The Horse at the Gates

by D C Alden

‘I want to visit him, Tariq. I’ve tried going through your office, but you’ve been frustratingly unavailable. Did you get any of my messages?’

  ‘Some,’ he admitted, ‘but with Cairo and then poor Jacob’s suicide, things have simply been chaotic. I did ask my office to make sure you were kept up to speed.’

  ‘Well, you may want to kick them up the arse a bit,’ Ella advised. ‘If there’s a loop, I’m not in it.’

  Saeed leaned back in his chair. The curtness still lingered, directed straight at him. Now was as good a time as any. ‘While we’re on the subject of loops and things, I’m afraid I’ve had to make some changes, changes that have impacted on your own position, Ella.’

  ‘Oh?’ Ella’s eyes blinked behind her glasses.

  ‘Obviously you’ve been out of government for some time and the present administration is geared towards new methods of working, new approaches to old problems. It’s clear to me now that, where once we shared the same vision, Gabriel and I had a difference of opinion on many things. I think it’s fair to say that you were very loyal to Gabriel, sympathetic to his political viewpoints. His personal feelings.’

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ Ella smiled, holding up her hand.

  ‘Indeed. However, you must appreciate that I’ve had to make some difficult decisions during your absence. The past must be wiped away, the old guard retired. New blood is what’s needed now, fresh minds with fresh–’

  ‘You can cut the bullshit, Tariq. I’m fired, right?’

  Saeed stared at the foul-mouthed cripple in front of him for a long moment. ‘I see you haven’t lost your talent for candour, Ella. In any case, you’ll keep your pension, and your medical benefits of course. And I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you for your hard work during the previous administration. I’ve no doubt you’ll find something else soon.’

  ‘Yes, the job offers are piling up outside my specially adapted front door,’ Ella jibed. ‘So, now we’ve got that out of the way, let’s move on. I want to see Gabriel.’

  ‘Hmm. That might be tricky.’

  ‘I have a right.’

  Saeed leaned back in his chair. ‘You’re not a relative.’

  ‘He hasn’t any. Apart from his sister, that is, and we both know she’s never given a toss about him. Besides, Gabriel hadn’t spoken to her in years.’

  ‘There’s also the question of security. As you’re no longer in government your clearance is invalidated. I’m sorry.’

  Ella tugged at the cuffs of her shirt. ‘I was his Special Advisor, and up until a few moments ago I had clearance as high as yours. Nothing’s changed, Tariq. I’m still the same person, loyal to the party, discreet. Surely that buys me a little kudos?’

  Saeed shook his head. ‘It’s not my decision. It’s out of my hands, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Rubbish.’

  Saeed wasn’t used to being contradicted. He leaned forward, tapping his finger sharply on the table. ‘This is no small request, Ella. It’s a matter of national security. For your information there have been further threats to Gabriel’s life. They come in daily, from a variety of sources, despite his frailty and other health problems.’ He leaned back in his chair, draping one leg across the other. ‘He’s deteriorated quite badly, you know, both physically and mentally. You’ve seen the news.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ Ella announced stiffly. ‘I want to see him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it. He’s not the man you remember.’

  The hand moved and the chair whirred closer until it bumped against Saeed’s desk. ‘He was my friend Tariq, and I his. Look, the bomb has devastated us both. Maybe I can help him, you know, with his rehabilitation. A friendly face, mutual support, that kind of thing. I know he’d want to see me.’ She dropped her eyes, twisting her fingers in her lap. ‘I need to see him. Please.’

  Saeed heard her voice catch, watched her as she dabbed at her eyes with a balled-up tissue, wondering for the umpteenth time if their professional relationship had ever crossed the line. It was an avenue he’d explored in the early days, looking for a chink in Bryce’s armour, a way to exploit the man and influence his decision-making. The rumours and the court gossip had been surreptitiously investigated, but nothing was discovered that he could use to his advantage. Yet, Jackson had revered the man, and it was obvious she still cared about Bryce in a way that was more than professional. Crippled or not, she was a determined woman. Denying her access might cause more problems than it solved.

