“I know who you are,” Marvin told him right away.
“Impressive,” the man responded.
“I saw you on TV. Your name is Randolph Bleeker. You represented John Fontanelli’s brother, and the police have been looking for you since the swindle was uncovered.”
That did not seem to bother him in the least. “That’s correct, Mr. Copeland,” he said simply. “But did you know that the police are looking for you too?”
Marvin stared at him as if he had been slapped. “Me?”
“The French police would like to ask you a few questions in connection with the death of your girlfriend, Constantina Volpe. Do you remember Ms. Volpe?”
“Constantina…?” The memory came back in a flood. He saw dark alleys and an Algerian man counting franc notes and a plastic baggy with white powder in it. And then … nothingness. He remembered waking up with cold, stiff, bluish arms and legs. He tried to dial a number with shaky hands. Then he was in a jail cell again until a man came with vacant black eyes.
“Someone brought you here to safety. This is not only a clinic, Mr. Copeland, this is also a hideout. At least it is for you.” This man, Bleeker, who had tried to con his friend John, and the whole world, in fact, looked at him disdainfully. “Have you never asked yourself who that was? And why he did it?”
No, indeed he never had. Marvin hesitantly shook his head. “No,” he admitted, “I have no idea.”
“Do you want to know?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Bleeker took a breath. “You won’t like it,” he said with a doubtful expression. “You are involved in something far bigger than you could ever imagine — even in your worst nightmares.”
“Let me worry about that, okay,” Martin said.
Bleeker looked at him for a while, and then seemed to have made a decision. “All right. Let’s go over to that log, it’ll be better if you’re sitting down.”
Now Marvin got a bit worried. Something pounded in his head, like an animal trying to escape. He sat down beside Bleeker on the fallen tree trunk that some storm had blown over, ready to find out what Bleeker knew.
The man with the rough face began to speak. “Can you believe whatever happens in this world is actually controlled by a small circle of powerful people who pull all the strings, manipulate the media, and surreptitiously follow their own interests? That nothing is as it seems?”
Marvin nodded. “Yeah, man. That’s what I’ve always thought.”
“It is all true. I know because I have worked for these people.”
Crazy! If only this awful headache would go away. “Really?” he asked and tried to remain cool.
Bleeker leaned forward as if there was an invisible weight on his back, and placed his hands on his knees. “Good. That’s why I’m here if you want to know the truth.”
$48,000,000,000,000
NELSON ROLIHLAHLA MANDELA, born in 1918, had been a political prisoner from 1962 until 1989 in the Republic of South Africa. He was also the elected president of that country since 1994. He stepped before the bundle of press microphones from around the world and explained that John Salvatore Fontanelli had asked him to be a candidate for the office of World Speaker. “And I have decided to accept the nomination,” he told the crowd.
Journalists are generally hard to baffle. They are used to hearing the most unexpected statements, the most surprising announcements and the most shocking revelations, but there was a commotion in the auditorium on hearing those words. All discipline vanished, questions were shouted across the room, mobile phones pulled out, quick dictated messages excitedly passed on and people out in the hallway were running to the phones.
It was a known fact that Mandela did not want to run for a second term as president of South Africa, and it was assumed that age was a factor. But world president?
“We will soon say good-bye to a century that has been a very painful era in mankind’s history. Looking back, we must realize that conflicts and wars still dominate many parts of our world. A large part of the world population lives in poverty, and the relationships between nations favor the most powerful. I’m not saying this to spread despair and hopelessness, but to name some of the challenges that will accompany us into the new century.
“We have witnessed terrible examples of inhumanity among peoples. We have destroyed plant and animal species, and brought many others to the verge of extinction. And we have in many other ways abused our natural environment. However, we cannot deny that we also have witnessed many triumphs in human intellect in the fields of science, literature, art and many others. Modern methods of communication and globalization have made the world into a smaller, more manageable place, in which no country exists on its own, or can solve its problems by itself any more. We require international organizations that can effectively represent the interests of everyone and that can strengthen our sense of common humanity.
“For this reason I will accept with gladness and humbleness the request to represent the world’s peoples in this office. At the same time, I appeal to everyone around the world to seize the historic opportunity and to participate in the ballot, and I ask each of you for your vote. I promise with all my strength to support those whose honest interest it is to create a world where people can coexist with each other in dignity and friendship. Thank you.”
“Holy shit,” an English journalist said to a colleague, “but I’ll be damned if it isn’t just possible.”
“No reason to curse,” the other one replied.
In the Colombian jungle an anti-drug commando uncovered a secret packaging camp in a raid. The soldiers secured five thousand pounds of cocaine packed in plastic sacks bearing the Morris-Capstone Company logo. A speaker of the company wasted no time in explaining that Morris-Capstone had nothing to do with the drugs. The sacks were intended for Brazilian tobacco plantations and must have been stolen while en route.
