by Paul Mathews
‘I know. But you deserve a rest after all you’ve done. A little gardening leave, perhaps, after the election. And in the longer term, well … I have someone lined up to replace you.’
An uncharacteristic slip by Oskar. Howie wasn’t going to let this pass. ‘So you will be standing for president, if Jan doesn’t come back.’
Oskar wrinkled his forehead. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘You said you had someone lined up. The president appoints the spokesperson. No one else.’
Oskar hesitated for a second. ‘What I meant was, should one of the vice presidents be forced to stand as a result of my brother’s absence, I shall be proposing a fresh start. A new presidential spokesperson and head of comms.’ He breathed in and stood tall. ‘For a bright new era in the British Republic’s history.’
‘You got anyone particular in mind?’
‘It’ll be someone from the private sector. Someone with a more international CV.’
An idea popped into Howie’s head. ‘This someone – have they been recommended?’
‘They’ve been highly recommended. So you’ve no need to worry.’
Howie could feel the hairs on the back of neck standing up. He knew the answer to his next question. But he was going to ask it anyway. ‘Who’s recommended them?’
‘That is confidential. I really must get back —’
‘Is it one of Viktor Maxim’s people, by any chance?’ interrupted Howie.
Oskar was momentarily struck dumb. Then he croaked a reply. ‘How did you know that?’
‘Call it an educated guess.’
Oskar took a step towards Howie. His voice was threatening. ‘I’ll ask you one more time. How did you know?’
Howie realised he’d gone too far. There was no way he could tell Oskar the truth. His educated guess was the result of intelligence operations that were still ongoing. They mustn’t be jeopardised. ‘I bumped into Mr Maxim at lunch today. I was at The Savoy.’
Oskar didn’t look convinced. ‘You were at The Savoy?’
‘Yeah. The Premier Diners place. That’s why I’m wearing this suit.’
‘Yes. It’s not like you to present yourself so well.’ Oskar thought for several seconds. ‘So you know Mr Maxim?’
‘I was with a friend who knew him.’
‘Who was this friend?’
If Howie mentioned it was the chief of police, Oskar would get suspicious. ‘A Russian guy I went to university with,’ lied Howie. That sounded just about plausible. ‘He introduced us. I mentioned I worked for Jan. Viktor mentioned you and he were acquainted. That was it.’
Oskar pondered Howie’s response. His expression suggested he was hovering halfway between belief and disbelief. After ten seconds of forehead-wrinkling and lip-twisting, Oskar replied. ‘I didn’t know Mr Maxim was in town this week. If I have a window in my busy schedule, I shall speak to him about your replacement.’
That wasn’t true. Oskar had had lunch with Maxim yesterday. But Howie didn’t challenge him. He needed to avoid any more confrontation. ‘So I’m out of a job in the summer, if you’re in charge?’
Oskar smirked. ‘It would seem that way. But I wouldn’t worry.’ Oskar lowered his voice and half-smiled. ‘You’ll be taken care of, Mr Pond.’
Howie shivered. Oskar had sounded just like a James Bond villain. He should have responded with a witty one-liner – just like the world’s greatest secret agent would have done. But his mind was blank. And for the first time in his short security service career, he felt afraid. Afraid that Oskar Polak might want people like Howie Pond to disappear if he became president.
Oskar turned and walked purposefully towards the palace gates. Howie let him go ahead, so there was a safe distance between them. Their next meeting would be at four o’clock in the State Dining Room. Howie suddenly had a bad feeling about the nomination meeting – a gut instinct that something was going to go horribly wrong. He tried to put the thought to the back of his mind. He needed to stay positive.
After a few minutes, he started walking towards the palace gates. The two officers he’d encountered yesterday were there. Of course they were. Why did he think it was going to be any different? He walked up to the left-hand gate and greeted them. ‘Afternoon, officers. Could you do the honours and let me through, please?’
The tall officer was sucking a sweet, and had to push it to the side of his mouth before replying. ‘One moment, sir. My rainbow candy is just transitioning.’
