by Stan Mason
We returned to my apartment and sat in the lounge with coffee and sandwiches. ‘It’s happening all over again!’ raged Berg. ‘People without authority acting above the law and forming their own army. It happened that way in Germany in the 1930s. It’s happening again! Bullying innocent people... holding mock trials... issuing death sentences in private. The same routine!’
At any other time I would have thought he was over-reacting, but not now. I had witnessed a ham-fisted attempt by an immature organisation to impose authority it never had on a poor miserable wretch. The few people in control had acted totally ultra vires with the law of the land. Consequently, until they were brought to book, such men were dangerous. One could define the decisions of a tyrant or despot. However, erratic authority meted out by nonentities who elevated themselves to power brought everyone to the brink of peril because no one knew what would happen next. In addition, the uniforms scared me and brought back many evil memories, but were Hayle and the Glazers the men to be feared? Or were there others... more sinister... directing them?
The next morning I had an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as I looked at the front page of the morning paper. Exhibited in the centre was a photograph of Albert Henley laying face downwards in the Thames. He had been fished out of St. Katherine’s Dock near the Tower of London just before ten o’clock at night... not long after the trial had ended. I thought about his death for a while and recalled some books I had read on modern European history. It had never sunk in before but, suddenly, it dawned on me how World War Two had started. It had happened in 1939, but long before that there was a kind of revolution. Hitler had begun a cause of a similar kind.
Chapter Four
After reading of Henley’s death, I sat in an armchair thinking about the trial. It may not have been an isolated case. It was possible that many such trials were being held by International Three Thousand in other parts of Britain... perhaps all over Europe... mainly to make the members believe that they were serious.! Carrie was still asleep. Sadly, my peace of mind was greatly disturbed. I had been thinking about the trial the whole night through... depriving myself of sleep. I couldn’t remember whether I had promised Miss Grayson I would take her to dinner the previous evening. Meeting Berg, and going to the secret meeting, had driven it from my mind. No doubt she would be furious with me if I had forgotten. The telephone rang to break through my thoughts. I failed to respond even though it rang many times. The only person so persistent would be my bad-tempered editor. Eventually, I caved in and answered the call against my better judgement.
‘What’s the matter with you, Savage?’ Flanders yelled down the line. I could tell he was angry because he always called me by my first name unless something was wrong. ‘I’ve been pestered twice this morning by some damned smooth-talking woman called Grayson who insists on seeing you. Now I’ve got you down on my list for a very important assignment. If you want to play around with women that’s your affair but don’t let it interfere with your work in the ‘paper’s time! Do you get the drift?’ I let the cordless telephone slip to the floor and sat back in the armchair. Ted ranted on until realising there was nobody listening on the other end of the line which didn’t improve his temper. ‘Are you there, Savage? Hallo... hallo? You get your arse down here right away, you bastard, or you’ll be off the payroll before you can say Jack Robinson! Do you hear?’
At that moment, the Lord had mercy on me as the telephone went dead. It was as though someone had strangled Ted Flanders at the other end of the line. There were times in life when one had to weigh up the advantages of opportunity cost. If there was a choice of spending an extra hour with Carrie or going to work, I preferred the former... even if it jeopardised my job. In any case, with Barnaby out of action, and Jeff Petrie dead, Flanders had little choice in the matter. Later on in the day I might feel somewhat differently about the decision but I would deal with that problem when it arose.
It was nearly three hours later when I went to see Miss Grayson at her office. I took half-a-dozen roses with me as a token of my atonement. She had just gone to lunch but her secretary had been informed I was likely to call, albeit she expected me to communicate by telephone. My request to be allowed to wait for Miss Grayson in her office caused quite a stir. It was in the nature of civil servants to be extremely sensitive where confidentiality was concerned. They were always suspicious of the fact that visitors had roving eyes... especially newspaper reporters. I insisted, however, that I would do the daily crossword sitting quietly in a corner of the room. The secretary was reluctant to accede to my request at first but she yielded under pressure when I started to make a fuss. I placed the roses on top of one of the filing cabinets and sat down facing the chair used by Miss Grayson, opening the newspaper at the back page under the watchful eye of her secretary. After a short while, she tired of the game and left her office to continue with her work, but mindful enough to leave the door ajar. As soon as she had gone, the temptation to snoop was too strong to resist. I dropped the newspaper and moved to the other side of the desk to switch on a small computer. Fervently, I searched the drawers of the desk before coming to a container bearing the word “International”. I opened it to find three computer disks inside and placed the first one into the machine. My hunch was correct. It related to International Three Thousand and I began to read the text as fast as possible, pressing the appropriate button on the console to progress quickly through the pages as fast as I could read.
