Authors: John Macrae
"All over the World? That's one hell of an organisation. It would need to be pretty efficient to do all that."
"Oh, it's efficient all right, " Mallalieu's voice had become silky, softer. "It's very efficient."
I was disposed to argue. "More efficient than governments? It must be bloody efficient."
Mallalieu swung on his heel and stared at me. "More efficient than
governments
? You astonish me. You of all people. Cast your mind back to the Army. Was that efficient?!" He mimicked the obsequious whine of a certain type of civil servant, "Oh dear, Colonel, I'm afraid we've still got some money left unspent in the MOD budget, and the financial year ends next week. What will we
do
? Does anyone want a new
computer
? We've got to spend the money or I'll be in
trouble.
.." He snorted dismissively.
"Governments are the most
inefficient
organizations in the World. Government is useless. Surely you know that? Governments can't run anything efficiently. Look at the Health Service. Look at the school authorities, whatever they’re called. They're slow, inefficient, bureaucratic and obsessed with checking that money isn't being wasted or hitting stupid targets wished on them by politicians pretending that they’re doing something about whatever is their latest sound bite. They spend millions just making sure they're not wasting the taxpayers' money. Or playing a phony pass the parcel to keep themselves in jobs. And that’s when they’re not stealing it like in Europe or using it for some grand piece of social engineering. Or building dam’ silly projects."
He shook his head at me, "I can name twenty civilian companies that are more efficient than any government counterpart. So can you. So can anyone who stops to think. Are you really telling me that
Whitehall can
run things as well as Virgin or Marks and Spencer? Or that those clowns in Washington are as efficient as even any half-decent Wall Street bank?
Come on
!"
I was embarrassed. He was right of course. I tried another tack. "OK, so this commercial organization, this criminal multinational, whatever you want to call it, is efficient. But if it's so efficient, if it really does all the things you say, then it must have some pretty sharp minds running it."
Mallalieu smiled triumphantly. "I was wondering when you'd get round to that. Yes: that's what this is all about. You're absolutely right. It does need some pretty sharp minds. I'd even go so far as to say that it needs the sharpest minds in the World."
"Sharper than politicians? Sharper than a double First at Oxford, going into politics. . . " I trailed off, as Mallalieu shot me a glance of absolute contempt.
"Don't be so bloody silly. Would
you
go into politics?"
I was riled. "Now who's being silly? Do I look as stupid as that? Anyway, who'd want to be a politi....?"
Mallalieu pointed at me triumphantly. "Precisely. That's exactly the point I'm making. No-one in their right minds who's really looking to do something goes into politics nowadays. There are always the ambitious self-publicists: the
flash rich adolescents
who show off at the Oxford Union. They'll always go into politics. But no-one who wants to make a real fortune and really look after himself would ever risk such a stupid career." He ticked off the points on his fingers. "If you ever had a bit on the side, got your leg over, been arrested
with your rent boy
supposedly looking for wildlife in the bushes on Clapham Common, fiddled your income tax or expenses, done inappropriate things with a good cigar
-
whatever the hell
that
means -
had some kind of skeleton in the family cupboard: the
Media
will crucify you. Which successful individual do you know who doesn't qualify for one of those?
Do you?
" He paused for breath.
I spread my palms.
"Exactly." Mallalieu was on a roll. "Exactly: no-one will ever put themselves forward until they are successful. And by then it's too late. And they are vulnerable. American Presidents hardly represent the best of America, do they?"
I had to admit that he was right. "Ok," I said wearily. "So what's your point?"
Mallalieu was savage in his intensity. "The point, which you made very clearly some time ago, is that organizations like that do need brains to run them. The very best brains in the World." He stopped to examine my reaction. "Brains of Churchillian stature."
I couldn't help thinking of dear old Eric and his Edgar Wallace books. I smiled. "Right," I said, my smile becoming a grin. "Like master minds of crime." I laughed aloud, "Professor Moriarty, I presume."
Mallalieu didn't laugh, but looked at me with that same intensity. "But that's the point; there really is a kind of Professor Moriarty out there. Or something like him. Really."
I stopped laughing.
"No," he went on. "There
really is some mastermind of crime
. There has to be, if you stop and think. Someone has to run it all. There has to be a brain, or a group of brains, behind any global enterprise, criminal or not." He paused and looked at me, calculation in every pore. "Some kind of group or an individual. Think about it. How much money is really criminal these days? Eh?”
“I don’t know…
“How much money is there in global crime?” he persisted. “ Go on. Think about it. How
much?”
I shrugged, lamely. “I don’t know….maybe - maybe the GNP of some small country? I don’t know. Lots?”
“Lots?!” His voice went up half an octave “Lots? How about Trillions?
Gazillions
if you want the jargon. Hundreds of thousands of millions. Billions. And then the rest. Computer fraud in the US alone is worth over 250
billion
dollars a year. That’s worth more than most UN countries. And that’s just small beer. Look at all the billions that flowed into Iceland.”
I stared at him in amazement. “Iceland?”
“Yes. Iceland! Virtually owned by the Russian Mafia. Why? Because they can. And from Iceland they
were
buying up half of UK and there’s not a damned thing the government c
ould
do to stop it. Until they went bust. And if you want to put it all together, look at China, Brazil, the Congo… it goes on and on. There is so much crooked money out there you wouldn’t believe….”
