Desaix sighed again and then shrugged. “Still, such tragedies are probably unavoidable. We live in an imperfect world and we must use imperfect tools to achieve our ends.” He looked up. “And those ends were achieved, true?”
“Yes.” Marchant felt himself on firmer ground now. Work force changes, production schedules, and profit margins could be managed and controlled. Mental images of grieving widows could not. He sat forward in his chair. “Your major’s bomb caused only minor damage — as promised. Nothing that significantly affected our rotor output. Nevertheless, my directors are appalled by just how close this ‘Hungarian’ terrorist group came to wrecking our Sopron operation.”
Both men smiled at that.
“Then you foresee no serious opposition to our proposals at tomorrow’s board meeting? No second-guessing?”
Marchant shook his head. “None. I already have all the votes we need in my pocket.”
Desaix looked pleased. He’d approved Major Duroc’s “special action” as a means of solving two serious problems with one small bang. And Nicolas Desaix was a man who fully enjoyed being proved right.
Despite the favorable tax and wage agreements offered by Hungary’s military government, Eurocopter’s Sopron plant was still a money-losing proposition for France. Government protection ensured a steady stream of European aircraft industry orders for its rotors. Overseas sales were a different story. Fierce competition from America’s Boeing and the Japanese meant a need for continuing and expensive government subsidies. With the world mired in what seemed a perpetual economic slump, French companies like Eurocopter desperately needed ways to cut their costs. Naturally, cutting wages for their foreign workers in eastern Europe was far more politically palatable than slashing pay packets at home.
Unfortunately Sopron’s Hungarian work force was showing signs of increasing militancy over French control and supervision. Work stoppages, “sick-outs,” and muttered strike threats were already raising tensions along its rotor assembly lines. Further wage reductions were bound to be violently opposed — at a high cost in factory downtime and lost orders. Other companies operating in Hungary, Croatia, and Slovenia faced the same kinds of labor force unrest.
That was the first problem.
The second also involved foreigners. To be more precise, foreigners living in France. During the past four decades, hundreds of thousands of “guest” workers and their families had swarmed into the country from Algeria, Tunisia, Turkey, Portugal, and half a dozen other poor nations. Lured by a severe labor shortage during the 1950s and 1970s, they were now unnecessary. With millions of native-born Frenchmen out of work, the “Arabs” were seen as a dirty, dangerous, and shiftless source of social friction and political trouble. Public opinion blamed them for every increase in the crime rate and for diseases like AIDS. Bloody skinhead rampages through their shabby, poverty-stricken neighborhoods were becoming commonplace.
To put it bluntly, France wanted the foreigners out.
And so Nicolas Desaix had seen a golden opportunity to aid his nation, benefit its powerful industrial conglomerates, and boost his own political career — all in one fell swoop.
Replacing their troublesome eastern European workers with low-wage “guest” laborers would help Eurocopter and other French companies cut their manufacturing costs. It would also reduce the government subsidies now used to keep their prices below market levels. Even better, as documented aliens with French work permits, the new factory workers would pay their taxes directly into Paris’ revenue-starved coffers. They would also be off French soil and under strict control in guarded, fenced-off, and isolated compounds.
On paper, it was the perfect solution. And Sopron was the first step toward putting it into practice.
Frightened by the first signs of a “terrorist” campaign against French-owned facilities, other manufacturers were sure to quickly imitate Eurocopter’s worker replacement program. The Germans would probably fall in line as well, Marchant thought. The Boche had their own problems with unwanted immigrants.
The Hungarians and the other client-state governments would undoubtedly protest these moves, but their protests would be futile. They needed continued French and German financial aid, backing, and goodwill far more than. France or Germany needed them. Any threat to end that aid or close the factories should be enough to cow them. Or so Marchant hoped.
He cleared his throat. “One thing still troubles me, though.”
Desaix frowned slightly. “And what is that?”
“This Hungarian policeman Duroc mentioned. Hrad…” Marchant stopped, unable to fit his tongue around the police colonel’s unmanageable name.
“Him?” The DSGE director snorted. He waved a hand in airy dismissal. “He’s nothing. A provincial nobody without influence in Budapest. Don’t waste time worrying about that fellow, Alexandre. If he causes too much trouble, I’ll have him suppressed.”
Marchant nodded his understanding. The French security services had poured a great deal of time, money, and training into their Hungarian counterparts. As a result, they exercised a great deal of both overt and covert control. Hungary’s current rulers owed their power to Paris — something Desaix and his colleagues never let them forget. An official who offended the military government’s chief sponsors wouldn’t last long in his job.
He stood up, surprised as always at the effort it took to lift himself upright. “In that case, I’ll take my leave, Director. I’m sure that I’ve already taken up too much of your valuable time.”
Desaix stood up with him, an easy, companionable smile on his lips. “Not at all, Alexandre. Not at all. My door is always open to you. Remember that.”
Eurocopter’s chief executive officer looked up at the taller man. “You have my thanks, monsieur. And those of others as well.”
Neither man felt a need to say more.
Everyone knew that France’s aging and ineffectual President was on the verge of one of his periodic cabinet reshuffles. Backing by some of the nation’s largest industrial firms would help Nicolas Desaix win whatever ministry he wanted to head. It was a quid pro quo Marchant offered gladly. With Europe and the world in economic and political turmoil, France needed more leaders courageous and cunning enough to seize every opening fortune held out to them.
Empires were won by bold action, not cringing caution.
With the ink barely dry on Eurocopter’s press release, more than a dozen French-owned companies have announced similar plans to replace workers at their eastern European manufacturing sites. What began as a surprise move at one factory is fast becoming a trend.
The latest figures show more than 50,000 jobs affected by these announcements, and one senior official in Paris estimated that figure will grow rapidly in the days and weeks ahead as fresh French and German firms join the race to cut labor costs. Other experts put the numbers of Algerians, Turks, and Tunisians slated to be shipped out of France at more than a quarter of a million — with men, women, and children all being uprooted in a modern-day Exodus.
Heated protests have erupted all across Hungary, Croatia, and Romania — the nations most affected. In the most severe attack, workers in Brasov, north of Bucharest, stormed a foreign worker’s hostel, killing thirteen Arabs and wounding scores more. Four Romanians and several police were also killed.
But the protests are not confined to those whose livelihoods are threatened. Nationalist beliefs drive many of the actions. One French trade union leader stalked out of a recent meeting in evident rage, growling that “these jobs should go to true Frenchmen, not bastard Arabs.”