The final member stood out from the rest in more ways than one. Shed held her post for fifteen years, ever since the previous incumbent had regrettably fallen off his yacht. Despite what the press had been told, this had not been down to a slippery deck and one-too-many G&Ts. He had rubbed the wrong people up the wrong way always a fatal move when those people were sat in this room.
The figurative leader before the reluctant swimmer had doubled as Americas Head of State not a happy combination as it turned out. A carefully staged break-in and the threat of impeachment later, and he had gone as quietly as his insane tape-recorded ramblings would allow. The Committee had learned an important lesson with him: no more career politicians, their power was illusionary at best and too easily swayed by the pathetic whim of the great unwashed. The real power in the world was gathered here today, like pus in a festering wound. And at its centre sat a malevolent yet inconspicuous foreign body.
OPECs leading light was just ending off a rambling rhetorical monologue, on the satanic evils encased in the atom, when the Chairman felt the need to interject. She wasnt the first of her line to hold this post, for her power was very much a family affair as was her perfectly formed accent. She spoke the Queens English, as well she might.
Yes, thank you, Yashif. One takes your point. Reaching for a glass of fizzy black liquid she paused to address the haughty corporate head seated next to her. This cola, Bertram, I trust its not the mind-altering kind you feed to the masses?
The Corporate Man looked shocked. Of course not, Maam. These days weve far more effective means of market penetration. Read the Abduction-Scenario Report and see for yourself. The stuff we drink is as pure as new snow.
Not as pure as the glowing snow lying outside these devil-built reactors, I hope, muttered the Arab delegate, clearly heard over the elaborate sound system. The others chose to ignore this slight to Madame Chairmans power; not so the lady in question. She had an unnaturally long memory for insults and an infinite appetite for revenge. But that could wait. Revenge was a dish best served cold, and she was colder than most. The Chairman felt the need move the discussion along, before they were sidetracked any further.
Now to more pressing business. I trust you are all aware that Operation Madcap is ready to begin? Potentially a most profitable endeavour for us all. The funds for the campaign are available and the production lines spool up as we speak. The merchandise will soon fill the warehouses. One simply requires the formality of an authorizing vote, then selected agents can be instructed to get the party going.
Shed get no dissent on this one. Too many round the table had fingers rammed in this particular pie to take them out and lick just yet. The voting console before her lit up pure green, signifying unanimous assent.
Good, we can proceed. But now to a less happy task. It has come to Ones attention that our Executive Section has been conducting an operation to recover certain items that have fallen into the wrong hands. Ive taken the liberty of summoning the head of that section to account for his actions. I know that some of you have reservations regarding his motives in this matter. Shall we call him to state his case?
A scattered affirmative rumble ran around the room. The Chairman thumbed a console switch. You may enter now, Mr Becker.
The Dark Man looked defiant as he strode purposefully through a pair of vast sliding doors. The faces of his superiors were lost in shadow, but he knew each of them by voice, as well as reputation.
The CEO of the worlds biggest aerospace corporation came straight to the point. Theres been a serious leak from your department. Were going to hold you personally responsible, Becker. Youre not going to weasel your way out of this one, like you did that Jamestown fiasco.
The intelligence chief snorted. If its blame youre looking to apportion may I remind you the Visitors escaped in one of the back-engineered craft your corporation were testing at the Nevada site. If your craft hadnt been so easy to shoot down wed be in a lot more trouble than were in right now.
The aerospace CEO looked ready to explode. It was left to the Chairman to raise a restraining hand. Now, gentlemen, lets not descend into fruitless bickering. Why do you both assume this leak to be a bad thing?
The newcomer shifted his weight, while marvelling at Old World aristocratic eccentricity. Maam, there has been a serious breach of security, that I admit. We are currently mounting operations to recover the remainder of the crashed material. They have not gone smoothly to date, but you have my assurance our resources will tighten to crush the saboteurs in due course.
One of the sheiks chipped in from the shadows, his accent as thick as the tension-filled air. Few noticed the knowing glance he exchanged with Madame Chairman; Becker wasnt one of them. Why do we need to recover this material? Why not simply debunk it as we have done so successfully in the past? Remember the fake autopsy footage?
