He laughed to himself and spoke with the tone a parent uses when imparting wisdom to an errant child.
“It was all a cleverly concocted ruse. We created the entire affair with Babineux acting as our inside man. For several years now, he has been cultivating relationships with some of the most dangerous terrorist groups in the world, gaining their trust, so that we could subtly steer them exactly where we wanted.”
I suppose it made sense—in a crazy sort of Illuminati kind of way.
“You never intended for them to pull off their latest terror attack.”
“Of course not,” Matheson said.
“So, when the deal went south, your intention was for them to get pissed off, activate all their cells, and send everyone they had out to get Babs.”
“Precisely. He was the bait to draw them out into the open, so that all of our respective intelligence agencies could swoop in and pick them up like cat shit in a litter box.”
“I like your end goal, but I still can’t help wondering what the hell I’m doing here,” I said.
He smiled.
“Excellent question, though the answer is a little complicated. You see, there are two reasons. The first is that we needed someone close to Adrien in order to help provide extra protection beyond Dick, Jane, and the rest of our security people. For that task we needed a person with exceptional field skills, cunning, and resolve—the kind of man it took to get my son safely off that mountain in Afghanistan.”
“But, what if I had failed? Wasn’t that a bit risky?”
“No, we knew you wouldn’t. Not after having used Soft Taco Island as a testing ground to make sure you hadn’t lost your mojo after five years out of the game.”
I couldn’t help but laugh after hearing him say mojo, as it was a direct reference to Austin Powers: The Spy who Shagged Me. Of course, I was also mildly annoyed to learn that my Soft Taco Island adventure was apparently just a clever testing ground.
“So, all of that was orchestrated?”
“To an extent, but the bullets and the danger were real.”
To say I was feeling manipulated would be an understatement.
“Fuck. What’s the second reason I’m here?”
“That’s where it gets interesting, and you’ll be happy to know that it’s the most important.”
“Seriously now, what the hell could be more important than taking down every major terrorist organization across the Mediterranean?”
Matheson laughed quietly to himself, and, as before, I felt like an ignorant child in his presence.
“Five years ago, you went on your last official assignment for the CIA’s Special Activities Division. Your mission, Operation Eagle Feather, had been to help Dr. Farid Ardeshir, Iran’s, and perhaps even the world’s, most gifted nuclear scientist escape to the West.”
I hadn’t heard or spoke that name in five years, but I’d thought about him almost every day since, and I didn’t like where this conversation was going.
“Yeah, but why are you interested in it now?”
“Well, you managed, against insurmountable odds, to successfully get the scientist out of Iran and into Turkey, but that’s where the story gets more interesting. Your orders changed when Iranian agents showed up in Istanbul, and the powers that be thought the best course of action was to terminate Ardeshir rather than let him fall back into enemy hands.”
Gulp.
“So?” I asked.
“So, the thing is—we know what really happened.”
“I terminated him.”
“No, and it’s fortunate for everyone you didn’t.”
“I did. I killed him and sent his body to the bottom of the Aegean in an old fishing boat named the Gordita.”
“It was a clever ruse, and I applaud you for trying to protect your old friend, but we know better. You see, Harold has a penchant for history, specifically underwater archeology, and, about four years ago, his research ship, the Argo, was in the Aegean Sea searching for ancient shipwrecks. As it turned out, they found one a bit more recent. In fact, it was about a thousand years more recent. You see, his team came across the wreck of the Gordita, and learned that it had been reported to have been lost with all hands by an unnamed American naval vessel. After conducting a thorough examination of the Gordita, they found that there were no human remains and, more interestingly, that the boat had been purposefully scuttled. Harold, who, beyond underwater archeology, also loves a good mystery, shared his story with the rest of the group, and we began our own very thorough investigation. It wasn’t long before our sources within the various intelligence services allowed us to uncover all the particulars of the highly classified Operation Eagle Feather. Now that we knew that Ardeshir was not entombed in the Gordita and was, in fact, alive, we set about using our substantial resources to scour the globe and eventually found out that he had settled in the United Arab Emirates and was continuing with his research. Knowing he was the most brilliant scientist in his field, we’ve been closely monitoring his progress and discovered only one month ago that he finally made a breakthrough that will be the Holy Grail of the modern age.”
“Which is?”
“Cold fusion.”
I laughed out loud, as cold fusion had been the bugaboo of the scientific community since electrochemists Martin Fleischmann and Stanley Pons believed they had discovered it back in 1989. Had it existed, it would have been the biggest energy boom since crude oil, and it would have changed the face of energy production across the globe. Unfortunately, further research showed that they were incapable of replicating their findings, and cold fusion, or low energy nuclear reaction was believed to be technically impossible.
“Bullshit. Everyone knows it’s just a pipe dream.”
“I can assure you that it’s real, and Dr. Ardeshir’s discovery will be the most important scientific breakthrough of this century. The world will have all the energy it will ever need without pollution or the dangers of a nuclear meltdown. No more tragedies like Three Mile Island, Chernobyl, or Fukushima.”
“So, you want Ardeshir for yourselves.”
