lot of influence, and that she told him everything, including about Webb. That was just before she called him a perverted monster for looting corpses. And those were the last words she uttered.”

  “Can you think of anything else I should know?” Duval asked, barely able to conceal his excitement.

  “No, sir. Begging your pardon, sir—is this the same Professor Allier who had an accident some time ago?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “I … well … I never made the connection until you asked me just now.”

  “Quite understandable, young man. I thank you for your testimony. Please submit a statement of everything you have told me to Inspecteur Marnier. You are free to go.”

  Lucien had barely shut the door behind him, when Duval jumped out of his chair, spread his hands to the ceiling, and crowed out loud. The Allier case was solved, and he had been right all along!

  When Marnier poked his head in to see what all the noise was about, he found Duval at his desk, fiercely pounding his report into the computer. Duval glared at him, and Marnier backed out hastily.

  The report would include the solution of the Allier murder. Murder, not accident! Allier was a patron of the arts and one of Tanya’s greatest admirers. Bernard Webb learned from Tanya that Allier knew all about him. Allier also knew, naturally, of Tanya’s murder, but he did not alert the police regarding Webb at once, because then he would have to expose his relations with Tanya. But Webb could not take the chance of this continuing indefinitely. So he devised the electrocution apparatus—his fingerprints were found inside the device. Why go to such lengths and such an elaborate murder? Well, who knows what a deranged mind considers the best way to do things.

  Case solved!

  SEVENTY-SIX

  The next board meeting was held in the admiral’s office five days after the yacht’s return to Nice. The admiral embraced Anne and shook hands heartily with Sir Cedric.

  Martin threw a bunch of newspapers and magazines on the table.

  “The resolution we made at our last meeting,” he said dryly, “was carried out successfully.”

  “That’s that, then,” Sir Cedric said decisively. “We’re under no threat now. Well done, Martin. Patrick, I’m dying to hear about the mission.”

  Admiral Stone reported on the cruise and the functioning of the UAV. He heaped praise on George Graham, who operated the aircraft as if he’d been flying them all his life.

  “One thing I found curious,” he said. “We observed no attempt to intercept the UAV. The chaos must have been so intense, and communication so severely disrupted, that I believe the North Korean air force was not even aware of our incursion. All in all, I think we did a pretty good job.”

  “You’re not the only one to think so,” Martin said. “The lads call you a ‘virtuoso’ playing a ‘Stradivarius.’”

  “Shows what good planning can do,” the admiral said humbly.

  “That’s not enough,” Sir Cedric said jovially. “It takes perfect execution as well. If we were in the habit of distributing medals, I would certainly nominate you for one!”

  “Come on, guys,” the admiral said, bursting with pride. “As the Americans say, it was no big deal. Any retired officer of the British Navy would have done the same.” He grinned broadly.

  The board then discussed reports from the world press. Nothing, of course, directly from North Korea, where they had a total blackout on news pertaining to the calamity they had experienced. It must have had catastrophic proportions. The rest of the world played guessing games: was it a failed attempt to overthrow the government? Or was it the action of a very well equipped underground movement? Here and there, the CIA was mentioned, too.

  Anne tried to sum things up.

  “I too wish to congratulate Admiral Stone on a remarkably well-done mission. I think we all agree that we have pulled off an astounding tour de force. As we can see, speculations as to who actually did the deed are still rife, and nobody is anywhere near the truth. We have proved that within us there is a secret power with which we can face almost any challenge. I admit that this has gone far beyond anything I had imagined. Now that we’re all together, I suggest we begin making plans of what our next steps should be.”

  “What about our financial benefactors?” Sir Cedric asked.

  “They are no doubt tuned in to the current news. But yes, they deserve the personal touch. I shall call Andrew Dodson and—if you don’t mind, admiral—please call Neil Bennett. We’ll also call our other collaborators and thank them for their contributions. And the first to thank is you, Cedric—for your fantastic laser beam! Even though we didn’t use it for this mission.”

  Sir Cedric’s face was radiant.

  “That’s going to change when we get to work in Iran,” he said. “It’s not going to be a blueprint repetition of what happened in Pyongyang. Our strike there will hurt much, much more!”

  “There are a few open questions,” Anne continued. “First, were our acoustic disrupters discovered? What about the other stuff we shipped? Is anything left over, that might fall into the wrong hands? If discovered, will friendly nations be alerted?
Martin, I’m beginning to think you’ll need to pay Charlie and Sing another visit, and wrap things up neatly over there.”

  “I agree,” the admiral said.

  “If no one has anything more to say …” Anne said and got up.

  “Just a minute,” Sir Cedric said. “I wonder if you’ve seen the latest report on Iran.” He pulled a folded newspaper out of his pocket. “I bought this on my way here and read it in the taxi. It could be of significance.”

  “Please read it to us,” Anne said, sitting down again.

  “Sources in Washington,” Sir Cedric read aloud, “report that the USA has withdrawn its resolution not to negotiate with Iran, as long as the latter continues with her nuclear program. After years of obstinate insistence that a precondition for negotiations was the total cessation of uranium enrichment, the USA has now agreed to deal with Iran. No explanation was given for this reversal of policy. The USA has even agreed to open a low-level diplomatic presence in Tehran, probably under the assumption that such a delegation would convince the Iranians to agree to have their nuclear program supervised …”