“Basically they’re just doing what we did in Roy’s campaign. Nothing new,” Philip Sullivan added.
“There’s something else. It’s not just about factories that destroy the environment. Their main work is for arms and pharmaceutical companies. Wherever there’s a conflict you’ll find Brian Jones and Edward Brown,” Neil continued, ignoring Philip.
“You said they work behind the scenes?”
“Yes, but I found them. Right now they’re working to convince people that a small-scale, low-intensity war in the Horn of Africa is necessary. A few weeks ago people from one tribe killed people from another tribe, the same old story. The American government washed its hands of the situation; for them this part of the world is a long ways away. But the arms factories now have a chance to fill the warehouses of both governments over there. And so if you read the newspapers you’ll find hundreds of hand-wringing editorials shocked at the West’s inaction in the face of what’s happening in the Horn of Africa. There’ll be a war.”
“I don’t think the U.S. is going to send in the marines,” I said with a laugh.
“No, they won’t. The U.S. learned from Vietnam. They won’t send soldiers, but they’ll send weapons and subcontract armies, mercenaries—nobody cares whether they live or die. But the money for these wars, which the marines no longer fight, comes from the pockets of Americans. In Washington they know that public opinion won’t support the sight of more bodies coming back in black bags and people will start to question just what the U.S. needs from the Horn of Africa. But then there’ll be reports on CNN showing the horrors of what’s going on there, so there will always be someone saying that someone has to do something.”
“They know how to manipulate public opinion to justify any war,” Philip Sullivan added.
“That’s right,” said Neil.
“So, these companies profit from wars,” I said.
“Yes, they always have one aim: to confuse public opinion. They always win. They manage to protect their own interests by muddying the waters. Divide and conquer, right?”
“Right.”
“So, if one of their clients wants, for example, to get his hands on oil anywhere in the world, or gas, or tantalite, and the local governments aren’t all that keen, then they create a conflict. They’ll run a campaign to emphasize the facts that everyone already knew, that the country is a dictatorship or that the people there suffer because their rulers are corrupt. It’s all true, of course, except no one cared up until that point whether the people were starving. If they need to cause a war, they’ll cause one. It’s easy to get public opinion on your side when it’s a question of getting rid of a dictator.”
“Dictators who were their friends and allies until they stopped serving their interests,” Philip Sullivan added.
“That’s the theory, but what else?” I said.
“There are Western governments that hire them to do their dirty work for them.”
“You’re exaggerating,” I said, wondering if he’d gone off the deep end.
“I promise you, I’ve managed to get the gist of it over the last few days,” Neil said, unmoved.
“How can you know something like that?”
Neil shrugged before answering.
“It’s not that hard. If you read the newspapers carefully you can come to the same conclusions.”
“And Schmidt?”
“He was born in Berlin. He studied sociology and modern languages at the university there. He’s a polyglot: he speaks English, French, and Spanish like a native, and knows Russian as well. When he was a professor in Berlin he had great influence over his students. He was like the Pied Piper; they did everything he told them to. He gave classes at the Sorbonne, which confirmed his reputation. He taught at Oxford as well.”
“And why would such a prestigious man go to work for a couple of shady lawyers?”
“For the cash. His mother died in childbirth. His father was a construction worker. Schmidt got scholarships and had to work hard to pay for his studies. Someone realized that he was exceptionally intelligent and suggested that he put his talent to use for the ‘dark side,’ which always pays better. And he seems to have been hit pretty hard by his father’s illness. When his father had a stroke and couldn’t work anymore, Schmidt didn’t have the money to pay anyone to look after him. And then one day Schmidt came home and found his father dead, from another stroke. The old man died alone.”
“So he’s bitter,” said Philip Sullivan.
“No, don’t get it wrong, Philip. I don’t think that Schmidt is bitter. He’s a cold man, who hasn’t ever been given anything, who can adapt to any circumstance. Even his own personal circumstances. And that’s what he’s done.”
“It’s almost as if you admire the man,” I said, irritated.
“If you’re going to work with him, or for him, or near him, you’d better not try to pull any tricks or you’ll end up floating in the Thames,” Neil said.
“So Schmidt is a genius,” I muttered.
“An expert in mass behavior. His job is to think, influence, manipulate, strategize…He has worked for governments, for security agencies, for large multinational corporations…He’s protected by the richest men in the Western world. Untouchable.”
“You have to be careful, Thomas,” Philip said. He seemed to be truly worried.
“And what about Roy? What do you think of his desire for me to work for him via these lawyers and their PR firm?” I asked Neil.
“Roy’s shooting too high. He wants respect, but Jones and Brown are stringing him along. They’ll leave him high and dry,” Neil replied.
Neil seemed tired and looked at the whiskey bottle. I got up and filled his glass in spite of Philip’s recriminatory gaze.
“What would you do in my position? Would you work for GCP?” I asked Neil.
