Global Conspiracy Read online

  “Indeed, my dear? And why, pray, is that? I believe we all hold people like Hitler and his ilk in total abhorrence. There’ll always be an Attila or a Stalin somewhere, won’t there? And some people pay a heavy price to be under their influence. It’s regrettable, I admit, but not really alarming. I really don’t see why that disturbs you, as you put it.”

  Sir Cedric wondered if the rather fierce arguments he had had with Raoul would surface again now.

  “Obviously you haven’t chewed a bit on the dilemma as I have, Ced. Your tyrants of yesterday are quite different from the despots of today. Today they wield power that endangers democracies all over the planet.”

  “Come, come, my dear.” Sir Cedric leaned forward, deliberately taking the opposing argument. “Aren’t you carrying this a tad too far? Today’s democracies can squash any loud-mouthed towel-head that dares put his words into action. Witness what happened to Saddam Hussein. They know better than to—”

  “No, Ced, that’s not the point at all!” Anne was quite flushed. “It’s not those bastards that concern me, though they’re bad enough. It’s how the world reacts to them that really worries me.”

  The soup arrived and Sir Cedric took advantage of the pause it provided to assess the conversation so far. This was not the Anne he knew—not the playful, giggling, carefree woman he had resurrected from the darkest hours of despair. This was a serious Anne he was less familiar with, an Anne about to make a statement regarding world affairs that, in the past, had been Raoul’s forte, not hers. And he had discussed this very topic with Raoul on several occasions—sometimes almost violently.

  “And what, exactly,” he prodded, “is wrong with the world’s reaction?”

  He could see she was choosing her words carefully as she delicately sipped the consommé.

  “It’s the system, I’m afraid,” Anne said quietly. “They say there’s no better government than democracy. But that holds true only when democracies relate to each other. When a ‘wolf’ appears in their midst, the democracies become ‘sheep.’”

  There we go, thought Sir Cedric, but he remained diplomatically silent.

  “Democratic leaders are elected by large populations whose main concern is in bettering their lives. A very legitimate endeavor. But politicians, relying almost solely on public opinion polls, use this as leverage in their own propaganda. And that’s what current politics looks like today—the main concern of those elected leaders is to be re-elected again and again! Their decisions in office seldom have any bearing on the needs and concerns of their nation. Instead, they cater to the sway of public opinion, which usually has very little knowledge of foreign policy or national security, but a lot to say about their own comfort.”

  There was a prolonged pause. Sir Cedric watched Anne as she collected her thoughts. These were pretty strong words coming from her. Raoul couldn’t have put it better, though his approach to this issue was in stark contrast to Anne’s. It’s time to put the cards on the table.

  “I think I know what you’re getting at, Anne,” he said, finally. “And I think you have made a good point. Modern history shows that the price for getting rid of dictators and tyrants is rising all the time. Let’s see if you, as a historian, can clear up a couple of questions that have been nagging me for quite some time now.” Anne was staring at him now, her hand holding the soupspoon halted in mid-air on its way down to the bowl.

  “Let’s take World War I to begin with,” he continued. “Victory was achieved only at the intervention of the United States. How long did it take them to make that move, Anne?”

  “Not really my specialty, Ced,” Anne replied, “but let’s see now. I make it about two and a half years. The war began in 1914 and the US entered it in 1917….”

  “Why, Anne? Why so late? Because of public opinion, that’s why. You just said so yourself. President Wilson could not intervene without the support of his people, could he? And they opposed the move for two and a half years! In that time a lot of people were killed in Europe. Do you happen to know the approximate number, Anne?”

  “Eight million. I see where you’re heading, Ced.” Anne’s voice was excited. “As I recall, in World War II the figures were even worse. It took President Roosevelt about as long to make sure the nation would support US intervention. And he needed German and Japanese provocation as well before doing anything. This time fifty-two million lives were lost! It’s appalling!”

  “You’re the historian, Anne.” Sir Cedric took hold of Anne’s hand and spoke very quietly. “Now tell me in simple terms—where does this lead us?”

  Anne grew pale.

  “I … I never thought about it that way. Obviously the enemies of democracy today hold threats far beyond what Germany and Japan could come up with then. Today, in a world armed with intercontinental ballistic missiles carrying nuclear warheads …” Sir Cedric noticed her voice was rising. “… flying crisscross over the globe…. If and when things erupt— My God, Ced!” Her eyes opened wide.

  “Total devastation,” she whispered, staring into space. “Hundreds of millions dead.”

  Her head snapped toward him.

  “You knew!” she accused him. “You knew this all along, and you led me right into it.” Her gaze softened and she smiled at him. “I can’t get mad at you, Ced, even if you did manipulate me there. Actually, I’m relieved that we share our opinions on this. Of all the people in the world, you’d be the last one I’d want as opposition on this topic.”

