Rafi was about to ask a couple of questions, when his guide appeared at the door and beckoned him over.
‘The Prime Minister will see you now,’ said the secretary.
Rafi was ushered up the rather claustrophobic stairs to the PM’s meeting room. He wondered how Aidan and his team of five were getting on, and whether the PM and his new Chancellor of the Exchequer would tackle the impending financial problems head-on. His thoughts moved on to the huge risks now faced by the markets.
Rafi stopped outside the meeting room – he felt apprehensive. What if they’d reached mental overload and wanted none of his bad news? The future would be bleak.
As he entered, he was greeted by the sight of fourteen tired and slightly dishevelled-looking people. Aidan and his team were sitting along one side of the table. There was an unoccupied chair next to Aidan, to which Rafi was shown.
The PM stood up to greet Rafi. He looked pale and in need of some well-earned rest. On one side he was flanked by his private secretary, the head of press communications and the Defence Secretary, and on the other side, by his Chancellor and three people from his Treasury team. The PM did the introductions.
Rafi, meanwhile, looked around the shiny, dark wooden table. There was a grim feel to the room. His eyes caught those of Saara’s. They exchanged brief smiles – she seemed at ease in the exalted company. Aidan and his team’s faces looked strained, as if they were expecting a hard time.
The PM called the meeting to order. He was forthright. ‘Gentlemen, we are here at the request of Mr Khan. Yesterday he asked me to consider the risk our weakened financial markets are now facing and, if we agree with his predictions, he has asked that we listen to a strategy to stop our markets going into meltdown when they reopen on Tuesday. Mr Khan advises me that the main item on the terrorists’ agenda is not the physical disruption of our energy supplies, but rather financial chaos.’
The PM turned to his Chancellor. ‘I appreciate that it is only a few months since you took up your post. The final decision as to how we proceed rests with you. I shall back your judgement and the proposals you put before the Cabinet tomorrow, in advance of our statements to the Commons on Monday afternoon.’
The PM paused. ‘Before we start, I must reiterate that we are here as a group seeking to work as a team.’ He paused. ‘If Mr Khan is correct, the challenge that faces us is gargantuan. He has made it clear to me that the terrorists expect us to hesitate and to drag our feet before we react. If we do, Mr Khan has in no uncertain terms advised me that we may not regain control of the financial markets. We have to consider whether Mr Khan’s hypothesis has substance. We must not shirk our duty, even if it means that we get bad press for taking a robust approach when others are unable to see the dangers facing us.’
The mood of the room was sombre. ‘Before we start,’ said the PM, ‘I should like to thank Mr Khan for his foresightedness and Mr Gilchrist and his team from the City and academia for their Herculean efforts. You have been able to focus on the financial problems at hand without being overwhelmed by the practical and human issues that we face as politicians. Gentlemen, the stakes are high.’ He turned to his Chancellor. ‘Is there anything you would like to add before we listen to Aidan and his team’s concerns and recommendations?’
‘Not at the moment, thank you.’
‘What then, please, are your proposals?’
Aidan spent a few moments detailing the expertise of those sitting next to him and turned to Rafi’s former boss, Donald, to make the presentation.
Donald stood up and walked over to a whiteboard which had been set up at the end of the room. He was confident, without being arrogant.
‘Our objective, gentlemen, in these uncertain times, is to provide the financial markets with a sense of certainty and confidence. We are facing two problems. Firstly, the terrorists have created a black hole in the Government’s finances and, secondly, Aidan has proved beyond all doubt that if the markets fall sharply when they reopen, the terrorists will make massive profits from their investments in derivatives. When I say massive, I mean tens of billions of pounds… And this will depress the markets even further.’
Donald paused and turned to the Chancellor. ‘Put this on top of the vast sums that the Government has to raise for the foreseeable future to balance its books, add in widespread blackouts, a stock market crash and large scale disruption to the UK economy… Quite simply, international investors will go elsewhere in their droves. Already there has been a significant shift in sentiment, as reflected by the currency markets where sterling is taking a hammering… To put it bluntly, I have major doubts as to whether the extra money required post Stratford can be borrowed in the markets. This would mean going cap in hand to the International Monetary Fund, and even they might not have sufficient funds to solve our problems…’
Night was closing in on Golden Sundancer. She was making good headway against the swell. The captain, Basel Talal and Sergy Kowshaya, the Cruden Bay terrorist, were on the bridge. They were in an upbeat mood.
Sergy looked out of the window at the spray coming over the bow. ‘We make port by midday Monday, yes?’
The captain glanced across at his charts. ‘Probably around 14:00 hours – later if the weather gets bad.’
Sergy shifted his eyes across at Basel. ‘The Sheikh will be there to thank us – personally?’
‘Yes, of course and Jameel Furud will be there also.’ Basel sensed that Sergy was uneasy. ‘You did well at Cruden Bay.’
‘But it was Dakka who hit the jack pot.’
‘Cruden Bay was simply brilliant… And you are now rich beyond your dreams,’ said Basel soothingly. ‘What are you going to do with your money?’
‘I am my own keeper. My family were all killed by the Russians… I hope to buy a big olive grove and find a nice woman.’
Basel smiled. ‘For someone with so much money – you don’t look very happy?’
‘Yes it is true, I feel sad… I’d be a €1 million richer if the bastard hadn’t sold us dud mortars… The damn shells wouldn’t go off – St Fergus should have been destroyed, just like Cruden Bay,’ replied Sergy. He’d had enough of the talking and went back to gazing out of the window at the waves and the spray.
Back at Number 10, the meeting with the Prime Minister was winding down. Donald had finished his presentation. Aidan got up and went over to a couple of large boxes in the corner of the room from which he pulled out smartly bound reports. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said as he handed them across the table, ‘You’ll find in these the numbers behind our proposals.’
‘I am grateful to you for your incisive work,’ said the PM. ‘Any questions?’
‘Just one,’ replied the Chancellor. ‘Timing is going to be tight. You and I will be making our announcements to the House on Monday afternoon. Am I right in assuming that we don’t want the terrorists to know that we’re onto their conspiracy, whilst they’re still at large?’
‘Yes,’ replied the PM.
‘So, the financial rescue plan shouldn’t be revealed until the terrorists have been captured, which is expected to be… When?’
‘Around 3.30 p.m. on Monday afternoon,’ answered the PM.
‘So that means we must speak for at least ninety minutes before being able to make any concrete announcements?’ queried the Chancellor.
‘Possibly longer, if the capture doesn’t go to plan,’ replied the
PM.
The Chancellor looked thoughtfully at him. ‘If you were to set the scene and explain how the Government is tackling the enormous problems associated with Stratford, and what the future holds, then I could run through the financial issues. Would that be OK?’