by David Harley
‘Your Excellency,’ said Matt, ‘it’s very good of you –’
‘Mr Barker, please, we know each other well enough. Take a seat.’
‘Any news?’ asked Matt.
‘It’s been over a year and nothing’s changed. Every new day is a penance. They arrived in Latgale – the eastern capital – on our national day, the nineteenth of November. It obviously wasn’t a coincidence. That’s the way the Russians work.’
She took out a cigarette from the carved wooden box on the coffee table, and let it dangle from her fingers, her head lowered.
‘It’s when things get difficult that we find out who our real friends are,’ said Matt.
Raising her head, she lit her cigarette and inhaled deeply.
‘Is England our friend? Is the United States? How much longer must we wait?’
‘They’re still making the same old excuses,’ Matt replied. ‘You know the litany – “we must respect international law, military conflict is not the answer, we need to find a political solution”. Meanwhile, two years have gone by and one-third of your country remains under foreign occupation.’
‘Mr Barker, your analysis is spot on, but you’re too polite about your compatriots. I can’t take any more of all this hypocrisy. What’s happened to you Brits? What sort of a country have you become? The Latvian economy’s at a standstill, the people are starving, and our so-called friends don’t lift a finger. My nephew in Riga, who’s eight years old, told me yesterday that the gas has been cut off again and they can only heat his school for two hours a day. You used to be true to your word and respected all over the world – when you made a promise, we believed you. Now you flirt with dictators and act as though we don’t exist.’
‘You know I’m on your side, Ambassador. That’s why I asked to see you – so we could consider ways of ending this shameful stand-off. Up to now you haven’t had a fair hearing in the media – we can help you change that.’
She turned away her head and blew out a large cloud of smoke.
‘You mean more of your famous “stakeholder mapping” and pictures on TV of starving children? Despite your fine words, I suppose you’d make us pay through the nose as usual? Bloody lobbyists! Always ready to screw us, even in our hour of need.’
‘”Consultant” might be a better word, Ambassador,’ said Matt. ‘More importantly, we want to help. We’ve done so before, and we won’t give up now.’
‘Who are you exactly, Mr Barker? What are your special qualities? Tell me why I should believe you’re any more likely to succeed than all the others.’
Matt appreciated the ambassador’s directness. Hoping he looked suitably deferential, he sat up in his chair, placing his hands on his knees.
‘You’re right to be sceptical, after the way you’ve been treated. Only you can judge whether I’m the right person for the job. If there’s someone else that you prefer, I’d quite understand. What I can offer you is this: my personal commitment, a strategy for mobilising the media and public opinion, and some leverage over the foreign secretary. I’ll spare you the details, but we know how to shame him politically and embarrass him personally.’
The ambassador threw back her head and laughed.
‘Leverage! Over that unprincipled idiot! What on earth do you mean? We have a mutual interest to act against the Russians, can’t you see that? You’re under threat and we’ve got the intelligence. I heard the other day they’ve already infiltrated the heart of Downing Street, yet your government pretends nothing has changed. I can even give you the name of their agent – they say she’s won over the prime minister. Anyway, we can’t afford to pay you this time.’
Matt made a mental note of the remark about the PM. It was probably nonsense, but he would check it out. Despite the usual mixture of melodrama and paranoia, Matt was still determined to help her.
‘The issue of payment shouldn’t stop us from working together. How can anyone put a price on freedom, or on peace and security? We’ve got several options – we know one or two Ukrainian oligarchs who’d be happy to embarrass the Russians. Even the Chinese are starting to show interest. We can find someone to meet the cost – but we can’t move without your go-ahead.’
‘What you get up to with Watson is your business – I don’t want to know. For the rest … you have my support.’
The ambassador stubbed out her cigarette and walked over to the table by the window. Against the amber evening sun streaming softly in behind her, she laid her hand on the bronze head.
