‘I really don’t …’ Whelan made himself stop; start again. Nothing would happen until this bridge had been crossed. ‘Black is slimming.’
‘It’s supposed to be, but when I stand sideways … Tubby is a cruel word, isn’t it? But you hear whispers.’
‘You look … prime ministerial.’
He looked like a side of ham at a wedding, but nobody wanted to hear that.
‘I should get more exercise,’ the PM brooded. ‘But all the chaps I played tennis with … Well.’ His face assumed a Shakespearian cast. ‘It’s the ones who make dodgy line calls turn out to be snakes in the grass. That’s telling, don’t you think?’
‘I think we’ve more important things to discuss.’
The PM sighed theatrically. ‘You think I don’t know that?’ He undid the lowest button on his jacket and released a breath. ‘Zafar Jaffrey’s in custody. It’s still a rumour, but a true one, yes?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘I wanted to know he was a safe pair of hands, and it turns out he’s involved with some underworld fixer. Really, Claude?’ It sounded like he held Whelan responsible. ‘It’s like a bad Michael Caine movie.’
Technically, the PM was too young to remember any other kind, but now wasn’t the time.
‘Perhaps. But the Gimball news is going to eclipse everything else for today at least. As things stand, you’re ahead of the curve. Make a statement now, and it’ll be the first anyone knows about it.’
‘A statement? I don’t even know what he was up to yet. He’s what? A secret ISIS supporter? I don’t believe it, Claude, the man follows Warwickshire—’
‘It’s his brother.’
‘So his brother gets killed in Syria, which was his own stupid fault by the way, and that means Zaff, what, converts to the cause?’
‘His brother didn’t die.’
‘Oh.’
‘His brother was the reason he needed a false passport.’
‘Oh.’ The PM drew a breath in, and rebuttoned his jacket. ‘We all thought he died.’
‘His own family thought he did. Hellfire missile, drone-fired, August 2016. Young Karim wasn’t the target, but he was known to be near the impact, and there was a body unaccounted for.’ Whelan shook his head. ‘There’s a ninety-five per cent accuracy reading on these strikes. Karim fell into the five. It happens.’
‘So he what, just walked away?’
‘We don’t have the details. What we do know is, he got in touch with his older brother four months ago. In France at this point, living rough. He played the prodigal card. All he wants is his old life back, because now he’s seen what it’s like, it turns out jihad isn’t a bed of roses.’
‘Yes, well, I could have told him that. Anybody could have told him that.’
‘And Zafar agreed to help him.’
‘Call me a pedant, but I was under the impression ISIS don’t much like it when you change your mind. Like swapping Celtic for Rangers.’
‘No. That’s why the whole underworld fixer business.’
‘Ah. Of course. So Jaffrey was sorting out a new identity for his brother so he could get back to Blighty undetected and, what, just pick up where he left off? Except pretending to be someone else, so his sins would go unpunished?’
‘Something like that,’ said Whelan.
‘Why didn’t Zafar come to me?’
‘Probably because you’d have seen to it young Karim stood trial, following which he’d have gone to prison. Where he’d probably have been killed.’
‘No, that’s true.’
‘Avoiding which was rather the point.’
‘Families are a nuisance, aren’t they? I forget, do you have siblings?’ The PM didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Well, anyway. I suppose it’s as well I know all this before I issue denials. Lying to the House never looks good. By the fourth or fifth time, there’s a distinct air of disapproval.’
‘There’s more.’
‘There always is.’ The PM produced a tin of breath mints from his trouser pocket. ‘Care for …?’
‘Thank you.’ Lodging it inside one cheek, Whelan continued. ‘There may be an attack on the Abbey this afternoon.’
‘At the service.’
‘At the service. It’s not intelligence, as such. More an informed guess.’
‘And where’s this guess coming from?’
‘Diana Taverner.’
‘Ah. The fair Lady Di.’ The PM fiddled with the knot of his tie. ‘Except not fair, obviously. Still. Fine-looking filly. Wouldn’t mind taking that round the paddock. Though if it ever gets back to her I said that, I’ll have you killed.’
‘Yes, well, as she’s the one you’d have to speak to, that might be a self-defeating exercise,’ Whelan said. ‘Meanwhile, she thinks it’s a credible threat. She got wind of a phrase, the snake eating its own tail. In other words, the campaign comes full circle, finishing up at a memorial service for the very first attack. It’s a self-fulfilling victim list. They’d know who’d be there. The princes, you, the Opposition leader—’
‘Oh, God. Her.’
‘—half the front bench, and the Mayor, and so on. There’ll be maximum security, obviously, but plenty of potential for serious damage. It’s the old story. They only have to get lucky once.’
The PM’s many critics took delight in highlighting his political cowardice, but occasionally, unobserved, he shone. ‘Well, we’re not cancelling, and we’re not entering the Abbey in tortoise formation. But let’s make sure the crowds are kept further back than usual, eh? In case of, whatever. Shrapnel.’
‘Of course.’
‘There’s no time for COBRA, but I’ll speak to the Chiefs about upping the military presence. Not that there’ll be room for much more. At least three thousand on the streets, and shooters – they call them shooters, don’t they? Not snipers?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Shooters on every rooftop. Good God, man. What have we come to? London used to be somewhere you felt safe. There were rules.’
‘We’re not immune to the world’s problems. We never will be.’ Whelan shifted his mint from one cheek to the other. ‘The Palace needs to be warned, obviously.’
The PM snorted. ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall for that. No, it will go ahead as planned. All public events are targets, these days. But what are we supposed to do? Hide in our basements?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I don’t want any more lives endangered than we can avoid. That said, I want these bastards taken alive, Claude. I want prisoners in a dock. I want to see them applying for legal aid, and pleading not guilty, and appealing to the Supreme Court, and standing on all the rights we afford them. I want the world to see them begging for clemency from a system they despise. And then I want them banged up to rot for the rest of their miserable fucking lives. What I don’t want is martyrs. We’ve had too many bloody so-called martyrs.’
Whelan bit down on the mint, and felt it crack between his teeth. For a moment, sinking heart, he thought it was the tooth that had cracked, and had to gather the pieces with his tongue, grade them bit by bit, to be sure. He almost was. It was probably just the mint. The PM was still talking:
‘This might be my last big day, you know. The wolves are gathering at the gate, if that’s even a bloody phrase. Gimball would have led the charge, but you know what? With him gone, others will come out of the woodwork. Nobody was going to make a move when he’d secured the popular vote. But now it’s anybody’s game. All anyone knows for sure is, who’s got the unpopular vote. And that would be me.’