  He was suddenly reminded of Suleyman. What was it, nearly a week since he’d heard from him? Still, that wasn’t particularly unusual. During the run-up to Cairo he’d had little contact with his Turkish fixer, knowing the intelligence operative was fully capable of taking care of things in his absence. He’d done a wonderful job with Bryce, the drug dependency, the physical appearance, the carefully staged photographs, all evidence of Suleyman’s professional creativity and devotion to the cause. Yet, with Hooper dead there was little point now in prolonging the agony. New Years Eve was a date he’d considered for Bryce’s disposal, knowing the usual drunken revelry would diminish the impact of the news, the former Prime Minister’s death a mere footnote at the end of a particularly bad year for government. Psychologically the public sought closure and Bryce’s death would deliver just that, the new year heralding another new start. Stability, that was what was needed now.

  ‘Alright, Ella. I’ll see what I can do.’

  Ella closed her eyes for a moment, the relief evident in her voice. ‘Thank you, Tariq. I really appreciate it.’

  Saeed studied her, realising his decision had given her a boost, both physically and emotionally. He had a sudden, mischievous urge to prolong the charade, to add another layer of credibility to the unfolding drama. ‘In fact, let me check my diary. Perhaps I’ll accompany you.’ Saeed picked up his computer pad and flicked through a couple of web pages, settling on the Euro News channel. ‘Ah yes, here we are. Let me see...’ He looked at Ella. ‘Would the second week in January suit?’

  ‘That would be fine,’ Ella nodded.

  ‘Don’t you want to check your own schedule?’

  Ella placed a finger on her lip. ‘Hmm, my schedule for January, let me see. Crawl out of bed, stare at walls, partake in pointless physiotherapy session, drink wine until I pass out. Ad infinitum.’ The smile was without warmth. ‘Don’t worry Tariq, I’m pretty sure I’ll be free.

  Saeed tapped a news item on the Turkish Parliament’s recent announcement to ban inappropriate bathing costumes in its coastal resorts. ‘There. We’re locked in to the tenth. I’ll request clearance for you with the Security Services and the Interior Ministry. You have no idea how close they’re playing this one. Gabriel really is in the best of hands.’

  ‘That’s good to know. We hear so little about him these days. It’s almost as if the country’s forgotten all about him.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ Saeed leaned back in his chair. As soon as the cripple left he’d call Suleyman and order him to make the necessary arrangements. Time was of the essence now. Ella’s next question snapped him out of his thoughts.

  ‘Where is he, by the way?’

  ‘Gabriel? As I said, he’s in a secure facility, very private. Round the clock care. And well protected, of course.’

  ‘Where?’ Ella insisted. ‘I need to know.’ She tapped the armrest of her wheelchair. ‘Because of my condition. The journey?’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ Saeed realised. ‘It’s not far. Just outside London. I’ll make sure appropriate transport is organised for your visit.’

  ‘Good. Great.’ During the silence that followed, Saeed noticed the tension ease from her shoulders. Eventually she smiled and said, ‘I’m going to miss all this.’

  ‘What?’

  Ella waved a hand around the room. ‘This. Working at the heart of government. And the overseas trips, of course, that was fun, mostly. Power can be quite a heady cocktail.’

  ‘I don’t drink,’ smiled Saeed.

  Ella chu
ckled. ‘Very funny. You know what I mean.’

  Saeed leaned his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. ‘I’m not sure I do, Ella. Serving the government is a responsibility, both to oneself and to the people. Personally I have little regard for the trappings of power.’

  Ella swivelled in her chair, gazing around the ornate room. ‘You could have fooled me.’

  ‘It’s true,’ he insisted. ‘All this is just window dressing. For me, it’s about providing sound leadership, about healing divisions and bringing the country together. Don’t take this personally, but look where we are today, as a nation, an economy, compared to when Gabriel was making the decisions. The recovery is gaining pace, no?’

  ‘Granted, the Downing Street bomb certainly produced its fair share of winners and losers.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  Ella returned Saeed’s unblinking gaze. ‘You were on the verge of being sacked, Tariq, remember? That very day, in fact. Now look at you.’ Ella shook her head. ‘Prime Minister Saeed. Even you must be surprised at the way things have worked out.’

