The babylon revelation, p.20
The Babylon Revelation, page 20
“Did you go to Nasca?”
“No, I didn’t go on the road. We sent a crew to Peru and Mexico, to Palenque.”
“To film Pakal’s tomb?”
“I can’t remember if it was his tomb, but there was an engraving that was supposed to be the king at the controls of a spacecraft. If my memory serves me correctly, there was a Mayan expert who rebutted the idea, it was a classical sculpture of a king harvesting corn or something.”
“Did you meet this Mayan expert?”
“No, the crew who shot those scenes in Mexico interviewed local experts, there and in Nasca.”
“Can you remember who was in the crew?”
“I’m sorry, no, I can’t, it was a very long time ago. I’m sure you can look up the credits.”
“Paul Grendon was the researcher on the programme, wasn’t he?”
“Who?” Gregory fancied that Bishop had flinched.
“Paul Grendon?”
“I really don’t remember, I’m sure there was more than one researcher.”
“Paul Grendon, he was an American.”
“He was? Yes, there was an American researcher on the show, I remember now.”
“It was a big success the programme, wasn’t it?”
“It became this huge international hit. I seem to remember just about every country took it, which was quite unusual in those days. We won a number of awards as well.”
“It launched your career, didn’t it?”
“I don’t know about that. I was a young producer, just starting out really, it was a good break for me, but I don’t think it launched my career as such.”
“Your documentary was a co-production, wasn’t it?”
“It was, yes, but that was nothing to do with me. I was just the producer, the deal had already been done.”
“Who was the co-producer then?”
“I don’t remember, as I said, it was twenty six years ago, I can’t be expected to remember everything.”
“The actual co-producer was Insight Productions, an American independent producer.”
“Well, there you are.”
“We’ve researched Insight Productions. They only have one credit to their name. They appear to only have made one programme, ‘The World of Del Piero’.”
“So?”
“So, so don’t you think it a bit odd that the BBC would make such an important programme with an American company with no prior track record? They make one programme, which you have said became a huge international hit, and then disappear off the map. Don’t you think that’s a bit odd?”
“No, not really. You’d have to ask someone who did the deal, though I’m not sure there’s anyone still here who was involved in it.”
“But you were the producer, you must have had some dealings with Insight.”
“No, they were a sort of sleeping producer, Paul was the only person from Insight who worked on the show.”
“I’m sorry, did you say, Paul?”
“Ah, yes.”
“I thought you said you couldn’t remember the name of the researcher.”
“Well, I guess I do now, don’t I?” his tetchy response was like the smell of fresh blood to Gregory - the chase was on.
“So, you do remember Paul Grendon. What can you tell me about him?”
“He was a researcher, he was an American and he came from the American co-producer, that’s all I remember.”
“Are you sure you’re not going to remember anything else about him in a few seconds?”
“No. No, what has this got to do with Francesco Del Piero?”
“So, you did not go out to South America with Paul Grendon, he did all the interviews out in Peru and Mexico and supervised all the shooting?”
“He did.”
“The basis for Del Piero’s work is his contention that there lay in the Vatican Secret Archive documents called the Apocrypha of Ezekiel, these documents gives hard evidence that the Jewish prophet Ezekiel met with aliens from an advanced civilisation. In the documentary, you note this claim but state that no such documents have ever surfaced.”
“That’s correct.”
“Did you ask the Vatican for permission to inspect the archives?”
“I’m sure we did.”
“You’re sure you did, but you personally did not?”
“No, I seem to recall that the researcher, Paul Grendon, negotiated with the Vatican over this issue.”
“He seems to have been given a lot of responsibility, this researcher.”
“Well, he was very experienced.”
“Was he?”
“Yes.”
“What had he worked on previously?”
“Well, obviously, I can’t remember at this point, what he had worked on, but he was obviously experienced, otherwise I would not have given him such responsibility.”
“It strikes me as unusual that a producer would pass such responsibility to one researcher, especially over this issue, which was the basic tenet of Del Piero’s work. If I had been the producer, I would have wanted to talk directly to the Vatican to understand why they denied you permission.”
“Well, obviously, we are very different producers. I am more of a delegator, you are clearly a man who prefers to stay in control.”
“So, you were denied permission then?”
“Sorry?”
“You don’t deny you were denied permission by the Vatican?”
“Well, no, we didn’t film in the Archives-"“
“You see, that’s not mentioned in the programme. The programme doesn’t say ‘The Vatican denied us permission to look for the Apocrypha of Ezekiel’. It just has this rather quaint expression, ‘No such documents have ever surfaced’.”
“What’s your point?” Bishop was uneasy, his body language had moved from his original open stance, his arms were no longer outstretched bu were clasped tightly together.
“You see, Paul Grendon doesn’t appear to have any other programme credits. We can’t find him credited on any single programme before or after this documentary he made with you. You say he was an experienced television researcher, which was why you allowed him to oversee the most important filming and instigate the most important information request. But there’s no evidence he was at all experienced.”
