“Might I just remind you, young lady, that even when you get your promotion – if you get your promotion – I’ll still outrank you. So let’s have a bit more respect, if you don’t mind.”
“Sorry, sir, but I’ve been working hard on my sarcasm lately. I wouldn’t want the lack of such a basic requirement blocking my career path.”
“Okay, we’ll cover that in your appraisal, but if you want a sneak preview, I can tell you you’re doing just fine.”
They laughed again, before David became serious.
“I hope this is the last bloody chapter though, Jo. That village has taken a pasting, hasn’t it? I was talking to Jed Smithers yesterday. He was telling me that five years ago, both Ben and Alistair were doing really well; farms flourishing and getting involved in a bit of land development – you know, selling a few acres for more houses. And since then, both spouses have died, and now both brothers. God knows what will happen to the farms now. I guess that’s nobody’s problem any more.”
“I can’t see that there are any more likely victims,” said Jo, “so let’s hope this is an end to it. Nine in all now, from that one attack a month ago.”
“I don’t want to tempt providence,” said David, “but I’m still worried about George Holland. They tried to get him once; why not again? He’s not exactly backed off, has he? In fact he seems to have taken over from Deverall. He’ll be wearing a black baseball cap next and packing a Glock.”
He was interrupted in mid-sigh by the appearance of an excited Allan Pickford in the doorway.
“I’ve just got in some great news for both of you, and I’d like to share it while you’re together.” He closed the door. “I’ll do this formally afterwards, but very briefly – David, I can confirm you’re application for retirement at age fifty-five has been accepted.” He gave David a wide smile and then swung it round on to the Detective Sergeant, like the beam of a torch. “And, Jo, I am delighted to be the one to tell you that, effective from the 1st of September – that’s two weeks on Tuesday – you will be promoted to the rank of Detective Inspector. And you will be transferred with immediate effect… ” he paused dramatically “… to right here.” He pointed to David’s desk.
Jad’s symptoms had been initially discussed during his time in custody prior to the trial, but there had been no official diagnosis. His first full assessment took place the week after Tom’s visit. However, extensive analysis of the test results failed to throw any light on the situation. There appeared to be no carcinogenic evidence, no cardiac issues or any sign of respiratory problems. The only indication of any illness at all was a slow reduction in weight and fleeting periods of short-term memory loss. Best guesses put it down to a form of accelerated aging with no known precedent; in the absence of which there was no immediate prospect of a cure or any treatment at all.
Jad himself appeared unconcerned, focused as he was on his important work with George, who had been making good progress with his book, sharing many of the passages with Jad and taking his feedback. He had decided, with Jad’s agreement, to use his speech from the dock, verbatim, as the prologue to his text. Furthermore, the survey was now taking shape.
In addition to the meetings with Tom and his regular dialogue with George, another frequent visitor was Vicky Barrowclough. Given that she – like Clive Granville – was a member of the G2 team, he was able to entertain her in what he referred to as his ‘apartment’. She informed him of the company’s intention to keep open his position at Germaine and Rolland for a while before deciding on whether to recruit a replacement. Really good investment managers, with such specialist skills, were difficult to find these days, she told him with a straight face.
Andrew called Tom to a pre-meeting in his office in the Norman Shaw Building the day before he was due to announce the structure of his ‘task force’, as he called it, the extended team which would work on the plans for the NJR’s implementation. As Tom entered his office, Andrew was reading from one of the morning papers.
“Hey, Tom, we’re still in the news and, according to the Guardian, unstoppable. Listen to this. ‘The events of these past few months’ – they mean the Bradys, Meadow Village and all that – ‘can be likened to the destabilising of a mountain top, creating a political and social avalanche of awesome, overwhelming power. As it cascades, unstoppable, in its devastating surge, it now seems certain that everything in its path will be either swept along with it or buried irretrievably beneath.’ Now, how about that?”
He put the paper down and waved him to a chair.
“Listen, Tom,” he said with an apparent warmth that had been missing from their recent encounters. “I’ve been thinking a lot about the leak and, more particularly, the fact that absolutely nothing was done about it.”
“But, surely… ”
Andrew continued as if Tom had not spoken.
“When we get close to the election I don’t want anybody throwing in our faces the accusation that we will not be tough enough to carry these changes through, and not taking action on the leak is just the sort of thing that they will latch on to as evidence. It was something that could have destroyed the Party with the wrong public reaction. It could have been that serious. I don’t feel I can just sit back and pretend it didn’t happen because the public’s response was positive.”
Tom was astonished to hear Andrew referring to his own actions in such a way, as if he had actually started to believe someone other than himself was responsible for them.
“So what… ?” he said.
“I’m going to take Hewlett off the team and take away her Shadow Ministerial role.”