  ‘Some days I have to pinch myself,’ Saeed lied. ‘I’ve been very lucky. Both of us,’ he added quickly.

  Ella lowered her eyes, absently toying with the chair’s joystick. ‘It’s hard to feel lucky when you’re trapped in one of these things.’

  ‘Yet here we are, both alive, by the grace of God,’ Saeed pointed out.

  Ella looked up. ‘Speaking of God, I see you’ve run into a few problems with the amendments to the Religious Freedom Laws.’

  ‘There’s been some criticism, but people will get used to it.’

  ‘Not if you live near a mosque.’

  ‘The call to prayer is of fundamental importance to Islam,’ Saeed pointed out. ‘Besides, church bells are a constant source of annoyance to people of faiths other than Christianity, so the objections are unfounded.’

  ‘Yes, you’re probably right,’ Ella conceded. ‘How’s the investigation going?’

  ‘Slowly. Whelan is being uncooperative at present. I suspect that may change in the near future.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘He’s being transferred to Holland, where initial proceedings will be heard in the International Criminal Court. Cairo is particularly keen to play a role in his trial and sentencing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘As you know, there were many Egyptian nationals amongst the victims at Luton,’ Saeed explained, ‘and of course, the bombs were designed to derail the Treaty itself. The Egyptian legal position is one of victim in this case. They have filed a strong argument for jurisdiction and, quite frankly, Brussels is keen to accommodate them.’

  ‘Even though most of the victims were UK citizens?’

  ‘These terror attacks could have happened anywhere across the continent. It’s important that this is seen as a European problem, to be dealt with as a community on an international stage. We’re not an island anymore, Ella.’

  ‘True,’ Ella admitted. ‘Besides, domestically you’re going to have your hands full. I’ve heard a rise in the basic tax rate is on the cards.’

  Saeed arched an eyebrow. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Something to do with the financial pressures caused by the relocation programme, trouble balancing the budget?’

  ‘Where did you hear that?’

  Ella smiled playfully. ‘I may be out of the loop, Tariq, but I’ve still got friends in Whitehall. I hear these things. The word is the system is buckling under the financial strain.’

  Saeed waved the comment away. ‘Propaganda, Ella, put about by those who wish to ferment discord.’ He fished inside his jacket for a pen and pulled a small notepad from a drawer. ‘Their names?’

  Ella’s smile slipped from her face. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Their names. The people who gave you this information.’

  Ella fidgeted in her wheelchair. ‘I really don’t – it’s just gossip, Tariq. Water cooler rumours, that’s all.’

  The pen hovered over the notepad. ‘Are you sure, Ella? Because these are dangerous comments, guaranteed to play straight into the hands of hate mongers and racists. You yourself are living proof of what these vile people are capable of. These sort of wild rumours only give weight to their cause.’

  Ella brushed an errant strand of hair way from her face. ‘Look, just forget it, ok? I’m sorry I mentioned it in the first place. It was just something I heard, that’s all. I won’t repeat it.’

  Saeed clicked the pen and slipped it back inside his jacket pocket. ‘That’s the right thing to do. My government is still finding its feet. Going forward the country needs unifying, that’s where our strength will lie. A coming together, as Europeans, under one flag, with one purpose.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ella muttered.

  Saeed watched the cripple drop her eyes and study her useless feet. Maybe he’d been too hard on her. He could see now her fire was well and truly spent, the combative flame she once possessed now reduced to a few dying embers. He was about to wind up their meeting when his cell vibrated inside his jacket pocket. He fished it out, checked the screen. ‘Excuse me, I need to take this.’ He got up and walked a short distance away, his shoes echoing across the marble floor. He flipped open the phone, an encrypted Nokia. ‘Salaam alaikum, Brother.’

  ‘Salaam alaikum,’ repeated the voice on the other end of the line.

  Saeed stole a glance over his shoulder. The cripple sat quietly, her hands draped over the arms of her wheelchair. He walked a little further away. ‘Everything is well, I trust?’

