Merchants of Death

I ambled into the large conference room with the cart of additional food and refreshments on the tables already filled with a banquet of main courses, appetizers, and assorted beverages. As I moved the cart I brought into the room I carefully situated serving dishes on the vacant areas of these tables with the food from the cart.

I took the opportunity to scan the room to get a closer look at the dozens of men standing around the dance floor and the bar situated on the far end.

Standing alone by one of the tables of treats, I recognize a woman who looks quite different than the dozens of young well-dressed exotic high-priced ladies of the night flitting about the room or hanging on one of the attendees’ arms. This woman looked as out of place – like a black man hoping to be served at a Klu Klux Klan potluck. MI6 designated her with the code name ‘A O.K.’ She is the Chief Economist for the World Bank. Approximately 40 but looks 50, short, stout, reddish brown hair clipped above her ears and glasses, her prim appearance along with her stern, brisk no-nonsense manner of speaking would give most people the impression she was a schoolmarm as strict as a bulldog guarding its territory from rent-seekers, rather than a big wig for the World Bank.

The men in the room treated her as if she was genderless, invisible, and though she did not possess the look of a Victoria’s Secret model I was a man who knew that women like her were underappreciated.

I have always been a sucker for highly educated powerful & intelligent women & she certainly fit the bill.

It has been my experience that a woman like her would be a bulldog in the Boudoir.

If I had the time to spare, I would be working on raising her ‘interest’ and what my approach to hyperinflation and quantitative easing was all about. I was confident I could supply what she needed to stimulate an optimal return on my investment.

Unfortunately, I did not have time, I too was busy, scoping out this side agenda, and then off would go and attend to the mission assigned by ‘M’ – to deal with ‘The Jackal’.

I placed dishes of food along the places where there were empty spots on the tables or I replaced the plates of food that were already picked clean with freshly cooked treats. I made my way down by ‘A O.K.’ and she gave me a slow and down appraisal that looked suspiciously appreciative. She is almost finished with the food on her plate. She looked at me with a smile. “Please tell me you are dessert.”

“Ha! I knew this woman was a sex kitten at heart, and I bet she has the claws to match.”

I matched her appraisal with my own. “Well madam, perhaps when this little soirée is over, I could offer you something delightful to cleanse your palate; I’m sure you will find it quite refreshing. Perhaps something Italian.”

Without losing a beat she said, “Oh good, I am very partial to Italian treats.”

“Damn, she is a saucy wench.”

I know I had to table her tendered offer for later; I needed to finish my mission in an expeditious manner.

So… I scanned the entire conference room as MI6’s Tibetan Ninjas had trained me to do – taking in all the actors in a Zeptosecond, as I concurrently referred to a database worth of intel I had committed to memory.

I see several distinct tribes of questionable characters in this unseemly confederation of players.

I see a group of Latin American men from every war-torn country huddle together; I see some Iranians and a boatload of Israelis; I see a world-famous wealthy Saudi between both of these tribes; I see two grim-looking Mullahs; There is a group of Americans who oddly look out of place at this gathering.

Without the benefit of my intel, I can tell they are Americans because each of them wearing a tiny U.S. flag pin designating their tribe as political officials from the United States.

Practically all of these men either came from wealthy families… who were often high-ranking political leaders of their respective countries; or they were born into and raised in a life of bone-crushing poverty.

All of these men were connected – directly or indirectly – even if only by several degrees. They shared one overarching desire – power & wealth.