by Paul Mathews
Fed up with sitting on his backside for most of the day, Howie decided to stretch his legs and walk to the other end of the room. As he strolled across the red carpet, he began to wonder if the president really would go back on his promise about old energy. It would be strange if he did. Jan Polak was a man of principles. No business or individual, however big or powerful, had ever received a favour from him. Neither did Jan accept unsolicited cash or gifts from the outside world. Dodgy deals and dubious donations might characterise the rest of European politics, but not here. Not in post-revolution Britain.
Howie stopped by one of the huge windows and stared out at the world beyond. Had Sky Eastern really influenced the president? He tried to think of a situation where the president’s principles might be tested. A situation where he might be tempted to prioritise his own needs over and above those of his political party, his government or even his country. Howie stood thinking for a full five minutes. But he couldn’t think of anything. And oil exploration – why that of all industries? It didn’t make any sense.
He didn’t notice the main door being pushed open very slowly. Only when the large figure of Bogdan Bogdanowic appeared in the corner of his eye did he snap out of his daydream and turn to face the door. ‘Bogdan,’ he shouted, as he walked back to his seat. ‘Any news on the president?’
Bogdan looked surprised to see him. ‘No news on president.’
‘Do you need to search this room?’ asked Howie.
‘Erm, well … n-n-no, I don’t,’ stuttered Bogdan, sounding unsure. ‘You have meeting in here now?’
‘Just with Martha Blake. And we’ve got another one at four with the vice presidents, so we could be here all afternoon.’
Bogdan suddenly looked worried. ‘I change mind. I need to do security check for 4.00pm meeting.’
Howie sighed. ‘Make your mind up.’
Bogdan was still looking concerned. ‘If vice presidents there, I need to do check. I not know this until you say.’
‘Okay, okay.’
‘I need you out by 3.45pm for security check.’ Bogdan bowed his head. ‘Sorry if this problem, Mr Pond. But room must be clear then.’
There was something about Bogdan’s behaviour that made Howie suspicious. Bogdan wasn’t usually concerned about whether security procedures caused Howie, or anyone else, any inconvenience. Perhaps he’d been on a training course recently. It was the only explanation. Howie nodded his agreement.
Bogdan nodded back, turned and hurried out of the room.
A few minutes later, Martha was back. ‘That’s the leak plugged.’ She walked over to Howie. ‘What are your thoughts on all that Sky Eastern business?’
‘It doesn’t add up. I don’t see why he would approve test drilling in British waters. New energy was always part of his vision for the future.’
‘Money is the only thing that I could think of.’
‘Jan isn’t driven by money. Or even power – not in itself. I know it sounds like a cliché, but that’s Jan. That’s why people love him.’
Martha sighed. ‘None of it makes much sense. Even if Eastern has got some kind of hold over him – financial or otherwise – that doesn’t help explain his disappearance.’
‘Maybe it’s a red herring. My gut feeling is it’s Oskar and Maxim we’ve got to worry about.’
‘Yes. Mine, too.’
‘What are we going to do between now and the big meeting?’ asked Howie. ‘We don’t have much time.’
‘I think a little research is required. And you can help me.’
Howie’s heart sank. ‘It doesn’t involve using an e-terminal, does it?’
Martha put her hand on his shoulder. ‘No, it doesn’t. Now, come on. I want to double-check the British constitution for loopholes that might buy us some more time. We can read it together.’
Howie groaned. That didn’t sound like much fun.