  ‘We may have a problem,’ warned the voice. Saeed thought he could hear the hiss of the sea in the background. No doubt the man was calling from his remote villa perched on Turkey’s rocky Lycian coastline. ‘Our asset has failed to make scheduled contact with his station chief and he’s not answering his cell. Have you heard from him?’

  Saeed kept his voice low. ‘It’s strange you should mention it, I was only just thinking about him. The answer is no, I haven’t heard from him in nearly a week. Leave it with me. I’ll check and get back to you.’ Saeed ended the call then speed dialled another encrypted device in Hampshire. It answered after three rings.

  ‘Yes, Parry here.’

  ‘I need to speak to Sully urgently,’ Saeed ordered, the phone’s sophisticated voice-altering software distorting his familiar timbre. There was a pause on the line, a nervous clearing of the throat.

  ‘Sully, yes. I’ll have to go and find him. He’s not answering his cell.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen him. I’ve been away for a few days, at a conference in Bristol.’ There was a pause on the line and Parry continued, ‘Come to think of it, I haven’t seen that nurse for a while, either. She was supposed to pick up some medication from me before I left for Bristol. What was her name again? Malloy? No, Malone, that was it.’

  Saeed took a deep breath to calm himself. ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘I, er–’

  ‘Good. Here’s what I want you to do. The patient is your main priority, so check on him first. Find out the last time he was attended to by either Sully or the nurse. Once you have that information, call me back immediately. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Saeed ended the call. He took a moment to compose himself, to quell the sudden feelings of doubt, the tiny butterflies of apprehension taking wing inside his stomach. He adjusted the knot of his tie and turned back to his desk. The cripple was gone. Then he heard the rustle of material and the squeak of her rubber wheels on the white marble. He took a few paces, his eye drawn towards the window, to the large object that stood near it, the one that was normally covered with a dust sheet to guard it from prying eyes, to be drawn back only when in the company of trusted friends and colleagues.

  And the cripple was staring at it.

  Saeed stepped smartly across the room to where Ella was circling the exposed architectural model. It was set on four large stone plinths, surrounded
by a small glass border and Ella whirred slowly around it, examining the finely detailed towers, the flag-lined avenues, the giant domes, with an approving eye. It was too late to stop her, too ridiculous to try and bluff it out. She was too smart for that. He folded his arms and watched her expression as she continued to circumnavigate the giant model.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she gushed. ‘Amazing. A real work of art.’

  ‘Isn’t it? A personal gift,’ he explained, ‘commissioned by the Sultan himself and built by Abbas Architects in Riyadh. It’s a conceptual piece on a scale of one to two hundred. Notice how they’ve used photo-etched phosphor bronze to represent most of the important buildings. The modellers have worked day and night for weeks to have it finished.’

  Saeed watched the cripple study it a while longer. Then the look of amazement melted from her face, replaced by cold realisation. The chair whined to a stop a few feet away from Saeed.

  ‘Is this – is this supposed to be Whitehall?’

  ‘Correct,’ confirmed Saeed, ‘the new Whitehall in fact, stretching from Trafalgar Square to Lambeth Bridge. You’ll note that Nelson’s statue on the column has been removed, along with those ghastly lions. In fact, all traces of Britain’s imperialist past along the length of Whitehall will be replaced, including many of its buildings.’

  Ella stared at the model a moment longer, then looked up at Saeed. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘On the contrary, I thought you might approve, Ella. After all, Whitehall’s construction, its whole history, is nothing less than a sordid celebration of warfare and an embarrassing nod to the era of colonialism. A theme you’ve alluded to once or twice yourself, if memory serves.’

  Ella’s voice faltered. ‘Well yes, I’m sure I’ve said things to that effect, but what you’re proposing here is simply unacceptable.’

  Saeed ran a finger along the smooth edge of the glass border. ‘As I said, this is a conceptual piece. A final design has yet to be agreed, but what you see before you is a modern, purpose-built administrative and state capital complex that will better serve the business of European and regional government. At the same time, it will help to sever psychological links to Whitehall’s past, specifically to the recent attacks. We’re moving forward, Ella.’