by Peter Kozmar
“Well …” the Chief of Staff started to reply, but Andy continued.
“I’m not employed by you or anyone in this room. I’m here because I’m a god damn patriot who believes in protecting this great country of ours. If this material got into the wrong hands it could cause serious embarrassment to our Commander-in-Chief. The video could be used as part of some asymmetric campaign. We’d probably see it released at a time of international tension as a move to redirect our attention away from our adversary and instead focus on the media firestorm which this film would bring. So why don’t you go and get off that fat ass of yours and find out who made it?” he said as he pointed to the Chief of Staff.
The VP stepped in to defuse the rising tension, “Mr. Flint. I’m sorry. He didn’t mean to offend you. You’ve done your country a great service.”
Andy let the VP’s apology hang in the air for a few moments before he replied, “Okay.” The Chief of Staff looked suitably stung.
The President’s Press Secretary spoke next, “How many copies are there?”
“There is only this one, but it’s a copy and the original is still out there.”
“Did you make a copy for yourself?” she asked.
“Nope.”
The VP stood up and spoke to Andy, “Mr. Flint, you just have one more thing to do. We’ve got to personally brief a group of Senators. Come with me, and hand me that memory stick.”
***
The motorcade to the Senate Building was significantly larger than the one from Andrew’s Air Force Base. Andy felt a wave of excitement as they approached the brightly illuminated Senate Building. Andy smiled to himself as he savored the moment of sitting next to the Vice President in the rear of an armored limousine driving to the Senate.
“You did good back there, Flint, just do the same again. Be yourself. Be natural. Be honest. But don’t lose your grip like you did with Phil. Don’t rise to any bait they put in your face. Got it?”
“Got it.” Andy accepting the rebuke.
The VP reached into his wallet and removed two business cards, “This is my card, it’s got my direct number and my cell. I spoke with POTUS, he’s impressed with your work and instructed me to give you his card too.” Speechless, Andy held the cards and slowly read them. “Don’t lose them. Don’t share them. Don’t call if all you want to do is shoot the breeze after a long day at the office.”
“Thanks,” Andy said carefully placing the cards in his wallet.
“After this briefing is over, is there anything we can help you with?” the VP asked.
“There is. I’ve got unfinished business I need to attend to in New York. What would help me is a head start to New York. I have the British who want me deported back to London and the CIA with Homeland Security who want to question me and maybe send me to a black site. Can you get me to New York and order them all to back-off.” He paused for a moment while he composed himself. “My son. His body is in New Zealand. He served and loved his country and I want to bring him home to rest.”
The VP placed a comforting hand on Andy’s shoulder.
Andy continued. “I’d really appreciate your help to smooth the process for me to bring him home.”
CHAPTER 43
The Government jet touched down at JFK just before five in the morning and quickly taxied to the executive jet park off to the northeast side of the airport. Andy felt sharper after snatching an hours deep sleep on the short flight, he thought it would be enough to keep going for the next few hours. As the only passenger, he quickly disembarked the Learjet’s metal stairs and was met by the same airport official with the radio from earlier. With him were the two UN officials.
“Welcome back Mr. Flint,” one of the officials said as he offered his hand for Andy to shake, “I’m Mark Walton. This is Jack Pointer.” After the initial greetings, Andy followed them to their waiting limousine. Walton sat in the rear with Andy while Pointer sat next to the chauffeur.
The airport official issued instructions over the radio before leaning into the car and talking to the chauffeur, “To exit, follow the yellow road markings, they will lead you around the rear of the silver hangar over there.” He pointed at a large silver structure a few hundred meters away. “Keep following yellow road markings to the security booth by the perimeter fence. They’ll let you out. You’ll come out on the six-seven-eight.”
The airport official stepped back and talked on the radio again. The limo pulled away.
“What was the fuss about yesterday when you arrived?” Walton asked.
“A case of mistaken identity. We quickly cleared things up,” Andy lied.
“The Secretary-General has been chairing an all-night sitting. They should be finished in the next few hours, so we’ll go straight to the office rather than to your hotel.”
The roads were relatively quiet and they breezed through the Queens Tunnel. Andy wasn’t too familiar with the city, but he knew that in an hour or so the tunnel would be bumper to bumper and gridlocked.
***
Andy had never been inside the UN Headquarters and instinctively glanced up at the tall structure as he entered the building. The design of the lobby with its high ceiling and white-washed floating floors impressed him. He paused at the sight of a replica of the Russian Sputnik satellite which hung overhead and glistened in the bright lights. He believed the spacecraft would have been bigger, like the size of a family car and not a football.
“This way Mr. Flint,” Pointer said as he gestured towards the elevators with Walton leading the way. The elevator door opened automatically as they approached. Walton stepped inside and waited for the other two to join him. Andy casually looked around and noticed at least five security cameras covering them.
The lift was supersized, like the ones at airports when you needed to get you and your family with overloaded luggage trolleys onto another floor. Unlike those airport lifts, this one had an immaculately clean floor which was surrounded by highly polished wall mirrors.
