‘So what’s on the stick? Why not just email it to me?’ Sean asked.
‘My emails are being read, no matter what I try to do to stop it. Read it and we’ll talk tomorrow: 7 p.m. in the lobby of the Hotel D. Anna Faustein will be with me.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘You’ll find out tomorrow. Now just ask normal interview questions and make notes. In half an hour you can go.’
‘Are you having an affair with Anna Faustein?’
‘Blimey! If that’s your standard interviewing technique, I’d hate to see your interrogation style. The short answer is no, I’m not. We’re just very close friends and Anna has far better taste than that.’
‘Why should I believe you?’
‘First, Anna is a beautiful, intelligent, thirty-eight-year-old woman and I’m a pot-bellied, fifty-seven-year-old man, who’s never been good-looking, or particularly intelligent for that matter. Second, I don’t care whether you believe me or not. What’s important to me is that my wife and children believe me, and they do.’
The interview lasted another twenty-five minutes. Sean asked questions about Allsop’s political beliefs, his childhood and other background information. Allsop’s responses were animated, interesting and eloquently delivered, and despite the nagging warnings in Sean’s head, he found himself warming to the gregarious character. If he was lying and his outward image was a façade to hide deeper, more sinister, objectives, he certainly did it well. Sean didn’t once detect the obvious signs of lying which all good reporters were trained to spot. His answers were direct, detailed and offered without pause. They were also very well thought out. Allsop clearly wasn’t the extremist loony the British media liked to portray him as. In fact, he was far from it and possessed an intellect that would rival any in British politics.
When the interview finished, Sean shook Allsop’s hand warmly and left through the front door of the small bar.
Back out on Rue 22 novembre, he scanned the area, before putting up his umbrella and walking back towards the small hotel, where Clive and Liz would be waiting. He hadn’t thought it necessary for Liz to come, but she’d insisted and he wanted to avoid any chance of an argument.
During the walk, he had a feeling that he was being watched, but figured that it was probably just the power of suggestion playing tricks with his senses.
Then, when he turned onto the quiet street that his hotel was on, he saw a flicker of light reflected from a shop window and turned around sharply. A man wearing a long raincoat, standing in a bus shelter, had just lit a cigarette. He looked at Sean, but didn’t move and Sean turned away, continuing into the dimly lit street.
Ten metres or so into the street, he could see the hotel lights in the distance and quickened his pace. The sudden appearance of footsteps behind him made him speed up more, until he was almost running. But when he turned to see who was following, he saw nobody. The nagging feeling of somebody’s presence still with him, he broke into a run, then a sprint, until he reached the door of the hotel.
Breathing heavily, he pushed on the handle. It was locked.
‘Damn,’ he remembered that the small hotel secured the door at 8 p.m. and fumbled in his pocket for the key that he’d been given. Again he heard movement behind him and swung around sharply, but as before, there was nobody there.
Trembling slightly, he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door, stepping quickly inside as the warm air from the lobby rushed over his face. Instinctively, he turned around to scan the area surrounding the entrance to the hotel. His eyes instantly darted to a point behind the trees on the opposite side of the road, where he thought something moved, but it was just a cat. Shaking his head at his paranoid state, he quickly locked the door and went to his room.
Author's Note
One of the fundamental principles of democracy is that the people set laws to govern themselves. In practice, this means that the members of parliament, elected by the people, suggest new laws, and these laws are voted upon by the other members of parliament.
In the EU, the elected members of parliament do not have the power to initiate any legislation. Instead, this task falls solely upon the unelected European Commission.
Chapter Five
Wednesday, 23rd September. Strasbourg, France.
Liz downloaded the contents of the memory stick to her hard drive. There was only one file, numbered, but not named, and she opened it quickly.
‘It’s in German,’ Sean said, looking at the thick block of text over Liz’s shoulder.
‘I think it’s translated later on,’ Liz replied, scrolling through sixty-three pages of German text, before the language changed to Greek. Six languages and 400 pages further on they finally came across the English version.
The dense text filled the screen; each paragraph was over one page long and punctuation was minimal. ‘Bloody hell! The words might be English, but they don’t seem to mean anything. What is it?’ Sean asked.
‘There aren’t any headings, but I reckon it’s an excerpt from a bill in the European Parliament,’ Liz commented.
‘Excerpt? Its sixty pages long,’ Sean said frowning.
‘I think they can stretch into the thousands of pages,’ Liz replied.
Clive joined in, looking over Liz’s shoulder. ‘Who could read thousands of pages of this pseudo-English legal mumbo-jumbo and make any sense of it?’ he said.
‘Nobody; that’s the point. Allsop told me that they pass hundreds of bills every day when Parliament is in session. There’s no way any of them could be on top of the content, even if they had an army of readers,’ Sean commented.
‘So the EU is passing laws that nobody has actually read?’ Clive frowned again.
‘Except the people that drafted them, of course,’ Sean replied.
‘Who drafts them?’ Clive asked.
‘The European Commission,’ Liz answered.
‘Is it only me that thinks that’s rather dangerous: a group of unelected people writing laws that nobody ever reads, which bind whole nations to their contents?’ Clive asked.