Chapter 38
Britt had rushed home, put on a new outfit, and dashed back to central London. She was now only one hundred metres from the Buckingham Palace gates. They were beginning to feel like a second home. She checked her bleeper. It was 3.28pm. Bogdan would be here any minute. Those two police officers should then let her through the gates without too much fuss. Bogdan would take her inside the palace and escort her to the State Dining Room. Britt would find a suitable hiding place, wait for the meeting to start and then listen for confirmation that the president was still missing – preferably from someone other than Martha Blake, as her bleep to Howie was already one of Britt’s sources. But there would be dozens of people at that meeting. It shouldn’t be a problem. She would also be able to hear the results of the nomination voting. Once the meeting was over and its participants had returned to their offices, she would escape the palace, rush to her desk and write the story for tomorrow’s edition of The Republican. George would have to reverse his decision to shunt her on to features. Everything would go back to normal.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the squeak of her knee-high red leather boots. She hadn’t worn them in years and had forgotten what a high-pitched racket they made when they rubbed together. She had rescued them from the back of her wardrobe for one reason only – they matched the dark-red coat, sweater and trousers she was currently wearing. Even her tinted glasses had dark-red rims. Her single-colour ensemble wasn’t a fashion statement. It was her attempt at camouflage. Britt had once visited Buckingham Palace on a school trip, and she remembered the State Dining Room’s carpet, walls and curtains were all red. The same shade of red that she was wearing today. If a collar, sleeve or boot popped out from behind the curtain – or wherever she was hiding – it would reduce her chances of being spotted.
Britt felt an adrenaline rush as she realised how close she was to achieving her goal. But she knew there was a possibility that things might not go to plan. In fact, they could go seriously wrong. If she was spotted the police would be called. She would be arrested as a 24-7 and dragged to a police station. It could be days before she saw daylight again. She spoke aloud to herself. ‘Be calm. Be cool. Be careful.’
After a few minutes, she checked her bleeper again. It was 3.35pm. Bogdan was late. There was no sign of him in the distance. Unfortunately for her, he wasn’t a man who moved quickly. That meant it was unlikely she would set foot inside the palace until at least twenty to four. Bogdan had said the vice presidents would start arriving from about ten to. From what she could remember from her school trip, the State Dining Room was on the other side of the palace from the main entrance. It would take several minutes, if not more, to walk there. She wouldn’t be able to run once she was inside. That would draw attention and she didn’t want that. She needed to get to that room before anyone else. Time was going to be very tight.
Britt stared at the gates ahead of her. The two police officers were standing by the left-hand gate awaiting her arrival. She had deliberately held back, to avoid getting into a long conversation with them. But then she had a thought. Maybe she could persuade them to let her through now? Then she could meet Bogdan right outside the palace entrance and save herself two or three valuable minutes. It was worth a try. She walked up to them. They didn’t recognise her, so she reintroduced herself. ‘Hello again, officers. It’s that bloody journalist again.’
The tall officer shook his head. ‘Please, madam. Don’t use language like that to describe yourself.’
‘We don’t think of you as that bloody journalist no more,’ added the short officer. ‘Not even a journalist. You’re just a normal human being. Like what we are.’
‘One who’s got the country’s best interests – and our interests – at heart, madam.’
As Britt began to speak, the short officer spoke over her. ‘But that other bloody journalist, Rosie Parker – she won’t be on our Christmas card list.’
The tall officer frowned. ‘Definitely not. I know I’m an officer of the law, but if I ever come face-to-face with that fraud again, I can tell you now, madam. I will not be responsibl
e for my actions.’
‘You ain’t seen him when he’s angry. There was a French school trip here on Sunday. Kids were climbing all over the railings. Chaos it was.’
‘It was like the storming of the Bastille, madam.’
The police officers carried on with their story. But Britt wasn’t listening. She had noticed Bogdan moving towards them at a speed that didn’t seem possible for a man of his size. Within half a minute, he had reached the other side of the gate.
‘Sorry,’ gasped Bogdan, through the railings. ‘Held up … meeting.’
The tall officer raised a hand. ‘Greetings, Mr Bogdanowic. Let us just finish this story and we’ll be right with you.’
Britt didn’t like the look of Bogdan. His face was sweaty, his skin pale and his breathing heavy. The last thing she needed was him collapsing – it would be game over for her. And possibly game over for Bogdan, judging by the state of him. ‘Take a few deep breaths, Bogdan. I’ll get them to open the gate.’ She turned to the police officers and spoke urgently. ‘I need to get through now.’