At about the same time, McCaine was speaking on a talk show where he remarked that he was against any government-subsidized programs to rehabilitate drug users. “These programs don’t work and only cost money,” he explained. “They can’t work because those who fled life’s responsibilities for the artificial gratification of drugs lack self-responsibility. To finance such programs is a mockery to everyone else who wants to live a normal life and works hard for it. Since this world is already overpopulated, we should be glad for each person who voluntarily exits the world.”
Exiting the world not quite voluntarily were the arrested drug dealers in Columbia. They had been murdered mysteriously in jail before a judge could even question them.
Just play it cool when the signal sounded, that was the plan. After all, he had four hours — that was a lot of time. The white-painted steel door closed behind him with a thump and clicked as it was locked. Marvin held his nose in the cool, crisp air … but did it for no longer and no shorter than usual. Then he trudged onward up the slope at the same leisurely pace as he had every afternoon for the past few weeks.
They were watching him from one of the windows down there, glistening in the sun, he was sure of it. They never gave him a hint of doing so, instead they always pretended to be unconcerned about where he went, as long as he returned on time. After all, they had this radio device inside his ankle gadget. They knew everything about him they needed to.
He had four hours, but it only took barely ten minutes to get to the clearing in the forest.
The sign was a yellow ribbon tied around one of the trees, which was visible from his room if you knew exactly where to look. It was quite a way through brush and over rough terrain before he got to that tree. Indeed, in a hole on the tree’s trunk he found a plastic baggy and in it was a map of the area, a set of car keys, three hundred Canadian dollars and two hundred American dollars, and something that could only be a key for his ankle bracelet. It looked slightly different than the ones the clinic personnel used, but it fit. Marvin removed the device and did as Bleeker told him; he closed it up again right away.
However, he could not help playing a joke on the clinic wardens. He found two young trees growing close together with crossed trunks as thick as ankles. He locked the device around one of them. Now it looked like some magician had turned him into two trees. He enjoyed imagining the stupid faces they would make when they got there and wondered what the hell was going on.
He pocketed everything and went on his way. His route led along the access road, up on the mountain ridge. It was rough terrain, rocky, full of crevices and dangerous slopes. It was hard going, and although it was easier without the stupid thing on his ankle, he was soon drenched in sweat and out of breath. Every muscle in his body cried for a break, but that was impossible. He had four hours, but it was not as much time as he had thought. And there he was, on the most important mission ever entrusted to any man.
The candidacy of Nelson Mandela opened a new dimension in the debate about the pros and cons of a global referendum. Whether the initiative was to be taken seriously was no longer up for debate, now the discussions had narrowed down to the question if there would be a World Speaker and, if so, who it should be.
The South African president’s popularity around the world was immense, as reflected by the positive reactions to his announcement as a candidate. The actor, author, and special UN envoy Peter Ustinov, who had been one of the first contenders, withdrew his candidacy to give his full support to Nelson Mandela. Those journalists who were against the referendum, and who tried to bring Mandela into disrepute, did themselves and their cause little good when the people, especially in developing countries, labeled them racists. In many places spontaneous rallies were held, and signs reading “Mandela for World President” were soon a common sight at nearly all demonstrations, even those on completely unrelated issues.
However, there were other opinions being voiced. A European initiative group called for the nomination of the Czech President Václav Havel instead, and despite his refusal diligently collected many signatures. In the U.S., a movement was formed to promote former President Jimmy Carter who was six years younger than Mandela as a candidate. However, he turned down the candidacy with the words: "I do not think that a white man has a chance of winning this first candidacy."
CNN in a special broadcast presented an interview with the CEO of the organization We The People, Lionel Hillman. "Mr. Hillman," the interviewer greeted the man with the rusty-brown curls, "is it true that Gaddafi announced his candidacy?"
Hillman smiled. “If you’ve been following our announcements, then you know that this is true. Muammar al-Gaddafi submitted a valid candidacy yesterday.”
“This means that the Libyan head of state will be on the list of candidates?”
“Of course.”
The interviewer, a dark-skinned woman named Deborah Norris, looked surprised. “Do you think that this is okay?”
The future world election supervisor considered it acceptable. “That is democracy. The rules apply to all. And if you don’t like a candidate, then vote for someone else.”
Mrs. Norris thought it best to change the subject. “How many countries are involved? China will allow the vote. How about Iraq, Cuba, or North Korea?”
“It’s a go in Cuba, that’s certain. Castro was against the referendum at first, because it was initiated by a capitalist, but after he had a private talk with John Fontanelli he changed his mind. Iraq will also allow the vote to take place. But we will keep a close watch to see if the population will be intimidated from going to the polls. Unfortunately this is a tactic that happens in many places, in Afghanistan and Haiti, for instance.”
“And North Korea?”
“As it looks now, North Korea will be the last enclave of total dictatorship. I truly regret this, but presently there is nothing that can be done to change that.”
“Many governments declared that they will not recognize a world speaker, should one be voted into office.”