‘This is Oskar Kalpaks,’ she said. ‘Every Latvian child knows the story of his life. He was a national hero, who fought against the Bolsheviks and was killed by the Germans. There are only two million of us and we’ve been through desperate times before. We won’t let the Russians snuff out our culture and our identity.’
She took Matt by the elbow and guided him into the hallway. They stood together in the half-light, facing each other, saying nothing. Taking a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress, the ambassador dabbed her eyes and opened the front door.
A long crocodile of schoolgirls in grey uniform were walking two by two along the pavement in front of the embassy, chattering noisily and skipping over puddles. The ambassador forced a smile.
‘Don’t let my country disappear. Do whatever you can.’
CHAPTER THREE
It was a bright, fresh day in early March. Matt walked across St James’s Park, through the last of the daffodils, towards Whitehall. The prospect of another meeting with his nemesis Alexander Watson, the foreign secretary, depressed him. He would keep his promise with Ilze Lukasevica and defend Latvia’s interests, but shifting the government’s position on relations with Russia would not be easy.
Although Matt and Watson had been in the same group of friends at Oxford, they had never been close. Matt didn’t begrudge Watson’s success – it was the mean-spirited arrogance that wore him down. He had grown tired of the pretentious verbal jousting that was a preliminary to every encounter. Matt knew the surface buffoonery was all an act, and when provoked Watson could reveal a furious temper. If Watson proved uncooperative, Matt had one or two inconvenient truths in reserve that might knock him off balance and make him more conciliatory. Coming away with nothing to show for his pains was inconceivable.
He walked up the steps at the bottom of King Charles Street and presented himself to the security guard. After a brief phone call upstairs, he was escorted across the quadrangle and up the cream marble staircase to the foreign secretary’s immodest office – ‘its size in inverse proportion to the influence of its occupant’, an American ambassador had waspishly put it. As Matt waited in the anteroom, he noticed a newly hung picture, placed next to the door, depicting Napoleon’s surrender to the Duke of Wellington at the Battle of Waterloo. A buzzer announced that the foreign secretary was free to see him.
‘Ah there you are,’ said Watson from behind his mahogany desk. ‘Always a pleasure to see an old friend. How’s Penny?’
‘It’s Jenny. We got divorced six months ago and she’s living in Australia, with the children.’
Matt wasn’t going to allow Watson to throw him off course. He helped himself to a chair.
‘You seem to get about a bit yourself, from what one hears. How’s your long-suffering wife?’
Watson switched on his poker face and snorted.
‘This had better be important,’ he said. ‘If you hadn’t done me a few favours over the years, I’d never have agreed to see you. Now you’ve cashed in your chips, you won’t get in so easily next time. You’ve got ten minutes.’
Despite all the bluster, there was something comical about Watson’s unusually large head and small hands.
‘Why don’t you slow down for a moment, and we can try to be a little more civilised,’ Matt replied. ‘We’re old friends after all – even if I can’t compete with your dazzling career. You look tired. Something keeping you awake at night? Too many fancy receptions – or is it those phone calls from the Pen
tagon at four in the morning telling you what to do?’
‘You’re the one who should have a bad conscience, given all your dodgy clients. Which corrupt country are you representing today? North Korea perhaps, or Uzbekistan?’
‘I suppose you still pride yourself on never reading your briefs. You’ve got yourself quite a reputation in Whitehall for being a master of improvisation. I’m here to ask for justice for a small defenceless country that’s occupied by a foreign power and that we seem to have abandoned.’
‘Don’t expect me to break down and cry – I was vaccinated long ago.’
‘Doubtless you know about the NATO principle of collective defence – “An attack against one ally is considered as an attack against all allies”. Article 5 of the Treaty – ’
‘Lecturing me won’t get you anywhere.’
Watson leaned back in his chair with a pained expression, scratching his paunch.
‘Matthew, I understand you have to do this for a living. I’ve always found your naïve side rather touching, but it’s time you returned to reality. You really shouldn’t believe everything they tell you – I suppose you’ve fallen for their usual sob story. The Latvian Government’s hardly a champion of democracy. The native Russian speakers – a quarter of a million of them – aren’t allowed out of the country and have no civil rights. What’s more, your Latvian chums supported Hitler during the war.’