“The policy of the organisation is to create a United States of Europe on a non-violent basis over a period of years starting from the present time. European governments rule their respective countries by means of the majority party, and most changes of elected government tend to reverse the trend of progress or its direction. They keep within the bounds of written or unwritten constitutions, hampered often by ancient laws and precedents, and they apply constraints which cannot be overcome easily. As a result, life in every aspect becomes complicated, difficult, and sometimes unmanageable to benefit mankind. The amount of money wasted in supporting false economies is monumental, as seen by past European butter mountains, wine lakes, and the like, while changes in policy cause lurches in progress bringing disillusionment and lack of co-ordination. Europe is comprised of a group of developed countries tentatively working in principle against each other. They continually weaken themselves by altering policies and fail to underpin progressive economic development. If they were all linked by a single government, with one major policy, Europe might become the greatest major power in the world by dint of its wealth, experience and ability. Unification would allow tighter control of budgets, economies of scale and the on-going benefits of consolidation. Ultimately, the new Europeans would gain advantages in a variety of ways ranging, inter alia, from higher standards of living, greater personal spending power, less unemployment, less inflation, less governmental control... and it would be rewarded by better facilities in hospitals, welfare and education.
In order to establish a unified state, countries in Europe must lose their national identity. For practical purposes, English would become the major language and the Euro would remain the unit of currency. The formation of a European army from the military of existing European countries would be established for the purpose of protection, and all know-how and financial reserves would pooled. The government would be state-controlled with elections held every twelve years. The system of government is detailed on Disk 3. Once established, the United States of Europe would be able to moderate peace by acting as a neutral task force between any warring factions worldwide. See Disk 2. For further details contact Kirk.”
I needed to take copies of all three disks to examine the information carefully. It had been good fortune which delayed me in seeking out Miss Grayson, enabling me to reap the advantage of finding this information. I could have been smarter, however, because had I arrived five minutes earlier there would have been time to read all three disks and escap
e scot free. As luck would have it, Miss Grayson chose that moment to return to her office and I was caught red-handed at her desk computer. Needless to say she was furious.
Would you mind moving away from the desk please!’ she ordered, with relative politeness. ‘Immediately! Or I’ll call security and have you arrested.’
‘Forgive me,’ I riposted, amassing all the audacity within me. ‘I was under the impression we were supposed to work together on this assignment.’
‘No, Mr. Savage,’ she returned icily. ‘Your role was to communicate information to me. I was to act as the contact between yourself and the government. It was never suggested you should trespass in my office and rifle my desk for information. I was told newspaper reporters have little respect for anyone or anything once they get their teeth into a good story. You’ve done nothing so far to make me change my mind.’
I put on a sad face pretending to be reprimanded. ‘I’m sorry I was unable to take you to dinner. It was unavoidable. Take my word for it.’
She stepped forward, lifted the telephone receiver and pushed it close to my face. ‘Do you recognise this instrument, Mr. Savage? It’s called a telephone! You merely dial the appropriate number! It saves someone waiting vainly at the other end so that they can also change their plans and get on with their lives! Now... will you kindly leave everything as it is and move to the other side of the desk!’
Miss Grayson was beginning to work herself into a temper and I decided to take the heat out of the situation with some smart talking. ‘Tell me, Miss Grayson,’ I began. ‘How do you come by these three disks? When I was abducted and taken to the House of Commons, the Prime Minister and the rest of your select committee told me they had only just become aware of International Three Thousand. Now I find three disks which hold some very material information. Can you explain that?’ I could see by the expression on her face that, momentarily, my challenge had knocked the wind out of her sails.
She rallied well after a brief pause. ‘We have information on every organisation known to man here. What the Prime Minister was trying to say related to the danger it might represent to the public interest.’
I stood up and moved to the other side of the desk keeping my eyes on her all the time. ‘Is there any other information you have that might be useful? After all, I’m grubbing around in the wilderness for leads and you had the details in your desk all the time. I don’t think that’s a very clever way of playing the game.’
You’re wrong, Mr. Savage,’ she returned sharply, regaining her composure again. ‘If I gave you this data, you would spend your time following it through. But if you’re forced to research from square one, you’re likely to uncover much more through alternative avenues. In fact, if I gave you these disks your investigation might be inhibited.’
She had a point but I was unwilling to concede the argument. ‘Perhaps it would be best if we met this evening to pool some of our knowledge,’ I suggested. ‘This time I’ll turn up, I promise. How about eight o’clock?’ She was about to decline when I moved to the filing cabinet and retrieved the roses. ‘I brought these for you. Lovely roses for a lovely lady.’
She wilted faster than a flower in late autumn and looked at me in an old-fashioned way. I knew at that moment she had forgiven me. ‘It could be useful to pool our knowledge,’ she returned quietly, staring at the roses lovingly. ‘But I would like to reinforce the fact that you had the opportunity to meet me and failed to show up.’
‘I never carry grudges,’ I told her boldly. ‘I hope you don’t either.’ She was right, of course, and I could understand her point of view very clearly. My behaviour was appalling. If the boot was on the other foot, and she had let me down, I would have been furious... and I would have held a grudge.
