State Secrets

by Quintin Jardine

  There was an aura around the Cabinet Secretary; at that moment in time he was the most important person in the country and he knew it. He laid the tray on the spare desk as one of his junior assistants closed the door behind him.

  ‘I need this,’ he said, as he poured. ‘I have just seen homo politicus, to coin a phrase, at the apex of his preening cycle. Already I regret not having the event recorded in some way, on video or in an official minute. Now what happened will be coloured for history by the individual recollections of everyone in the room.’

  He handed us a mug each, milk added, and sat down.

  ‘So who’s in charge?’ I asked.

  ‘I am, I suppose. As soon as I left you earlier, I advised Dame Julia Atkinson, Her Majesty’s Private Secretary, of the Prime Minister’s death.’

  Neil raised an eyebrow. ‘Not Kramer?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t his place to be informed first. I had to tell the Queen and then await her instructions.’ He paused, sipped his coffee and then sighed, as the edge was taken off the tension. ‘The possibility must have been discussed, for Dame Julia came back to me half an hour sooner than I’d anticipated, fifteen minutes before the scheduled Cabinet meeting.’

  ‘What was the decision?’ my friend asked. ‘Send for the Deputy Prime Minister?’

  ‘No; as I’ve explained, that is not an office of state. The view was that as the Conservative Party continues to hold a majority in the House it is for the party as a whole to make a recommendation to Her Majesty. In a normal course of events,’ he explained, ‘that would be done by the outgoing Prime Minister.’

  ‘Abnormally?’ I chipped in.

  ‘That was what I had to determine. I decided to allow the Cabinet to assemble; before it could be brought formally into session, I advised the members of the Prime Minister’s death and of the command of the monarch. The Chancellor asked me for guidance, and I told him that it was a matter for the party to determine within its constitution and rules.’

  ‘You passed the buck,’ I suggested.

  ‘Not quite. I then went off minute, and said that from what I knew of those rules, if the parliamentary group can agree unanimously on a candidate, that would obviate the need for a ballot of the membership. And I went a little further; I told them that in my view they had around two hours to get that done, so that the new Prime Minister can go to the palace this afternoon.’

  He smiled, unashamedly pleased with himself. ‘The Chancellor and the Foreign Secretary took that advice. The Home Secretary remained silent. The Defence Secretary,’ he added, ‘remained absent.

  ‘After very little discussion, it was decided that Cabinet should adjourn and summon the officers of the Nineteen Twenty-Two Committee, the backbenchers’ body, to join them. I believe that its chairman is the returning officer in leadership elections.’ He drained his mug. ‘I have no part in those deliberations, so I withdrew. Before I did, though, I heard the Home Secretary propose that Mrs Kramer be asked to attend also.’

  ‘How did that go down?’

  ‘Very badly with the Foreign Secretary; the Chancellor defused matters by saying that was a decision for the chair of the Twenty-two Committee.’ He stood once more. ‘We’re in limbo, chaps, and so is the nation, although it doesn’t know it. I must go back and await developments.’

  ‘What about the announcement of the Prime Minister’s death?’ Neil asked. ‘Has that happened yet?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘but it can’t be delayed much longer. The hospital is in lockdown, awaiting instructions that nobody is willing to give. The palace wants to make it public, but ministers won’t agree on who should do it before a successor is chosen.’

  ‘It seems obvious to me,’ I observed. ‘It has bugger all to do with ministers. She’s dead, out of the picture, as private as any citizen can ever be. It’s a family matter, so let big Grover make the announcement.’

  Hamblin gave a small nod. ‘Yes, I was thinking along those lines too. It’s time for an executive decision; I will ask Mr Bryant to make the announcement from the podium in Downing Street, where all the media are gathered. There may be consequences, but frankly I don’t care any longer. The venality of some of these people disgusts me. They always opt for expediency rather than what’s right.’

  He left us closeted once more. I’d have given a couple of wisdom teeth to have been a fly on the wall of the Cabinet Room. If the Chancellor had gone through with his stated intent to challenge Kramer for the leadership, I wondered if he would have the voting strength to carry it off, or indeed the strength of will.