“Well,” I muttered, “Governments have always been bent…”
“Bent? Governments? I’m talking about
individuals
, not governments. Men so rich that they’re above mere countries, can go where they like, do what they like. Buy what they want. Above, governments, above
the law. There’s even a name for them now… Sovereign individuals’, I think it is.”
“Like Bill Gates?”
Mallalieu scoffed. “Bill Gates?” He’s a boy scout compared with some of the real big boys. Why the crooks are so big now the
Muslim ones
even have their own international banking system. ‘Hawala’, I think
it’s
called. Bin Laden’s gang’s got access to more ready money worldwide than the government of Pakistan. They’ve even got their own PR teams as well. Look at that Italian….
Parnazzo? Mafia boss, owns half of Italy and all the bloody government too. Has a PR man…
a Mafia boss.”
I didn’t know what to say.
Mallalieu gazed at me. “
Now
do you think that their might be some business brain or group of brains behind global crime? Someone's got to pull it all together. Make sure it’s organised. If only to make sure they don’t trip over themselves, wouldn’t you agree? At least on some level. Wouldn't you say so?"
I tried the feeble defence of habit, but I knew he was right. "I prefer the cock-ups and coincidence theory to conspiracy, don't you?"
"No. In this case the conspiracy is well documented. I'll give you every bit of proof you need."
There was a long silence. Eventually, I broke it. "You really believe all this crap, don't you?"
Mallalieu was unperturbed. "No. I
know
it's true."
The silence stretched on.
"Look," he said finally. "Do you accept the gist of what I've been saying? That there really is an international organisation or group controlling crime, drugs, money? Well, if there is, what would you do about it?"
"Leave it to the United Nations?" I tried.
Mallalieu exploded.
"The UN? The UN? These bastards run half the UN! They pay them. Don't talk to me about the UN; half of them are on the bloody payroll. And the ones that aren’t are on the fiddle in Brussels. How do you think that an Italian gets a job in Brussels, on the Commission?” By passing some exam? Why do all the creeps want to become Euro MPs?” He stared at the ceiling. “Give me strength!”
Again, there was a lengthy
silence. The clock ticked on.
Mallalieu sat back, the vehemence of his tirade having exhausted his passion.
I broke the silence by saying, in as mild a voice as possible, "So what do you want me to do, about all this crooked stuff, Colonel? Presumably you're leading up to something?"
"Yes, I am," he grunted. "Do you accept the gist of what I've been saying?"
I considered his question and my answer carefully. "Yes, in theory. I don't believe things are as bad as you're painting them; but I can see what you're saying and I think I understand
why
you're saying it. I can accept that there is some kind of loose federation or collaboration between the national crime syndicates. I'll need a lot
more co
n
vincing
that it's being run like some Lloyds syndicate or a G8 meeting."
He smiled. “The
G8.
Now the G20?
They’re probably the biggest crooks of the lot. But you agree that it’s true?”
I thought about it for a while. "Yes: I can accept what you're saying. What I don't understand is why you've gone to all this trouble to tell me." I cocked my head on one side and watched his eyes carefully. He didn't avoid mine, just stared absently at me.
"Well, I'll tell you why.
First of all, it's not a loose collaboration of crooks as you call it. It's a dam’ sight better organised than you can begin to understand. I know it's difficult to grasp; I couldn't believe it myself at first. But, to answer your question, we've been given a very dirty job. And I need a sound - a really sound – man to make sure that it’s done right."
It was what I'd suspected.
"So? I've done dirty jobs before."
"This one's a little different.
It's ...
very different."
'Illegal? Anti-democratic?" I probed. "Something to do with international crime? Knocking off some criminal mastermind?"
A look of mixed relief and consternation chased itself across his face. "Yes. How did you guess?"
I couldn't help laughing. "Well, you give me the great
spiel
about 'Democracy; its Limitations and Imperatives' and then tell me that someone has to do Society's dirty work and a kind of multinational ‘Crime Inc.’ Couple that with a dirty job in the offing, and even I can work it out"
He looked ruefully at me, then glanced away. "I hadn't realised it was quite so obvious." He sighed. "The thing is we do need someone to do a job: and I can't order anyone to do it. This is a contract with a difference.
"Contract? like in a
Mafia
contract?"
"Yes. The problem is making sure that you're the right chap."
"Look," I said as briskly as I could. "As I understand it, you've got a job on that needs a Bull Pen type of guy, but you don't want anyone to know about it, and it's a contract -- right?"
"That's about it."
"Well, what is it? If it's reasonable and I agree, I'll do it."
Mallalieu paused and gave me another of those appraising stares. "But
will
you do it ?"
I was irritated, but fought it back. "I've just said I will. How can I say any mor
e? I don't know what it is yet"
.
"That's the problem. I can't tell you till I'm sure you really will do it. Daft, isn't it?"
I thought hard. I had to agree that the situation was stupid; I tried to work out what his talk boiled down to. When I was satisfied, I stared back at him and hazarded, "OK; I'll sort out your criminal master minds for you, provided that I know what it's all about and I've got good guarantees. And I'm convinced it's not a load of balls."
He nodded blankly. "Good, good. I hoped you'd say that. I knew you were the right man."
"Is that it then? What do you want me to do? Take out some Mafia Capo?"
He looked pained. "I do wish you'd stop harping on about the
Mafia
. Now you've accepted, I can tell you. But I couldn't before. Do you understand?"