by Alan Fenton
Arthur considered the proposal; he did not like it, but if that was the price he had to pay for the USA’s neutrality, then so be it.
‘Agreed.’
Long after the US President’s image faded from Galaxy’s wall screen, Arthur was still wondering if he had not just concluded one of those shabby deals he had accused the President of making.
In conjunction with Operation Mainline, Camelot launched Operation Detox to relieve the drug barons of the wealth they had secreted in bank accounts throughout the world. Ian Tichgame in NIWIS, and Agravaine in Command Control, were in joint command of the money heist. Working in four hour shifts, teams of electronic gurus and house wizards conducted an intensive search for drug money, wherever in the world it might be, intercepting inter-bank messages and remittance instructions, “freaking” phone networks, zapping vital links and breaking into the electronic transfer systems of international banks by using security codes harvested from electronic and mobile communications.
By the fourth day of Operation Detox virtually the whole of the drug barons’ software had been disabled, and Techforce Ten and NIWIS had used their knowledge of the codes in their possession to break into thousands of bank accounts and transfer billions of dollars, euros and pounds to secret accounts set up to receive them. From these accounts the funds orbited cyberspace, being diverted and rediverted from one account to another in a series of complex transactions, until the gurus and wizards were satisfied that it would take months, if not years, to track them down.
Reacting in panic, producers, distributors, transporters – all those involved in the international drug trade – rushed to their computers to check the status of their accounts, spewing out thousands of messages instructing bankers and bag men to shift funds from one account to another. To their horror, their computers refused to accept their commands. Phone links had either crashed or were crippled by “glitches”, radio signals were blocked and electronic communications compromised. It was a unique and frightening experience for the drug barons who had lost control of their empires, their lives, and, most terrifying of all, their money. In their frustration they turned on business associates, competitors, hirelings, anyone near enough to be a target, accusing them of treachery. Many drug barons and farmers died in the bloodbath, some slaughtered by their own friends and family.
A few account holders succeeded in accessing their codes and transferring their money to new accounts seconds before Techforce Ten could lay hands on it. In at least two instances the new account numbers and access codes were extracted at gunpoint by actives in the field who forced the captured drug barons to reveal them. The great majority of account holders were unable to access their accounts for days, only to discover when finally they did, that their accounts were at zero, and that on their computer screens was an all too familiar image: a hand drawing a sword from a stone.
The panic of the banks whose protective barriers had been breached, was, if anything, greater than that of the drug barons. For them too, Operation Detox was a disaster. Despite their technical expertise, vast experience and great power, even the world’s biggest international banks were unable to protect either themselves or their criminal clients. Having for years prospered from either knowingly or irresponsibly flouting the law, they were now faced with exposure and prosecution.
By the fourth day, Camelot’s actives led by senior officers, had dealt with the drug barons and the militias whose task was to protect them. Eleven drug barons were taken alive, the rest were killed. All resistance had now ended. From Eclipse, Lancelot reported that amongst those captured was the most powerful drug baron of them all.
Arthur’s heart missed a beat. ‘Dionysus? The big man himself?’
‘There’s no doubt about it. We cross-checked his iris and voice signature with MI6 and the CIA. They’re a perfect match.’ Arthur was satisfied. ‘Our objectives have been achieved.’
He ordered Camelot’s armed forces to return to base. It was all over.
Within a few hours, Dionysus and his fellow surviving drug barons – Rematted and Dematted to Camelot via Scuttles, Eclipse and Kraken – were isolated in secure areas set aside for such a contingency. For days experts interrogated them, but since Camelot’s code forbade the use of torture, little new information was obtained.
The next day the Round Table committed the prisoners for trial by the High Council.
Arthur visited Dionysus in his cell. ‘I am Arthur.’
Dionysus was short, chubby and bespectacled; he looked more like a prosperous banker or a lawyer than one of the world’s most notorious drug barons. ‘I know who you are.’ Dionysus spoke softly, with not a hint of resentment or aggression.