“What the hell for?” said Tom, angrily. “It’s over, for God’s sake; we got through it; nobody cared – or cares! I can’t see… ”
“No, you can’t!” Andrew yelled. “No further than your fucking charismatic nose-end!” He almost leaped out of his chair and began pacing furiously back and forth behind his desk. “Why don’t you grow up, for Christ’s sake? This isn’t the fucking Boy Scouts, and you’d do well to remember that! And just listen – I mean really listen to what I’m saying – like you’re actually interested. It’s not now that I’m concerned about. It’s when we get to the in-fighting at the election, when the barbed arrows start flying around. That’s when it will matter!”
“Okay,” said Tom, speaking calmly as Andrew stormed about the room. “I understand what you’re saying and I must bow to your experience. But let me make my position clear. I will need to consider my options very carefully – based on my own conscience – if you do this to Jackie Hewlett. Because we three know, don’t we, that she didn’t leak the document? And at least two of us know who did.”
He stood up and turned to leave the room. Andrew called after him.
“Tom, get back here and let’s have this out. I can’t afford – in fact, I won’t allow – a split right now. Not when we’ve already won, for God’s sake.”
Tom turned to face him.
“Yes, we,” he said. “You and Jackie and I – and Grace. If you are planning to subject Jackie to that sort of indignity after the massive contribution she’s made, then I don’t think I want to be part of this new team. On the other hand, if you want me to continue to work with her, then I’ll give it absolutely everything to ensure we deliver.” He paused. “Your decision.”
Andrew had stopped pacing. He glared at Tom through half-closed eyes, breathing heavily as he fought to control his anger. He took a long time to respond.
“I don’t like being blackmailed, Tom,” he hissed.
“Blackmailed?” said Tom, eyes wide with genuine surprise. “How does that constitute blackmail? I merely want to keep the team together that has got us this far.”
“Or you’ll reveal who leaked the document… ”
“Where the hell did that come from?” asked Tom, his voice rising again.
“You just said – your exact words – ‘I have a conscience… I must consider my options… because we both know who leak
ed the document… ’ If that isn’t blackmail, then I’ve spent a lifetime not knowing the meaning of the word!”
“Well, firstly, those were not my exact words, and what I meant by my options, as I went on to explain – very clearly, I think – is whether I would be prepared to continue without Jackie on the team. That’s all. Look, Andrew, isn’t it in the Party’s interest to have the strongest team in place? Isn’t it more important to show solidarity now than to worry about what someone might say in the future?”
Andrew did not reply for a full minute. Tom became increasingly uncomfortable, but waited out the silence.
“I’ll think about what you said and get back to you,” said Andrew, flatly, without expression. “And in the meantime just remember who else was party to leaking the document.”
He sat down again at his desk. Tom stepped forward and leant a long way across it, clenching his hands and supporting himself on his knuckles. His voice was barely above a whisper, “I don’t like being blackmailed either, Andrew. Just you remember that.”
There was another long, strained silence as the two men glared into each other’s eyes, before Andrew looked away.
“That’s all for now,” he said, picking up his desk phone. The meeting was over.
George Holland had received the official approval for access to the REP database in July, just over two weeks after Irene’s funeral, and five days after his first visit to Pentonville to see John Deverall. Henry Moorhouse’s contact at the DWP had been wrong in believing the request would be turned down, but that had been before the wave of sympathy following George’s tragic loss. After all he had been through, it was almost unthinkable that he should be denied anything.
He and Jad, mainly via email, worked together on the proposed mail-out with the considerable help of Pro-Poll, the UK’s leading market research agency, who assisted them with the design of the communication, reducing it to a small number of tick-box questions with a single ‘Comments’ box, and a high clarity index for the text. Pro-Poll’s costs, thanks to Tony Dobson’s influence, were met by a national tabloid newspaper in exchange for the opportunity to be the first to publish the results of the survey – or ‘referendum’, as George continued to call it.
On 1st October, the questionnaire was emailed to just under sixteen million people on the Register between the ages of fifty-five and eighty; a total of around nine million residential addresses, including care and nursing homes where communal PC facilities were available. It was sent, at Pro-Poll’s suggestion, as a simple email, not an attachment, as George and Jad had originally planned. They were asked to respond by 18th October. Two weeks after that date, the full report had been compiled.
As agreed with their sponsor, copies were sent with a letter from George simultaneously to Ellen Gormley and Andrew Donald and – allowing one day for them to receive and absorb the findings – the report was published by the tabloid the day after that.
Andrew, Tom and Jackie met on the morning of Friday, 5th November to discuss the results. The two men sat in silence in the Leader’s office as they waited for Jackie. There had been no further reference to the blackmail issue, but the aftermath of the conflict was evident in the colder climate of their subsequent meetings. Her arrival eased the tension in the room.
Andrew had George’s letter in front of him.
“I won’t read it in full,” he told his colleagues, “but just listen to these numbers and rejoice.
“Target population: just under sixteen million.
“Number of respondents: fourteen million – that’s eighty-eight percent, and Pro-poll predicted one-third. Make a note never to use them for anything we do.
“Of the fourteen million, over ten-and-a-half – three-quarters – agreed with all points for change – remember these are our points for change.