“If you don’t think you’re cleverer than Schmidt and if you don’t go off the course he sets for you by even a millimeter, then maybe you can risk it. But you have to understand that your boss is not Roy but Schmidt, which is to say Jones and Brown, which means the weapons manufacturers, the oil companies, the banks, the pharmaceutical companies…You wouldn’t be going to work for some sheep farmer, like you did with Green, if that’s what you thought.”
“You’re not giving me much hope.” His coldness made me uneasy.
“You could thank me for giving you free advice,” Neil said as he sipped his whiskey.
“Think about it, Thomas. If you take the job you could end up in a pretty sticky situation.” Philip made his uneasiness clear.
“Would you work with me?” I asked them.
“If you give me a specific job, I’ll tell you if I’ll do it or not, and how much it’ll cost. That’s as far as I can go” was Neil’s reply.
“I…I’m sorry, Thomas, but I don’t think I can. It’s too risky. I’d like to help you but…”
“You’re scared, Philip.” I spoke angrily, trying to offend him.
“Yes, I’m scared. Neil’s already told you: these people aren’t like the others. They spend millions of dollars, millions of pounds, millions of euros, and people like us are nothing to them. A little excitement is good, but not too much.” Philip sounded sincerely upset that he wouldn’t be able to follow me if I decided to take the job.
“So you’ll keep working for Scott and Roth,” I said, an affirmation more than a question.
“Yes, they’ve asked me to sign another contract with them,” Philip revealed.
When they had left I pushed my coffee cup away and poured myself a whiskey. I had to call Roy and tell him whether I would work for GCP. I was worried about what I’d be getting into if I said yes, but at the same time I thought I might be losing something if I said no. I called Esther.
“I’m working, I’ll call you later.” And she hung up.
I felt very alone. Actually, I had realized what loneliness meant only a week ago. Until then I had never felt I needed someone else to rely on. But I
had never been in a situation like this one and I felt the need to speak to someone, to hear some advice even if I wasn’t going to follow it. To feel that I had people on my side, sharing in the situation, worrying alongside me.
I couldn’t call Blanca. We barely knew each other, but even if we had been friends for years she couldn’t have understood anything about this. It was outside of her experience.
I was tempted to call John. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to think of him as my father, but I know he would have listened to me and given me good advice.
I hesitated. I hesitated for a long while. I know it’s what I should have done, but I didn’t do it.
If I had dialed John’s number I know he would have been pleased. The conversation might have gone something like:
“Dad?”
“Thomas? Good to hear from you, son. How are things?”
“Not bad, but I need to make a decision and I’m conflicted.”
“If there’s any way I can help you…You know you can count on me. What’s bothering you?”
I would have explained the situation to him. John would have listened to me without interrupting, thinking about how he would reply as I relayed the facts.
“What do you think? What do you think I should do?”
“Thomas, in my opinion, you shouldn’t get involved. These people…well, their hands aren’t clean and you know that. You’ll end up in trouble sooner or later. You don’t owe this Roy Parker anything, you’ve done enough for him already. If you want your own PR agency, come back to New York. You know I’ll help you set it up. We have friends here, you’d have good clients, and you’d be able to rely on Esther. How are things with her, by the way? She seems like a good kid, and I don’t want to get involved in your personal life, but you were very taken with her and if you stay in London…well, I suppose it would be difficult to keep your relationship going. The sensible thing is for you to come back. I don’t like what you’ve told me about these people.”
“All right, Dad. I’ll think about it.”
Yes, I’m sure that John would have advised me to give Roy a firm no. It was the most reasonable thing to do.
—
I poured myself another whiskey. I drank too much, but back then this didn’t worry me.
It was already dark when my phone rang and woke me up. I had fallen asleep without realizing it. I suppose the drink knocked me out. I saw Roy’s number flashing on the screen. I looked at the time. It was past nine.
“Weren’t you going to call me?” Roy sounded angry.
“Yes, I was just going to.”
“I can smell your breath from here. Even your voice is drunk,” Roy said.
“Stop pissing around.”
“I’m starting to get tired of you,” he said in a low voice, as if he were talking to himself.
“I’m tired of you too,” I said.
“So you’ve made a decision.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Well, tell me what you decided, you prick!”
“I accept. I’ll work for GCP, but I’ll do it my own way.”
“Don’t forget that your job is to look after me. You’ll have Schmidt in charge of you, so take care.”
“Yes, I know the deal, but I’ll be running things on a day-to-day basis.”
“Schmidt runs things. He chooses everything, even the type of paper you use to wipe your ass,” he said with a laugh.
“I’ll try it out.”
“Okay, well, get to work.”
“Oh, and I reserve the right to leave whenever I want. If I don’t like how things are going or if Lerman or Schmidt are too much for me, then I’m off.”
“Not so fast. The lawyers have drawn up a document. You’ll have to sign it. Confidentiality clauses and so on. It’s a good salary.”
“Right,” I said, annoyed.
“And a couple of other things besides. That’s what they’ve decided. They’re calling the shots and you’ve got to follow their lead.”
“Hey, Roy, I don’t like the sound of this. Either we work as we’ve been doing till now, or there’s no deal.” I made one last effort to bring him over to my side.
“No deal, then. I’m sorry, Thomas, but I don’t make the rules.”