Apart from a bed and two stools, there was no furniture in the tiny room. Dionysus sat on one, Arthur faced him on the other. Dionysus broke the silence. ‘An astonishingly successful operation,’ he said, managing to look genuinely impressed. ‘Operation Mainline, I believe you called it.’ His accented English was perfect. ‘I congratulate you, Arthur.’
Familiar with the psychological games played by captured prisoners, Arthur was resolved to remain uninvolved and objective. He could not help noticing how white and even the man’s teeth were, presumably the result of regular expensive dental makeovers; nothing but the best for the king of drug producers.
‘It was all most impressive, although I’m afraid it’s not going to achieve anything,’ said Dionysus. ‘Let me tell you why,’ he added gently, as if he were explaining a simple equation to a child. ‘You can destroy our fields and our drugs, you can destroy our warehouses, our transport, our networks, and yes, you can destroy us too. But there is one thing not even you can destroy.’
‘And what is that?’
‘The demand for drugs,’ said Dionysus. ‘There are people out there who need recreational drugs, need them like they need food or drink – or sex for that matter.’ He spread his hands and shrugged apologetically, as though he were sharing with Arthur his distress at man’s frailty. ‘Personally I don’t do drugs. Only fools do.’ An indulgent smile. ‘Fortunately there will always be plenty of those in the world.’
Arthur fought to control his anger. ‘Does it mean nothing to you that there are billions of suffering men, women and children, all of them addicts because of you, and people like you?’
‘You are mistaken,’ said Dionysus, his eyes untroubled, his voice calm and reasonable, ‘I don’t turn people into addicts. They do it themselves. Do I force them to do drugs? Do I conceal drugs in their food? Do I bake cakes with drugs? Do I make soup with them? Do I stick needles in their arms? Do I lay lines of coke on their desks and toilet seats? No, Arthur, all I do is satisfy a demand. I’m a businessman. You may not like my business. Billions do.’
‘You admit that you or your hit men murdered Merlin?’
A sharp look. ‘Is that what Operation Mainline was about?’ Arthur ignored the jibe. ‘Did you?’
‘No, I did not.’
He was certain the man was lying, but he said nothing. What was there to say?
‘What will happen to me?’ asked Dionysus, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
‘That is up to the High Council.’ ‘You dare not have me killed.’ ‘Dare not!’
‘I have friends in high places,’ said Dionysus, a hard edge to his voice, ‘world leaders, men more powerful even than you. They will not allow you to harm me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because, Arthur, I am much more useful to them alive than dead.’
Arthur stood, carefully replacing the stool where he had found it by the cell wall.
‘Goodbye,’ he said.
Dionysus followed him to the door. ‘Let me go, and I’ll give you anything you ask.’ He grabbed his arm. ‘I can make you wealthier than any man has ever been in the history of the world. I can give you millions. No? Billions! Still no? What about hundreds of billions? Don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to be the richest, most powerful man on earth. Think what you could do with al
l that money!’
Arthur knocked for the robot guard to open the cell door. Shaking with fear, his mask of indifference dropped,
Dionysus was babbling now. ‘There are drug producers you haven’t touched yet. I know who they are. I know where they are. I’ll turn them in. I’ll kill them myself if you ask me to, just give me the word. Listen to me, Arthur. In the name of Jesus, listen to me.’ As the door opened, and the guard stood back to allow Arthur to leave, Dionysus screamed, ‘What is it you want?’
‘I want justice,’ said Arthur. The cell door clanged shut behind him.
Dionysus’s eyelids twitched uncontrollably, his body shook; first his arms and hands, then his legs. Lying on his bed he stared at the ceiling. Fear. He had seen it in the eyes of many men, men he had tortured, men he had killed. And though he had taken pleasure in their suffering, it had frustrated him too, not understanding fear, not knowing how it felt. Now, for the first time in his life, he knew.