“Out of the remaining three-and-a-half million or so, two-and-a-half agreed in principle, although most of this group voiced concern over one or more of the extreme measures… ” He looked up, frowning. “Extreme measures? I must have missed that bit of the proposal.
“Fewer than one million – around seven percent – of respondents opposed the changes.”
He looked across at them, smiling broadly. “And here’s the big finish. Ninety-one percent of the respondents, which, George informs us, is exactly eighty percent of the whole target population, answered ‘yes’ to the final question, which was, ‘Will you hereby commit to casting your vote in favour of the Party at the next election who will themselves commit to these measures?’
“This is just too easy; and to think I entered politics for a meaningful challenge. By my calculation, this means that just over one third of the electorate has just voted Gormley and Co out of office.” He beamed across the desk at them. “Who needs fireworks? Well, team, what do you think of that?”
“Well, obviously, it looks very promising,” said Jackie, “but let’s remember, no-one has voted for this Party. They have shown their support for an ideal, which, admittedly, aligns closely with our own objectives. But when push comes to shove, entrenched party loyalties will override this hysteria for millions of people. I’m not even sure if this survey will prove more beneficial to the government than to us. What it has done is clearly define – and quantify – what they have to do to stay in power; the extent to which they need to move in either challenging or adopting our proposals. I’m sure Ellen Gormley will be concerned about the results, but she’ll also be extremely grateful for the information.”
There were a few moments of silence before Andrew responded.
“You’re absolutely right, Jackie,” he said, taking both her and Tom by surprise. “Complacency is the one thing that we cannot afford. We have the high ground – I’m sure Tom will like the analogy – and we must diligently and, if necessary, ruthlessly defend it.”
He put the letter down on the desk and continued.
“Another piece of news. I have it on good authority that the government will be calling a General Election next June. Could be better, of course; we were hoping for the spring. But, never mind, at least they’ve shifted it by four months. Poor old Ellen must be really teed off right now. All this brilliant work to resolve the oil crisis and she can’t claim a single brownie point because she’s been publicly insisting all along there wasn’t really a problem. You really have to feel sorry for her, don’t you?”
The Queen’s speech on 16th November passed with the traditional surfeit of ceremony and lack of passion. The annual commitment was made to improving community life…
“My government will introduce legislation to protect communities from antisocial and threatening behaviour by street gangs and organised crime, which will include significantly greater penalties for repeat offenders and for those who carry weapons and deal in illegal drugs.…”
Andrew pointed out afterwards that the statement should have started with the words “My next government will… ”
A week after the Queen’s Speech, the Leader of Her Majesty’s Opposition held a small ‘reception’, as he chose to call it, as both a thank you for the work carried out by the task force, and a celebration of the results of the REP survey. Tom, Jackie, Grace and Reggie, along with a couple of dozen people who had provided them with legal advice, administrative support, data-gathering and number-crunching, were invited to join him in one of the committee rooms at Portcullis House for champagne and canapés.
It was a measure of their Leader’s inability to display the common touch that the room was devoid of beer, lager, wine or any suggestion of real food. Nevertheless, the gesture was well received and the group was clearly appreciative of the recognition. It was also Friday afternoon, and a good way to end the week. Mobile phones had been duly switched off to comply with Andrew’s socialising protocol.
Three-quarters-of-an-hour into the party, Andrew’s PA entered the room. Shirley Topliss was in her late twenties, a small, slim girl with tightly-curled ginger hair and freckles. Her natural expression was famously
one of pending doom, but right now she was looking noticeably more agitated than usual and beckoned Jackie over to her.
“Mrs Hewlett,” she said in a low voice, “I’ve just had a call from a Mrs Manners. She’d like you to phone her back as soon as possible.”
Jackie’s face drained of colour.
“Did she say what it was about?”
In spite of the hushed delivery of the message, everyone in the room had stopped speaking and was listening to the exchange, alerted by Shirley’s anxious expression.
“Something about Lucy. You need to call her right away.”
“Oh, God!”
“Jackie,” said Andrew, walking over. “Are you alright?”
“My child-minder,” said Jackie, retrieving her mobile from her shoulder bag and switching it on.
She slumped onto a chair as she keyed the number. Then stood up again and almost ran from the room as the phone connected. Outside she leant against the wall of the corridor.
“Danni,” she said, “what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure, Jackie, I went to pick up Lucy and when I got there, her teacher said she had left with somebody about twenty minutes before the end of classes. They said that you’d phoned at lunchtime to say that she would be picked up early, and that you had described the person – a young man. Apparently he had ID and everything and a note from you on your official letterhead. They showed it to me. They all seemed perfectly relaxed about it, so I came home. It wasn’t until afterwards I thought… well… you would be bound to let me know if you’d made other arrangements. Oh, please tell me it’s alright… ”
Jackie was unable to say anything for a few moments. Tom had followed her as far as the door and watched her face contort in an agony of fear. He stepped forward as she slumped to a sitting position, back to the wall.
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