‘By the book …’
Benoît-Rey sits up and suddenly seems to regain his fighting spirit.
‘Gentlemen, we have no choice. The acquisition of Thomson is as vital for Alcatel as it is for us. So let’s go for it and see the game out. We’ve nothing else left to lose. If the Privatisation Committee follows its usual practice, we have one or two months at most before it announces its verdict.’ He takes off his jacket and rolls up his shirtsleeves. ‘The night’s still young. We have time.’ He looks at his watch. ‘There’s nobody left in the kitchens so I’ll phone the downstairs brasserie and have them bring up sandwiches and beers.’
Benoît-Rey begins to clear away the empty glasses and bottles then takes notepads and pens out of the drawers and places them randomly on the table. The machine is back in operation, with mobile features and expressive hands. When the sandwiches arrive, they resume their places around the table, more resigned than enthusiastic, after all rather pleased to be in their cocoon immersed in familiar trappings: the atmosphere, the stress. Valentin extricates himself from the sofa and chooses a Camembert sandwich. And Benoît-Rey continues:
‘The chief wants something new. First of all, I’d like to make sure that everything’s clear. We consider the acquisition of Thomson to be vital, because in our high-tech sector only the military markets give the necessary stability to safeguard a long-term future. So we need Thomson in order to restructure Alcatel. And if we don’t restructure Alcatel, we’ll stagnate and then be gobbled up by the first-comer. Our British friends, for example.’ A pause as an obsessive refrain goes round and round in their heads: merger, takeover, buyer, change of personnel, career in tatters, having to carve out a new niche. Benoît-Rey continues: ‘Our bid was the best, we had solid, extensive backing. Yet we lost. Where did we go wrong?’
Rossellini, his tie loosened and expression impassive, drinks beer and whisky, English-style and without eating, repeatedly brushing away the strand of fair hair which keeps falling over his left eye.
‘We lost for political reasons, I think it’s as simple as that. Several of Alcatel’s big bosses made their careers under the Socialist government. You too, Valentin, and you left the security service when the current lot came to power because they didn’t want you heading it up. Matra’s boss is much closer to the Prime Minister and the President.’ He pauses, then continues, on a bitter note: ‘I think I was wrong to get involved in all this. The Socialists are out of the running for the time being, and I don’t give a damn.’
Got to get things back on track, fast.
‘If it was a political decision, how do you explain the support from the ministerial departments?’
‘Is that support as widespread as you say? Our only source of information so far is our chairman, and it’s in his interest to present things that way to keep us going.’
‘Valentin, what do you think?’
Interesting, first time they’ve asked me for my opinion. These youngsters are really up shit creek. He puts down his barely-touched sandwich and takes a sip of beer. Another precautionary pause. This will take a while.
‘I don’t think our failure is primarily or exclusively political. The fact is, there was never any competition between Matra and Alcatel for Thomson’s takeover. The decision was made before the bidding process began, and for reasons that probably have nothing to do with industrial logic or politics, even with a capital P.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Firstly the decision to sell Thomson by mutual agreement rather than by putting it up for tender. That has never been done for such a large company. So it was clear, right from the start, that it would be the Prime Minister’s decision alone, and for reasons of his own.’
‘Thomson is up to its ears in debt.’
‘That’s an excuse and that’s not the end of it. Just after the bidding process opened, Gomez — Thomson’s boss — was fired, to everyone’s surprise, in a real battle for power.’
‘He’s also in bed with the Socialists.’
‘He’s a crafty character who’s got influential friends in all camps and has survived two government cohabitations. But above all he’s a bitter personal enemy of Matra’s boss. The way had to be cleared. Matra’s takeover of Thomson would be out of the question if Gomez remained at Thomson’s helm. It would have been him calling us this evening instead of Prestat, and that would have been a major problem for the Prime Minister, whereas the new boss of the Thomson group, appointed by the government and in post for three or four months, has no choice but to keep his mouth shut. Gomez was fired eight months ago. At that point, the decision had already been taken in favour of Matra. Allow me to continue. Matra put in its takeover bid late, as everyone knows. We can surmise, without being too paranoid, that they had access to ours, thanks to a few friends in high places. Under normal, transparent conditions, being late would have been enough for their bid to be disqualified. Finally, Daewoo’s senior management booked Fouquet’s several days ago. They’re throwing a fabulous party to celebrate their victory — which they were certain of well before the official announcement — as we speak.’
Rossellini speaks frostily, with a disdainful smile:
‘Basically, your theory doesn’t make much difference, Valentin.’ He whistles the sibilants. ‘Whether Matra was chosen before the bidding process opened or at the end, the fact is they were chosen because they’re close to the Prime Minister.’
Going round and round in his head, the same old nagging doubt: What am I doing here? Talking to a cop. A police view of History. That fat Valentin, coarse and probably incompetent. I’m a fish out of water here. I’d do better to try and cover my arse rather than get deeper into this mess, in bad company.
‘Yes, it makes a lot of difference. The Prime Minister keeps his decision secret for months on end, not sharing it with his ministers, and lets the governmental departments carry on as if the whole process were being conducted under normal conditions. The natural suspicion is that if this decision is secret, it’s because the plans to restructure the industry are covering up some highly compromising flaws. If I manage to uncover those flaws, then I don’t need to worry about deadlines or authorities, I have the power to get the Prime Minister to change his mind. It’ll be up to him to worry about how to save face. Finding motives, gathering evidence … In other words, this will turn into nothing more than an ordinary police investigation.’
Benoît-Rey, tense, listens attentively, is almost calm.
‘Why didn’t we think of that sooner?’
‘I spoke to the chairman about it quite early on. He didn’t agree. He believed in the integrity of the process and the viability of his industrial proposal, and was confident of winning the bid. He was probably alluding to our conversation when he told you to come up with something new.’
‘I find that assumption and the implied method of working rather exciting. And of course, you already have a few concrete leads …’
‘There are two avenues to pursue, although one is more interesting than the other. The first and most obvious is the Taiwanese arms market which Thomson and Matra have been involved in for five or six years. We don’t know much about what’s behind these deals, other than that billions of commission handled by Thomson have vanished. There’s talk of a sum of five billion. When that sort of money’s involved, nobody plays by the rules. Matra and Thomson have both benefited and could have a common interest in eliminating all those not in the know in order to protect their secret. Alcatel is a newcomer. Its intrusion could increase the risk of a leak and will be perceived as dangerous by many insiders.’
A breather. Valentin sips his beer. A bubble surfaces in Bentadj’s memory, a few snatches of conversation overheard in the corridors of the Defence Ministry.
‘A captain in the Taiwanese army who was investigating the terms of a sale of frigates to Taiwan by France, was assassinated …’