“What do you mean many? Almost all of them,” Hillman said shrugging his shoulders. “But I don’t have a problem with that. My job is merely to organize the vote. We’ll see what happens afterward.”
“And on the subject of John Fontanelli, how much does he have to say in We The People?” Deborah Norris asked provocatively.
“Nothing,” Hillman responded promptly. “He is a citizen with exactly one vote, just like any other.”
“But he is the one who provided all the money you’re working with.”
“That’s right, but when you donate money you say good-bye to it. In any case, I don’t know of any special status for anybody in our organization. We all eat in the same cafeteria and use the same bathrooms. The foundation rules can only be changed only by the world speaker and even then only through a referendum.”
She nodded, satisfied. “What will the procedures be? How many voting rounds will there be?”
“Two. The first round will be open to all the candidates. The second round will be for the two candidates with the most votes.”
“Who do you expect to win?”
Hillman cocked his head. “Officially, I will refrain from comment.”
“And unofficially?”
“Unofficially, I think that it’ll be between Nelson Mandela and the ‘no’ vote.”
“Meaning a vote against the concept of world speaker?”
“Correct.”
“What result would you like to see?”
Hillman gave a smile that would have done justice to Solomon. “A voter turnout of at least seventy percent.”
“And what are your plans if the ‘no’ vote wins?”
“The same thing I always do after a vote: organize a new one in four years’ time.”
“We already have a world president,” Malcolm McCaine said during a television interview. “Everyone knows him: his name is John Salvatore Fontanelli. Isn’t this obvious? Things are happening exactly the way he wants them to happen, all over the world. He wants polling stations to be set up because he has a utopian idea in his head, and although everyone knows what nonsense this is, it is still being done.”
McCaine was the first to take an offensive stance against the Fontanelli plan. In advertisements, posters and television ads, paid for by Morris-Capstone, John’s project was attacked and ridiculed. In Europe, propagandists argued on intellectual talk shows that although the idea of a world government, of course, had “charm,” it was still too early for the world even to take a first step. Weekly magazines and newspapers illustrated how in the future, if Fontanelli’s plan went ahead, a billion Indians and a billion Chinese would have a say on the fate of Europeans. In Israel, radio ads warned about giving Arabs even the hint of a say about the well-being or otherwise of the Jewish state, while special broadcasts on Arab television declared that a “yes” to Fontanelli’s plan would mean the floodgates of the corrupt, depraved Western influence opening all over the world. In the United States, full-page ads and many minutes of commercials during the most expensive airtime announced: "America's president is the most powerful man in the world. There is no reason to change that.” And bumper stickers could be seen on cars with two words above the We The People logo: “Just Ignore!”
The UN ambassador of the United States criticized Kofi Annan’s decision to support the “trillionaire” referendum unusually brusquely. In well-informed circles it was assumed that the secretary-general’s days were numbered.
Marvin stopped on the graveled shoulder of the road and watched the motel from afar. The place matched the description he had been given: there was a log carved into the shape of a grizzly bear next to the door, the yellow-painted walls and shape of the building also matched. To judge by the cars in the parking lot only two rooms were occupied. One of the vehicles, a Ford pickup, was being loaded up by two burly men who looked like lumberjacks.
He put the car into gear and drove to the motel parking lot. He parked the car and peered around before getting out. He played it cool as he entered the office. Sitting behind the counter in the lobby was a
sloppy looking man with an odd chinless face and a ponytail, who cheerlessly went through the registration procedure.
“Are there phones in the rooms?” Marvin asked as the receptionist put the money into the cash register.
“Just dial zero and then the rest,” the man answered with a grumble.
“International numbers too?”
“Yep.” He shoved the key over the countertop. “Number three, on the left.”
The room had appalling brown wallpaper, but otherwise was okay. Marvin washed his face, looked out the window and saw nothing but forest, forest, and more forest. He sat down on the bed and lifted the phone. No mobile phones, Bleeker had told him. They can pinpoint every mobile phone in the world down to ten paces. Logical, that was part of their plan. But he was going to ruin it for them, if it was the last thing he did.
Marvin thought for a second and dialed a long number. A woman answered. He told her his name then it rang again. Another woman answered the phone … in English with a charming Italian accent.
“Hello, Francesca,” he said, “it’s me, Marvin.”
“Marvin?” she breathed, almost fainting. “Where are you? What…? I’m always thinking of you, Marvin, every day and … I bought your CD …”
“Francesca,” he interrupted her, “I need your help.”
“My help?”
“Francesca, darling … you have to find a telephone number for me.”
“South Africa’s peaceful change is often considered a miracle,” Nelson Mandela said during an official visit to Australia. “The entire world had been convinced that South Africa would one day go under in bloody racial conflict. But the leaders of the various communities and political parties refuted the prophets of doom with their willingness to negotiate and to make compromises. If the experience of South Africa means something to the world as a whole, I hope it sets an example for people of goodwill to come together and overcome their differences for the common good, in peace, and that solutions may be found for even the most difficult problems."
One Trillion Dollars Page 72