The short officer was so engrossed in his storytelling, he didn’t hear. ‘So these French schoolkids are running riot. Then who suddenly appears? Our old friend the American ambassador, Clinton Stackshaker, with some American woman who was covered in jewellery.’
‘Tell me another time,’ urged Britt.
The short officer nodded towards his colleague. ‘Me and him didn’t have a chance to say nothing to these two VIPs. We were too busy being given the run around by those little French terrors.’
‘We’re still good physical specimens, madam. But not as young as we used to be.’
‘No, really,’ insisted Britt. ‘I don’t have time for this.’
The tall officer smiled. ‘It’ll only take a moment. You wait till he gets to the punchline.’
Britt felt like beating them to the punchline – with her right fist. Before she could protest, the short officer had launched back into the story.
‘So the ambassador yells something at them in French. They stop what they’re doing, jump off the railings and run off towards the park. Like they just seen a ghost.’
Bogdan bent down and put his hands on his knees. ‘We … need to go.’
The tall officer took up the story. ‘So I asked the ambassador what it was he said to them. And you’ll never guess.’
‘I don’t care,’ hissed Britt.
Bogdan sat down on the ground. ‘I not feel too good.’
The tall officer waved a hand towards Bogdan. ‘Be with you in a moment, sir.’ He turned to Britt. ‘He told them, in French, that he was the king. And his well-dressed lady friend was the queen. And if they didn’t get off his railings in the next five seconds, he’d have them all thrown in the Tower of London!’
The officers roared with laughter, as Bogdan started wheezing loudly.
Britt spoke in a firm voice. ‘That was a fascinating tale, gentlemen. Now let me through those gates.’
‘We got loads more stories like that,’ replied the short officer, patting his colleague on the back. ‘We could write a book, couldn’t we, Charlie?’
‘That is correct, Charlie. Things are never dull outside these gates.’
Britt’s patience had run out. ‘Things will get a lot livelier, if you don’t open those gates in the next five seconds.’
The officers looked at each other, then at her – unsure whether her anger was genuine.
‘For king’s sake, let me through!’ snapped Britt. ‘Or I swear, I will put you pair of Charlies on the front page of The Republican tomorrow. And once your bosses read about your big mouths and loose tongues, the only gates you’ll be standing in front of will be the ones in your gardens, while you’re suspended awaiting disciplinary hearings.’
Both the officers’ mouths opened. For a change, not a word came from either of them. The tall officer took a deep breath through his nose. Then he marched indignantly to the button that opened the gate and pressed it.
Britt half-smiled, half-grimaced. ‘Thank you.’
The officers turned to each other, shook their heads and spoke as one. ‘Bloody journalist.’
The gate opened and Britt hurried towards Bogdan. She needed to check if he was still in a fit state to escort her inside the palace. He was back on his feet, but puffing urgently on an inhaler. ‘Are you alright to get going, Bogdan?’
‘I think so,’ he croaked, patting his chest.
Britt checked her bleeper. It was 3.40pm. The vice presidents would start arriving in about ten minutes and she wasn’t even in the palace. ‘How long will it take to get to the State Dining Room, once we’re in there?’
‘After security … not long.’
She had forgotten that there would be some sort of airport-style security to get through. And Howie had mentioned last week that the palace had just opened up for visitors again. She would just have to hope that she didn’t get stuck behind a group of rioting French schoolchildren. ‘How long will security take?’
Bogdan didn’t reply. He just waved his hand rapidly. She assumed it meant that security wouldn’t be a problem, rather than a sign that he was about to collapse, die and ruin her chances of getting to that meeting.
They started walking slowly towards the palace entrance. They had only travelled twenty metres when Bogdan stopped to take another blast on his inhaler. But his medication didn’t seem to be helping much. This continued for the whole journey to the entrance – every twenty metres or so, he took another puff. And he wasn’t sounding any better.
