Lottery Dreams Ch. 07: Crystal Night

He had given a lot of money to the college to fund research into Medieval documents. To anyone else, a dry and remote subject, but not to Pierse. It was after the dinner when the most crucial piece of evidence had been revealed. The old master had shown him around the library and explained what they wanted to do with the dusty old books when a particular book was placed before him.

"If you look at this one Mr Morel, you will see the true significance of the work. For here is the evidence that we will go on for many more years. Whereas the making of money is but a fleeting thing." The old master had left him looking at the book, in the gloom of the evening.

As Pierse got out of the car and looked up the drive, he had to be honest with himself. It was not the history in that book that changed him. Nor the history in the college. It was something else.

During the miners' strike in the 1980s, Pierse had been involved with the private security companies, which had broken the union. One fact had become clear to him then. That the left-wing were morally correct, and socialism was the only way forward for the country. Although he believed in the principle, he could never put it into practice. Because Pierse was convinced that it was only he, that could lead such a campaign and not the left-wing theorists. They just did not seem to understand what they were doing. He, on the other hand, had studied political warfare. He had been lectured by an officer from Sandhurst and shown how to do it. Pierse believed in the revolution so much, he could feel it about to take shape any day. The one thing he would never be able to convince the Militant agitators of was that he saw Margaret Thatcher as the living embodiment of that change. She had changed the whole country with her ideas, and everyone was making money. All but the miners, who could not see it.

However, he did study the Militant Tendency and saw that they were the true bearers of the socialist torch. This was the spirit he wanted to strike up. Here were his shock troops to carry the revolution through. Only they despised money, and with that, it all fell through. Pierse felt some small victory in all this, for he finally saw what drove these people. And it was the same spirit which burned in the heart of that old master back in Oxford.

A political agitator attached to the picket line in the last days of the strike had once said something to him.

"You'll never stop people believing in all this. Even when they are buying shares, they'll still see how capitalism rules the world."

How true he was.

Now that the Russians had pulled down all the statues to Lenin, they all hated capitalism, but all agreed it was the only way to rule.

How many of those pension funds attached to the union now had shares in his portfolio? All of them? They knew what it was all about, and although they hated Pierse and his kind, they still played along with him.

But it had taught Pierse an important lesson, and that was, that you could not beat the true rulers of the world. They would always win, and the likes of him were just tolerated.

Standing here now, was a mark of that tolerance. Clearly he had overstepped the mark somewhere, and the trouble with the civil service was a sign to reign in. So Pierse was here to find out why.

Leaving the car on a wide grassy verge, he walked slowly up the drive. It was a calm warm day with the wind hardly rustling the trees. Ahead of him was a large country house. Not too large, in the style of the country squires, but enough to say- here was old money.

He was met at the gate by an elderly gardener, tending some roses.

"Hello sir, you have been expected. Just go on to the house." With that, the man went back to the roses, as if nothing was wrong.

Pierse walked on.

"Mr Morel, how good of you to come," said a voice.

Pierse turned and saw an elderly man walking across a perfectly cut lawn. Older, but fit for his age, he held an air of confidence and had the edge on Pierse.

"You know me?" asked Pierse, playing the game.

"Know of you," replied the man. "We have been following your progress for several years now. And I can honestly say, we are impressed by what we've seen."

"We?" asked Pierse, looking around at the stone house.

"Let me introduce you to my friends. We have been expecting you to call."

With that, they walked across the lawn to the house.

Walking through the French windows, they emerged into a large drawing-room. Wood-panelled, it displayed regalia from the past, in flags and pieces of armour. All genuine, Pierse noted. But around the room were sat the real historic figures he had been brought here to see.

Several men, six and finally eight, sat on chairs around the room. Seated, so that when Pierse took his place, he was the centre of attention.

"We thought you would come," said one man. "Or someone like you."

"You have the advantage over me, gentlemen," said Pierse trying to keep things friendly.

"And so we shall," said another.

"Just as you please." Pierse had been put through his paces by some of the best lawyers in the world. Nasty aggressive men, who had tried to crack him in a court of law. So this was nothing new.

"Oh we will-please," came a voice from the back.

"Now-now. Mr Morel hasn't come here to be cross-examined by us, gentlemen." The first man who had met him on the lawns took a seat beside him now. Fatherly, he was clearly in control of the group. Pierse could tell that no matter what was said, this man's word would not be questioned.

"Shall we get down to business?" asked Pierse.

"Certainly. My name is Alex Sanders. You will not have heard of me. Nor any of my colleagues. Some of the truth you have guessed yourself, otherwise, you would not be here. I suspect you would have preferred to have done battle in some board room, in New York, where you could feel more in command?"

"You understand me well," said Pierse.

"We do Mr Morel," continued Sanders. " As I said, we have been watching you for several years. Certainly, there have been many men who have had spectacular careers. Rising from the ranks, to excel at their job beyond the wildest aspirations of all those who taught them. But few get this far to the top, and few show any special skills, other than sheer luck and animal cunning."

Pierse was silent, he had heard these sort of mock praises before, and waited for the sting.

"However, we quickly found that you were different. Very different," said Sanders gravely.

"How?" asked Pierse. "I'm just another lucky gambler?"

"No sir, you are far from that." One of the men in the audience felt the need to remark. There was bitterness in his voice, and Pierse felt the air change.

"For you possess something else. Another sense. Maybe it only shows in your skills for making money, but it has certainly come to our attention. Now and then, people show up in the system. Some might call them genetic freaks. Other's give them ridiculous mystical powers, that only show up in conjuring tricks, like bending spoons." There was a chuckle around the room.