“Is this you talking? Are you an employee of Jones and Brown now?” I asked him, just to annoy him.
“Don’t get on my case, all right? I’ve got my interests, they’ve got theirs, and we’re on the same page for the time being. If you want to come with me then that’s fine; if you don’t then I’ll find someone else.”
“If that’s what you want…” I said.
“No, it’s not what I want. What I want is for you to sign the damned contract and get to work. I trusted you, damn it!”
“I’ll do it, Roy,” I said, lowering my voice.
“All right. I’ll be in London tomorrow, I’ll meet you at the lawyers’ office at eleven o’clock.”
Why did I accept? I still don’t know, but that decision changed the rest of my life. No, I wouldn’t turn back; I don’t regret it. I don’t have enough scruples to regret anything.
Brian Jones and Edward Brown were indifferent to my decision to join GCP. They introduced me to Leopold Lerman, the agency’s director, who treated me with cool friendliness. I said that I wanted to be able to employ two or three people I could rely on and he made no objection. “As long as it’s within budget, Mr. Spencer,” he said, with a hint of warning.
When we left the offices of Jones and Brown I invited Leopold Lerman for a drink but he refused.
“Maybe you could come to the agency tomorrow. I hope you find the office you’ve been assigned comfortable.”
I didn’t like Lerman. Not then and not now. Too German. His father was German, his mother was English, and he had been educated at a Swiss boarding school. I suppose his parents must have chosen neutral ground because, as I found out later, they had split up shortly after Leopold was born. I found this out through Maggie, who knew everything.
Yes, I managed to get Maggie to come and work for me. She couldn’t reject the salary I offered. I knew that I would be able to get my hands on Cathy’s secretary only if I put an exorbitant quantity of money on the table, a quantity that Scott & Roth couldn’t even approach. Leopold Lerman protested, but I was inflexible where Maggie was concerned.
I wanted Maggie by my side not simply because she was an efficient secretary, but also because she always spoke the truth, regardless of whom she might annoy. I signed up someone else whom I was satisfied with: Evelyn Robinson, the journalist we had manipulated in order to get rid of Roy’s rivals. I knew that she wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation of leaving Radio East and slamming the door on Christopher Blake to come live in London. Evelyn was aware that although Blake’s company had been refloated thanks to the money from Roy and his friends, she was still working for a local radio station and newspaper, and she wanted much more. Also, I wanted someone on my team who had unlimited ambition and who would be willing to do anything to achieve her goals.
I gave Evelyn an envelope containing a few hundred pounds and told her to buy some clothes.
“I want you dressed in the latest style, elegant but modern. And go to the salon and get something done to your hair. You look like a country schoolteacher.”
Philip Sullivan took control of Evelyn’s transformation. Despite his refusal to be employed by me, he was not opposed to carrying out certain tasks, although he always charged me for them. Sullivan was the son of a well-off family whose father was a part of the establishment, so he knew the rules for making one’s way in the City. Also, he had good taste when it came to advising a woman on how to dress.
In just twenty-four hours he managed to transform Evelyn. A haircut and a few blonde highlights that lit up her chestnut hair, Jimmy Choo shoes, Stella McCartney dresses, Armani jackets…She didn’t look like the same person at all. Philip had transformed the hayseed reporter from Radio East into one of those women who stride through
the City’s corridors.
Evelyn was surprised when it turned out that Neil Collins would be working with us. She admired his work and now she would be working with this old, broken-down legend.
GCP was in one of those Thames-side glass-and-steel buildings that held the offices of companies from all over the world and where we would blend in. There were two working groups at GCP, one of them made up of copywriters and communications graduates who did what I called “white work,” whether that was a campaign to sell detergent or revamp some company’s image. For “black work” there was another group, which I was a part of. Along with Maggie and Evelyn I needed to recruit a team, but it was not easy. I didn’t know enough people to whom I could offer a job as dirty as this one. Once again it was Sullivan who helped me by recommending one of his friends, Jim Cooper, who was also a hacker.
My first day at GCP I received an unexpected visit from Bernard Schmidt. I was irked that he would come to see me without warning, and all the more so because he came and sat in my chair, behind my desk.
“It’s urgent for you to prepare a campaign in the county so that Roy can start to change people’s opinions about fracking. We must have everything done in a month.” Schmidt didn’t make suggestions; he gave orders.
“That will take time. I’ll sit down with Evelyn tomorrow and plan the campaign. She’s from there and knows her peers.”
“Tomorrow is too late. Get down to it now. We won’t get the license unless public opinion is sufficiently softened up. The environmental activists will make a lot of noise. You will have to counteract them. Here, read this. It’ll tell you where to start,” he said, and held out a folder that contained about thirty pages with no identifying letterhead.
“And what’s this?” I asked after looking through them.
“What you need to do. How to neutralize these young people. There are several arguments there.”
“I thought that finding arguments was my job.”
“Well, then you’re lucky that someone’s already done it for you. All you have to do is follow the path these documents set out. It’ll be easy.”
Story of a Sociopath Page 37