I left the office and made my way back to the apartment, castigating myself for being stupid. I had been beating my head against a brick wall to find scraps of information and I had overlooked the most obvious person of all. Miss Grayson would have filled in a lot of the gaps, but that was my idiocy in life. Whenever an assignment landed on my desk, I charged like a bull at a red cloth in a manic attempt to gain ground quickly. On this occasion, my actions proved to be erratic and uncoordinated. I wasn’t getting to grips with the story at all! The plan outlined on the computer disks was extremely ambitious. Young people, like Hayle and the Glazers, had too little experience to become leading lights in the massive integration of governments and countries. They couldn’t even manage the trial of Albert Henley in a professional manner. If revolution came... and it would be a revolution... how would they fare as party members in control? It didn’t add up too well!
When I returned home, the door to my apartment was partly open. My first thoughts dwelt on the possibility that Carrie had forgotten to close it. I pushed it open to find myself confronted by a tangled mass of furniture, paper and bric-a-brac which had been rearranged savagely from their natural state. The floor was strewn with glass from broken mirrors still hanging eye-less on the walls and the television set had been smashed to pieces. I trod carefully over the mess dreading the condition of the bedroom. The wardrobes had been stripped and all the clothes flung across the room. The tallboy and its drawers were splintered beyond repair. The television set in that room had been kicked-in, the video tape-recorder destroyed, and everything else in sight was shattered. Material things to me were incidental; but there was far worse to come. To my horror, Carrie lay immobile on the bed. At first I thought she had been beaten up and rendered unconscious, but as I ran to her I could see signs of blood oozing out from a number of stab wounds on her body. The realisation she was dead stunned me. There had been no reason to murder a young woman who had done no harm to anyone. Questions began to form quickly in my mind as I dwelt on my own survival. The intruders may have been searching for me! If so, how did they track me down? Why did they smash up the apartment? Would they try to kill me a second time? I picked up the cordless telephone to ring the police and then an odd thought struck me. Carrie had been closely involved with Berg. Instinctively, I decided to ring him first with the sad news. I dialled his number and he answered immediately... almost as though he had been waiting for the call!
‘Carrie’s dead!’ I blurted out insensitively. ‘Someone ransacked my apartment. She was stabbed to death!’
‘Have you telephoned the police yet?’ he replied, with a degree of calmness that was uncanny... in view that he had once been her fiance.
‘I was just about to do that.’
‘Don’t!’ he advised firmly. ‘Don’t ring them! Just stay put! I’ll be right over!’
The receiver went dead and I looked at the debacle wondering whether I had done the right thing. Why shouldn’t I ring the police? It was the law to report a murder without delay. Why was Berg so insistent I should do nothing? What could he do about it? Carrie was dead! No one could bring her back to life again.
I was trying to sort out the wreckage in the lounge when Berg arrived. He looked at the mess and went directly to the bedroom where he stood over Carrie’s body for a while, his lips moving in silent prayer. I followed him inside and watched, waiting to find out why he had prevented me from contacting the authorities.
‘You haven’t rung the police, have you?’ he checked astutely. I shook my head. ‘Good! We’ll get her out of here when it’s dark.’
I scanned his face closely. ‘What are you talking about? Where are you going to take her?’
He looked straight at me with his cold black eyes. ‘I’m sending her body back to her own country.’
‘Back to her own country?’ The situation was becoming bizarre. ‘For heaven’s sake! Where’s that?’
‘Israel. She lived in Tel Aviv.’
The words cut through the air like a knife and I took hold of his shirt collar, pulling him towards me. ‘All right, Berg,’ I snarled. ‘You’d better tell me what this is all about! There
’s a dead woman in my bed, the place is in a shambles, and I want some answers!’
‘Easy! Easy!’ he said quietly. ‘Give me a chance to explain.’ He pulled himself free, took me firmly by the arm, and led me back to the lounge. ‘Carrie was an Israeli intelligence agent,’ he related candidly. ‘It’s nothing terrific. There are thousands of agents working everywhere, each one seeking information for reasons of national security. Despite perestroika and the break-up of the Soviet Union, every government has people out in the field trying to find out what’s going on in other countries. Some people think that because the Soviet Union has disbanded there’s no further need for agents. Don’t even consider it for one moment. Believe me, there’s lots going on all over the world. No one can afford to sit back and let things happen. The stakes are very high. Carrie was an agent working in Britain for Israeli intelligence.’
‘I thought she was British,’ I intervened in surprise.
‘She liaised with me from the start. That’s how I knew. I always check the background of the people I’m involved with... including you, Mr. Savage! Carrie’s task was not simple. It was always assumed that the Nazi war criminals hastened to South American countries at the end of World War Two. That’s only partly true. Some of the best known were seen in Brazil, Paraguay, Argentina and Peru, but many escaped to other parts of Europe. Carrie was told to find those hiding in Britain. It’s not easy to find people who have carefully changed their identity. In some cases, they changed it many times to avoid being traced and discovered.’
‘I understand you’re called The Rooter. Why didn’t you find them and pass on the information? You’ve been involved with the Israeli authorities all your working life.’