  “Thank you, my dear.” Sir Cedric felt himself relax. “I really didn’t want to get you upset. Let’s finish our meal with nicer things on our minds, shall we?” He beckoned to the waiter for the main course. “And by the way, I believe I shall bring this matter up with the admiral.”

  By nature Anne Dupré was a calm and neat individual. She was born Anne Cooper in England in 1966. Her parents—her father was an English Literature lecturer at the University of London—had sent her to the best schools in Reading. She had studied history at Cambridge and earned her Master’s degree in History, Literature and Culture in the Middle Ages. Then she had gone off to Paris and got her PhD in Ancient and Medieval Worlds.

  During her studies she had met a young French officer, Raoul Dupré, fell in love, got married and had two children. He, meanwhile, progressed along his military career, rising to the rank of colonel. She was offered a position as history lecturer at the Sorbonne, but, as fate would have it, Raoul was posted to the French Embassy in London.

  They all moved to London, and Anne—with her father’s assistance and connections—began teaching at the University of London. The children now studied in schools in their native tongue, which they had spoken at home even while in France. Here, Raoul and Sir Cedric had the good fortune to meet and develop a deep friendship.

  Three years later disaster struck. Raoul contracted cancer of the liver and died a few months after being diagnosed. During her mourning period, Anne received an offer from the Sorbonne in Paris for a full professorship in the History Department. She couldn’t turn down this opportunity. But to take the children with her would be a second major upheaval in their lifestyle and educational program. So she reluctantly left them in the care of her parents in Reading, and moved back to Paris alone. She was quite well off, having not only a decent salary from her employers but also a pension from the French government as the widow of a French officer.

  Raoul’s parents lived in Montpellier near the Mediterranean Sea. When Raoul was still alive he, Anne and their children would visit them twice a year. Since Anne was widowed she and her children only visited during the summer vacation, so that the youngsters could meet with their grandparents. The Duprés and Anne would call each other every two or three weeks and exchange information on the children and their health. The old couple was very proud that their daughter-in-law was a university professor, and their only regret was that the children went to school in England instead of in France.

  Anne had a large number of friends and acqua
intances—French academicians, naturally, were her closest environment. But the British academic world was also no stranger to her, due to her father’s connections. And, of course, the diplomatic world in France and in England alike, because of her late husband’s occupation.

  Anne today was a relatively young, attractive widow who drew men’s attention wherever she went. She knew that, but taking advantage of that fact was the furthest thing from her mind. Her lifestyle was modest, even somewhat old fashioned—she did not drive a car, wear fancy clothes, use a cellphone or attend glamorous events. She expected that one day she’d meet someone to take Raoul’s place, but she wasn’t anticipating it anytime soon. Or even later, for that matter.

  TWO

  Trim and Fit Ltd. had started out as a tiny workout gym in Earlsfield, not far from the Southern bend of the Thames. Over the years it had developed into a profitable enterprise. Clientele was increasing almost weekly as its reputation spread throughout the city. The manager and owner, Martin Cooper, ex-Special Forces major, had done well with his staff of five. They were fully employed the year round and none could complain of lack of income.

  Martin assembled the boys for their weekly briefing.

  “Lads, as you all know we’ve been doing pretty well for the past couple of years. Don’t you think it’s time for a big break? Well, that’s what it seems like right now. We may be getting into an easy expansion deal abroad.”

  The five staff members exchanged questioning glances.

  “Do you remember the Frenchman we showed around about two months ago? Leblanc? Well, it seems he was more than just impressed. He wants to open a gym just like ours near Paris. He even wants it to carry our name on it, as if it were our Paris branch.”

  As the news sank in, there came a round of hand-clapping and table-pounding. Questions flew around, and Martin raised his hands for silence.

  “We wouldn’t have to do much. Of course, I’ll need to visit there quite frequently to begin with—Leblanc will need me on hand at the founding and running in stages—but later on it’ll be only once every few months to see that our standards are met. That’s all. Leblanc will supply all the rest. Staff, fixtures, accessories—the works. And we’ll collect fifteen percent of all their earnings. In a couple of years, I believe we’ll be able to afford to expand here, too.”

  When the cheering had died down Martin added: “I’m flying to Paris soon to finalize with Leblanc. I don’t know how you can keep up the good work without me, but I’ll give it a try.” He winked at the burst of laughter from the men. He was frequently absent for several days leaving George in charge, and business was no worse for that.

  The rest of the meeting related to current issues.

  THREE

  The neat apartment on rue Gay Lussac didn’t need any preparation for guests. Anne always kept it tidy. Besides the hallway and the living room, there were three bedrooms, one for herself and one for each of her children. When they visited her, she wanted them to have their privacy, if they so wished. The living room also served as her study, and right by the window was a medium-sized desk on which her files and work papers were neatly stacked next to her computer. A cabinet for serving drinks stood by the opposite wall.