“Yes, but more than that, we want to offer him membership in our little group here. This is a major breakthrough, and we’re in a position to see that he is properly compensated for his efforts, and, more importantly, that cold fusion is evenly distributed to the rest of the world. Do you think we would even be in the Middle East or have gone to war with Iraq if it weren’t for the oil? Of course not, and the only way to avoid future conflicts of that nature is to make sure that cold fusion technology is distributed properly and not controlled by a single country or region.”
“I find it hard to believe you’ll be sharing it equally with everyone. There’s too much money at stake.”
“True, there’s a lot of money to be made, but there’s also a lot of good that can be achieved. Think of it in terms of a sliding scale. The wealthy countries will be paying a premium, but their money will be subsidizing the third world, the end result being that everyone will have access to it.”
This was some serious shit and, potentially, even more important than the war on terror. Cold fusion, if it really existed, would literally change the face of the earth.
“I get it now. You need me to bring Dr. Ardeshir back over to the West because he won’t trust anyone after Istanbul. Typical politicians. First you want him, then you don’t, then you do.”
“It was a very small and ignorant group of closed minded people that made that decision five years ago.”
“Of course you say that now.”
Matheson gave me his best politician’s smile.
“Believe me, Finn, no one in this room would have advocated such a shortsighted and barbaric decision, so, what do you say? Will you help us?”
“Why not just do a snatch and grab?”
“Well, considering how the first attempt to bring him to the west went, we’d like to do this one better. Besides, the majority of his formula is in his head, so it would be best fo
r everyone if he came willingly, which means, we need you, Finn. You are the only person in the world whom he’ll trust.”
“Am I to assume that the jewels I procured on Soft Taco Island were supposed to be the carrot for this job?”
“Yes, but truth be told, we hadn’t planned on offering them to you until now, so your little switcharoo on Adrien’s yacht took us all by surprise.”
“Especially me,” Babs said.
“But, as far as I’m concerned, you already earned that money ten years ago in Afghanistan. A hundred million dollars is nothing compared to the life of my son.”
I had a moment of quiet reflection until Matheson spoke.
“So, are you in, Finn?” he asked.
Those were words I had thankfully never heard from a romantic interest, but in this instance they required some serious consideration. I, therefore, closed my eyes, rubbed my head, and leaned back in my chair and tried to come to terms with all I had just heard. After a moment of quiet reflection, I opened my eyes to see everyone still anxiously awaiting my answer.
“I have to admit that this is a lot to digest on such short notice.”
“Think about it—you are like Prometheus giving fire to mankind,” he said.
“Things didn’t turn out so well for him.”
“It’ll be different this time—I promise, and those jewels will be nothing compared to your stake in this venture if you join our little group here.”
“Why in the hell would you give me a crumb, let alone a piece of a pie this big?”
“Because you returned my son to me. You are the reason I have a legacy, and beyond that, you bring the value of your unique skills to our group. So, come on, Finn, tell me you’re on board.”
Shit. This was obviously one of those situations where you had to say yes even if you didn’t mean it, as these were the kind of people who got what they wanted and could make me disappear faster than the last tub of hand cream at an all boy’s high school. Still, this was a shitload of information to process and a pretty big job to land in the lap of a guy living the simple life in Northern California. It also made me realize that I had no idea what happened in the upper echelons of the upper echelon. Life was so much easier when your daily problems only consisted of eating, shitting, paying your bills, and masturbating, but at least I could take comfort in knowing that Babs wasn’t a dirtbag.
“OK, but I have one unusual condition, though it’s kind of touchy feely in the face of all this global strategizing.”
“Fire away,” Matheson said, looking a bit concerned.
“I want Lux and Bridgette to know that their father is alive and well—assuming that it doesn’t hamper your plans for world domination.”
The room grew quiet as everyone looked at Daniel, who took a moment to consider my words before appearing to reach some kind of resolution.
“It’s probably about time my children had a father again,” he said.
“Then, it’s settled. I’m in.”
By agreeing to their request to bring Dr. Ardeshir to the West, I had officially brought the Topless Agenda’s meeting to a close, and now it was time for lunch. Not surprisingly, it was topless Tapas, and, at that moment, a lovely bare chested woman and an extremely fit-looking topless man entered with plates consisting of various appetizers including fish, meat, grilled vegetables, olives, and cheese. The philosophy behind tapas bars was to separate a meal into lots of small portions in order to encourage the diners to focus more on talking rather than dining. That was very much the case at the moment, and probably the reason this group met in a tapas bar—it symbolized the importance of communication, and, while I wasn’t sure how topless fit into the equation, one could imagine it represented the idea that their ambition held no bounds. Still, I doubt that King Alfonso X of Castile expected tapas to be his legacy to the world. Legend had it that it all started when he recovered from an illness by drinking wine with small dishes of food and found the practice to be so enjoyable that he ordered all taverns to continue the tradition. Now, nearly eight hundred years later, a group of some of the most powerful and influential people were following his lead by talking, drinking, eating, and, oddly, planning the fate of the world.