The short officer also had something in his mouth. ‘Is it caramel?’ he asked his colleague, as if pondering the meaning of life itself.
‘I do believe it’s our old friend fudge.’
Howie coughed. ‘Any chance I could get through, chaps?’
The short officer made a disturbing sucking noise. ‘He’s right, you know. It is fudge.’
The tall officer smacked his lips. ‘They’re amazing, these candies. Gift from the American ambassador. Which reminds me, have you seen Mr Stackshaker since we last spoke?’
‘No,’ sighed Howie. ‘I haven’t. He’s a very busy man. And so am I.’
‘I don’t doubt that, sir,’ replied the tall officer. ‘I can see from the look in your eye that you’re a man on a mission. Something top secret, no doubt. Almost certainly of vital national importance.’
‘We’d better not hold him up,’ added the short officer. ‘He’s probably got to save the world by teatime!’
You’re not far from the truth, Howie thought, as the officers convulsed in laughter. While the pair recovered their composure, Howie thought of something else. ‘Tell me, has that security woman from Washington been back since yesterday morning?’
‘Not as far as we’re aware, sir. And the other lads haven’t said anything.’
‘Good. If she or anyone else comes sniffing round here again, talking about palace security, be as unhelpful as possible.’ He nodded towards the gate. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind?’
The tall officer walked up and pressed the button. ‘Don’t worry. You can trust us, sir.’
Howie doubted that this pair could keep their mouths shut for five minutes. But he didn’t have time to worry about it. As he hurried towards the palace, just one thing was on his mind. He needed to speak to Martha – to talk about the president, Oskar, Maxim, the First Lady and Maurice Skeets. That was a lot to discuss. And with less than three hours until the nomination meeting, there wouldn’t be much time to do it.
Chapter 34
Britt was still sitting on the edge of the same fountain in Trafalgar Square. There was no Oskar. No Cherry. No Howie. Just her. And strangers all around. Tourists, workers, students and others. People she could see. But didn’t see. Deep in thought, her mind was focused on only one thing – the imminent nomination meeting. One that could change her life. And shape the future of the British Republic. A meeting that would take place just a short distance away. But there was one big problem. It was a meeting she wasn’t invited to. And Buckingham Palace wasn’t an easy place to gatecrash.
Without even trying, her mind created a picture of the scene in the State Dining Room at four o’clock. The fifty vice presidents would be sat round the edges of the ridiculously long table – whispering, watching, and wondering. All asking the same questions. Where’s Jan Polak? Is he alive or dead? If he’s alive, is he coming back? If he’s not coming back, who’ll replace him? Will it be me? Or him? Or her? And the question that every single man and woman in that room would be asking themselves – what does all this mean for me? Yes. Without a leader, self-interest would be king.
She imagined the meeting starting. The first item on the agenda would be an update on the search for the president. Hopefully, Jan Polak was still missing. If so, that would be confirmed for the benefit of everyone in the room – including any hidden journalists. Potential candidates would then put themselves forward. Each would deliver a short speech, stating their credentials. Voting would then take place and continue until a winner emerged. And, barring an
appearance from Jan Polak between then and eleven o’clock the following morning, the winning candidate would appear on the balcony of Buckingham Palace to inform British citizens that he or she – and not Jan Polak – was the Republican Party candidate for that summer’s elections.
It was clear now. The State Dining Room at four o’clock was the only place and time to get a third source that no one could argue with – not even George. And she had to be there if she wanted to learn the identity of the nominated candidate. It would probably be Oskar. But in the unlikely event that it wasn’t, she would know who it was. Her story of the century would be one hundred per cent true. No misguided speculation. Pure fact. The stuff of which journalistic dreams are made.
‘You must be there,’ she told herself. Yes. She would find a way. She had less than three hours, but she would get into that room before everyone arrived and eavesdrop on that meeting. Then make her escape.