There was a pause. Gregory stared straight into Bishop’s eyes. He knew he had him, he was broken. There was a weakness to the man beneath his immediate air of confidence and bonhomie. He had met this type before. Men with no backbone, men who did the dirty work for others.
“You had never met before you started on the production?”
“No.”
“And you didn’t check out any references to see if he was experienced enough to handle this kind of shooting and interviewing? Back in the early 1980s, it would have been very unusual for a researcher to supervise a film crew like this, especially for the most important shoot of the programme.”
“It was part of the deal.”
“Part of the deal?”
“Yes!” snapped Bishop. “It was part of the deal with Insight, ok? Grendon was to be the director and interviewer on any foreign based shoots. That’s why they funded the programme.”
“They funded the programme!”
Bishop was totally flustered, he had made a grave error and he knew it.
“No, I don’t mean that, of course they didn’t. Look, it was a long time ago, I was just a little confused there.”
“They funded the programme you said.”
“I got it wrong, a slip of the tongue, that’s all. Let’s move on.”
“But it was a BBC co-production. There would have to be some BBC funding involved, otherwise that breaks the BBC Charter, doesn’t it? You can take some co-production monies or buy a show, but the BBC cannot take fully funded programmes from elsewhere and transmit them. That would be a major Fair Trade issue. Not to mention the issue about giving editorial control to a third party.”
“Of course, that’s why they couldn’t have been the only funder. At the BBC our integrity and editorial independence is paramount. That’s a given. Always has been, always will be.”
“But you can’t tell me how much of the budget Insight supplied and how much the BBC?”
“Well, it wasn’t my decision. I didn’t know who did the deal. I was just the producer.”
“Isn’t that exactly what a producer should know? Would you be happy if one of your producers pleaded the same case?”
Bishop looked sheepish. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Have you had any dealings with the Padre Pio Brotherhood?”
“I’m sorry, who’s that? What’s that got to do with Del Piero?”
“The Padre Pio Brotherhood.”
“Who? Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“You’re the Head of News and Current Affairs at the BBC and you’ve never heard of the Padre Pio Brotherhood? You’re also a practising Roman Catholic.” Gregory had no idea why any Catholic would necessarily know of such an organisation, but he knew he had Bishop on the ropes.
“Well, of course, I’ve heard of the Padre Pio Brotherhood, I was just confused because I didn’t immediately put it together with Del Piero, that’s all. You got me on the hop there.” Bishop was more than floundering. His blue Oxford shirt was showing a dark stain under the armpit.
“So tell me, what is the Padre Pio Brotherhood?”
“It’s a Roman Catholic religious charitable organisation based in the United States, involved in a large amount of educational work.”
“And a supporter of the Republican Party in the US, now heavily involved in the reconstruction of post-war Iraq.”
“So, I believe.”
“And Insight Production is a subsidiary of the Padre Pio Brotherhood.”
“So, I believe.”
“So, you knew.”
“Of course I knew. I’m not a bloody idiot. I did a bit of fact checking, I was a journalist myself you know, I still am a journalist. The Padre Pio Brotherhood contributed to the programme, it’s called deficit financing, they distributed it internationally and they supplied Paul Grendon.”
“Would it be fair to say as producer of this documentary, you were never in editorial control?”
There was no response from Bishop.
“Laurence, you had no editorial control, over this programme, did you?”
Bishop stayed silent.
“Paul Grendon, he had editorial control. Paul Grendon was the real producer of that programme, wasn’t he?”
“He was…he, with me…you could say, we were both the producers of the programme.”
“So, this documentary, which effectively destroyed Francesco Del Piero’s reputation, was mostly funded by an American religious organisation. They supplied a researcher who in actuality produced the programme, setting the editorial of the show. That researcher had never previously made a television programme and has not since, and is now a senior member of the board of the Padre Pio Brotherhood, the organisation that owned Insight productions who funded the documentary.”
Bishop looked sullen.
“Why would an American religious group go to such lengths to discredit a man most people regarded as peddling crackpot theories in the first place?”
Bishop finally replied, spitting the words out with venom: “This programme will never see the light of day – and you’ll never work for the BBC again!” and pulled off his microphone, threw it to the ground and stormed out of his own office.
Thirty-Eight
London. Notting Hill. He loved this city. There were more Georgians and Russians here now than in Tbilisi, Moscow or St Petersburg, or rather more of the important ones. And the women. If you wanted to marry the most beautiful and best connected Georgian woman, you had to go looking in London these days. Same for Russians and Ukrainians as well, he heard. Quite why The Big Man didn’t up sticks like everyone else and come here, he couldn’t understand. That or Miami, yes, Miami, that would be good as well.
If you wanted anything doing, the best place to get it done by a Georgian was in London. Recruit in Georgia and if you were lucky you’d get some kid out of school, but more likely some half-wit left behind. He wouldn’t call a plumber out in Tbilisi these days, let alone look for a man to do a proper job. But London, ah, there was quality in London and every Georgian in London was only too happy to help out any other Georgian in London, where as if they were all back home, everyone would be trying to screw everyone.