‘Allsop actually admitted that the members are rarely across the bills. There are just too many. In practice, the leader, or a nominated person from a political party, raises their hand with their thumb up or down, indicating how the other members of the party should vote,’ Sean said.
‘Wow! That puts a lot of power in the hands of the party leaders. They could get their members to vote for anything if they haven’t read it!’ Liz exclaimed.
‘That’s nuts. Why hasn’t this been made public? I really don’t think people know how it works. In fact, I doubt they even know that there are political parties in the EU,’ Clive commented.
‘To be fair to Allsop, he has tried to let people know, but the media just portray him as a crank, so nobody listens,’ Sean said.
‘Hmm. I don’t trust all this Euro nonsense,’ Clive huffed.
‘We should try to read this, so that I’m ready for the meeting tomorrow. Allsop said it would be the scoop of my life, so there must be something juicy in it,’ Sean said.
*
Almost four hours later, at 1 a.m., they had all completed their respective reading.
‘What do you make of it?’ Sean asked.
‘It’s hard to tell. The language is so confusing. It’s clearly something to do with EU bonds and the potential for default,’ Liz started.
‘Clive?’ Sean turned.
‘Absolute gobbledegook. I may as well have read the German version,’ Clive shrugged.
‘It seemed to me like a series of measures that could be taken at the discretion of the Commission, should a member state default on a loan from the EU,’ Sean suggested.
‘Did any of the measures seem odd?’ Clive asked.
‘Not really. Some were a bit overbearing, such as forcing budgetary cuts in the country that’s defaulted, but that’s nothing more than they’ve already been doing,’ Liz said.
‘There must be somethin
g else; something we’re missing. Why was Allsop so secretive about it? Other than having the ability to bore whole nations to death, it seems pretty innocuous,’ Clive said.
‘We need to read it again,’ Sean said, ‘more carefully this time. There must be something sensational in there.’
‘It’s late. You’re not meeting him until seven tomorrow. Let’s get some sleep and do some more research in the morning; maybe try to put some context to it. Ten o’clock okay with you, Clive?’ Liz asked.
‘Yep. I’ll come to your room.’
Finally alone with Liz, Sean reached out and pulled her towards him.
‘I’m too tired, sorry,’ she said, turning away.
Author's Note
The European Union administration is made up of four major bodies:
• The European Parliament: The body which houses the European Members of Parliament (MEPs).
• The European Commission: The administrators of the EU; essentially the European Civil Service.
• The European Council: The forum for the heads of state of the member countries.
• The Council of the European Union: A fluid group made up by the department ministers of the member states, who gather based on subject matter.
These four powerful EU bodies are locked in a constant power struggle with each other, for control of the ever-expanding EU.
Chapter Six
Thursday, 24th September. Strasbourg, France.
Sean woke with a start, as loud rapping on the door broke his deep sleep. ‘Who is it?’ Liz called out, rubbing her eyes.
‘Liz, it’s Clive. Let me in.’
‘It’s only nine, Clive. We said ten. What do you want?’ Sean said, glancing at the clock on the side table.
Pulling on a hotel robe, Liz made her way to the door.
‘Allsop’s dead!’ Clive said quickly, pushing through the door held open by Liz.
‘What?’ Sean snapped out of his daze.
‘Apparently suicide: an overdose of painkillers.’
‘That’s rubbish. He’s not the type and when I left him he was positively jovial,’ Sean said.
‘They’re saying that he was a long-time drug user and was taking anti-depressants,’ Clive countered.
‘Crap!’
‘I agree. He doesn’t fit the profile of either a junkie or a suicide risk. My guess is that he was murdered, but the local police seem to have already concluded that it was suicide.’
‘Why would they do that?’ Sean asked.
‘I don’t know, but we’ll see what the coroner has to say,’ Clive added.
‘Could it be something to do with the information on the USB stick?’ Liz suggested.
‘Maybe. He obviously thought there was something interesting on it,’ Clive replied.
‘We need to find Anna Faustein. She was meant to come with us tonight. Maybe she knows what’s going on,’ Sean said.
‘She’s staying at a place on Rue des Couples, the Cour du Corbeau, I think it’s called,’ Clive said. ‘But she’ll have the media all over her, given her relationship with Allsop.’
‘Let’s try anyway. If she knows that I met with Allsop last night and knows what he gave me, she might talk to us,’ Sean said.
*
‘Could you put me through to Anna Faustein’s room please?’ Sean asked the hotel operator after looking up the phone number.
‘I’m sorry, sir. Frau Faustein checked out this morning,’ she replied with a strong French accent.
‘She’s gone. We should try the Parliament.’ Sean turned to Liz and Clive, who were seated in the small hotel room.
*
It took ten minutes in a taxi heading north before the historic buildings of old Strasbourg were replaced by shimmering, state-of-the-art glass buildings of monumental proportions, lining the banks of a wide canal. The EU campus, in stark contrast to the busy downtown area, seemed to move at a leisurely pace, with wide grass verges and narrow rivers flowing through it. The Parliament building itself was a statement in modern architecture. Its colossal rounded exterior blended steel and glass seamlessly into its elegant structure, its huge circular tower seemingly unfinished. Sean remembered reading an architecture article that said it had been purposely left that way to symbolise the unfinished nature of the EU.
