'Come, come,' said Monsieur Poissonier, 'you must be careful what you suggest.'
'Ma foi, why should I be careful? Things need bringing into the open. We have had frauds before, gigantic frauds, and there is money now circulating around. Money, and we do not know where it comes from, but the Prefecture have said to me - and I believe it - that they begin to get an idea of where it is going. Do we contemplate, can we contemplate a corrupt state subsidized from some outside source?'
'In Italy too,' said Signer Vitelli, 'in Italy, ah, I could tell you things. Yes, I could tell you of what we suspect. But who, who is corrupting our world? A group of industrialists, a group of tycoons? How could such a thing be so?'
'This business has got to stop,' said Monsieur Grosjean. 'Action must be taken. Military action. Action from the Air Force. These anarchists, these marauders, they come from every class. It must be put down.'
'Control by tear gas has been fairly successful,' said Poissonier dubiously.
'Tear gas is not enough,' said Monsieur Grosjean. 'The same result could be got by setting students to peel bundles of onions. Tears would flow from their eyes. It needs more than that.'
Monsieur Poissonier said in a shocked voice:
'You are not suggesting the use of nuclear weapons?'
'Nuclear weapons? Quel blague! What can we do with nuclear weapons. What would become of the soil of France of the air of France if we use nuclear weapons? We can destroy Russia, we know that; We also know that Russia can destroy us.'
'You're not suggesting that groups of marching and demonstrating students could destroy our authoritarian forces?'
'That is exactly what I am suggesting. I have had a warning of such things. Of stock-piling of arms, and various forms of chemical warfare and of other things. I have had reports from some of our eminent scientists. Secrets are known. Stores - held in secret - weapons of warfare have been stolen. What is to happen next, I ask you. What is to happen next?'
The question was answered unexpectedly and with more rapidity than Monsieur Grosjean could possibly have calculated. The door opened and his principal secretary approached his master, his face showing urgent concern. Monsieur Grosjean looked at him with displeasure.
'Did I not say I wanted no interruptions?'
'Yes indeed, Monsieur le President, but this is somewhat unusual -' He bent towards his master's ear. 'The Marshal is here. He demands entrance.'
'The Marshal? You mean -'
The secretary nodded his head vigorously several times to show that he did mean. Monsieur Poissonier looked at his colleague in perplexity.
'He demands admission. He will not take refusal.'
The two other men in the room looked first at Grosjean and then at the agitated Italian.
'Would it not be better,' said Monsieur Coin, the Minister for Home Affairs, 'if -'
He paused at the "if" as the door was once more flung open and a man strode in. A very well-known man. A man whose word had been not only law, but above law in the country of France for many past years. To see him at this moment was an unwelcome surprise for those sitting there.
'Ah, I welcome you, dear colleagues,' said the Marshal. 'I come to help you. Our country is in danger. Action must be taken, immediate action! I come to put myself at your service. I take over all responsibility for acting in this crisis. There may be danger. I know there is, but honour is above danger. The salvation of France is above danger. They march this way now. A vast herd of students, of criminals who have been released from jails, some of them who have committed the crime of homicide. Men who have committed incendiarism. They shout names. They sing songs. They call on the names of their teachers, of their philosophers, of those who have led them on this path of insurrection. Those who will bring about the doom of France unless something is done. You sit here, you talk, you deplore things. More than that must be done. I have sent for two regiments. I have alerted the air force, special coded wires have gone out to our neighbouring ally, to my friends in Germany, for she is our ally now in this crisis!
'Riot must be put down. Rebellion! Insurrection! The danger to men, women and children, to property. I go forth now to quell the insurrection, to speak to them as their father, their leader. These students, these criminals even, they are my children. They are the youth of France. I go to speak to them of that. They shall listen to me, governments will be revised, their studies can be resumed under their own auspices. Their grants have been insufficient, their lives have been deprived of beauty, of leadership. I come to promise all this. I speak in my own name. I shall speak also in your name, the name of the Government, you have done your best, you have acted as well as you know how. But it needs higher leadership. It needs my leadership. I go now. I have lists of further coded wires to be sent. Such nuclear deterrents as can be used in unfrequented spots can be put into action in such a modified form that though they may bring terror to the mob, we ourselves shall know that there is no real danger in them. I have thought out everything. My plan will go. Come, my loyal friends, accompany me.'
