Location: Jupiter Command Post (Élysée Anti-Atomic Bunker), Paris
Date: Mid-October 1989
Point of view: Omniscient (Focus on the State Apparatus)
Under the gold, stucco and crystal chandeliers of the Elysée Palace, seventy feet underground, a completely different kingdom reigned.
The Jupiter Command Post, the anti-atomic bunker of the Presidency of the French Republic, was a sanctuary of reinforced concrete, steel and silence. Isolated from the world by an integral Faraday cage, the place smelled of filtered air and the cold tension of the Cold War. It was here that the head of state had to take refuge in the event of a Soviet nuclear strike. It was here, above all, that the darkest secrets of the nation were analyzed.
François Mitterrand, President of the Republic, was seated at the head of the table in the restricted crisis room.
The face of the head of state was an impassive parchment mask, sculpted by the years of power, the illness he hid from the country, and an intellectual cynicism of unfathomable depth. His dark, half-closed eyes stared at a set of photographs spread out on the metal table. They showed charred armoured vehicle carcasses on a red dirt road.
Facing him were two men who embodied the armed wing of France: the Director of the General Directorate of External Security (DGSE) and the Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces.
"Let's summarize, gentlemen," murmured François Mitterrand in a slow, almost caressing voice, which contrasted with the violence of the subject. "Seven mobile gendarmes dead. A diplomatic convoy pulverized in Senegal. And an initial report from your own services, General, which concludes that there was an unfortunate attack by looters or pro-independence rebels. »
The Chief of Staff, a massive man with decorations, nodded gravely.
"This is a tragedy, Mr. President. The area is unstable. These militias are looking for weapons and money. The convoy was ambushed by opportunity. »
The Director of the DGSE, a discreet man with a piercing gaze, cleared his throat. He did not belong to the world of military parades, but to that of shadows.
"With all due respect to the DRM's analysis, Mr. President, this report is a fiction," the spymaster said.
The General stiffened in his chair. Mitterrand, for his part, sketched a very slight enigmatic smile and made a slow wave of his hand to invite the head of intelligence to continue.
"Our analysts have spent the last two weeks dissecting the site records," the DGSE director explained as he opened his own file. "Nothing holds. First, armaments. The use of white phosphorus grenades to set fire to vehicles is not the signature of an under-equipped African militia. It is the tactical signature of highly trained special forces seeking to vitrify a crime scene to leave no trace of their passage. »
He slipped a photo of the twisted remains of a metal cabinet inside the carcass.
"Second, the target of the fire. The attackers concentrated the phosphorus on the logistics van that was transporting the IMPERATOR servers equipped with Volta processors. These machines weigh more than a hundred kilos. Looters would have had no interest in burdening themselves with such equipment, which could not be sold on the local black market. And above all... »
The spy paused, placing a finger on the photo.
"Ceramic doesn't melt so easily. Lazare Bonaparte's engineers designed a military encapsulation. Even under a phosphorus fire, we should have found slag from the silicon matrix. We found nothing. These processors did not burn. They were extracted from the servers before the fire. It was not an ambush of opportunity, Mr. President. It was a targeted false flag extraction operation. A false flag. »
Silence fell in the bunker. The distant sound of the ventilation suddenly seemed deafening.
"It's a delusional hypothesis!" burst out the Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, his voice cracking like an order. "What you are insinuating, Director, is that a highly sophisticated foreign power premeditated the assassination of seven French soldiers to steal computer equipment?"
"That's exactly what I say, General."
"And what power?" the soldier protested. "The Soviets are imploding! Hungary has opened its borders, the Berlin Wall is faltering. The KGB and the GRU have neither the logistics nor the financial resources to set up such an extraction operation in Dakar at the moment. As for the other countries of the Eastern bloc... »
"It's not the Soviets, General," François Mitterrand's soft, sharp voice interrupted him.
The President joined the tips of his fingers in a thoughtful pyramid. His gaze swept the room, heavy with a truth that the soldier refused to see out of corporatism and Atlanticist loyalty.
"Discard the ideology, General, and look at the motive," continued the head of state, nicknamed "The Florentine" for his absolute mastery of court maneuvers and geopolitical dirty tricks. "Who has a vital, existential interest in obtaining the technology of the young Bonaparte? Who owns the global hegemony in the microprocessor market and risks losing everything if this VESLA-II invades the market next year? »
The General turned pale. He understood what the President was getting at, and this prospect made him nauseous.