"I can assure you gentleman, I am no magician. Mystical or stage," Pierse pointed out.

"We realise that. But you are unstoppable. Every organisation in the world that you have come up against, has come round to your point of view. I won't list them all, as they range from one criminal gang to another. No matter what empty ideology they hide behind."

"So who are you really?" asked Pierse. "Or am I never to ask?"

"On the contrary," said Sanders. " We like to think of ourselves as the original conspirators. The black organisation behind everything. You might think you have come up against the real rulers of the world. But they are just men of straw. Silly whims to keep ordinary people guessing. Democracies or Mafia's, to make people take their eyes off the real ball. In the meantime, we get on with the business of running the world.

"The way we see fit," said someone, as if to add weight to the case.

"Up until now, I'm not in disagreement with you." Pierse moved uneasily in his chair, a sign he was giving them the whip hand. "I've felt over the last few years, that I have never gone up against the big guns. Oh, I get close. The president of this or that country, but never to the real workings behind the machine."

"Well you are up against the biggest guns of all, now," said one man.

"We want you to know that there is nothing to fear from us," said Sanders in his flattering tone.

"Mr Sanders I have heard that many times before. The last time, was at the Pentagon, and the time before that, was the Vatican bank and P2. In both cases, I had a great deal to be afraid of. In the end."

"I think we are coming to an understanding," smiled Sanders.

"So what's this all about?" asked Pierse. "Don't tread on your toes?"

"Something like that. But we want you to know, there are no sacred cows, as far as we are concerned. Don't think we are a stuffy old institution, you have to bring it down. No. We want you to take over from us, and run things in our way. You will find it will not be any different from the way you do things now. Only it must be done with us, and not through us. We are not another multi-national to asset strip."

"This seems like a business deal to me?"

"Yes, I suppose it is in a way. Although you will find us almost socialist in our outlook. Are you surprised by that?"

"Not at all," said Pierse. "I pointed out to the Pentagon that they were trying to turn the world into a workers' utopia. It did not go down well." There were amused voices from around the room. All tuned as one.

"We cannot have too much dissension. Too much radical upsetting of the balance of power. George Orwell once said, that there will be no revolution, things will go on just the same, forever and ever. I think he had us in mind when he said that."

"You must have had to contend with some rogue elements over the years? Hitler? Karl Marx?" asked Pierse, wondering if he was getting anywhere.

"Even Jesus Christ," continued Sanders. "But we win out in the end. Would you like to know why?"

"I certainly would," said Pierse.

"Because our ideas are so much like yours. They are the true embodiment of what you believe in any case. So there need be no rebellion. No turning away from your true path."

"So why did the DTI block my plans?"

"Because you were showing all the signs of becoming a major statesman. Not just another well-behaved millionaire, but a truly major player in world events."

"I've never sought political office," pointed out Pierse nervously.

"Of course not, you know ideology is an empty vessel. Am I right?"

Pierse nodded solemnly.

"So you understand, people are motivated by power, and money is the living embodiment of power."

"Why capitalism?" asked Pierse, thinking he could push his luck a little more now. "Why not religious fundamentalism, or the military?"

"We even considered communism as a viable alternative," came a voice from the room.

"All were dismissed," continued Sanders. "They were all flawed. As Mr Churchill once stated: capitalism is the worst system in the world, apart from all the others."

"Sadly I think he was right," said Pierse.

"So do we. We have been doing this for several years now, and have concluded that capitalism is the best way of controlling the world. There can be no upsetting of the balance, which brings us to you Pierse."

"So what's your deal? You could have had me shot dead, on many occasions. Why not?"

"You showed true wisdom in many of your deals. Negotiating with terrorist and violent criminal gangs, and always coming out on top. Those are the sort of skills we need. You would be far too valuable to lose, that's why we want you to run things for us."

"What exactly will I be running?"

"Everything."

"Are there no provisos?"

"Some. We had to get your attention and test you in our special way. The deal over that factory in the East Midlands was just one of them. Cobol holding was a sad little specimen, but we had to find out. The fact that those men won the lottery, was the best way of bringing the whole business to your attention. Now we have you, it does not matter."

"That's all it is? Just a way of attracting my attention?" asked Pierse, puzzled.

"Yes, nothing more."

"So the DTI problems, don't exist?"

"No, the deal would have gone through anyway. But we had to get you here on our terms. You do see that?" asked Sanders.

"Of course. So why let those men win the lottery?"

"It had to be a special problem. Once the media got hold of it, you might become exposed. But the way you have handled it has more than proved to us, that you can run things."

"I've not exactly done, anything," pointed out Pierse.

"That's what we mean. If you had overreacted, you would have failed. Instead, you found the real reason behind the problem. Our man in the DTI, reading one of our books, was the only clue we were going to give."

"What happens to them now? Do you know that this lottery business has attracted too much attention? It will blow up in our faces, if not handled properly?"

"Yes, that is why we want you to ruin them. Take their money away from them. They are simply working-class men, who have no understanding of the power of money. Crude and uncouth, they will ruin it for everyone. No matter what help has been handed to them, it has been tossed into the gutter where they came from. They cannot be allowed to continue to stick two fingers up to the world. Once we let in bad apples like that, we are finished as a society."

"Well we are in agreement there," said Pierse, feeling a little more relaxed now. "The more I hear about them, the worse it gets. Of all the people in the world, who should have been handed this money, these are the last on the list. It won't be much of a problem to get the money back from them. A simple property scam will do. I'll put one of my juniors onto it, no need to bother the real managers. They even lost one of the tickets."

"Will they ever find it?" asked Sanders.

"I doubt it."