She held her breath, as her brain processed that possibility. To anyone with a nanogramme of sense, it was a crazy idea. But, as the stone admiral above would say, desperate affairs require desperate measures. And what would George say? She imagined standing in his office, having just outlined her plan. His response would be something like:
So, Britt. You’re going to penetrate Buckingham Palace security the day before Independence Day, waltz into a top-secret meeting in one its most iconic rooms and find a curtain to hide behind. And when you’re done, you’re going to waltz straight out again, wave everyone goodbye and then file the story. I’m sorry, but it’s not just mission impossible. It’s mission insanity.
She hated to admit it. But the George inside her head was right. The backs of her legs were starting to feel numb on the cold concrete. She needed to stretch them. She got up and started walking in the direction of St James’ Park, for no other reason than it would bring her nearer the palace. But no nearer to getting inside it.
Even if she could get inside the palace, how would she find the State Dining Room before all those vice presidents? Where would she hide from sight to listen to proceedings – would it really be behind a curtain, as the George inside her head had suggested? And how was she going to walk out of the palace without being wrestled to the ground, arrested or worse?
She allowed her mind to rest and concentrated on navigating the road safely. She passed under Admiralty Arch – just as she had done yesterday morning. But this time, she was proceeding at a more leisurely pace. There was no rush. She had no real idea what she was doing. But it felt better than just sitting doing nothing.
Instead of continuing down The Mall, Britt decided to go into the park and head towards the lake. As she arrived, a large pelican screeched. It was staring at her and flapping its wings. It’s probably hungry, she thought. Howie got like that sometimes. Or maybe this bird was trying to tell her some lost secret of the universe that it was doomed to carry for all eternity. The meaning of life, perhaps? Well, one thing was sure. Life would have no meaning for her if she was banished to the features desk. Moving to another newspaper wasn’t an option either. All the editors knew George. His grumpiness was legendary. They wouldn’t want to get in his bad books by taking her on as a news reporter. No. As things stood, she would soon be turning into a feature creature.
The pelican screeched again. As it tried to communicate its secrets, yesterday’s meeting with Herbert the security guy popped into her head. Or rather, Pellie Cann’s meeting with Herbert. That boy was so gullible. How had someone like him got a job in Buckingham Palace security? Then she remembered. He was the nephew of the head of security. Now there was a man who could give her access to the palace. If only she could find a way to persuade Bogdan Bogdanowic to let her in. That was a stupid thought. She didn’t even know Bogdan. Or how to get hold of him. Britt’s whole body heaved a sigh so loud, it drew stares from the people standing near her. It would be impossible.
Britt stared at the pelican. It had settled down on the grassy bank, buried its beak in its wing, and readied itself for an afternoon nap. You lucky prince, she thought. Such an easy life. You can take a nap any time you want. Watching the bird ready itself for sleep jogged her memory. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t she thought of it before? The pelican wasn’t the only creature who enjoyed his naps. Herbert the security guy did, too. On Monday night, in particular. The night that the president went missing. What had he told her in the pub? It was ‘all sorted’. Yes. After Uncle Bogdan had stepped in. She didn’t know exactly what Uncle Bogdan had done, but it would have involved lying. And why had he lied? She knew why. Not just to protect his nephew. Herbert’s failure was, ultimately, his failure. Bogdan had sorted everything to protect himself. Self-interest was everyone’s king in a Code Red crisis. Yes. He had covered up his nephew’s negligence. Protected himself from blame. Rescued the family name from an unwanted entry in the history books. And that made him vulnerable.
Britt collected her thoughts. Bogdan couldn’t be her third source. Both he and his nephew Herbert, who was her first source, worked for palace security. And George wanted three people from different organisations to confirm the story. And anyway, Britt wanted to know the winner of the nomination vote and Bogdan wouldn’t be any help with that. But she could use him in another way.
In just a few seconds, she had formulated a plan. She was going back to those palace gates. But this time, not as Pellie Cann. She would be returning as Britt Pointer. There would be no need for any disguise. She made her way out of the park and headed back along The Mall to Buckingham Palace.