  In a face-off between the two of them I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d have voted for Ellis as Prime Minister. He’d struck me as a fixer but not necessarily a doer, a wise counsellor, no doubt, but not necessarily a leader. Truth be told, I didn’t fancy either of them. Further truth be told, I hadn’t met a single person in London that I’d have trusted to run the country, other than Norman Hamblin and, God help me, Aileen.

  I was contemplating the lesser of two evils when my phone sounded. I checked the screen and saw that it was June Crampsey. I took her call.

  ‘Bob,’ the Saltire’s managing editor began breathlessly, ‘are you still in Westminster?’

  ‘Right in the middle of it,’ I replied.

  ‘Are you getting any sense down there that something momentous is happening? That Emily Repton might have died and they’re not telling us?’

  ‘Why should I? What makes you ask that?’

  ‘It’s . . . ach . . . I have a correspondent in London, he’s damn good and he thinks she is. He’s close to the action and he knows just about everyone, including Repton’s protection officers. He’s just called me to say that he’s seen them leaving the Royal Free Hospital, both of them together. He said they wouldn’t have done that if they’d had a live body to guard, and he added that from the look on their faces, she’s a goner. Can you find anything out from any of the people you’re seeing?’

  ‘Lord Pilmar and Lady Mercer wouldn’t be among the first to know,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Come on, I know you better than that. You’ve been there for two days. You’ve seen more than them. I’m asking you, straight out, have you heard anything that would justify me running this story?’

  I frowned. Talking to my daughter was one thing, talking to a newspaper editor, even one from my own team, was something else. On the other hand . . .

  ‘If I could see out of the window of the room I’m in now,’ I began, ‘and into Downing Street, I think I’d see them setting up the podium that they use for special announcements. Would I be expecting Emily to come out and declare a miraculous recovery? No, I would not. Trust your reporter, and trust your instincts. That’s all I will say to you.’

  She drew a deep breath. ‘Cheers, Bob. I’ll quote you as a source close to Downing Street.’

  ‘Don’t you bloody dare!’ I laughed.

  ‘Why are we still here?’ McIlhenney exclaimed, suddenly, as June went off to break her story. ‘Bob, I’ve had enough of this; bugger the politicians, bugger the national crisis. I’m a serving police officer, and I know of a murder that’s taken place, one that hasn’t been reported. Yet here I am, sitting on my hands, doing nothing about it. This is a historic moment, man, truly; the assassination of a prime minister. It’s going to be written about and pored over; when it is, I want to be seen to have done my duty, not to have been part of a cover-up. Don’t you?’

  His outburst took me by surprise, but I knew that he was right. ‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I do.’

  ‘Good. What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘I think we should tell Hamblin that we’re going for lunch. On the way there we should call in at your office, go straight to the Commissioner and tell him what’s happened. It’s his watch; he needs to know.’

  ‘Thank God,’ Neil sighed. �
�An outbreak of common sense.’

  ‘There’s just one more thing,’ I added. ‘I’ve gone too far to stop n—’

  The phone on my desk rang, halting me in mid-sentence. I picked it up, and heard Norman Hamblin’s voice in my ear. ‘Mr Skinner, I am calling from the Cabinet Room. I’d be grateful if you and Commander McIlhenney would come here at once. The Prime Minister designate wishes to speak with you before he goes to the palace. You can access Number Ten from the building you are in. The security staff are expecting you.’

  ‘Lunch is on hold,’ I said to Neil. ‘They’ve chosen a new leader and we’ve been summoned to meet him.’ He looked doubtful. ‘Come on,’ I cajoled him, ‘we can go straight from there.’

  We’d have had no idea how to find our way through the maze of corridors that led to the heart of our government but for Hamblin’s assistant, Cerberus. She tried to explain, but gave up and led us there, through security and all the way to the door of the Cabinet Room. The Cabinet Secretary was waiting for us; he didn’t look overjoyed.

  ‘The Prime Minister is ready for you,’ he said.

