Read Online The Matarese Countdown by Robert Ludlum - Free Book Online

made by two elderly, knowledgeable people facing imminent death, even the courts would consider their words valid.… You’ve described something else.”
    “You’re right and you’re wrong,” said Scofield. “I described Guillaume’s vision as he conceived it, and make no mistake, he wasn’t a saint. In terms of control, he wanted it all, but part of his genius was to recognize practical and philosophical imperatives—”
    “Fancy language,” interrupted Pryce.
    “And very real,” added the former intelligence officer, “very germane. When you think about it, Matarese was almost a century ahead of his time. He wanted to form what was later to be called a World Bank or an International Monetary Fund, or even a Trilateral Commission To do that, his disciples had to appear legitimate through and through, squeaky-clean.”
    “Then something must have happened to them, something changed, assuming that my briefing was accurate.”
    “Indeed something did happen, because you
are
right in that area. The Matarese became monsters.”
    “What was it?”
    “Guillaume died. Some say he passed away while making love to a woman fifty years younger than he was, and he was roughly in his middle eighties. Others know differently. Regardless, his inheritors—that is what he called them—moved in like a swarm of bees to the honey pot. The machinery was in place, Matarese branches throughout Europe and America, money and, even more important, confidential information flowing back and forth weekly, if not daily. It was an unseen octopus, silently monitoring, efficientlythreatening to expose the dirty tricks and the unwarranted excessive profits of scores of industries, national and international.”
    “Initially, sort of a self-policing apparatus where business is concerned—both national and international?”
    “That’s as good a description as I’ve heard. After all, who better than corrupt police to know how to break the laws they enforce? The inheritors seized the moment. The confidential information between the branches was no longer used as a threat, instead it was sold. Profits soared and Guillaume’s successors demanded a piece of the action of succeeding profits. By Christ, they covered whole territories and became an underworld cult—I mean a real
cult
. Like the Cosa Nostra, new members of various statuses were ceremoniously sworn in, the upper crowd actually wearing small blue tattoos proclaiming their rank.”
    “It sounds crazy.”
    “It
was
crazy, but it was also effective. Once proven, a new Mataresan was guaranteed for life—financially secure, protected from the laws, free from the usual stresses of normal living—as long as he or she obeyed their superiors without questioning
any
order.”
    “And to question any order was
finito
time,” said Pryce, making a statement.
    “That was understood.”
    “So, in essence, you’re describing a Mafia or a Corso, as I see it.”
    “I’m afraid you’re wrong again, Mr. Pryce—essentially.”
    “Since I’m drinking your brandy in your house, hospitality I never figured on, why not call me Cameron, or Cam, as most people do.”
    “As you gathered from my wife, I’m ‘Bray.’ My younger sister couldn’t say Brandon till she was maybe four, so she called me Bray. It just stuck.”
    “My kid brother couldn’t say Cameron. It came out ‘Cramroom,’ or worse ‘Come around,’ so he settled on ‘Cam.’ It stuck, too.”
    “Bray and Cam,” said Scofield, “sounds like a barnyard legal firm.”
    “I’d be pleased—no, honored—with any association. I’ve read your service record.”
    “Most of which was exaggerated to make my superiors and the analysts look good. You wouldn’t be doing your career any favors to be associated with me. Too many in the business consider me a flake or a fluke, or worse. Much worse.”
    “I’ll pass on that. Why am I wrong again? Essentially.”
    “Because the Matarese never recruited thugs; no one ever