Within five minutes she was a short distance from the gates. It would be the second time in two days that she had to fool the police standing outside them. It wasn’t always easy to do. But it was easy if you approached the right officers. And she could already see two familiar silhouettes in the distance. One tall. One short. As she got nearer, she could see their faces. Yes. It was definitely them. Both chatting. Both laughing at their own jokes.
‘Excuse me officers,’ she called in her normal voice. ‘Do you have a moment?’
The tall officer smiled. ‘I think we have a moment, madam.’ He turned to his colleague. ‘Don’t you?’
The short officer checked his watch. ‘You’re in luck. Tea break’s not for five minutes yet.’
Ah. Tea break wasn’t far away. In Britt’s experience, police officers only postponed tea breaks for major emergencies. She didn’t have much time. ‘I need your help. It’s about a woman you spoke to yesterday morning. You’ll remember her – she was American, wore large sunglasses and claimed she worked in Washington in presidential security. She didn’t give her name. She had no ID.’
‘Doesn’t ring any bells, I’m afraid,’ replied the tall officer, avoiding eye contact.
‘Nope,’ added the short officer, staring at his boots. ‘It weren’t us.’
Britt thought for a second. Maybe these two realised their mistake after their encounter with Pellie Cann and were staying tight-lipped? Or maybe someone found out about it and told them to keep their mouths shut. Either way, she would have to increase the pressure. ‘I understand you pointed her in the direction of an individual named Herbert Bogdanowic. He works in palace security.’
Both officers shook their heads.
Britt tried again. ‘Well, listen to this. She wasn’t American. And she doesn’t work in security.’ She took a breath. ‘In fact, she’s a journalist for The Republican. And I believe she may be planning to gain access to the palace this afternoon – using information she obtained from Herbert Bogdanowic – to gatecrash a top-secret meeting about the future of this country.’
The officers’ jaws dropped. Colour drained from their cheeks. But no words came from their gaping mouths.
She went into bullshit mode. ‘I’m a patriot. It’s Independence Day tomorrow. And whatever her story is – whether it’s true or untrue, it doesn’t matter – I don’t want the citizens of this nation waking up to a story that could bring down this Government. Because that’s what will h
appen if we don’t stop her.’
The officers were still speechless. What was the magic ingredient she needed? Ah, yes. Self-interest. She took a step towards them and whispered. ‘It wouldn’t just be the Government this woman would bring down. It would be anyone who crossed her path in the last forty-eight hours – and that includes you two.’
The short officer sprang into life. ‘And how come you know all this?’
‘I’m a journalist. I work with her.’
‘Would you mind showing us some ID, madam?’ asked the tall officer, his tone cautious.
‘I’m Britt Pointer and I work for The Republican,’ she announced, flashing her ID.
Both officers spoke as one. ‘You’re that bloody journalist!’
‘I know. And I know my recent investigation lost some of your friends their jobs. But they were corrupt. You’re not. You just happened to be tricked by one of the most deceptive, most deadly journalists in the country.’
‘Deadly?’ croaked the tall officer. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘She has a licence to kill. But she doesn’t kill people.’ Britt took a step forward and whispered in a sinister voice. ‘She kills reputations. Kills careers. And there’s a hell of a lot of collateral damage along the way.’
The tall officer loosened his collar with his hand. ‘What’s this … killer’s name?’
It would be better to use a real name. There was a chance they might check. And the name that came to mind was perfect. ‘Rosie Parker. She’s on the news desk. You can confirm it with our editor, if you like. His name is George Smith. But whatever you do, don’t mention me if you speak to him. I’m doing this as a patriot. Not as a journalist.’
The short officer gulped. ‘I’ve seen that Rosie Parker’s name in the paper. Nosey Parker, I call her.’
The tall officer wiped a drop of sweat from his brow. ‘Yes. And George Smith is her boss. I know because I wrote a letter to him earlier this year. A complaint about his journalists’ constant harassment of police officers.’ He then whispered something in his colleague’s ear. His colleague whispered back.