"The United States... murmured the soldier. "Do you think the CIA or the NSA had our men killed? Mr President, this is unthinkable. They are our allies. We share our intelligence, we are on the same side in the face of the Warsaw Pact. Bush would never take such a risk! »
François Mitterrand let out a quiet little laugh, a sharp movement of his shoulders. The naivety of the military still fascinated him as much as it exasperated him.
"The allies, General... Mitterrand sighed, with the weariness of an ancient monarch educating his generals. "The alliance is a façade concept, good for televised speeches and gala dinners at NATO. Between nations, there are no friends. There is no brotherhood in arms. There are only interests. And the supreme interest of the United States is to retain economic and technological control of the free world. »
The President leaned forward slightly, the shadow of the bunker digging his features.
"Don't forget the Rainbow Warrior affair, General," Mitterrand cynically recalled, referring to the Greenpeace ship sunk by the French services four years earlier. "When the higher interests of a nation are at stake, all democracies become rogue states. Me first. Why would Americans deprive themselves of it? »
The Director of the DGSE nodded silently. The French state apparatus, or at least its mastermind, had just aligned itself with the same conclusions as Lazare Bonaparte in his factory in Ivry-sur-Seine.
"Bonaparte is building a weapon of unprecedented power," Mitterrand continued, his mind boiling. "The Americans have had access to the processor evaluation reports by our own allies, or through the ECHELON network. They understood that their Silicon Valley, their imperial jewel, was going to be pulverized by this French company. Fear pushed them to make mistakes. Washington ordered the Dakar attack to offer the secrets of our architecture to Intel or Motorola. »
The Chief of Staff was livid. His conception of the free world had just cracked.
"If what you say is true, Mr. President... It is an act of war. The death of seven of our gendarmes at the hands of Washington is a casus belli. We must expel their ambassador, convene the United Nations Security Council, and... »
"We will do absolutely nothing of this, General," François Mitterrand cut short, his voice cold as winter.
The President pushed away the photographs stained with blood and ashes. The absolute pragmatism of the head of state took precedence over any moral consideration.
"War requires proof," said the Florentine. "However, the Americans have cleaned up their scene perfectly. If I publicly denounce the CIA, Bush will deny it outright. Washington will accuse us of paranoia, even anti-American conspiracy, to mask our own security incompetence in Africa. »
Mitterrand stood up slowly, leaning on the edge of the table.
"And more importantly, diplomacy requires timing. Eastern Europe is on fire. Gorbachev wavered. I will not blow up the Western camp and the Atlantic Alliance at the most crucial moment of the century for an industrial espionage case, however murderous it may be. The world needs to see a united West for the Soviet bloc to fall without starting World War III. »
The General bowed his head, resigned, understanding the cruel but unshakable logic of the reason of state. The sacrifice of the seven gendarmes would remain suffocated under the ashes of the official version.
However, the Director of the DGSE, who knew François Mitterrand's vindictive nature, perceived a glimmer of formidable intensity in the head of state's eyes.
"That being said... Mitterrand murmured, his gaze sliding towards the spymaster. "The fact that I can't declare war doesn't mean I'm going to let the Bush US stab us in the back with impunity. They struck in the shadows. We will respond to them on their own ground. »
Location: Jupiter Command Post (Élysée Anti-Atomic Bunker), Paris
Date: Mid-October 1989
Point of view: Omniscient (Focus on the State Apparatus)
The silence that followed François Mitterrand's declaration was of a mineral density. In the confinement of the Jupiter Command Post, several dozen meters below the gardens of the Élysée Palace, the head of state had just drawn an invisible fault line at the very heart of the Atlantic Alliance.
The Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, his face flushed, struggled to hide his dismay. His conception of a united West in the face of the communist peril had just shattered against the absolute cynicism of political power.
Mitterrand slowly turned his head toward the soldier, his dark, half-closed eyes gauging the high-ranking officer's discomfort with an almost condescending indulgence.
"The regular army needs certainties, treaties and clearly identified enemies, General," the President said in a hushed voice, his tone made gravelly by the illness he was hiding from the country. "It's all to his credit. But the wars of tomorrow will no longer be declared on the steps of the chancelleries. Thank you for the DRM's report. You can dispose of it. I have to speak privately with the Director. »
The General hesitated for a fraction of a second, torn between his duty of reserve and the desire to protest. But there was no discussion of a direct order from the "Sphinx". He stood up, bowed curtly, picked up his starry cap, and spun on his heels.
The heavy armored door of the bunker opened with a pneumatic hiss, engulfed the soldier, and then closed, sealing the situation room again.