'Marshal, we cannot allow - you cannot imperil yourself. We must...'
'I listen to nothing you say. I embrace my doom. Bay destiny.' The Marshal strode to the door. 'My staff is outside. My chosen bodyguard. I go now to speak to these young rebels, this young flower of beauty and terror, to tell them where their duty lies.'
He disappeared through the door with the grandeur of a leading actor playing his favourite part.
'Bon dieu, he means it!' said Monsieur Poissonier.
'He will risk his life,' said Signer Vitelli. 'Who knows? It is brave, he is a brave man. It is gallant, yes, but what will happen to him? In the mood les jeunes are in now, they might kill him.'
A pleasurable sigh fell from Monsieur Poissonier's lips It might be true, he thought. Yes, it might be true.
'It is possible,' he said. 'Yes, they might kill him.'
'One cannot wish that, of course,' said Monsieur Grosjean carefully.
Monsieur Grosjean did wish it. He hoped for it, though a natural pessimism led him to have the second thought that things seldom fell out in the way you wanted them to.
Indeed, a much more awful prospect confronted him. It was quite possible, it was within the traditions of the Marshal's past, that somehow or other he might induce a large pack of exhilarated and blood-thirsty students to listen to what he said, trust in his promises. End insist on restoring him to the power that he had once held. It was the sort of thing that had happened once or twice in the career of the Marshal. His personal magnetism was such that politicians had before now met their defeat when they least expected it.
'We must restrain him,' he cried.
'Yes, yes,' said Signer Vitelli, 'he cannot be lost to the world.'
'One fears,' said Monsieur Poissonier. 'He has too many friends in Germany, too many contacts, and you know they move very quickly in military matters in Germany. They might leap at the opportunity.'
'Bon dieu, bon dieu,' said Monsieur Grosjean, wiping his brow. 'What shall we do? What can we do? What is that noise? I hear rifles, do I not?'
'No, no,' said Monsieur Poissonier consolingly. 'It is the canteen coffee trays you hear.'
'There is a quotation I could use,' said Monsieur Grosjean, who was a great lover of the drama, 'if I could only remember it. A quotation from Shakespeare. "Will nobody rid me of this -"'
'"- turbulent priest,"' said Monsieur Poissonier. 'From a play from Becket.'
'A madman like the Marshal is worse than a priest. A priest should at least be harmless, though indeed even His Holiness the Pope received a delegation of students only yesterday. He blessed them. He called them his children.'
'A Christian gesture, though,' said Monsieur Coin dubiously.
'One can go too far even with Christian gestures,' said Monsieur Grosjean.
Chapter 14
CONFERENCE IN LONDON
In the Cabinet Room at 10 Downing Street, Mr Cedric Lazenby, the Prime Minister, sat at the head of the table and looked at his assembled Cabinet without any noticeable pleasure. The expression on his face was definitely gloomy, which in a way afforded him a certain relief. He was beginning to think that it was only in the privacy of his Cabinet Meetings that he could relax his face into an unhappy expression, and could abandon that look which he presented usually to the world, of a wise and contented optimism which had served him so well in the various crises of political life.
He looked round at Gordon Chetwynd, who was frowning, at Sir George Packham who was obviously worrying, thinking, and wondering as usual, at the military imperturbability of Colonel Munro, at Air Marshal Kenwood, a tight-lipped man who did not trouble to conceal his profound distrust of politicians. There was also Admiral Blunt, a large formidable man, who tapped his fingers on the table and bided his time until his moment should come.
'It is not too good,' the Air Marshal was saying. 'One has to admit it. Four of our planes hi-jacked within the last week. Flew 'em to Milan. Turned the passengers out, and flew them on somewhere else. Actually Africa. Had pilots waiting there. Black men.'