  ‘Who?’ I asked, although his expression told me the answer.

  ‘Mr Kramer. He and the Chancellor offered themselves as candidates. The chair of the Twenty-Two Committee decided that given the urgency of the situation, the normal rules should be set aside and the matter decided by a secret ballot within the Cabinet. He sought the agreement of the Chairman of the Party, who had been summoned and was present, to this procedure; unsurprisingly, this was forthcoming.’

  ‘In the continued absence of the Defence Secretary?’

  ‘Indeed. However, it was academic; the Chancellor withdrew his candidacy before it went to the vote. He must have worked out that he would lose. With Wheeler being absent he was probably right.’

  ‘What would have happened in the event of a tie?’

  ‘The chair and the two vice-chairs of the Nineteen Twenty-Two Committee would have exercised a casting vote. Two of them have served in Cabinet and from what I know of them, I believe they would have supported Mr Ellis.’

  ‘Lucky old Roland.’

  ‘Be that as it may,’ the Cabinet Secretary said, dispassionately, ‘he is about to be invited to form the next government. I think it will look very much like the old one, but with his people in Defence, the Foreign Office and the Home Office.’

  ‘How about the Chancellor?’ Neil asked.

  ‘He’ll stay and will take Mr Kramer’s place as Deputy Prime Minister; that has to happen to hold the Cabinet together. Now, come on, he’s waiting for you.’

  He swept the door open and ushered us into a room that both of us had seen countless times in television, but neither of us had ever contemplated entering.

  Roland Kramer was in the big chair, at the middle of the long table, facing the windows. He rose as we stepped past Hamblin. ‘Mr Skinner,’ he exclaimed, ‘thank you for joining me.’ He glanced at Neil. ‘I’d prefer it if your colleague remained outside.’

  I looked him in the eye; there was something new in there, a look of triumph, the gleam of a gold medallist on his lap of honour. What I didn’t see, or hear in his tone, was any sign of regret that he had taken a dead woman’s chair while it was still metaphorically warm.

  ‘Commander McIlhenney will stay,’ I replied. ‘He’s been a party to this business all the way through, and he’s not being excluded now.’

  ‘I said I’d prefer it,’ Kramer murmured, glacially. ‘Must I make it an order?’

  ‘Don’t waste your time, or mine. Get on with it.’

  A quick mirthless smile twisted his mouth. ‘Bang goes your peerage,’ he chuckled.

  ‘I wouldn’t accept one, not from you. What do you want?’

  ‘I want you to prepare a detailed report of your investigation, and have it ready for me when I return from the palace. It should not be copied to anyone else, not even to the head of the Security Service, particularly not to Mrs Dennis in fact, as I’m thinking of replacing her.’

  ‘With a white Oxbridge Tory?’ I shot back, wiping the smirk from his face. ‘Hands off Amanda, no kidding.’

  ‘I’m afraid that you’re out of your usual arena, Mr Skinner, and out of your depth.’

  ‘I’m a strong swimmer,’ I retorted, ‘and I’ve never minded playing away games.’

  ‘No? I’m afraid this one is over. Once you’ve completed your report, you can leave your temporary MI5 accreditation with Mr Hamblin. You should be able catch a flight home this evening, I’m sure.’

  I took out my laminated card. ‘I’ll hand this back to Amanda,’ I told him, ‘to nobody else, and only when she asks for it. You may think you’re the centre of your own universe right now, but let me show you the real world. At this moment, until you’ve been to the palace you don’t have any authority. When you do, you will be an unelected prime minister fast-tracked into post by a national emergency, leading a parliamentary party containing a fair number of people who are sceptical about you and, I suspect, quite a few more who hate your guts.’

  ‘I can live with that,’ he retorted. ‘I can win over my enemies.’

  ‘You mean you think you can bribe them,’ I snapped, ‘with government jobs and other favours. Maybe you can, but sure as hell you can’t afford to make any new ones. Remove Mrs Dennis, and I can tell you, you’ll alienate the entire Security Service; given the risks this nation faces, that is not something that you want to be doing. In the process you’d also make an enemy of me. You may see me as a provincial hick, but when I set my mind to breaking someone, they wind up broken.’