‘Moscow would be proud of you, Alexander. You’ve learned your lines perfectly.’
A muscle twitched on Watson’s left cheek.
‘Nice try, Matthew. You may think that sounds clever, but you’re way out of your depth on this one. Anyway, Latvia’s a piffling little country of no importance to NATO. We should never have let them join in the first place – the Russians were bound to see it as pure provocation. There’s nothing I can do to help you. Nothing. You’ve done what was asked of you – now you can go back to your Baltic friends and claim your fat cheque. Time’s up I think – good talking to you. Are we done?’
Matt stretched out his legs and settled comfortably in his chair.
‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily – there’s something else you need to hear. I think you’ll agree it’s in your interest.’
‘If you really have to – keep it short.’
Matt took his time before he languidly resumed talking, with a quiet deliberateness.
‘Wasn’t Oxford a wonderful time? I’ve brought some photos in my briefcase of those happy days – would you like to take a look?’
Watson frowned.
‘I’m already running late. Call my secretary and let’s arrange lunch one day – ’
‘You remember that alcoholic picnic we had on Christ Church Meadow after our finals? And that pretty blonde boy you started chatting to? I never knew what he saw in you. The two of you went for a swim in the river, if I remember rightly, and you stayed friends for months afterwards. I bumped into him the other day – Miles, I think his name was – and he remembered it all vividly. Asked after you warmly. You were always an expert in the art of seduction – I suppose that must be helpful in your current job? I’ve got some photos where you and Miles look quite charming together.’
The foreign secretary stood up. Matt saw that Watson’s hands were trembling as he stuffed them in his pockets.
‘You’re taking the piss, and it’s not funny. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘You’ve got nothing to be worried about – nobody cares any more,’ Matt replied. ‘I always found your gay side one of your most appealing features. Try telling the truth for once. Come out, and I’ll be the first to support you. It won’t make any difference when you throw your hat in the ring to become prime minister – it’ll probably win you more votes. And from what I’ve heard, your wife has always shown great understanding, although I suppose you don’t tell her everything. I’ve got a few more pictures in my collection if necessary, although I don’t like playing games … unless I’m forced to.’
Watson frowned, and shot a glance towards the door.
‘Can I tell Latvia you’ll review your position?’ asked Matt. ‘Perhaps you could call in the Russian ambassador, then it would be on the record?’
The foreign secretary slumped back in his seat, chest heaving. Matt hoped he wasn’t going to have some kind of seizure. Watson picked up a bronze paperweight from his desk and passed it from one hand to the other.
‘I’ll think carefully about what you’ve said,’ he said, still breathing heavily. ‘As it happens, the government decided this morning on a change of policy, at my suggestion. You can tell Latvia we’ll honour our commitments. Now get out.’
The normally ebullient foreign secretary looked flattened.
‘I’m glad we got that cleared up,’ said Matt. ‘Can I give them a specific date?’
‘Don’t push me any further,’ said Watson. ‘You look very pleased with yourself, but you’ve crossed a line with me today. You’ll no longer benefit from my protection.’
‘What do you mean? As if I cared – I don’t need your protection.’
The foreign secretary’s face had become less florid, and he was breathing regularly again. He pressed a red button on his desk.
‘In case you don’t realise it, they’re on to you. Last week the home secretary called me about an intelligence report where your name was mentioned. The document alleged you were plotting with the far left to overthrow the government. I told her this couldn’t possibly be true: you were a personal friend and perfectly harmless, although prone to occasional bouts of idealism, and they should call off the investigation. After what you’ve done today, you’re on your own.’
Matt barely had time to register this unexpected threat, when the double doors to the office swung open, and two heavily built men wearing earpieces escorted him out of the building.
