‘Well,’ said Lady Di. ‘I think we can safely say he’s found the new flag he was looking for.’
‘Critic-in-chief of the security services, you mean.’
‘I doubt it’s a matter of keenly held principle so much as a convenient handle on public attention,’ she said. ‘If that’s any comfort.’
‘Anything we know that he’d rather we didn’t?’
She gave him an approving look. ‘You’re coming on, Claude. Six months ago, you’d have been shocked at the very thought.’
Whelan adjusted the photo of his wife on his desk, then adjusted it back to the way it had been. ‘Adapt and survive,’ he said.
‘I’ll check his file. See if there’s any peccadillos worth airing. Hard to believe he’d have managed to keep anything under wraps, though. His wife makes Amy Schumer look like a model of discretion.’ She paused. ‘That was a cultural reference, Claude. I’ll make sure you get a memo.’
He smiled faintly. ‘Didn’t she once write a column describing refugees as earwigs?’
‘Which is exactly what she was fed during a reality TV show soon afterwards. Not often you see karma actually landing a punch.’
‘Did she say what they taste like?’
‘Somalians,’ said Lady Di. ‘You have to hand it to her. She doesn’t go out of her way to make friends.’
But as was often the case with columnists, the more contempt they expressed for those unlike themselves, the more popular they became. Or more talked about, anyway, which they deemed the same thing. A kill list of people actually harmful to the national well-being, thought Whelan, would vastly differ from the official one used in the bunkers where they steered the drones.
Lady Di said, ‘But we’re just the stick she’s beating the PM with. Once he expressed his absolute confidence in us, in you, we became the enemy. It’s a zero-sum game, remember. If the PM gave a speech in praise of lollipop ladies, Gimball would declare them enemies of the state. And Dodie would devote her next three columns to recounting how many traffic accidents they’ve caused.’
Most things Claude Whelan knew about the treacherous nature of those who sought power he’d learned from Diana Taverner, but rarely because she spelled it out like this. Mostly, he just observed her behaviour.
He said, ‘So what does that make Zafar Jaffrey? Our enemy’s enemy?’
‘You’re asking because we’re interested? Or because the PM wants to know?’
It was because the PM wanted to know. Earlier, before the meeting at which Whelan had been invited to address the Cabinet, the PM had taken him aside. Jaffrey. He’s squeaky clean, yes? Because I’m hearing rumours.
‘She’s been putting the boot into him too,’ said Whelan. ‘His picture appears on her page any time she’s referring to Islamist extremism. You don’t need a psychology degree to join the dots.’
‘Well, he’s black,’ said Lady Di. ‘They don’t actually use the words “send ’em back”, but I think it’s safe to say the Gimballs aren’t about to endorse a rainbow coalition.’ She paused. ‘Jaffrey’s been poked at by everyone from us to the transport police, and I expect the Girl Guides have had a go too. Nobody’s caught him making suicide belts in his basement yet.’
‘Any dubious connections?’
‘He’s a politician. They all share platforms with dodgy customers one time or other, because dodgy customers make it their business to share platforms with pols. But if he was into anything seriously muddy, it would have shown up by now. Let’s face it, he’s in his forties, he’s got a dick. If he was the type to fall for a honey-trap, he’d have done so already.’
‘No buts?’
‘There are always buts,’ said Lady Di. ‘We’ve been fooled before.’
‘Then let’s take another look,’ Whelan said. ‘Just in case he’s trodden somewhere he shouldn’t since last time we checked.’
She regarded him with a face so innocent of calculation, it was clear her brain was in overdrive. ‘Any particular reason? I mean, it’s a busy time for us to be re-marking our own homework.’
But Westminster, Whelan reflected, wasn’t the only zero-sum game in town. He had no intention of letting Diana Taverner know all the angles. At any given moment she had enough of her own in play to make a polyhedron.
‘Call it housekeeping,’ he said. ‘Use the Dogs, if you want. They’re not tied up with Abbotsfield, or this latest thing. I’m sure they’ll welcome the distraction.’
Lady Di nodded. ‘As you wish, Claude.’
‘Oh, another thing. There’s a service at the Abbey, day after tomorrow. For civilian casualties of war? In the light of recent events, it’ll act as a memorial. There’ll be high-profile attendance, so we’ll need to run the usual checks.’
‘And meanwhile we’ll keep seeing if we can track down the Abbotsfield killers, yes?’
Sometimes it was worth letting Lady Di have the last word, if only to guarantee that the conversation was over. He nodded curtly and watched her leave the room; then, alone, reached out and let his fingers dally a moment on Claire’s photograph, accessing her calm fortitude, her moral certainty. Bring this to an end, he thought. It would be nice if things were that simple.
In the kitchen Louisa stopped to make a cup of tea, because any time spent not looking at lists of library users was a small victory in life’s long battle. Shirley was on her heels, a little close for comfort. Shirley, thought Louisa, was not quite as manic these past few weeks as formerly. Which some people might take as a good sign, but which Louisa thought more a distant early warning.
Without preamble, Shirley said: ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘I’m going to have to say Daenerys Targaryen,’ Louisa said, without looking round. ‘It’s not so much the dragons, more the whole freeing the slaves bit. Though the dragons do get your attention, don’t they?’
‘Because I know what I saw,’ Shirley went on. ‘And that was definitely an attempted hit.’
It didn’t look like there’d be an early exit from this encounter. Suppressing a sigh, Louisa filled the kettle. ‘Want a cup?’ This was, she thought, the first time she’d asked Shirley if she wanted tea in however long it was they’d worked together, and was oddly relieved when Shirley ignored the offer.
‘I just wish I’d got the plate.’
‘Might have helped clarify the situation,’ Louisa agreed.
‘Hey, you weren’t there. It happened pretty fast.’
‘It wasn’t a criticism,’ Louisa said, though it had been. Shirley was pretty swift when it came to a lot of things: taking offence, changing her mood, eating a doughnut. Gathering data, it turned out, not so much.
‘Anyway, it was a hit. Whoever it was would have stolen the car. All we’d find would be a burnt-out wreck in the middle of nowhere. Plate wouldn’t help.’
‘If you say so.’
‘Lot of fucking use, talking to you.’
And that was the old Shirley right there, but what was different was she didn’t storm out of the kitchen after saying it, and start a lot of door-banging and equipment abuse. Louisa knew she’d been attending anger management classes, but this was her first clue that they were actually working. Which she’d have thought required whatever the female equivalent of chemical castration was, but there you go. The miracles of counselling.
‘Thing is,’ she said, since Shirley was still hovering, ‘I can’t get too excited either way.’
‘Why not?’
‘Well, on the one hand Lamb’s probably right. What are the chances Ho’s on a kill list? I mean, a professional one. Obviously anyone who knows him wants him dead.’ She fished a teabag from a battered tin. ‘And on the other hand, if he’s wrong and Ho gets whacked, well, I’m not sure there’s a downside.’