  ‘I will consider what you say,’ he said, quietly, but I knew he’d do more than that. Kramer was far from stupid.

  ‘No, you will do what I say; you’ll leave Amanda in place, for the country’s sake. As for me reporting to you, that’s not going to happen; I report to her alone, and I will. Before that, though, Commander McIlhenney and I are going straight to New Scotland Yard, to put the investigation of Ms Repton’s murder on to a proper footing.’

  The Prime Minister-in-waiting frowned, then nodded. ‘It doesn’t seem that I can stop you,’ he sighed. ‘You won’t mention Spitfire, though. That has to be kept under wraps for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘If it’s relevant, the investigating officers will pursue it,’ I replied, ‘but we won’t draw it to their attention.’

  ‘Very well.’ He looked at the Cabinet Secretary. I wondered how long Hamblin would stay in post; a few weeks perhaps but he’d be on Kramer’s hit list for sure. ‘Show them the side exit, please, and let me know as soon as the car and the security detail are in place.’

  He turned his back on us; we were dismissed.

  Twenty-Six

  The only thing that Bob Skinner has ever seen is the person in front of him. I’ve never known him to be impressed by anyone’s status, nor dismissive of it either. It was obvious to me and to Mr Hamblin that Kramer didn’t know how to handle him, so I wasn’t surprised when he chose the better part of valour and backed down.

  It was wise of him too; we were guardians of a secret that could have unseated him, although he didn’t know it at the time . . . or so I assumed. Or did he know about his wife and Merlin Brady? Even now, it’s impossible to say for sure.

  I did fasten on one thing that Bob said to Kramer: that he would only hand his MI5 authority back to Amanda Dennis . . . and only when she asked for it. To me, that was a significant change in his attitude; I wondered if he’d meant it or if it was simply a bluff.

  As we left 10 Downing Street by the tradesman’s entrance . . . it’s more of a complex than a building . . . I saw that the big armour-plated Jaguar that is the Prime Minister’s personal vehicle was waiting. So were the driver, and two men that I knew were the PM’s personal protection officers, because of the umpteen times I’d seen them alongside
the late Ms Repton on TV. There was a fourth man also; he was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him . . . until Bob shot him a sideways look and I remembered that I’d seen him standing outside Kramer’s office in the Commons, twenty-four hours earlier.

  We moved towards the street then paused. A white podium stood in the middle of the road. A man I definitely didn’t recognise stood at it, facing a throng of journalists, cameras and almost unbearably bright lights.

  ‘That’s Grover Bryant,’ Bob whispered. ‘Hold on.’

  He was a great, pallid lump of a bloke with wild, greasy dark hair. He was wearing a pale green linen suit; it was crumpled, and hung on him like a sack. The media crew were silent as they gazed at him; they knew that something momentous was about to happen.

  He grasped the sides of the lectern and held them tight. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, then his voice faltered. He seemed to brace himself, and started again. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is with enormous regret that I must inform you that the Right Honourable Emily Repton, MP, the Prime Minister, my sister Emily, died a short while ago in the Royal Free Hospital. The precise cause of her death is as yet unknown, but further information will be shared with you by the appropriate authorities as it becomes available.’

  He paused for breath and as he did so the media crew erupted and became a jostling, yelling mob.

  Bryant held up a hand to still their questions, waiting until silence was restored. When it was, he continued. ‘I am advised that the Right Honourable Roland Kramer, MP, Home Secretary and Deputy Prime Minister, has been called to Buckingham Palace, where he will be invited to form a new government. Thank you and goodbye.’

  The babble of shouted entreaties broke out once more, but he ignored them, turned on his heel and walked back into Number Ten.

  ‘Historic’ is a word that’s overused in the modern world, in my opinion, but at that moment I felt a frisson of excitement; that moment had been historic, in the truest sense of the word, and I’d been there. People who are older than me say they can remember where they were when Kennedy was shot, or when Elvis died; now, I understand.