08.27.2008 / EP. 34
Positioning
Antoine was American by birth, but he’d earned the trust of the French, a stubborn disbelieving race. He’d earned it the hard way, in colonial wars that no one cared to talk about. The French regarded him as an adopted child. They believed in him as they did no other American. While to the Americans he remained one of their own.
Antoine supported any regime his masters in the Elysee endorsed. He parlayed weapons into power, power into weapons and diplomacy into both. Blackmail and killing were all in a day’s work, means to an end, available at a price. Antoine effortlessly put politicians’ wishes into practice, and no pigeons came home to roost. It was ideal. Moreover, the adopted child had learned his table manners. He roamed the quai d’orsay with gentile charm and an educated accent, as he strode the halls of Langley sounding like a Boston Brahmin or Chicago Cubs fan as the occasion demanded. No one feared or disliked him or doubted his influence. The Americans couldn’t understand why the French embraced him. The French didn’t know why the Americans welcomed him back. Both exploited him relentlessly against the other. Or tried. Antoine studied Andreas in the bar near the Buttes Chaumont. “Shall we try the Champagne? I really don’t like this Bourgogne,” he said.
“The situation I told you about reminds me of that Lebanese fellow in the bookstore,” Andreas began.
“Why?” Antoine studied the label of the Champagne bottle. The commune of vintners was printed in small letters at the side. At least it wasn’t nm, meaning negociant manipule. He approved. The waiter poured a sample. Antoine approved again.
“His young friends stripped the Lebanese of identification. They left traces that connected the killing to Turks; we had to spirit the evidence away. And we deposited some money into an overseas account, remember, through a roundabout route? The government wanted to distance itself. We laid a trail to an African regime.”
“Carrie didn’t say anything about money at the Dennis Quall Building.”
“Would you have believed her? She has that emotional display disorder.”
“RED,” Antoine shrugged. “You have to think about what she says. She doesn’t tell me everything. But nobody ever does.”
“Not even old friends like me?”
Antoine poured more Champagne. He sighed. “Humanity is flawed, old friend.”
“We lie, cheat and steal. Forgive me, Thomas Aquinas, who thought we were laughing, sailing animals.”
“Thomas was optimistic.”
Andreas: “What we have in Albany is a body without papers, an attempt to divert suspicion, political surroundings, and a strong whiff of money flagrantly present – we might say – by virtue of Carrie not mentioning it.”
“Money makes the political world go round. What nags at me most, however, is Milly’s nose, her sense that something is off. Carrie trusts it.”
Andreas: “You don’t know Milly, and Carrie might be imagining things. Cut to the chase. Is there something here for us?”
“And France, you mean,” said Antoine.
“Definitely,” Andreas said.
“A powerful man in America has a problem. We fix it.” Antoine spread his hands, “France will have a friend in the future President and we have the satisfaction of serving the Republic. Plus another ribbon perhaps, and our silence will be worth a large sum from the Americans one day, in a numbered account. We killed the Lebanese, of course. His friends didn’t.” Antoine looked despondently at the empty bottle. “Andreas, tell Carrie we’ve seen similar events in France, but our police found personal motives every time. Intimate that she should arrange the same for public consumption. Tell her to look into who profits from a scandal at the Governor’s office. We’ll ask similar questions from this side of the Atlantic. Pretend to let her into your thinking.”
“The standard American test for friendship.”
“Exactly.” Antoine checked his watch. “I’ll confirm your marching orders by the end of the week.” Andreas left the bar first. When he’d disappeared around a corner, Antoine raised his glass in which the ullage, a breath of Champagne, remained. “Daloux,” he said to himself. A week later, he handed Andreas his tickets to New York.
“The open reason?” Andreas asked.
“You’re visiting a laboratory in Albany that has offered to manufacture Rejuvenation for the American market. You’ll make a bucket out of this trip, my boy. Is that what the Americans would say?”
“Close enough. The real reason?”
Antoine, in sombre mood, “Ensure that Pam is operating my American network properly. See that the burglary isn’t the start of a kink in the plan. And befriend Milly. I want to confirm Carrie’s opinion.”
“Yes, sir,” Andreas said. Next day he was on the 7:30 flight from Charles-de-Gaul to JFK.