For example, he had been in London less than twenty-four hours and already he had found someone – a twenty-four year old Georgian called Dmitri– to hack into the Redskin computer system. This kid had been recommended by Mikhail, Mikhail who had lived in the same block as him in Georgia when they were kids, Mikhail who was now running a ‘model agency’ as a front for all kinds of things. This Dmitri, he was smart, real smart, he could have taken more pride in his appearance frankly, but he could find his way around firewalls like nobody he had ever met. That was how Yezhov had come to be sitting in the Electric Brassiere on Portobello Road, a good roast chicken lunch washed down by an Australian Cabernet Sauvignon, for which he had developed a taste during a fruitful piece of business in Sydney the previous year, and was alternating between Gregory and Claudia’s emails. There was pleasure in his work this day. He felt in command. He had found what his friend Paul called his ‘mojo’.
Gregory had interviewed someone at the BBC that day, some big cheese. There was an email to someone called Hamish telling him that he was right about this man Bishop, he was hiding something and Gregory believed that the Vatican was involved. Something about discrediting Del Piero. They had an interview with the Archivist of the Vatican’s Secret Archive the following day at three pm in Rome. That was a good start.
Even better was when this Dmitri asked whether he wanted any cell phones hacked. He hadn’t even had to find the numbers; all the English put their cell numbers on the bottom of their emails. Within two hours, every time Gregory or Claudia made or took a call, his cell rang and he was able to listen in. Truly, this kid was something else.
He put a call into Mikhail. He had done some business in Rome. He needed a couple of men he could trust for this. He had a plan coming together. Mikhail knew the men he needed. They were right for this kind of job. They wouldn’t be cheap, but this was just the kind of thing they could sort out.
He ordered an espresso.
He wondered if he still had the number for that Svetlana he had met in Notting Hill six months ago.
Thirty-Nine
It was another sweltering hot day in Palm Springs.
Luis Riveria parked the charcoal Prius in the Brotherhood car park. He turned the engine off. Or rather, he thought he had turned it off. One month in and he still hadn’t got a handle on the Prius. What was the point in driving a car when you couldn’t hear the engine? But the Brotherhood had a new car policy - a green car policy – and if it had been decided this was to be his car, then he had better get used to it.
He was twenty four, a second generation Mexican immigrant like everyone he knew. Riveria was newly married, to Jennifer, they had met at Our Lady of Guadalupe, three years earlier. The whole Church had seemed to have pushed them together, and then, three weeks ago, celebrated wildly when they told them she was with child. He had been with the Brotherhood for nearly eight years, ever since he had left high school. Executive Vice President, Commercial Relationships it said on the business card, but, as he told Jenn on their first date, there was much more to it than that, everyday contained a surprise. Take this morning, there he was, en route to the airport for the nine o’clock flight to Atlanta when the Old Man had called him. Drop everything, there was something more pressing to do this morning. Take an afternoon flight to Atlanta. It would mean him staying over, away from Jenn, who was finding these few weeks difficult, still sick most mornings. But he did as he was asked. He always did what he was asked. Which was why he never questioned why he was driving the Prius and the Old Man had the Mercedes.
From the airport, he had stopped at Denny’s: coffee, eggs, sunnyside up, grits, Canadian bacon, the Old Man wouldn’t be in until 9.30. Never was. He had this routine, stuck to it religiously.
“Coffee, Luis?” asked Marlene immediately as he walked in through the door. Before he could even reply, she had poured the black treacle from the percolator and added the splash of lo-fat Half and Half. She always remembered how he liked it. She was good like that. The small things. That was one of the foundations of the Brotherhood: everyone looked out for each other. “The common decencies,” the Old Man said, “They are ever important in a world of chaos. Here we live life as we wish it to be lived outside, not as it is.”
With the coffee in hand, he walked in and there he was, where he always was, sitting behind the old walnut desk under the painting of Padre Pio. The outstretched hand of the Saint revealing the stigmata to visitors.
“Luis, good morning. I am so sorry about asking you to postpone your trip to Atlanta. I know how necessary it is for you to reach your target this quarter, but I am confident that you will still achieve your goal.”
Riveria agreed. He never disagreed with the Old Man. He knew there would have been a good reason he had pulled him in. And he liked the way the Old Man always apologised when he asked him to do anything. That was another example of the way they operated at the Brotherhood, the civility of the organisation. This was not a place when people raised their voices, lost their tempers, let alone cursed. The year he had failed to reach his target, no one lost their temper. They were disappointed with him. They made him aware of that, but he was only too happy to take a pay cut as the result. He had let everyone down after all. He had even suggested it to the Old Man when they had sat in this very same office and discussed what course they should follow. That seemed right. He was following the ethos of the Brotherhood.