Walton tapped his access card against a small black plastic sensor and pressed the button for the thirty-ninth floor. “We’re going to the executive floor, you will meet with the Secretary General there,” Walton informed Andy.
As the lift glided smoothly upwards, Andy used the time to look at his reflection. He needed a shave, his eyes carried dark bags under them and his face revealed dark bruising from his fight at Heathrow. Together with the ill-fitting garments he looked more like a homeless person who’d accidentally wandered in than a contractor the UN had put their faith in to provide answers to the massacre in Wellington.
When the elevator arrived the doors opened and they walked out into a modern reception area. A woman wearing a smart light-grey suit with a white blouse sat at the reception desk. To her left, by the door leading to the main executive offices, sat an armed security guard. The receptionist smiled as she spoke to Andy, “Mr. Flint, the Secretary-General is just finishing a late night vote. He’ll be with you shortly, please take a seat.” She pointed to a seating area which had a small round glass coffee table.
Andy sat down on a comfortable three-seater sofa. On the coffee table sat an assortment of newspapers, in-house UN magazines and a handful of UN reports. He scanned the titles of the reports: Effects of climate change on mass migration; UN Child poverty initiatives; Water scarcity beyond 2050; and finally, UN Peacekeeping is ineffective. Is it time for change?
Walton and Pointer stood by the reception desk and made small talk with the receptionist. On the wall behind them was a large flat screened television playing the live feed from the main debating chamber. The timer on the bottom left of the screen ticked along and showed the debate had been running for nearly eighteen hours. The sound on the television was off, but a news feed scrolled across the bottom of the screen and said the vote had been taken.
The Secretary-General could be seen leaving the debating chamber. The news feed indicated the resolution had been tabled by the British and seconded by the Italians and the
Portuguese. The vote had been carried one-hundred-and-seventy-eight for the resolution, five against and ten abstentions.
Andy caught a glance of the countries which had opposed the resolution. They were as he expected: Russia, Cuba, Venezuela, Belorussia and Iran. Those who’d abstained, he’d never heard of, but thought they were somewhere in Africa. The chamber slowly cleared. The representatives looked tired after the marathon session.
Andy’s attention switched away from the television when the frosted glass door to the executive floor opened and a very tall, dark-haired man in his late thirties wearing a grey suit walked in. Andy had expected it to be the Secretary-General, but it wasn’t him. The man offered a tired smile to the receptionist, who immediately sat up and blushed in return.
The man approached Andy, “Hello Mr. Flint, please come with me, the Secretary-General is on his way. I’ll take you through to his office.” The man had an English, upper-class, public school accent, not a fake accent used by some to impress. Even after the all-night session, the man looked impeccably dressed and clean shaven. “Have you been offered a tea, coffee or mineral water?” he enquired.
“No.”
“My! What has become of our manners?” He faked a cross look at the receptionist whose cheeks went a darker red. “What can we get you?” he asked.
“Black coffee, I need the caffeine,” Andy felt tired.
“Saskia, please bring a black coffee for Mr. Flint, the Secretary-General will have his green tea as usual.” He waved Andy to follow him to the door, “Please come with me.”
Andy stood, picked up his backpack and headed for the door. Walton and Pointer stayed put.
The door led them into a wide, open area with a thick, dark-blue carpet. There were work-stations positioned on desks clustered into groups in the main area while along the entire right wall were large, glass-screened, executive offices with expansive views over the city. The structural pillars had large landscape paintings attached to them. Along the left wall were a range of meeting rooms and a hi-tech digital collaboration area.
They walked to the far side of the main office and through a glass doorway leading into a waiting area where the Secretary-General’s personal assistant worked. His desk was neatly laid out with a desk phone, two clean notepads, an assortment of colored pens arranged side-by-side and three photo frames showing various poses of two young children and his partner.
The Englishman opened the door to the Secretary-General’s office, “Please come in and wait. Saskia will bring your coffee, she shouldn’t be long.” His host turned and left Andy alone for the first time since he’d dealt with his would be assassin in London.
The Secretary-General’s desk had been positioned to offer some of the best views across New York, particularly at this time of the day with the sun just breaking the horizon as it started to rise. Andy glanced out of the window and couldn’t help but be impressed. To the left of the desk ran a solid wall for some twenty meters to where Andy had entered the office.
The room appeared to be naturally divided into three zones: the first, furnished with two large brown leather couches separated by a long, dark-brown mahogany coffee table and, along the solid wall, a floor-to-ceiling wooden bookcase; a large oval meeting table surrounded by eight black, leather chairs dominated the second and, where the bookcase ended, a whiteboard and large flat-screen TV with a camera positioned for digital conferencing; the third was the Secretary General’s personal office space where the wall was crammed with framed certificates and enlarged photographs of the Secretary-General at work.
