The Matarese Countdown (Matarese Dynasty 1)

" "Break in on van der Meer," ordered Four.

"We're not supposed to when he's in there-" "Do it!"

"Why don't you?"

"I shall.. .. I'll give him a few minutes in case he returns."

Jan van der Meer Matareisen closed the thick door to his private sanctuary and walked into the last light of the day, streaming through the unsealed windows. The enormous suite was designed for comfort. Gone was any sign of the sophisticated machinery beyond the concrete wall; instead, there were the appointments of a luxurious living room: brocaded easy chairs, a curving sofa covered with pale yellow Loro Piana vicuna, and again, priceless tapestries. There was a huge entertainment complex consisting of a large television set along with all the audio devices, and a mirrored glass bar with the most expensive whiskeys and brandies. It was the dwelling place of someone who demanded the finest things.

Van der Meer stood immobile in front of a wide, gold-framed mirror.

"It is I again, Mr. Guiderone. I bring you great news." The language he spoke was English.

"News you didn't have fifteen minutes ago?" came the crisply spoken amplified words, also in English, the accent American-cultured American, not traceable to any region, the speech of the educated, the wealthy.

"It just arrived."

"How important?"

"Beowulf Agate."

"The brilliant pig of the world," said the voice of the unseen man called Guiderone, laughing softly.

"I'll be out shortly, I'm on the telephone.. .. Turn on the satellite feed from Belmont Park in New York. I should like to hear great news from there as well. I have horses running in the first and third races."

Matareisen did as he was told. The immense screen was filled with dashing Thoroughbreds breaking from the starting gate, jockeys hunched high, straining, whipping their mounts. And Julian Guiderone came out of a door. He was a fair-sized, well-trimmed man, a shade under six feet, and wearing a paisley print sport shirt of Italian silk above creased gray flannels and Gucci loafers. His age was at first difficult to estimate-although he was certainly not young. His gray hair was subtly streaked with pale yellow, bespeaking its original blond, but it was his sharp-featured face that confounded attempts to guess his years. It was a handsome face, perhaps too perfectly proportioned, too symmetrical, and the tan flesh appeared to be ever so slightly discolored, as frequently happens when northern tourists too eagerly confront a tropic sun. This oddity would probably not be noticed in casual meetings; the tan skin took precedence. But it was there if a person studied the lined, handsome face, just as the minor limp was there in his left leg.

"Incidentally, old sport," he said, "I'll be here for another three days, leaving as I arrived-at four o'clock in the morning. Deactivate the alarms for my exit."

"Will another be arriving shortly?"

"Only with your approval. You have your own schedules, of course, and things are coming to a head, aren't they?"

"Nothing I'd permit to inconvenience you, Mr. Guiderone."

"Don't think like that, van der Meer. You're in command, it's your show. In two years I'll be seventy; younger blood must take over. I'm merely an adviser."

"Whose advice and guidance are treasured," Matareisen hastened to interrupt.

"You were here in other days when I was merely a raw young man. You know things I can never know."

"But then, van der Meer, you can do things I can no longer do.

I'm told that despite your professional demeanor and your less-than imposing size, your hands and feet are lethal weapons. Actually, that you can dispatch men much larger and heavier than you in a matter of seconds.... In the old days I climbed the Matterhorn and the Eiger, but I doubt I could handle a novice ski slope now."

"Whatever physical and intellectual skills I have cannot match the wisdom of your experience."

"I doubt that, but I accept the compliment-" "Tell me about this Scofield, this "Beowulf Agate,"

" Matareisen broke in politely but firmly.

"I've followed your instructions without question, but, if I may say it, with a degree of risk. Naturally, I'm most curious. You called him 'the brilliant pig of the world." Why?"

"Because he lived with swine, dealt with swine-his own American swine, who tried to kill him.

"Execute for treason' was their legal modus operandi."

"My curiosity now knows no bounds! The Americans wanted to kill him?"

"He found out, and rather than taking revenge on those who gave the order, he reversed the circumstances and became truly the untouchable."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's blackmailed all the other pigs for lo those twenty-five years."

"How?"

"He told them he had documented proof that we had totally corrupted the major departments of his government and were about to install our own man as President of the United States. It was all true.

Except for Beowulf Agate and the Serpent, we would have engineered the greatest coup in the history of the civilized world."

"The Serpent?"

"A Soviet intelligence officer named Taleniekov.. .. That's all you have to know, van der Meer. The Serpent died a most unseemly death, and now we must fulfill the order for the execution of Beowulf Agate prescribed by his own people."

"We have. That is my news. The Alpha trawler was blown up.

Scofield was confirmed to be on it. He's dead, Mr. Guiderone."

"Congratulations, van der Meer!" exclaimed the adviser to the chairman of the Matarese.

"You truly deserve your ascendancy! I shall proclaim it to the Council in Bahrain. If Scofield left any documents, we're prepared for them. The rantings of a disgraced dead madman are meaningless, we can handle that. Again, fine work, Matareisen!

Now you can get on to the next level. How goes it? Where are you really?"

"We're ready to move throughout Europe, the Mediterranean, and the United States. We've been in secret negotiations with corporate boards that we've packed with our own people-basically we're unopposed; we have the numbers."

"Sound strategy," said Guiderone.

"You need the votes."

"We have them. We will absorb companies with transfers of stock we already own, also through bankruptcy purchases that we'll create with credit defaults through the banks we control, and, naturally, numerous mergers everywhere. Simultaneously, we will inflate, then drastically deflate, alternating currency markets, while downsizing our new corporations for cost and productive efficiencies."

"Bravo," mumbled the adviser, gazing admiringly at the younger man. "Chaos," he added softly.

"Within a short time, overwhelming," agreed Matareisen.

"At first, mer

ely thousands upon thousands of jobs will be lost, then millions-" "Everywhere," interrupted Guiderone.

"Regional recessions will precede actual depressions, cutting across the economic and social spectrum. What next?"

"What else? The banks. We control or have close to majority interest in three hundred plus in Europe and sixteen in the U.K." if you separate England. We've made some headway in the Israeli and the Arab institutions by claiming support for their opposing positions, but we have to settle for influence, not control, certainly not with the Saudis or the Emirates. They're all family-controlled."

"And in America?"

"An extraordinary breakthrough. One of our people, a nationally recognized attorney from Boston-your home city, I believe-is brokering the merger of four of the largest banks in New York and Los Angeles with a European conglomerate. With their individual branches, we'll control over eight thousand lending institutions in the United States and Europe."

"

"Lending' being the operative function, am I correct?"

"Of course."

"And then what?"

"The capstone, Mr. Guiderone. Eight thousand branches routinely issuing lines of credit to over ten thousand major corporations in major cities and states alone is maximum leverage."

"The threat of closing down those lines of credit, am I again correct, Matareisen?"

"No, you are not."

"I'm not?"

"There'll be no threats, simply boardroom flat. All lines of credit will be terminated. In Los Angeles, studios will shut down, motion pictures and television productions suspended. In Chicago, meat-packing plants, sporting enterprises, and real-estate developers will be in limbo, no hard money available. New York will be hit the hardest. The entire garment industry, which exists on credit, will be demolished, as well as the aggressive new owners of hotels with their interests in the nearby casinos in New Jersey. Their enterprises are funded by lines of credit.

Cut off, they are nothing."

"There'll be utter madness! Protest rallies in scores of cities-utter madness!"

"I estimate that within six months, governments will face crises, out of-control unemployment. Parliaments, congresses, presidia, and loose federations all will face catastrophe. Global markets will collapse, the people everywhere screaming for better conditions, demanding them."