'Black Power,' said Colonel Munro thoughtfully.
'Or Red Power?' suggested Lazenby. 'I feel, you know, that all our difficulties might stem from Russian indoctrination. If one could get into touch with the Russians - I really think a personal visit at top level -'
'You stick where you are, Prime Minister,' said Admiral Blunt. 'Don't you start messing around with the Russkies again. All they want at present is to keep out of all this mess. They haven't had as much trouble there with their students as most of us have. All they mind about is keeping an eye on the Chinese to see what they'll be up to next.'
'I do think that personal influence -'
'You stay here and look after your own country,' said Admiral Blunt. True to his name, and as was his wont, be said it bluntly:
'Hadn't we better hear - have a proper report of what's actually been happening?' Gordon Chetwynd looked towards Colonel Munro.
'Want facts? Quite right. They're all pretty unpalatable. I presume you want, not particulars of what's been happening here so much, as the general world situation?'
'Quite so.'
'Well, in France the Marshal's in hospital still. Two bullets in his arm. Hell's going on in political circles. Large tracts of the country are held by what they call the youth power troops.'
'You mean they've got arms?' said Gordon Chetwynd in a horrified voice.
'They've got a hell of a lot,' said the Colonel. 'I don't know really where they've got them from. There are certain ideas as to that. A large consignment was sent from Sweden to West Africa.'
'What's that got to do with it?' said Mr Lazenby. 'Who cares? Let them have all the arms they want in West Africa. They can go on shooting each other.'
'Well, there's something a little curious about it as far as our Intelligence reports go. Here is a list of the armaments that were sent to West Africa. The interesting thing is they were sent there, but they were sent out again. They were accepted, delivery was acknowledged, payment may or may not have been made, but they were sent out of the country again before five days had passed. They were sent out, re-routed elsewhere.'
'But what's the idea of that?'
'The idea seems to be,' said Munro, 'that they were never really intended for West Africa. Payments were made and they were sent on somewhere else. It seems possible that they went on from Africa to the Near East. To the Persian Gulf, to Greece and to Turkey. Also, a consignment of planes was sent to Egypt. From Egypt they were sent to India, from India they were sent to Russia.'
'I thought they were sent from Russia.'
'- And from Russia they went to Prague. The whole thing's mad.'
'I don't understand,' said Sir George, 'one wonders -'
'Somewhere there seems to be some central organization which is directing the supplies of various things. Planes, armaments, bombs, both explosive and those that are used in germ warfare. All these consignments are moving in unexpected directions. They are delivered by various cross-country routes to trouble-spots, and used by leaders and regiments - if you like to call them that - of the youth power. They mostly go to the leaders of young guerrilla movements, professed anarchists who preach anarchy, and accept - though one doubts if they ever pay for - some of the latest most up-to-date models.'
'So you mean to say we're facing something like war on world scale?' Cedric Lazenby was shocked.
The mild man with the Asiatic face who sat lower at the table, and had not yet spoken, lifted up his face with the Mongolian smile, and said:
'That is what one is now forced to believe. Our observations tell us -'
Lazenby interrupted.
'You'll have to stop observing. UNO will have to take arms itself and put all this down.'
The quiet face remained unmoved.
'That would be against our principles,' he said.
Colonel Munro raised his voice and went on with his summing up.
'There's fighting in some parts of every country. South-East Asia claimed Independence long ago and there are four, five different divisions of power in South America, Cuba, Peru, Guatemala and so on. As for the United States, you know Washington was practically burnt out - the West is overrun with youth power armed forces - Chicago is under Martial Law. You know about Sam Cortman? Shot last night on the steps of the American Embassy here.'
'He was to attend here today,' said Lazenby. 'He was going to have given us his views of the situation.'
'I don't suppose that would have helped much,' said Colonel Munro. 'Quite a nice chap - but hardly a live wire.'
'But who's behind all this?' Lazenby's voice rose fretfully. 'It could be the Russians, of course -' He looked hopeful. He envisaged himself flying to Moscow.
