by Jessica Ashe
That’s not a coincidence, and we both know it. The two men shake hands and then go their separate ways.
“The DefenceTech guy just passed something to Bradley during that handshake,” Terrell says. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Bradley opens his backpack and shoves something inside.
“A weapon?”
Terrell shakes his head. “Too small. And he’d never get a weapon inside Downing Street.”
“We have to warn Wade.”
“How? Even if we do get to see him, he won’t listen to us. I’m not sure what I would warn him about anyway. When does Bradley work?”
I remember meeting him in the afternoon when I asked him to pass a message on about my breakfast order. “He does the lunch to evening shift, I think. He could be going there now.”
“He doesn’t work weekends. There’s a skeleton staff at weekends, so I know the kitchen crew. That gives us two days. Any ideas?”
There’s one person left at Downing Street who might still trust me. It’s a long shot, but it’s the only shot I have.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Wade
If there’s one thing worse than a meeting with Gwen—a woman determined to take me down—it’s a breakfast meeting with Gwen. I’m too hungry and tired for this shit.
Even worse, she’s brought her team along with her. At least if the two of us were alone, we might be able to have an honest conversation. She could admit that DefenceTech is paying her to end the investigation, and I could tell her where to shove her threats. Instead, we’re both dancing around the issue and pretending we like each other.
“We might be overstepping our legal bounds with this investigation,” Gwen warns. “DefenceTech has more lawyers on staff than most law firms. If you go ahead, then you’re going to spend your entire term in office wrapped up in a lawsuit.”
“My Justice Secretary believes the investigation is entirely legal.”
“The government doesn’t have the right to investigate private companies without reasonable suspicion of wrongdoing. What exactly is it you suspect them of doing?”
Gwen stares at me, challenging me to answer and reveal my real motive to the room. How much does she know? She’s not stupid. If she doesn’t know all the facts, then it’s because she’s turning a blind eye to them.
“I’m not accusing DefenceTech of anything,” I reply. “The whole point of the investigation is to look into potential abuse within government. We’re investigating ourselves to ensure that money is being spent appropriately.”
“You’re focusing unduly on DefenceTech.”
“I never mentioned DefenceTech in my press release.”
“It’s the biggest defense contractor by a country mile. Its involvement is implied.”
“I’m sure DefenceTech will be happy to cooperate.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard.”
“You’ve discussed this with them?” I ask, raising an eyebrow to show fake concern. Gwen’s been talking to DefenceTech ever since I first mentioned the potential for an investigation. I even saw her meeting their lackey at 11 Downing Street one night, and I doubt that was the only meeting.
“Discussed is probably not the right word,” Gwen says, backtracking. “Representatives from DefenceTech have expressed their concerns. This isn’t going to go away.”
“Good.”
Gwen stares at me and I stare right back. Her advisors start getting twitchy at the awkward silence.
“Leave,” Gwen says to her staff. There’s a moment of hesitation and then they all get up and leave.
The second the door is closed, I turn back and confront Gwen without the smile I’ve been forcing myself to wear this entire time. “How much are they paying you, Gwen?”
“You have no idea what you’re doing,” she snaps. “This is all a game to you, isn’t it?”
“I’m taking this all incredibly seriously.”
“You don’t have a fucking clue. You don’t mess with these people.”
“I’m not scared of them.”
“You should be. We are not going to let that investigation happen, Wade. Mark my words.”
“We? Wow, you really take your client’s interests to heart.”
Gwen shakes her head. “I’m giving you one final chance. Call off the investigation.”
“Or what?”
“Or I won’t be able to stop them. Let’s just say, I hope your affairs are in order. Oh no, wait, you don’t have any friends or family do you?”
I grind my teeth and stare at Gwen for a few seconds until I can’t hold back any longer.
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
Gwen shakes her head and stands up, not a hint of remorse in her eyes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Wade. You’ve brought this on yourself.”
I yell at her, loud enough to be heard by her advisors on the other side of the door.
“Do not call me Wade. Ever. I am the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. You do not give me fucking ultimatums or final chances. Now leave, before I call security.”
Gwen walks out, not looking the least bit fazed. She has her phone out of her purse before the door is even closed, no doubt preparing a report to her masters. Not a day goes by when I don’t want to get rid of her. She played dirty to get me to give her the job, and I have no doubt she’ll play dirty to keep it.
There are two piles of paperwork waiting for me on my desk when I get back. Without a secretary, I don’t have anyone to filter out the crap. Now I have to read and think about every minor thing that requires my attention, and I have to do it without a decent cup of tea.
I’ve barely made it a third of the way through one pile when there’s a knock on my office door. I still associate the knock with Janie. I’m always expecting her to come through the door any second, but it doesn’t open.
“Come in,” I yell out.
One of the kitchen staff comes in balancing a tray of food. Breakfast. Thank God. He doesn’t look entirely comfortable, so I quickly make space on the desk to avoid him holding it any longer than necessary. There’s a bacon and egg sandwich and what smells like a strong coffee. I’d prefer tea, but this will do. He spills some of the coffee, but nothing major.