By the morning of the sixth day, Camelot had accumulated over two hundred billion dollars of the drug barons’ money in various accounts across the world. Agravaine was ecstatic, his eyes shining, his hands never still. Since the murder of his mother and Adrian Pellinore he had been aware of a certain reserve in his uncle’s manner. Though Arthur had no proof, he clearly had suspicions. Agravaine hero-worshipped his uncle, lived for his praise. Now, he told himself, he would be his favourite nephew again. It was Tich and Mordred who dashed his hopes by telling him that substantial funds were still in the hands of the drug barons, most of the money controlled by one man: Dionysus.
‘How can that be? It’s not possible.’ They had to be mistaken. But they were not. Guiding Agravaine along devious cyber routes, Tich, aided by Mordred, uncovered the evidence. A number of large money transfers laid a trail that led finally to a series of firmly locked “doors” which, without passwords, could not be opened. It was now apparent that in the first hour of Operation Detox more than a hundred billion dollars had vanished via a complex network of transactions. The only clue to its whereabouts was a message decoded by Tich confirming that nine billion dollars had been entrusted to Dionysus by another drug baron.
Agravaine was puzzled. ‘Why would he do that?’
Mordred explained. ‘The man who remitted these funds to Dionysus was trapped by a troop of actives. Knowing that he and his men would be captured, he assumed they would be tortured, torture being routine in his world, and that either he or one of his lieutenants would be forced to reveal the details of his secret bank accounts. Like all drug barons in Colombia he owes allegiance to Dionysus who has always boasted he is too powerful and too well-connected ever to be killed, or indeed captured.
‘So this hundred billion . . . ’
‘Is partly Dionysus’s money, partly money belonging to drug producers who transferred their cash to him for safekeeping.’
Agravaine was devastated. He decided to pay Dionysus a visit. An hour later, Agravaine, Tich and Mordred, working with Techforce, tracked down more than twenty substantial money transfers, arriving once again at the locked doors, this time, though, with the passwords to open them. One by one they gained entry to ten accounts that led them to another twenty, then to another thirty, and so on and on through a labyrinthine interweaving of accounts to the last door, and when that was opened, they found inside, not a hundred billion dollars, but over two hundred billion. In minutes the account was at zero, the funds wired through an intricate web of transfers to safe Camelot accounts.
Thatdone, thethree men danced round Galaxy congratulating each other – and especially Agravaine – on their brilliant success. It was the happiest day of his life. How proud of him Arthur would be!
Fifty Six
Mainline
The high council found all eleven drug barons guilty of crimes against humanity; the production, distribution and sale of banned substances, murder, kidnap, torture, extortion and blackmail. Sentencing was to take place the following day. Once the news was released, Arthur came under increasing pressure from world leaders, especially the US President, who had his own reasons for not wanting the drug barons to be executed; above all Dionysus.
Arthur found his arguments less than convincing. ‘Whatever you believe, Mr. President, Camelot’s High Council is an independent judicial body made up of highly experienced judges. Their decision will not be influenced by me or by anyone else.’
‘I’m goddam certain,’ said the President, ‘that they’ll be handing down the death penalty.’ And when Arthur did not reply. ‘Am I right?’
‘No comment.’
‘Look here, Arthur,’ said the President, ‘I’ll do you a deal. Give me Dionysus. You can keep the rest. That’s fair enough, isn’t it? There’s no hurry. You can ship him over here in a few months when the heat’s off.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘Why?’ A few seconds pause whilst the President searched for an answer. ‘So the world can see how justice works in the most powerful democracy on earth,’ he said, hoping it sounded more convincing to Arthur than it did to him. ‘And to demonstrate our commitment to the war on the drug trade.’
‘Tell me honestly, Arvin,’ said Arthur, ‘why is it so important that I send you Dionysus?’
Out of excuses, feeling harried and persecuted, the President exploded with anger. ‘Because, you mother-fucking, arrogant shit,’ he yelled, his face and neck a dark choleric red, ‘because I’m ordering you to!’
‘Not good enough,’ said Arthur calmly. ‘I take my orders from the Round Table.’
