by Wilbur Smith
It was a matter of survival. They were destroying Western civilization with their childlike irresponsibility.
Drunk with power, they were no longer amenable to reason, like spoiled children in a sweet shop we had to put a stop to it, or face a breakdown of the capitalist system. They have probably done irreparable damage to the prestige of the dollar, they have taken sterling hostage and hold it in daily jeopardy with the threat of withdrawing those astronomic balances from London. We had to bring them to their senses, and look how small a price. We can reduce the price of crude oil gradually to its 1970 level. We can restore sanity to the currencies of the Western world and secure real growth and prosperity for hundreds of millions of peoples all at the cost of a single life."
"And anyway, he was only a bloody wag. Wasn't he?"
Peter agreed reasonably.
"Look here, Peter. I said that but I didn't mean it. You are being unreasonable."
"I will try not to be," Peter assured him mildly.
"Tell me where it goes from here. Who do you bring under control next the British Trade Union movement, perhaps?" And Steven stared at him wordlessly for a moment.
"Damn it, Peter. That was a hell of a guess. But could you imagine if we had a five-year wage freeze, and no industrial action during that time. It's them or us, Peter.
We could get back to being one of the major industrial powers of the Western world. Great Britain! We could be that again."
"You are very convincing, Steven," Peter acknowledged.
"There are only a few details that worry me a little."
"What are they, Peter?"
"Why was it necessary to arrange the murder of Kingston
Parker and Magda Altmann-" Steven stared at him, his jaw unhinging slightly and the hard line of his mouth going slack with astonishment.
"No," he shook his head. "That's not so." and why was it necessary to kill Baron Altmann, and torture him to death?"
"That was not my doing all right, it was done. And I knew it was done but I had nothing to do with it, Peter.
Not the murder at least. Oh God, all right I knew it had to be done, but-His voice tailed off, and he stared helplessly at Peter.
"From the beginning again, Steven. Let's hear it all-" Peter spoke almost gently.
"I cannot, Peter. You don't understand what might happen, what will happen if I tell you-" Peter slid the safety catch off the Purdey shotgun. The click of the mechanism was unnaturally loud in the silence, and Steven Stride started and stepped back a pace, blinking at his brother, fastening all his attention on Peter's eyes.
"God,"he whispered. "You would do it too."
"Tell me about Aaron
Altmann."
"Can I have another cigarette?" Peter nodded and Steven lit it with hands that trembled very slightly.
"You have to understand how it worked, before I can explain."
"Tell me how it worked," Peter invited.
"I was recruited-"
"Steven, don't lie to me you are Caliph."
"No, God, no, Peter. You have it all wrong," Steven cried. "It's a chain. I am only a link in Caliph's chain. I am not Caliph."
"You are a part of Caliph, then?"
"Only a link in the chain," Steven repeated vehemently.
"Tell me, Peter invited with a small movement of the shotgun barrel that drew Steven's eyes immediately.
"There is a man I have known a long time. We have worked together before. A man with greater wealth and influence than I have. It was not an immediate thing. It grew out of many discussions and conversations over a long time, years, in which we both voiced our concern with the way that power had shifted to blocks of persons unfit to wield it-"
"All right," Peter nodded grimly. "I understand your political and ideological sentiments. Leave them out of the account."
"Very well," Steven agreed. Well, finally this man asked me if I would be prepared to join an association of Western world political and industrial leaders dedicated to restoring power to the hands of those fitted by training and upbringing to govern."
"Who was this man?"
"Peter, I cannot tell you."
"You have no choice," Peter told him, and there was a long moment as they locked eyes and wills; then Steven sighed in capitulation.
"It was-" The name was that of a mining magnate who controlled most of the free world supply of nuclear fuel and gold and precious stones.
"So he is the one who would have been in control of the new South African government with which you intended replacing the present regime in that country, if the taking of 070 had succeeded?" Peter demanded, and Steven nodded wordlessly.
"All right," Peter nodded. "Go on."
"He had been recruited as I was," Steven explained. "But I was never to know by whom. In my turn I was to recruit another desirable member but I would be the only one who knew who that was. It was how the security of the chain was to be maintained. Each link would know only the one above and below him, the man who had recruited him and the one who he recruited in his turn-"
"Caliph?" Peter demanded. "What about Caliph?"
"Nobody knows who he is."
"Yet he must know who you are."
"Yes, of course."
"Then there must be some way for you to get a message to Caliph," Peter insisted. "For instance, when you recruit a new member, you must be able to pass on the information?
When he wants something from you, he must be able to contact you."
"Yes."
"How?"
"Christ, Peter. It's more than my life is worth."
"We'll come back to it," said Peter impatiently. "Go on, tell me about Aaron Altmann."
"That was a disaster. I chose Aaron as the man I would recruit. He seemed exactly the kind of man we needed. I had known him for years. I knew he could be very tough when it was necessary. So I
approached him. He seemed very eager at first, leading me on. Getting me to explain the way Caliph would work. I was delighted to have recruited such an important man. He intimated that he would contribute twenty-five million dollars to the funds of the association, so I
passed a message to Caliph. I told him that I had almost succeeded in recruiting Baron Altmann-" Steven stopped nervously, and dropped the stub of his cigarette onto the damp turf, grinding it out under his heel.