“Can I get you anything else, sir?” the man asks.
He’s sweating and nervous, and I remember that not everyone is used to working for the Prime Minister.
“Are you new?”
“Yes, sir.” He fidgets anxiously and I wonder if he’s ever even worked in a kitchen before let alone an important one.
“What’s your name?”
“Bradley, sir.”
“Thank you, Bradley. I don’t need anything else, so you can head back down to the kitchen now.”
Bradley quickly heads to the door as if there’s a bomb in the office and he doesn’t want to get caught in the blast. Am I that scary? I suppose I’ve not been at my best lately. It’s hard to be polite and considerate to everyone when you have responsibility for sixty-five million people on your shoulders. And no secretary. No Janie.
I briefly ignore the food so that I can focus on the pile of papers, but I can’t concentrate. I need to eat. I grab the bacon and egg sandwich and browse the football news online like a normal human being. I haven’t seen a single game this season. Granted, the season is only a few weeks old, but that’s still bad.
I take a bite out of my sandwich, only to nearly choke on it when Lionel bursts through the door.
He yells something at me unintelligibly. Equally unintelligible, with a mouthful of food, I reply ‘what?’
“Spit it out, sir,” Lionel insists before taking heavy breaths. “Do… not… swallow.”
I stare at Lionel assuming he must be mad, but that’s not crazy I see in his eyes. He’s deadly serious. I spit the food out and watch as Lionel breathes a sigh of relief.
“What the hell is—” I stop as alarms sound throughout the building. Loud ones. We’re on lockdown.
Ten security officer
s swarm into my building and surround me for ten minutes until the alarm finally stops.
“Alright,” I say to Lionel, as the other security staff go back to work, “you need to tell me what the fuck that was all about.”
Lionel opens his mouth, but it’s not him I hear next.
“I’ll explain,” Terrell says, strolling into my office. I’m about to yell at him when Janie walks in right behind.
“Someone had better explain,” I yell. “And fast.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Janie - Twenty Minutes Ago
“Ma’am, you know I can’t let you in. I’d love to, I really would.”
“Please, Lionel. This is urgent. How about if I answer one of your jokes?”
“Out of the question,” Lionel replies and then turns to Terrell. “Same goes for you, sir. My hands are tied.”
“Shit,” I swear loudly, attracting the attention of some nearby tourists. None of them recognize us, but it’s only a matter of time before a reporter picks up on the disturbance.
I didn’t expect Lionel to let us in, but I couldn’t come up with a better idea. Movies make it look so easy to get close to important people. In reality, all it takes to stop you is an old security guard at a steel gate.
Lionel genuinely looks upset. I never told him why I was leaving, but given the urgency and that fact that I’ve been banned from Downing Street, he must know I betrayed the Prime Minister. It’s a miracle he’s still talking to me.
“A member of staff who works in the kitchen is going to show up later today,” Terrell says to Lionel.
“Probably around lunchtime,” I add. “His name’s Bradley. Short guy, touch overweight.”
Lionel nods. “He’s working today.”
“Wait, he’s already here?” Terrell asks.
“Yeah. Showed up a few hours ago. What’s this all about?”
“We can’t say,” I reply. “But we think he’s dangerous.”
“That’s a little vague. Why don’t you report him to the Chancellor’s security team if you’re so sure?”
“We’re telling you,” I plead. “That’s what… wait, why did you say the Chancellor’s security team?”
“He works in the kitchen at 11 Downing Street.”
“No, he doesn’t. I’ve seen him in the kitchen at No. 10.”
Lionel frowns and disappears into his hut to check his paperwork. “Bradley is definitely registered to work at No. 11, not No. 10.”
“Could he walk into No. 10 after getting through here?” I ask.
“No,” Terrell replies. “He’d have to show his pass again to get in No. 10.”
Terrell’s right. I had to show my pass every morning to people who already knew my name. And it wasn’t just a cursory glance. They looked at it properly.
“So how is he getting into Number 10?” I ask.
“It’s possible he…” Lionel trails off. “No, didn’t that get locked up a few years back?”
“What is it, Lionel?”
“Number ten and eleven have always been connected,” Lionel explains.
“You can’t move between the two anymore,” Terrell says. “Trust me, Wade does not want Gwen appearing out of the blue.”
“That might not be entirely true,” Lionel says. “About the connections, I mean. The kitchen used to be shared between ten and eleven. It’s not anymore, but then the Prime Minister requested alterations to squeeze a gym in down there. I think… yeah, the two buildings share a pantry now.”
“Isn’t there a security guard placed on the door to stop people moving between ten and eleven?” I ask. “Bradly took me to the pantry once, and I’m sure I remember a guard.”
“There probably is,” Lionel replies. “But all those chefs look the same in their whites. It might be possible to move between the two.”
“I really don’t like the sound of this,” I say. “Is there any way you can get us into the kitchen, Lionel? We just want to ask Bradley a few questions. It won’t take long.”
Lionel stares at me for a few moments and then shakes his head. I assume he’s about to tell me ‘no’ but then he opens the gate.