For the briefest instant Becker showed the first signs of stress. In this case the evidence will be impossible to refute. If it gets into the public domain the truth of our Visitors presence will be in the open once and for all. We all know what that could do to the publics fragile state of mind.
The head of a major entertainment conglomerate had to disagree. You havent been keeping up with our latest research. Hard physical evidence has leaked before; weve even released it ourselves to help further our aims. On each occasion the majority havent given it a moments credence, while those few paranoids who do believe our lies help bolster our hold on power.
Madame Chairman nodded with an inscrutable smile that sent an icy shiver down Beckers spine. His face, however, showed no sign of such emotion. This time things are different. Events have quickly spiralled out of control, almost as if an exterior force were aiding the terrorists as they fled. I have proof that
The Chairman interrupted him impatiently. This is most worrying, Becker. There are rumours that your concern for the retrieval stretches to a personal matter. Can you assure us that nothing of the sort clouds your judgement?
Becker fixed her with the sort of frosty stare which could have triggered an ice age.1 It is my professional opinion, Maam, that the dangerous lunatics who have the creature must be stopped at any cost. And stop them I will. But this situation highlights an issue I feel duty bound to bring to your attention once again.
I grow increasingly alarmed at the unintended results of Unified Conspiracy Theory. I fear our willingness to spread paranoia and irrationalism could turn out to be disastrously counterproductive. Already some unknown player seems to match us in an undesired duet. Whoever initiated the Glastonbury operation, it certainly wasnt me. I have some very unusual satellite photos of the South Pacific you all must see.
Madame Chairman had heard enough. She held up a restraining hand and shut her eyes in disgust. Did Becker imagine it, or was she showing the first imperceptible signs of distress?
Yes, yes, hastened the aerospace CEO. Were all aware of your pet theories, Becker. But I find it hard to believe that we are playing into the hands of some unseen enemy. Our efforts to engender a widespread belief in conspiracies have been most effective. As long as the public think we know more than we do, theyre more likely to let us get on with running the show. No one seriously expects their leaders to be honest and open anymore. As long as we make the airlines run on time, and TV drip feeds them a constant stream of mindless crap, the rank-and-file scum live happily in their cosseted world.
I grow increasingly alarmed at the unintended results of Unified Conspiracy Theory. I fear our willingness to spread paranoia and irrationalism could turn out to be disastrously counterproductive. Already some unknown player seems to match us in an undesired duet. Whoever initiated the Glastonbury operation, it certainly wasnt me. I have some very unusual satellite photos of the South Pacific you all must see.
Madame Chairman had heard enough. She held up a restraining hand and shut her eyes in disgust. Did Becker imagine it, or was she showing the first imperceptible signs of distress?
Yes, yes, hastened the aerospace CEO. Were all aware of your pet theories, Becker. But I find it hard to believe that we are playing into the hands of some unseen enemy. Our efforts to engender a widespread belief in conspiracies have been most effective. As long as the public think we know more than we do, theyre more likely to let us get on with running the show. No one seriously expects their leaders to be honest and open anymore. As long as we make the airlines run on time, and TV drip feeds them a constant stream of mindless crap, the rank-and-file scum live happily in their cosseted world.
Becker looked at him as if he were a small child whod recently overpopulated his nappy. Im not arguing with the success of the policy, I myself have been instrumental in making it so. What concerns me is the mood of apathetic irrationalism that has spread like wildfire throughout the lower orders. Were not simply making them believe we are cleverer than we really are, were making them believe everything. Hasnt it ever crossed your mind that we might have been set up for a very long fall? Our dim-witted charges are ripe for the plucking, but not for harvesting by us.
Now it was the turn of the Chairman herself to fix him with a frigid stare. One summoned you here, Becker, to answer for your actions, not to bore us with your own ungrounded fears. Youre blowing this incident up out of all proportion. After all, its only one dead Grey. Learn to let it go. One orders you not to try to retrieve this material, Becker its exposure cant possibly do us harm.