Babs, drink in hand, was at one end of the table recounting our travails on our journey across Europe, his French accent and gift for drama actually making it sound even more exotic and exciting. As he spoke, I gazed at the faces around the room, and found it kind of strange to be in the presence of people I’d only read about online or seen on television. In person, however, they were like everyone else, no more than flesh and blood, the only major difference I suppose being that they owned nicer stuff. When Babs finished, everyone separated into smaller groups, and I moved down the table and joined Matheson and Margaret Baines, who were talking animatedly in front of the prosciutto dish. Baines immediately smiled and put out her hand.
“It’s nice to finally meet you in person, Finn,” she said.
She was beautiful, probably in her middle fifties, and had a slim figure, fair skin, light brown hair, and piercing blue eyes.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I said.
And, I meant it, as Baines, the second wealthiest person in England, was known for her philanthropy around the world and especially in developing nations. Unfortunately, she was also known for her troubled youngest daughter Charlotte who, unlike her esteemed mother, was a magnate for scandal and lived the life of a spoiled brat—dating Hollywood hunks and finding trouble and tabloid headlines everywhere she went.
“So, I take it that John will one day be a part of the Topless Agenda,” I said, grabbing some more prosciutto.
“Yeah, though it’ll obviously be after he reaches the Oval Office and does his time as president. After that, I hope he will join us at that this very table.”
“He’s a good man, and he’ll make an excellent member.”
“I wish I could say the same for my younger daughter,” Baines said.
“All kids eventually grow up and find their place in the world—at least that’s what my parents are hoping,” I responded.
She laughed and patted me on the arm.
“You are a man among men, Finn. Your parents have every reason to be proud of you.”
Suddenly, there was a bright burst of light as though a camera flash had gone off, and I saw Vladimir sitting on the table while the people around him clapped and laughed.
“What the hell was that?”
“Vladimir is a little—um—eccentric,” Baines said, looking particularly embarrassed.
“Did he just do what I think he did?”
“Yeah, he loves to light his farts when he gets drunk,” Matheson said, uncomfortably.
When I lit my farts, drunk or sober, I was considered to be a world class idiot, but when billionaires did it, it became cheeky and eccentric. Could wealth truly buy you an exemption from acting like a five year old? Perhaps, but it did confirm the fact that farts were an oddly funny phenomenon—at least to the majority of men, probably a few women, and one cheeky Russian billionaire.
Lunch eventually came to a close, and we made the journey upstairs through the restaurant and outside, where the clique of cliques assembled on the sidewalk. Everyone said their goodbyes and slid into their expensive cars and headed off to their respective mansions, private jets, and yachts. Daniel, unlike the rest, rode with Babs and me in the Maybach and poured himself a scotch from the mini bar and spent the short drive staring out the window, looking pensive as he drank.
“Nervous?” I asked.
“Terrified,” he said.
“You could have refused, as I pretty much would have taken the job, either way.”
“I know.”
We arrived at the Marina and walked out to the Sozo to find Billings and Tiffany standing on the upper deck. Both waved and smiled when they saw us, but their expressions soon transformed to looking confused upon seeing Daniel. I realized they must think this was William Vandenberg, and they were pr
obably wondering what in the hell their boss was suddenly doing in Majorca. We headed up the boarding ramp and went into the main salon to discover that the assault team was already gone, and Lux, Bridgette, and Corn were sitting quietly on the couch.
“What happened?” Corn asked.
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It’s beyond complicated, but you will be happy to know that our recent visitors and Babs here are actually the good guys.”
Corn looked confused, but the real drama in the room was taking place beside him, where Lux and Bridgette were staring at what they assumed was their uncle—that is, until their expressions slowly changed to utter and complete shock. Their father and uncle were identical twins, but there were always subtle differences when you got to know people intimately, and Lux and Bridgette knew their own father when they saw him.
“Dad?” Lux said, timidly, as though she were speaking to a ghost.
Tears started pouring down her cheeks as she walked across the room and hugged her father. Bridgette followed right behind, and the three of them engaged in one of the least expected family reunions of all time. Babs, Corn, and I left them alone and headed out onto the back deck, where I made a round of Dark and Stormies before handing each of them a glass.
“I don’t understand. What’s going on?” Corn asked.
“That’s Lux and Bridgette’s father—Daniel Vandenberg.”
“Isn’t he dead?” Corn asked, still looking confused.
“Obviously not.”
I cast a quick glance inside at Lux and Bridgette’s emotional reunion with their father, and it inspired me to take a moment to think about how quickly life could change—sometimes even for the better. Less than a month ago I was busy finding a lost obese house cat and helping a good woman get out of a bad marriage. Soon thereafter, I was off to the Caribbean to rescue an old friend, and now, a week later, I was in Europe helping to take down an army of terrorists. In the next few days, I would be setting off for the Middle East to try and bring a brilliant scientist and his equally brilliant discovery over to the West. The world was certainly a big place with lots of big problems, but it was often the solutions to the small ones, the personal ones, which had the most impact on our daily lives. It was the macrocosm of the microcosm, and, regardless of whether I had made the world a bit safer or ended up helping usher in a new age of energy production, somehow, bringing a father and his children back together felt a little more rewarding at the moment.
Topless Agenda Page 39