François Mitterrand found himself alone alone with the Director of the General Directorate of External Security.
The President took a crystal decanter from the metal table and poured himself a glass of water with a slightly trembling hand. He took a sip, put the glass down, and his gaze changed. Distant courtesy gave way to a predatory acuity, that of the Machiavellian strategist who had survived four decades of political purges, plots and betrayals.
"The military are good people," sighed Mitterrand, sinking into his chair. "But they were stuck in 1945. They still believe that America is our benevolent big brother, who has come to liberate us from tyranny with chewing gum and nylon stockings. You and I know the truth about empires. The American Empire was at its peak. And it is precisely when empires are at their zenith that they become the most paranoid, irrational and dangerous. »
The Director of the DGSE folded his hands over his file. "You have the intimate conviction that Washington ordered the Dakar operation, Mr. President."
"I don't have any personal convictions, Director. I have a mathematical geopolitical certainty," corrected the Florentine. "Lazare Bonaparte, this twenty-three-year-old boy cloistered in his suburb of Ivry, did not simply create a processor. He created the nuclear weapon of the twenty-first century. Information is the new plutonium. Whoever controls the machines will control the world. The Pentagon knows this. The CIA knows this. By refusing to submit to their material architecture, we have committed the crime of absolute lèse-majesté against their doctrine of Manifest Destiny. They were scared. So, they struck in Africa to steal our fire, while disguising their crime to prevent us from crying wolf. It is brilliantly executed. »
"Brilliant, but deadly," the spymaster said. "Seven of our fellow citizens died under the bullets of their mercenaries or special forces."
"Indeed," Mitterrand agreed, his jaw suddenly contracted. "And this is where geopolitics meets reason of state. As I said to the General, it is out of the question to trigger a public diplomatic crisis. The Berlin Wall will collapse in a few weeks, maybe a few months. The Soviet Union is dying. If France accuses the United States of state terrorism and assassination at this precise moment, we will offer Moscow an unexpected breach to divide NATO. History would not forgive me for that. The Western bloc must remain united in appearance. »
Mitterrand leaned over the metal table, the harsh light of the neon lights hollowing out the shadows of his face.
"But appearances do not engage the shadow, Director. I refuse to let American arrogance descend on France's sovereignty with impunity. Since they decided to move the Cold War to the technological field, and since they fired first, we will play by their rules. The time for the hunt has come. »
The Director of the DGSE stepped forward in turn, attentive. "What are your orders, Mr. President?"
"I want a massive and immediate reorientation of your intelligence capabilities," the head of state ordered with clinical coldness. "You are going to withdraw a substantial part of our agents from the Eastern bloc. The Warsaw Pact is a corpse on borrowed time, let the diplomats take care of the funeral. Your new absolute priority objective is the American Empire in Europe. »
The spy mentally noted the paradigm shift. It was a historic shift in the French intelligence doctrine.
"I want the Piscine to deploy all its resources to map, infiltrate and uncover American industrial and clandestine espionage networks on the Old Continent," Mitterrand continued, with a sharp look. "Americans have eyes and ears everywhere. Telecommunications wiretapping, corruption of senior European officials, Stay-behind networks residual from the Gladio plan that the CIA still controls... I want it all. I want you to track down their handlers based in Frankfurt, Geneva, London and Paris. I want to know the names of the moles they maintain in our ministries and in European industry. »
"This is a titanic task, Mr. President. The CIA and NSA have been operating in Europe with almost total impunity for forty years. »
"Then put an end to this impunity," the Florentine said. "You are going to put together a 'Black File' for me. An exhaustive and irrefutable compendium of all the abuses, patent thefts, illegal wiretapping and economic assassinations ordered by Washington on European soil or against European interests. I want proof, Director. Material evidence, photographs, magnetic tapes, financial flows. »
The head of the DGSE understood the manoeuvre. Mitterrand's Machiavellianism was at work.
"You are trying to constitute a lever of diplomatic blackmail on a continental scale."
A thin, almost reptilian smile stretched the President's thin lips.
"We cannot confront the United States militarily, and their economy is too powerful," Mitterrand explained. "But America is terrified of the idea of a united and sovereign Europe. If I have a record proving that Washington plunders its allies and murders their soldiers to protect its industrial monopoly, I will hold the White House by the throat. When the time comes, I will use this Black Folder in the Oval Office, or I will discreetly share it with German Chancellor Helmut Kohl. If he realizes that the Americans are economic predators ready for anything, he will detach himself from Washington's orbit and definitively anchor himself to the Franco-German axis project. Europe will strengthen its independence by threats. »
The plan was terrifyingly large, but relentlessly logical. This was the doctrine of nuclear deterrence applied to economic warfare: amassing such destructive power that the adversary would never dare to attack again.