"What happened then?" Peter demanded.
"Caliph responded immediately. I was ordered to break off all contact with Aaron Altmann at once. I realized I must have chosen a potentially dangerous person. You tell me now he was Mossad. I did not know that but Caliph must have known it. I did as I was told and dropped Aaron like a hot chestnut and four days later he was abducted. I had nothing to do with it, Peter. I swear to you. I liked the man immensely. I admired him-"
"Yet he was abducted and horribly tortured. You must have known that Caliph had done it, and that you were responsible?"
"Yes." Steven said the word flatly, without evasion. Peter felt a small stir of admiration for that.
"They tortured him to find out if he had passed the information you had given him about Caliph to Mossad," Peter insisted.
"Yes I expect so. I do not know."
"If the picture I have of Aaron Altmann was correct they received no information from him."
"No.
He was like that. They must have lost patience with him in the end to do what they did to him. It was my first moment of disillusionment with Caliph," Steven muttered sombrely.
They were both silent now, until Peter burst out angrily.
"My God, Steven, can't you see what a disgusting business you are mixed up in? "And Steven was mute. "Couldn't you see it?" Peter insisted, the anger raw in his voice. "Couldn't you realize it from the beginning?"
"Not at the beginning." Steven shook his head miserably.
"It seemed a brilliant solution for all the diseases of the Western world and then once I began it was like being on board a speeding express train. It was just impossible to g
et off again."
"All right. So then you tried to have me assassinated on the Rambouillet road?"
"Good God, no." Steven was truly appalled. "You're my brother, good God-"
"Caliph did it to stop me getting close to Aaron's widow who was out to avenge him."
"I didn't know a thing about it, I swear to you. If Caliph did it, he knew better than to let me in on it." Steven was pleading now. "You must believe that." Peter felt a softening of his resolve, but forced back the knowledge that this man was his brother, someone who had been very dear over a lifetime.
"What was your next operation for Caliph then?" He asked without allowing the softness to reach his voice.
"There wasn't-"
"Damn you, Steven, don't lie to me." Peter's voice cracked like a whiplash. "You knew about Prince Hassled Abdel HayeV
"All right. I arranged that. Caliph told me what to do and I did it."
"Then you kidnapped Melissa-Jane and had her mutilated-"
"Oh God! No!"
Steven's voice was a sob.
To force me to assassinate Kingston Parker-"
"No, Peter. No!"
"And then to kill Magda Altmann-"
"Peter, I swear to you. Not Melissa-Jane. I love her like one of my own daughters. You must know that. I had no idea it was Caliph." Steven was pleading wildly now.
You have to believe me. I would never have allowed that to happen. That is too horrible." Peter watched him with a steely merciless glint of blue in his eyes, cold and cutting as the edge of the executioner's blade.
"I will do anything to prove to you I had nothing to do with Melissa-Jane. Anything you say, Peter. I'll take any chance to prove it to you. I swear it to you." Steven Stride's dismay and sincerity were beyond question. His face was drained of all colour and his lips were marble white and trembling with the strength of his denial.
Peter handed the shotgun to his brother without a word.
Startled, Steven held it for a moment at arm's length.
"You are in bad trouble, Steven," Peter said quietly. He knew that from now on he needed Steven's unreserved and whole-hearted commitment. He could not be forced to do what he must do at the point of a shotgun.
Steven recognized the gesture, and slowly lowered the gun. With his thumb he pushed across the breech-locking mechanism, and the weapon hinged open. He pulled the cartridges from the double eyes of the breeches and dropped them into the pocket of his shooting jacket.
"Let's get down to the house, Steven said, his voice still unsteady with the trauma of the last minutes. "I need a stiff whisky-"
"There was a log fire burning in the deep walk-in fireplace of Steven's study. The portals were magnificently carved altar surrounds from a sixteenth century German church, salvaged from the ruins of World War II Allied bombing and purchased by Steven from a Spanish dealer, after -having been smuggled out through Switzerland.
Opposite the fireplace, bow windows with leaded panes and ancient wavy glass looked out over the rose garden.
The other two walls housed Steven's collection of rare books, each boxed in its individual leather-bound container and lettered in gold leaf. The shelves reached from floor to the high moulded ceiling. It was a passion that the brothers shared.
Steven stood now in the fireplace with his back to the flames, one hand clasped in the small of his back, hoisting up the skirts of his tweed jacket to warm his backside. In the other hand he held a deep crystal tumbler, still half filled with whisky, hardly diluted by the soda he had dashed into it from the syphon.
Steven still looked shaken and pale, and every few minutes he shivered uncontrollably, although the room was oppressively heated by the blazing fire and all the windows were closed tightly.
Peter sprawled in the brocade-upholstered Louis Quatorze chair across the room, his legs thrust out straight and crossed at the ankles, hands thrust deeply into his pockets, and his chin lowered on his chest in deep thought.