Beckers jaw twitched for a moment, then was still. Very well, Madame Chairman, as you wish. Are there any other duties you require me to perform, to help me fill my empty days?
She gazed at him with open contempt. As a matter of fact, there are. You know what must be done in Urgistan, were due another war. The case file is in your in-tray. See the plan is initiated by the end of the week. The aerospace CEO nodded to their leader his heart-felt respects. Madame Chairman acknowledged him graciously with a smile.
You may go, Becker. Let us draw a line under this matter, once and for all. Is One understood?
Becker nodded and smiled his sweetest alligator smile, all the while promising himself this was not the end by a long way. He was well used to his theories being ridiculed, but this time the reaction of his superiors went further still. Some other force was at play. For the moment hed bide his time, tamely following orders well, some of them at least; meanwhile hed remain vigilant, forever searching for the final confirmation he craved.
Much later, as he boarded his personal black-operations helicopter, Becker played back the meeting in his head. Perhaps it wasnt only him who was following a personal agenda all his own. But surely such tainted corruption couldnt reach to such lofty heights?
1 Responsible for the publication of all their albums.
1 But not as effectively as the Committees last-ditch Doomsday Weapon, housed in central Greenland control of which was forever being sought (for testing purposes only) by the power generation lobby. Not even they knew the device was currently working overtime in a hopeless struggle to counteract the effects of global warming.
14. Mail
Dave sat in the shabby motel room, staring at his laptop computer screen, sipping warm flat beer, seriously considering suicide.
In truth he didnt seriously consider suicide. He didnt have the bottle to do anything that would have annoyed his mum that much. Flirting with suicide was just the sort of thing he liked to think he did from time to time, a bit like cleaning the fridge or having sex with another person present. It fitted his perception of himself as a tragic hero. But it was getting harder to dodge the inescapable conclusion that he had the first part of that ambition down pat, while the second eluded him like the smallest piece of soap in a very big and cloudy bath.
His and Kates love was not doomed to failure because of some unbridgeable class divide, nor an incurable fatal illness; it was doomed because one half of it wasnt really interested in shagging the other. But that didnt stop Daves gothic daydreams continuing to roll on and on in a grainy black and white film noir.
When he had been a teenager Dave had been heavily influenced by a certain type of eighties band; the sort that wore baggy black jumpers, stuck daffodils down their pants and wrote morose songs about their girlfriends getting flattened by JCBs. Listening to this kind of music hadnt made Dave feel any better about himself, it had just convinced him that somewhere, someone with a silly haircut was more depressed than he was. This would help for a while, until he began thinking that at that very moment the apparently dour mop-haired waif was no doubt hammering his sports car around LA as he siphoned champagne from a groupies navel and snorted cocaine through a rolled-up royalty cheque which could have kept Hendrix in purple haze long enough for him to be reclassified as a new type of meteorological phenomenon. This sure knowledge tended to throw the pop stars professional depression into stark contrast with Daves purely amateur, yet far more profound, melancholy state.
So Dave had come to the painful conclusion that there was only one thing more depressing that being young, sensitive and celibate; that was to be young, sensitive, celibate and listening to a mopey record. This horrendous state of affairs was in no way mitigated by his perception that everyone else on the surface of the planet was humping away like it was going out of fashion, including the dewy-eyed singer who was currently droning on about how tough life was, coming from his home town and being unemployed unless of course you happened to be in a chart-topping band, in which case it was much, much worse.
Back then Dave had only one refuge from this heady mix of sixth-form poetry and synth-based pop. Taking a copy of Busting Out All Over Underwear for the Larger Lady, hed retire to his room, if not exactly to spank the monkey then at least to give it a jolly stern talking to. Thankfully these days he had more meaning to his life, or at least thats what he tried to tell himself. The pages of ScUFODIN Magazine would wait for no man, not even if he was the victim of unrequited love and what Dave was fast coming to believe was a vast and awesomely subtle hoax that made a mockery of his entire working life. In the absence of a suitably morbid record, or any mail-order catalogues for that matter, Dave got back down to work.