Britt had to say something. ‘I’m sorry you’re not well. But if we carry on at this speed, I’m not going to make it.’
‘Can’t go faster,’ panted Bogdan. ‘Asthma attack.’
She linked her right arm with his left arm. ‘Come on, you can do it.’ With all her strength, she pulled Bogdan towards the entrance. It was like dragging a fatally wounded buffalo. But he was starting to move a little bit faster.
Two minutes later, they entered the palace. In front of them was an unmanned security checkpoint – a bag scanner and a single archway for visitors to walk through.
Bogdan reached into his pocket and handed Britt a pass. ‘Here. Visitor security pass. You supposed to have someone with you.’ He took a huge breath that Britt thought might be his last. ‘But I cannot go on.’
‘Where are the security people?’ asked Britt, desperately looking around for someone to wave her through the machine.
‘Must be on break,’ wheezed Bogdan.
‘I can’t wait around. What happens if I just run through that machine?’
‘Alarm go off.’
‘But you can turn it off?’
‘Yes.’ Bogdan pointed beyond the archway. ‘Button over there. I press. It recognise my hand.’
Britt assessed Bogdan’s physical shape. It wasn’t good. In fact, it wasn’t even bad. It was terrible. So terrible, she wasn’t filled with confidence that his hand would reach it before she had been wrestled to the ground by security. ‘Are the cameras working now?’
‘No. Still trying to fix.’
At least that was something. Britt put her hand on Bogdan’s arm. ‘I’m going to run through there and you’re going to get up, take a deep breath, walk through and press that button to stop the alarm.’
Bogdan took another puff on his inhaler. ‘You know where room is?’
‘I think so. I can always ask someone.’
‘You get caught, they call police. I cannot help.’
‘I know.’ She checked her bleeper. It was 3.44pm. ‘Just push that button.’
Bogdan nodded. ‘Your eyes,’ he croaked. ‘They …’
But Britt didn’t have time to listen to compliments. Instead, she ran through the security gate. A second after passing through, an alarm screeched behind her. It reminded her of the pelicans. And Pellie Cann. She had an idea. Maybe it was time for Pellie to put in another appearance. After all, it would be foolish to admit her real name and
profession in this situation. Yes. It was time for a final cameo from her American alter ego.
She confidently speed-walked down a corridor, with the alarm still echoing around the walls and ceilings. Then a man appeared in the corridor, right in front of her.
‘Is that alarm coming from the entrance?’ he asked.
Britt stopped and looked the man in the eyes. ‘Sure is,’ she replied, in an American drawl. ‘A huge guy with a foreign accent is trying to turn it off.’
‘Oh, right. That’ll be Bogdan. We’d better leave him to it.’
Britt sensed an opportunity. ‘My name’s Pellie Cann. I’m here for a meeting in the State Dining Room. I got lost.’ She flashed her visitor’s pass. ‘I’m supposed to have someone escorting me and I don’t want to break any rules.’ She smiled. ‘I know what you British are like about your rules.’
The man laughed. ‘Rule one – don’t break the rules. Rule two – if you do break the rules, make sure you don’t get caught.’
Exactly. ‘It starts very soon. Could you possibly take me there?’
‘No problem.’ He offered his hand. ‘I’m Bryan. Bryan with a “y”.’
‘Then let’s go, Bryan with a “y”!’
The next three minutes were a blur of corridors, doors and stairs. Britt checked her bleeper one more time. It was 3.48pm. ‘Is it nearby?’
‘About a minute away. It’s up there on the left, just after that big portrait of the president.’
Britt could see the portrait. And she couldn’t see anyone else heading towards it. It looked like she would be the first there. At the same moment, the distant alarm stopped screeching. Bogdan had summoned up the strength to get to that button. Hallelujah! Everything was going to plan now. The State Dining Room was just metres away.