The Director of the DGSE nodded, validating the operational feasibility of the mission.
"We will wiretap their sales representatives and infiltrate their technology contractors. But Mr. President, I must ask you about commitment. »
The spy's face hardens. He entered the grey area of his office, the one that required the absolute coverage of the head of the armed forces.
"If my men, as part of this hunt, uncover a CIA network that is planning a new operation against Volta S.A. or against our strategic interests... If we discover their agents in the field, in flagrante delicto. What are my rules of engagement? How far can I go to protect what Lazare Bonaparte is building in Ivry? »
Silence fell in the fallout bunker. Mitterrand stared at the Director for long seconds. The weight of the question was dizzying. It involved switching from passive espionage to kinetic confrontation against the world's leading power.
François Mitterrand slowly rose from his chair. He walked around the metal table, his hands crossed behind the back of his dark suit, and approached the Director of the DGSE. When he stopped less than a meter from him, the head of state exuded the icy aura of an absolute monarch rendering a verdict of high justice.
"General de Gaulle said that France has no friends, it only has interests," Mitterrand whispered. "America has just proved to us that this rule applies to it too. Seven of our men burned in armored vehicles because Washington felt that its monopoly on silicon was worth a few French lives. They have crossed the Rubicon. »
The President looked into his spymaster's.
"I give you my unconditional presidential authorization, Director."
The sentence resounded like a silent clap of thunder in the Faraday cage of the Jupiter PC.
"If the U.S. state apparatus, through the CIA, NSA or any other agency, approaches the Volta enterprise again or tries to sabotage Lazarus Bonaparte's project... If your services identify American agents on our soil or on European soil threatening our technological integrity... You will not expel them. You won't stop them to trade them. »
Mitterrand leaned in, his voice becoming a sharp breath.
"You will call on the Action Service. I give you permission to use lethal force. You will treat them not as allied diplomats or spies, but as enemy terrorists. I authorize you to proceed with their physical elimination pure and simple. It is a Homo [Homicide] operation covered by state secrets. »
The Director of the DGSE felt a shiver run up his spine. The Homo Operations were extrajudicially targeted assassinations. They were generally reserved for terrorist leaders, war criminals or African despots threatening the vital interests of the nation. Never in the history of the Fifth Republic had a president formally authorized the assassination of American intelligence agents in peacetime.
It was a license to kill granted against the very guarantors of the security of the free world.
"Noted, Mr. President," the Director replied, his voice perfectly steady, concealing the magnitude of the shockwave. "The Action Service will be briefed. If the CIA goes after Volta again, we will neutralize their assets on the ground. No trace, no arrest. Just disappearances and accidents. »
"Exactly," Mitterrand murmured, standing up, satisfied. "Let them understand that French blood has a price that they cannot afford to pay. They wanted to play the masters of the shadows in Africa, we will be their executioners in Europe. »
The head of state returned to his seat, his face regaining that parchment pallor, his physical fatigue suddenly seeming to catch up with him after this discharge of deadly energy.
"Lazare Bonaparte is the future of France, Director," Mitterrand concluded, placing his hands on the armrests. "This young man, with his suburban factory and his inscrutable genius, is forging for us an armor of invincibility. The Americans understood this and tried to steal it from us. They succeeded once. There will be no second time. The DGSE must become the invisible shield of the Volta empire. »
"We will deploy a lethal counterintelligence perimeter around his factory and his family, Mr. President. Bonaparte will not even know that we are watching over him. »
"Perfect. I don't want to hear about it again until your Black File is thick enough to shake the White House. You can dispose of it. »
The Director of the DGSE gathered his documents, stood up and greeted the head of state. He walked towards the armored door, his heart beating to the rhythm of a secret war that had officially broken out.
As he crossed the threshold of the bunker to return to the carpeted corridors of the Élysée Palace, the spymaster took the historic measure of the meeting that had just ended. The Cold War between the Eastern and Western blocs was dying. But a new war, infinitely more pernicious, quieter and more technological, had just been born in the bowels of Paris.
The French Republic had just secretly declared war on the American Empire. And on the world chessboard, pawns had just been allowed to kill to protect the Builder's silicon.