"How much was your contribution to Caliph's war chest?" Peter asked abruptly.
"I was not in the same class as Aaron Altmann," Steven answered quietly. "I pledged five millions in sterling over five years."
"So we must imagine a network extending across all international boundaries.
Powerful men in every country, each contributing enormous sums of money and almost unlimited information and influence-" Steven nodded and took another swallow of his dark, toned whisky.
There is no reason to believe that it was only one man in each country. There may be a dozen in England, another dozen in Western Germany, fifty in the United States-"
"It's possible," Steven agreed.
"So that Caliph could very easily have arranged the kidnapping of Melissa-Jane through another of his chain in this country."
"You must believe I had nothing to do with it, Peter." Peter dismissed this new protestation impatiently, and went on thinking out aloud.
"It is still possible that Caliph is a committee of the founder members not one man at all."
"I don't think so--" Steven hesitated.
I had a very strong impression that it all was one man. I do not think a committee would be capable of such swift and determined action." He shook his head, trying to cast his mind back for the exact words which had formed his impressions. You must remember that I have only discussed Caliph with one other person, the man who recruited me.
However, you can be certain that we discussed it in depth and over an extended period. I was not about to put out five million on something that didn't satisfy me entirely. No, it was one man who would make the decision for all of us but the decisions would be in the interest of all."
"Yet there was no guarantee that any individual member of the chain would be informed of every decision?"
"No. Of course not. That would have been madness.
Security was the key to success."
"You could trust somebody you had never met, whose identity was hidden from you you could trust him with vast sums of money, and the destiny of the world as we know it?"
Steven hesitated again as if seeking the right words.
"Caliph has an aura that seems to envelop all of us. The man who recruited me-" Steven seemed reluctant to repeat the name again, proof to Peter of the influence that Caliph exerted is a man whose judgement
I respect tremendously. He was convinced, and this helped to convince me."
"What do you think now?" Peter asked abruptly. "Are you still convinced?" Steven drained the whisky glass, and then smoothed his mustache with a little nervous gesture.
"Come on, Steven," Peter encouraged him.
"I still think Caliph had the right idea " he said reluctantly.
The rules have changed, Peter. We were fighting for survival of the world as we know it. We were merely playing to the new morality-" He crossed to the silver tray on the corner of his desk and refilled the whisky glass.
Up to now we have had one hand tied behind our backs, while the
Reds and the extreme left and the members of the Third World have had both hands to fight with and a dagger in each one. All Caliph did was to take off our shackles."
"What has made you change your mind then?"
Peter asked.
"I'm not sure that I have changed my mind." Steven turned back to face him. "I still think it was the right idea-"
"But?" Peter insisted.
Steven shrugged. "The murder of Aaron Altmann, the mutilation of Melissa-Jane-" He hesitated. Other acts of which I suspect Caliph was the originator. They were not for the common good. They were merely to protect Caliph's personal safety, or to satisfy what I am beginning to believe is vaunted and unbridled lust for power." Steven shook his head again. "I believed Caliph to be noble and dedicated but there is no nobility in some of the things he has done.
He has acted like a common criminal. He has acted for personal advantage and glorification. I believe in the concept of Caliph but I know now we have chosen the wrong man. He has been corrupted
by the power that we placed in to his hands." Peter listened to him carefully, his head cocked to one side, his blue eyes clear and quietly searching.
"All right, Steven. So we discover that Caliph is not a deity but a man with a man's petty greed and self-interest."
"Yes, I suppose
I do." Steven's handsome florid face was heavy with regret. "Caliph is not what I believed he might be "Do you accept now that he is evil truly evil?"
"Yes, I accept that. "Then, fiercely, "But God, how I wish Caliph had been what I believed he was at the beginning." Peter could understand that and he nodded.
"It was what this crazy world of ours needed-" Steven went on bitterly. We need somebody, a strong man to tell us what to do. I thought it was Caliph. I wanted it so badly to be him."
"So now, do you accept that Caliph was not that man?"
"Yes," said Steven simply.
"But if there was a man like that I would follow him again, unquestioningly."
"You said you would do anything to prove to me that you had nothing to do with Melissa-Jane will you help me to destroy Caliph?"
"Yes." Steven did not hesitate.
"There will be great personal risk," Peter pointed out, and now Steven met his eyes steadily.
"I know that. I know Caliph better than you." Peter found that his affection for his brother was now reinforced with admiration.
Steven lacked very few of the manly virtues, he thought. He had strength and courage and brains, perhaps his major vice was that he had too much of each.
"What do you want me to do, Peter?"
"I want you to arrange a meeting with Caliph face to face."
"Impossible." Steven dismissed it immediately.
"You said that you had means of getting a message to him?"
"Yes, but Caliph would never agree to a meeting."
"Steven, what is the single the only weakness that Caliph has shown so far?"
"He has shown no weakness."
"Yes, he has," Peter denied.
"What is it?"
"He is obsessed with protecting his personal identity and safety," Peter pointed out. "As soon as that is threatened, he immediately reverts to abduction and torture and murder."
"That isn't a weakness-" Steven pointed out. "It's a strength."