The Matarese Countdown - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,1

age kept secret, for much of that life was spent in the cutthroat arenas of men much younger. Why give those avaricious turks the advantage of his rumored senility, which in reality amounted to several generations of superior experience? Three cosmetic operations on his features might have left his face partially masklike, but that was merely superficial, a misleading image to confuse the opportunists who would usurp his financial empire, given half a chance.

An empire that meant nothing any longer. It was a paper colossus worth over seven billion American dollars, seven thousand times a million, built on the manipulations of a long-forgotten entity. It began with a vision of revenge and turned ever more violently satanic, further corrupted by underlings who had no vision beyond themselves.

"How do I look, Antoine?"

"Splendid, monsieur," replied the valet, applying a mild aftershave lotion and removing a lap cloth to reveal formal clothes complete with a striped cravat.

"This isn't too much, is it?" asked the elegant employer, gesturing at his finery.

"Not at all. You are the chairman, sir, and they must understand that. You can brook no opposition."

"Oh, my old friend, there'll be no opposition. I plan to instruct my various boards to prepare for destructurization. I intend to give generous benefits to all who have devoted their time and energy to enterprises they essentially knew nothing about."

"There will be those who will find your instructions difficult to accept, man ami Rene."

"Good! You're dropping our pretenses, you're about to tell me something." Both men laughed softly as the old man continued.

"If the truth were told, Antoine, I should have put you on some executive committee. I can't remember when your advice was in error."

"I only offered it when you asked and when I thought I understood the circumstances. Never in the areas of business negotiations, of which I understand nothing."

"Only of people, correct?"

"Let's say I'm protective, Rene.. .. Come, let me help you up and put you in the wheelchair-" "Wo, Antoine, no wheelchair! Take my arm and I'll walk into the meeting.... By the way, what did you mean when you said there'll be those who won't like my instructions? They'll get their benefits. They'll all be more than comfortable."

"Security is not the same as active involvement, mon ami. The workers will be grateful, indeed, but your executives may feel otherwise. You are removing them from their fiefdoms of power, of influence. Beware, Rene, several who'll be at this conference are among that group."

The yacht's large dining room was a low-ceilinged replica of a fashionable Paris restaurant, the impressionistic murals on the walls depicting scenes of the Seine, the Arc de Triomphe, the Eiffel Tower, and various other Parisian sights. The circular mahogany table held five chairs, four occupied, one vacant. Seated were four men in severe business suits, bottles of Evian water in front of each, ashtrays with boxes of Gauloises cigarettes beside them. Only two ashtrays were in use, the others firmly set aside.

The frail old man walked into the room, accompanied by his valet of twenty-eight years, known by all around the table from previous meetings. Salutations were exchanged; the ancient "chairman" was lowered into a middle chair, as his servant sat behind him against the wall.

The procedure was accepted, none objected, nor could they, for it was tradition.

"So here are all the attorneys. Mon avocat in Paris, ein Rechtsanwalt in Berlin, mio avvocato in Rome, and, of course, our corporate lawyer in Washington, D.C. It is good to see you again." There were muted acceptances of the greeting; the old man went on.

"I can see by your eager reception that you are not enthralled by our meeting. That's a pity, for my instructions will be carried out, whether you like it or not."

"If you please, Herr Mouchistine," said the attorney from Germany, "we have all received your coded instructions, now locked away in our vaults, and, frankly, we are appalled! It's not merely your intention to sell your companies and all their assets-" "Excluding rather extraordinary sums for your professional services, of course," Rene Mouchistine abruptly, firmly, broke in.

"We're most appreciative of your generosity, Rene, but that's not our concern," said the lawyer from Washington, D.C.

"It's what follows.

Certain markets will crash, stocks plummet .. . questions will be asked! There could be investigations .. . all of us compromised."

"Nonsense. Each of you has been following the orders of the elusive Rene Pierre Mouchistine, sole owner of my enterprises. To do otherwise would result in your dismissal. For once, tell