Andy studied the various certificates, diplomas and awards which the Secretary-General had collected over his illustrious career. The Secretary-General had studied architecture in Milan and graduated with a first class honors degree followed by a Master’s degree and his professional certification dated four years later. Pride of place was his Mayoral certificate for the city of Genoa; its position within the display indicating the personal significance in his life journey.
His large and highly ornate ministerial warrant told Andy he’d quickly moved into national politics and a senior government position. There was a photograph of him smiling and looking incredibly animated as he received the "silver bell" from the outgoing Italian Prime Minister. Further along, the certificate and official seal for his appointment into the United Nations sat in a large dark wooden frame. There were photographs of him with various Heads of State, Presidents, Prime Ministers and Crown Princes. Andy recognized many of the world leaders. Finally, his charter with the official UN seal for his appointment as Secretary General.
Andy slowly walked back to the library zone and scanned the large collection. The Secretary General had an extensive library filled with books about Lenin, Stalin, Pol Pot, Julius Caesar, Adolf Hitler, Mussolini, Castro and Mao. More recent biographies included Kennedy, Mandela, Blair and Trump. There were also books about countries, particularly on Italy, Asia and the United States, as well as books on bridges and the world’s tallest buildings. Andy was impressed by the large collection of books on climate change, pollution and deforestation. Andy turned his attention away from the book collection and took a look around the office and noticed there were a number of precision time pieces keeping perfect time.
He was interrupted when the Secretary-General stepped into his office and offered Andy a firm handshake with a tired smile. “Mr. Flint, it’s good to finally meet you, but first I’d like to offer my sincere condolences and those of the United Nations for the loss of your son, Mark. He was a good man, a popular man, and I know he’ll be missed.”
“Thank you,” Andy said as the unexpected reference to Mark caused a lump to form in his throat.
“Please, take a seat.” The Secretary-General pointed to the leather couches and sat down opposite Andy. Before Andy could say anything, they were interrupted by Saskia who walked in carrying a tray with their drinks. She placed the drinks down on the coffee table and left.
“I’m impressed with your library. You have a lot of biographies,” Andy commented.
“Thank you, you’re very kind, in order to fight tyranny, you need to understand the tyrant. You must get inside their mind, understand how they think, what they believe in and learn how they use this to get the masses to follow them. How they rise to power and dislocate all opposition, including their allies who could threaten their grip on power. Then, and only then, do we gain the knowledge to stop history from repeating itself. For my own development, I need to understand what makes great leaders and how I can use what I learn from their skills to further unite the world.”
“How did you end up here as Secretary-General?” Andy asked.
“After university I went into an architectural practice and after a few years. I realized I could achieve more working for myself, so I established my own successful business. I soon discovered my business, and many of those around me, were constrained by local government. That affected our profitability and stopped us taking on more staff, so to make change, I stood for office. To my surprise they elected me as mayor.
“I started to make what changes I could, and soon came to realize the regional government pulled the strings, so I stood for regional government. Again, the public surprised me and elected me into office on my first attempt. I made changes to local regulations to improve the way businesses could operate, by reducing complexity and cost. My efforts helped create many new jobs, but I discovered the national government was responsible for many of our country’s inefficiencies and, if I wanted to make a bigger impact, I needed to move on.”
The Secretary-General paused while he sipped his green tea, then continued, “I stood for National Government and received a landslide victory. Only a few weeks later a scandal erupted which saw a number of Ministers resign. I had the good fortune to be in the right place, at the right time and was offered a Ministerial position. The party and the wider country viewed me as a unifying character. A year or so later, the country was in yet another crisis and our
coalition partners threatened to walk away and trigger new elections if the Prime Minister didn’t step down.
“They reached a deal with our party, the Prime Minister would step down and I would take his place. The coalition held together. I had luck on my side as our country rode the wave of global growth and prosperity. We created jobs and improved living standards for many. Then, after leading Italian politics and holding senior positions in the European Parliament, I moved to the United Nations.
“Here I have held various leadership roles. I helped bring order out of global chaos … but I still have much to do to make the world a safer and better place for humanity. I have built a strong group of supporters from across the globe. I have even courted the Americans by showing that I could introduce efficiency, drive productivity and cut unnecessary wastage.
“They loved my initiatives, and in the end, they made no efforts to cut our budgets, indeed they increased our funding!” the Secretary-General laughed.
“That’s some trick you pulled off,” Andy commented as he sipped his coffee.
“I did make changes here at the UN, the staff lacked productivity and they didn’t think about costs. There’s still more to do and I believe I can achieve more. Anyway, back to how I got this office,” he said as he briefly raised both hands up as if greeting the sky.
“When the Secretary-General had to step down, I put my name forward and, with popular support, they elected me to the position. It wasn’t much of a contest.”
“That’s some ride to fame,” Andy said slightly in awe of the Secretary-General. He added, “You said you think you could do even more?”
“Yes, I believe I can, however, in order to make those changes, I need to stay in this role for longer than two terms. The unwritten rule is that we don’t stay for longer than two five-year terms. That needs to change.”