CHAPTER FOUR
He had exchanged a life of froth for a dangerous gamble. Matt’s devotion to his new cause was unshakeable. Yet there were days when, underneath the façade of self-confidence, he was plagued by self-doubt and the fear of failure. What made it worse was that he had no one to talk to.
He needed to succeed in his new project if he was to stay sane and grounded. Forcing the foreign secretary to make a U-turn on Russia would hardly go down as a Sarajevo moment in history. Yet every blow that landed on the government, however small, was a battle won. Like Putin, Matt was in for the long haul, first destabilising his enemy by chipping away rather than launching a full-frontal assault. That might come later.
Ilze Lukasevica sent him a bottle of vodka by special courier, with a personal message of appreciation from the Latvian Prime Minister.
‘What’s your secret weapon?’ she asked Matt on the phone, sounding more than usually cheerful, when he called to thank her. ‘When this is all over, I’ll invite you to my summer house outside Riga for a modest celebration.’
‘It’s early days,’ replied Matt, ‘but I’d be delighted. I’ve enjoyed working with you.’
He doubted he would ever see her again. The Latvian sideshow was over, at least for him, if not for the people of Latvia. He had done his best.
As for Watson’s rather melodramatic threat at the end of their meeting, Matt found it hard to take seriously. The irony was that, while Watson’s accusations were essentially true, Matt’s plans barely existed. Ergo, no one could possibly have known about them. Either Watson was bluffing, or rather unsubtly trying to save face. Surely the Home Office had better things to do? Matt’s past record was unblemished and he counted for nothing, an ex-lobbyist of little importance. The only people who knew about Matt’s intentions were Rob and Alan: that either would pass on compromising information was unthinkable. If the security services were trying to flush him out, he would proclaim his innocence and show them he didn’t care.
Unafraid of the risks, he drove himself forward, grabbing every opportunity to hit out on social media at the government’s moral vacuity both at home and abr
oad. Painstakingly, he prepared for the launch of their movement, as the number of his Twitter followers grew by the day. James Crouch, the Prime Minister, and his corrupt cronies had gone unchallenged for too long. Across the nation, they trampled on the disadvantaged and made sure the rich got richer. In the wider world, they kowtowed to fascistic America and snuggled up to warmongering Russia. England’s former allies in Europe looked on aghast. Never in the field of human relations had so many friends and principles been betrayed in such a short time as by the cowardly few who pretended to run the country.
‘What a bunch of shysters! How do they get away with it?’ asked Rob one evening in the White Swan. Earlier that day the government had announced yet another cut in disability benefits.
‘Because no one stands up to them,’ Matt replied. ‘No one dares make a move on their own - and I don’t blame them. Once they realise they’re not alone, they’ll be ready to come out and fight.’
Over those first two weeks, during the day, Matt was buzzing with optimism and confidence. As long as he kept himself busy, all was well. Only the loneliness that enveloped him at the end of each day made him wonder if he was strong enough to succeed and survive on his own.
He told himself he didn’t miss Jenny, but he hated himself for losing his children. He hadn’t anticipated it would happen that way, that she would rip them away from him, his own flesh and blood. He had made a terrible miscalculation. The previous Sunday had been Jack’s sixth birthday, the first one he had missed. Glued to his computer screen, fighting the tears, he had watched Jack blow out his candles on the other side of the world, and Sophie, who was two years older, try to boss her brother about as he opened his presents. Matt wasn’t yet used to such pain.
What he found most difficult to put up with was his own company. He had forgotten what it was like to live on his own. His sparsely furnished two-bedroom flat was cold and impersonal. Apart from the photos on the mantelpiece, he still hadn’t got round to furnishing it properly. A shot or two of a peaty malt before he went to bed helped him to wipe clean his doubts and send him to sleep, hanging on to the picture in his mind’s eye of two tousled-haired children playing in the sun, or sleeping in the bunk beds he had seen on the videos, Jack with his striped tiger and Sophie with her rag doll. If only one day he would wake up and find them asleep in the next room.