About to explode again, the President managed to restrain himself. Losing his temper was not getting him anywhere. ‘You and I are the boss men, Arthur,’ he said, trying a touch of flattery by association. ‘We don’t take orders from anyone. Do it first and ask afterwards is what we do.’
‘That’s not how it works in Camelot,’ said Arthur. ‘I need to explain to the Round Table why you want Dionysus.’
‘Why?’ The wheels and cogs of the President’s brain whirred in a frantic effort to find a way out. But there was none. ‘Why?’ He was cornered. He could see from the look on Arthur’s face that no more excuses, no more prevarications would do. So desperate was he that he was tempted to do something he had rarely, if ever, done in his political life – tell the truth. ‘Why?’ he repeated yet again, rummaging his brain for some last-minute inspiration.
Arthur’s gaze was unwavering.
‘I’ll tell you,’ said the President, loathing himself, ‘it’s . . . it’s because the United States government has given certain . . . ’ – He cleared his throat nervously – ‘ . . . certain assurances.’
‘To whom?’
‘To the . . . ’ The words stuck in the President’s throat – to the Colombian government. We have made commitments to them. We – um – we have long-standing agreements.’
‘What sort of agreements?’
‘If you must know, the bottom line is that we turn a tolerant eye to the drug trade.’
‘What does tolerant mean?’
‘It means we hit the drug barons from time to time, but not too often, and not where it really hurts. They . . . well, they reciprocate.’
‘How do they do that?’
‘For chrissake.’ The President was floundering, his eyes shifting evasively from side to side.
‘How do they do that, Mr President?’
‘They support us in the U.N., they put business deals our way, they exchange intelligence. A lot of stuff. Some I can’t talk about. See here, Arthur, this is between you and me, it has to be.’ He could not meet his eyes. ‘Dionysus is big,’ the President muttered, ‘there’s none bigger. He has the world in his pocket: politicians, generals, police, businessmen, they all owe him – their jobs, their money, their power, and yes, in some cases, their lives. They want him back, Arthur. Unharmed. And you know what? I’ve promised I’d make it happen. I’m committed. If I don’t . . . ’ He drew a finger across his throat in a dramatic gesture.<
br />
For a while Arthur said nothing, trying to absorb what the President had told him. ‘When you were a senator,’ he said, ‘I was impressed by you. I thought you were on the side of the good guys.’
‘I was,’ said the President in a low voice. ‘What happened?’
‘They made me President.’
A long uncomfortable silence followed, the two leaders eyeing each other uneasily, Arthur sombre, the President shamefaced. ‘This isn’t your bag, Arthur,’ he said finally. ‘You are supposed to be fighting terrorists, not drug barons.’
‘I fight anyone who threatens the future of mankind. No one poses a greater threat than drug producers.’
When all arguments failed, there was nothing left but to plead. ‘Do this for me, Arthur. It’s the last favour I’ll ever ask of you, I swear it.’
There were no doubts in Arthur’s mind. He would not, could not, grant the President’s request. At this moment, though, he did not have the heart to say so.
‘Let’s see what the High Council decides,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk again.’
The High Council summoned the eleven convicted drug barons and handed down the same sentence to all of them – death. The executions were to take place the following morning at dawn.
When, a few minutes later, he heard the news, Agravaine rushed to the observatory.
‘Is it true, nuncle? They are all to die?’ ‘Yes.’
‘Dionysus too?’ ‘Certainly.’
‘It was me who talked him into giving us the codes.’ ‘I heard,’ said Arthur.
‘More than two hundred billion dollars. Two hundred billion! How about that, nuncle!’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Dionysus thinks he’s smart, but he’s not half as smart as I am. I tricked him.’
‘How did you do that?’
‘I made a deal with him – his life in exchange for his money. And he believed me! Wasn’t that clever of me?’ To Agravaine’s dismay, the look on Arthur’s face was one not of admiration but of horror. ‘What’s the matter, nuncle?’