‘Well, at least I know how they spend all the bloody money,’ Clive said, staring up at the impressive visitors’ entrance to the Parliament building.
Without stopping to look, Sean raced into the lobby and quickly approached a woman standing behind a long marble reception counter. ‘I’d like to speak to Anna Faustein. How can I reach her?’
The receptionist spoke in clear English. ‘All of the members are in plenary at the moment. Do you have an appointment with Frau Faustein?’
‘No,’ Sean said, ‘but it’s important.’
‘Then you must call her office and make an appointment,’ the receptionist replied.
‘Do you have a phone number?’ Sean asked.
‘I’m sorry. I can’t give you that information.’
‘Do you at least know whether she came in this morning?’ Sean let his frustration show.
‘No, I don’t have that information, sir,’ the receptionist countered his angry disposition.
‘Damn!’ Sean said as he walked back to Clive and Liz, who were admiring the enormous glass atrium. ‘No help. We can’t get in to see her. I’ll just have to wait to see if she comes out.’
‘We could take the tour? Then we could at least see if she was in the debating chamber,’ Liz said, pointing to a sign announcing ‘visitors tours’.
The early hour meant that they soon managed to get onto a tour. After clearing security, Sean immediately asked whether they could go into the viewing gallery for the plenary session, but was told that they would get there in about an hour. Agitated by the slow progress, they stayed at the back of the group of tourists, making no attempt to look interested, although it was hard not to be impressed by the internal architecture of the building, with its expansive central atrium, modern wood panelling and twisting metal staircases. Whoever built this wasn’t on a tight budget, Sean thought.
‘We’re here,’ Liz said, as the sign for the plenary viewing gallery appeared and the guide told them to stay quiet.
‘Do we know who we’re looking for?’ Clive asked.
‘She should be in seat 262,’ Liz said, looking at a large curved chart on the wall.
When they entered the plenary debating chamber, the contrast between the outside of the room and the inside couldn’t be more emphatic. Gone was the warmth of the wood panelling, gone was the glass and the twisting metal and all that was left was a circular featureless room, with a dark blue carpet and white walls. Above it, the viewing gallery stretched all the way around and was filled with the same cold grey chairs as the chamber itself. I wonder if this was purposely designed to be less elaborate than the rest of the building, because this is the area that is always seen on TV and they don’t want to portray an extravagant image? Sean considered.
Having been into the British Houses of Parliament a number of times to witness the proceedings, Sean had expected the same level of heated debate here. But there was no such debate, just the monotone voice of somebody reading from a script in German. Most of the members were wearing headphones, obviously listening to a translation. Then the speaking stopped and a few members seated near the front raised one hand with a thumbs-up. Soon a large electronic screen displayed the result of the vote.
‘Motion adoptée,’ the speaker in the centre of the bench at the front stated.
Almost immediately, the same monotone voice returned and before Sean could locate seat 262, the same process happened again.
‘Motion adoptée,’ the speaker said again.
‘She’s not here. Her seat’s empty,’ Clive whispered.
Sean instinctively stood to leave, but Clive pulled him back down. ‘You’ll get arrested if you’re caught wandering the corridors he
re. We’ll have to stay with the tour.’
During their wait, another tour group entered the chamber. The collection of people took their seats quickly and began to observe the proceedings below, except for one man. He studied the members chart carefully before sitting down, slightly away from the others. He was dressed in a blue business suit, which made him stand out compared to the jeans and t-shirt-clad tourists in the rest of the group. Then, after quickly glancing around the chamber, he focussed his attention on Sean.
‘Did you see that?’ Sean whispered to Clive.
‘Yes, I saw him when he came in; he’s no tourist.’
‘I don’t suppose we could take a sneaky photo?’
‘No chance,’ Clive responded quickly.
After a few minutes, the odd-man-out stood quietly and moved a few seats closer to Sean. Then he repeated the move again and again, until he was only a few seats away.
It was another forty-five minutes before the tour guide indicated that they should leave. When the group stood to file back into the expansive lobby area, the suited man joined their group.
‘Stay behind him,’ Clive whispered to Sean and Liz, as he stepped out in front of him.
When they made their way back through the twisting steel and glass, down to the ground floor, Clive stayed just in front of the suited man, while Liz and Sean stayed behind him. At one stage, when he reached into his pocket, Sean tensed ready to pounce on him, but it was just to get a handkerchief.
After they passed through the security barrier, Clive re-joined them, but not before he’d taken a picture of the suited man.
‘What now?’ Sean asked.
‘Let’s just head out to the taxi rank, and see if he follows us. He can’t be armed or he wouldn’t have got through the security checks,’ Clive said.
The warm sunshine felt good on Sean’s face when they walked out to the pavement, where a long line of taxis were waiting. Behind them, the suited man came through the door, seemingly not trying to hide the fact that he was following them. Then when they climbed in a cab, he took the one behind.
sThe Quiet Wart Page 4