  Anne also took meticulous care of her looks. She knew she was attractive, yet—and perhaps because of it—she regularly visited her cosmetician and her hairdresser. She had a floor-to-ceiling mirror installed in her bathroom, and she never left her flat before she had taken a full two-minute check-up on her appearance. Face and figure combined to a very appealing picture. Add to that a dash of poise and dignity, chestnut hair, and you have a typical blue-eyed “looker” to some, a comely figure of a woman to others. None who saw her could remain indifferent. And if you knew her better, you would also discover her love for the arts—she would attend concerts, ballet, exhibitions, jam sessions and the like whenever her schedule allowed it.

  Sir Cedric said he would be bringing his admiral friend along. She had never met the admiral in person, though she had heard a lot about him from dear old Ced. Besides being an excellent chess adversary, it seems the admiral was also a keen conversationalist and a staunch “defender of the oppressed” in his political views.

  The two elderly gentlemen were very punctual. Sir Cedric beamed, shared a short embrace with Anne and introduced the admiral. Anne half expected Admiral Patrick Stone to be tall and in a white naval uniform, covered with medals, epaulets, and gold buttons. Instead, she saw a short, balding man with large horn-rimmed glasses, dressed in casual street wear.

  “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Dupré,” said the admiral, giving a stiff bow. Anne wondered if he was going to kiss her hand. “I have heard quite a lot about you from Sir Cedric here.”

  “Oh, I do hope we can dispense with the formalities, please,” Anne said hastily, rather put off by his somewhat pompous greeting. “I’m Anne, and he’s Ced … ric, and you’re whatever you like to be called. Will ‘Admiral’ do?”

  It was as if Admiral Stone had been practicing a role for the theater. His transformation from snooty officer to friendly guest was almost instantaneous. He gave an apologetic grin.

  “Nasty habit I have there,” he admitted. “Introductions always raise the image of being presented to the Queen, know what I mean? Yes, almost everyone calls me Admiral or Patrick. Your choice. Am I forgiven?”

  Anne gave him a warm smile, indicated the chairs around the small table she had prepared and offered drinks. After the regular chitchat that usually starts off such get-togethers, the admiral finally straightened up in his chair and said:

  “I have ideas of my own on the topic you and Cedric discussed. I am very concerned about the inadequacies of the democracies of the world. Iran is developing nuclear weapons and long-range missiles, and their president is openly and arrogantly threatening everyone opposing him. North Korea is conducting underground tests with atomic bombs and has already sent missiles towards Japan. And the best thing the democracies of the world can do is to complain to the United Nations.”

  “True, true,” muttered Sir Cedric.

  “Here’s what we can expect,” continued the admiral. “The Security Council will propose sanctions. Vetoes will fly in from all over, so the Security Council waters down the sanctions proposal until it is totally ineffective. Is it any wonder that nobody takes them seriously?”

  “Not to mention that these people in the UN are all earning a decent salary for warming their seats,” Anne chipped in.

  “Then there’s this deputy to al-Baghdadi who keeps popping up every now and then. At least he doesn’t mince words. He very clearly states that his aim is to destroy the civilized world and instate Islam rule in its stead. And in South America,” the admiral noticed he was getting agitated and took a sip of his whisky, “we have another clown who graduated from the same academy attended by Idi Amin and Kaddafi. But this South American dictator in Venezuela is extremely dangerous, not only to his own people—these despots always are—but to the world.”

  “You’re not painting a very rosy picture, Admiral,” Anne said. “All those you’ve pointed out are not only very influential today, but are gaining power every week.”

  “Just how long do you think this can go on?” Sir Cedric had remained serene throughout the admiral’s speech. “I mean, until it all blows up on our faces? A year? Two?”

  There was a short silence. Anne looked from one man to the other.

  “Gentlemen,” she said softly. “You did not come here all the way from London just to air your views. Not only did you know beforehand that I sympathize with these opinions, you have also entertained ideas of what can be done. So let’s put our cards on the table, shall we?”

  “Just what do you mean, Anne?” Sir Cedric asked.

  “All right—here’s my opening gambit.” Anne took a deep breath. “I say something has to be done about the situation. Emphasize the word done! Talking is fine, in fact necessary, but nothing will happen unless action
is taken.”

  “You realize, of course,” Sir Cedric said carefully, “that we are too old and not that internationally influential to cause super-powers to alter their behavior. But do go on, Anne.”

  “These tyrants must be stopped. I don’t know how, of course, but I can assure you that I oppose the use of force. Violence is a decision that is up to those who can wield that kind of power, and we all know that far too many lives will be lost before and after it is deployed. So I’m trying to think along unconventional lines.”

  “I’m afraid you’ll need to clarify yourself a bit more, my dear.” The admiral set down his empty glass. “When we mention ‘unconventional means’ we are actually speaking of nuclear, chemical and biological weapons. Surely you were not referring to them.”

  “No, of course not!” Anne felt a bit miffed. “I have already stated that I abhor violence of any kind. No—I was thinking about quite a different approach. But first, please let me ask you both a preliminary question. And I apologize in advance if it seems too ridiculous to you.”