“You left something in the kitchen?” Lionel says loudly, so that his colleague can hear.
“Huh? Oh yeah,” I reply. “A necklace. It’s an important family heirloom.”
“Okay, we’ll go look for it. Terry, man the gate for a few minutes, would you.”
We try to look calm and collected as Lionel leads us around to the back entrance. We get a bit of grief at the door, but the guard lets us inside when Lionel promises to stay with us.
“I don’t see him,” Terrell says, as we look around the kitchen. The place is half empty, and those that are around are cleaning up after cooking breakfast.
I grab the nearest member of staff and give him a description of Bradley.
“Oh, I know the guy you mean,” the young woman replies. “He’s new. I was going to take the Prime Minister his breakfast, but he insisted on doing it. Never met the big man before, I guess. He looked nervous as hell.”
“Fuck,” Terrell mutters, while I’m thinking the same thing.
Lionel isn’t thinking. He flies out of the kitchen and heads up the stairs with an amount of energy I would have thought impossible for a guy his age. We quickly follow the sound of shouting. Lionel has Bradley shoved against a wall halfway up the staircase, dangerously close to destroying a painting of a Prime Minister I don’t recognize.
Bradley is protesting in that pathetic way only guilty people can. Lionel ignores him and rifles through his pockets until he finds a small bottle.
“What’s this?” he asks Bradley.
Bradley doesn’t reply so Terrell takes the bottle and looks at it. Bradley’s tried to scratch the label off, but Lionel manages to read the main ingredient.
“Hemlock. What the hell is that?”
“Hemlock?” I say urgently, snatching the bottle from Terrell’s hand. The bottle is almost completely empty. If this is in Wade’s food… “Poison. He’s poisoned the food.”
Lionel shoves Bradley down to a nearby guard. “Arrest that man and put the place on lockdown.”
We all run up the stairs, but Lionel is way ahead of us. He dashes into Wade’s office, but before we can follow him in there Jackson steps in front of us and blocks our way. Terrell and I used to be able to come and go in Wade’s office as we pleased, but our privileges have been well and truly revoked. Seconds later, at least ten guards dash into the Prime Minister’s office as an alarm rings out through the building.
It’s the longest ten minutes of my life as I stand there not knowing whether Wade is alive or dead. Terrell tries to convince me that the lack of doctors going into the office is a good sign, but I won’t relax until I see him.
Finally the alarm stops, and Jackson agrees to let us inside after patting us down.
Wade’s alive.
And he’s pissed.
Terrell gives Wade a quick summary of what happened. If Wade cares about how close he came to dying, he doesn’t show it. He won’t allow doctors in to check on him, and only seems focused on hearing the details.
“How did you know it was poison?” Wade asks. “What did you say it was called? Hemlock?”
“You have Janie to thank for that,” Terrell says.
Wade looks at me for only the second time since I walked in. “Didn’t any of you study classics?” I ask to blank expressions. “Socrates was killed with Hemlock. The Greeks used it a lot to execute prisoners.”
“No need to guess who’s behind this,” Terrell says.
“DefenceTech,” Wade replies.
“Gwen must be involved,” I add. “Bradley got a job working in her house. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“It’s not,” Wade admits. “She gave me an ultimatum earlier. Practically admitted she was going to try and get rid of me.”
“And you didn’t think to mention this to anyone?” Terrell asks.
“I hadn’t
had breakfast or a cup of tea. You know I can’t think without a cup of tea, and I’m still bloody hungry.”
“Gwen must be deeper in this than we thought. She’s taking a huge risk here, and not just a political one.”
“We need to tell the police,” I say. “It won’t look good politically, but we’ve gone beyond that now.”
“There won’t be a single shred of evidence against her,” Wade replies. “She’s too smart.”
“Then we get some,” Terrell says passionately. “We can’t just sit back and let her take another stab at you. Literally.”
“I don’t intend to. I’m going to—”
“Sir,” I interrupt loudly.
“What is it?” Wade replies.
“Sir, put down the sandwich.”
Wade looks at the hemlock filled sandwich that found its way into his hand again. “Fuck. Can someone get rid of this thing? I need something to eat.”
“I have protein bars,” I offer. “They’re better for you than that sandwich.”
“That’ll do. Thanks. Now I just need a cup of tea.”
“I’ll call someone up,” Terrell says.
“No,” I say. “Allow me.”
“That’s better,” Wade says as he finishes the tea. “I’ve missed this so much since you left.”
“Is that all you’ve missed?” I ask.
“There are other things.” Wade and I smile at each other, and I know for certain the trust is back. I fucked up big time, but he’s already forgiven me.
“By all means, have sex on the desk,” Terrell says. “I’ll just sit in the corner and read a book.”
“I suppose we should deal with the whole ‘murder plot’ thing,” I say.
“I guess.”
“And how do we do that?” Terrell asks. “We could try to access her computer, but someone’s bound to get suspicious. Best case scenario, they leak it to the press. Worst case scenario, they leak it to Gwen.”
“I don’t suppose you learned how to hack in college did you?” Wade asks.
“That’s not something they teach in journalism classes,” I reply.