The Bell Ringers (54 page)

‘Once you've rounded up Eyam and his people?'

Ferris got up. ‘I think the prime minister is telling you that he's busy. You should leave, Cannon.'

‘That's all right, Jamie,' said Temple smoothly.

‘Just say and I'll have him removed, prime minister.'

‘Like that solicitor in High Castle,' snapped Cannon, now finding that he was really quite enjoying himself. ‘The one who read Eyam's dossier and was shot, presumably by the same man who broke into the lawyer's office and then – what do you know? – turns up at Chequers with you. An employee of Eden White, no doubt, like most of the people in this room.'

Ferris looked at his watch, unperturbed. ‘I think we should be expecting a report any moment. Would you mind if I stepped away for a second?'

Temple nodded, but before Ferris reached the door, Cannon said: ‘I wouldn't go just yet. You might want to hear this.' From inside his pocket he drew the four-page report and unfolded it. ‘I don't need to read this to you because you have already got a copy, prime minister. It is from the government's chief scientific adviser, informing you that the red algae came from the government's research station at Ashmere Holt and that this was confirmed after tests over the weekend. TRA is in fact a hybrid developed in the laboratory of the station. A genetically modified organism created for God knows what by a secret programme, then released into the environment accidentally. That's the story.'

‘A full inquiry has already been promised,' said Temple. ‘Clearly we must take all measures to protect the public whatever the cause.'

‘Prime minister, I'm the one who issues statements like that. I know the lies behind them.'

Ferris put up his hand. ‘If you wouldn't mind, prime minister, I'll just find out what's happening on the other thing.'

Temple nodded and got up as though to leave.

‘I would rather you hear me out, prime minister.' He stopped in his tracks and gave Cannon a deadly look. ‘This report was given to you on Monday morning,' continued Cannon. ‘Verbal confirmation of the findings was received by your office during the morning, and yet you went ahead and invoked the Civil Contingencies Act at noon the same day. You suspended the Constitution to stop Eyam.'

‘Don't use that tone with me, Philip.'

‘People are being held illegally in a car park like some South American junta. From what I gather, nobody knows what the hell they're meant to do – the conditions are insanitary, inhuman.'

‘A temporary measure; the public is concerned about the water supply.'

‘Water supply that the government polluted,' snapped Cannon.

By now the three others in the room were looking agitated. Alec Smith rose and placed himself between Cannon and Temple. ‘This man was due to be given a security interview, prime minister. There is no reason why he shouldn't be arrested under the Official Secrets Act.'

‘Don't be an idiot,' said Cannon, looking up at Alec. ‘This document will be released to the press at midday unless I stop it personally. Bryant Maclean will love the story because it not only fucks you, prime minister, after you were so stupid as to threaten him, it exposes your friend Eden White.'

‘Philip! Philip,' said Temple with a sudden conciliatory appeal. ‘I am about to call an election in which I will be fighting for the things that you and I know are right – order, security, stability, steady progress on our numerous social problems. Now, if you want to talk about your future in government I'm happy to do that later today. But I am expected at the palace.'

Cannon let out a bitter laugh. ‘My bridges are burned – we both know that. I have no role in government. By this afternoon Alec and Christine here will be sweating a confession out of me.' He paused. ‘I'm not looking for a deal.'

Temple nodded to the other three, and allowed a smile to break surface. ‘Give us a minute or two, would you?'

They left without looking at Cannon.

‘Sit down for a moment, Philip.'

Cannon remained on his feet and from the corner of his vision noted the time. It was ten twenty-three a.m.

‘Let's make this brief. You can resign in your own time, go to the House of Lords and head any bloody organisation you like, if that's what you want, Philip: a respectable retirement with as much or as little work as you want.'

Cannon shook his head. ‘I'm not interested.'

‘Then what do you want?'

‘Abandon DEEP TRUTH. Close it down. Give people their privacy back.'

Temple sat on the arm of his favourite chair and leaned forward with his hands together. ‘But it's an essential tool of modern government, Philip. Your request is the equivalent of demanding I drive to Buckingham Palace in a coach and four. This is twenty-first century government: we need such systems to run the country, to help people help themselves. Surveillance is part of all our lives. The gathering, processing and sharing of personal data are now an essential element in the armoury of social policy. You don't hear people complaining about it because they know it's necessary and want us to look after them, without having to bother with all the details. They want a strong and smart state, Philip, a state that is capable of taking action on the issues that really affect them – energy and food prices, disorder . . .'

‘I've heard the list before, prime minister. If you were so confident about the system, why is it secret? Why have you hidden it from Parliament and the public? Why destroy those who have threatened to speak about it?'

‘Eyam destroyed himself. Are you going to take the word of a paedophile over mine, Philip? Be reasonable, man. I am fighting for what is right here. You and I – we believe in this government. Let's see a way out of this.' Cannon had become aware of the faint noise around them – the murmur of political expectation, the rumination of all those who held the power together in the cockpit of the British state. Indistinct sounds reached them from outside the door and twice someone knocked and looked in, but Temple just shook his head with irritation. ‘We need to resolve this now. I want to go to the country with you by my side, or at least knowing that we are not at war.'

‘You just relieved me of my duties.'

‘But there are ways round that. Tell me what you want.'

‘I just have.'

‘Within reason.'

Cannon glanced at the little silver clock on the table. It was ten thirty-five. He would keep the prime minister there for a little while yet. ‘You can start by suspending the emergency powers and letting all those people go free; clearing the army and police from the streets. You can't go on using the Civil Contingencies Act to beat David Eyam.'

‘Eyam is a traitor. I will use any powers any way I like to destroy a foul, dirty-minded traitor. And as for his friend Peter Kilmartin . . . well, you trust people and they take advantage. It's always the same. I'll see them suffer a little – eh? I'll make these bastards pay for their lies and treachery.' Then he did something that Cannon had only seen once before, when Temple thought he was going to lose a vote in the House of Commons. It was a spasm that he remembered started with a black look in his eyes, and quickly affected his vocal cords, which involuntarily emitted a sound of strangulation and made his mouth open and shut rapidly.

‘Are you all right?'

‘Yes,' said Temple, working his jaw and massaging his throat. He reached for a water bottle and drank from it with short, greedy sips, looking away. ‘You know, Philip,' he said conversationally, just as Cannon was beginning to wonder if Temple was losing his mind. ‘We should sort this out now.' He picked up the phone and said, ‘Change the appointment to eleven. Make my apologies; say there's a lot on.' He replaced the receiver. ‘We've got ten minutes.'

Now Temple was also playing for time, and that suited Cannon.

The downpour came as Kate reached the Sovereign's Entrance and was redirected to a temporary security cabin at the other end of Old Palace Yard, which had been erected because of flooding in the usual checkpoint. Police and soldiers stood about aimlessly hoping for something to happen. What did they expect? Attacks from people carrying phials of water containing toxic red algae? She pleaded that she had no umbrella and added that her name was on the door, but the guard
shook his head and said it was more than his job was worth to let her in without checks and a search of her belongings; even in normal times it was out of the question. Then he fetched an umbrella from inside the peers' entrance and escorted her to the cabin. She kept her head bent down but her eyes moved restlessly ahead, absorbing the fact that Parliament Square had not been completely closed to traffic, and that pedestrians were still being allowed through, although most were being stopped.

By the time she reached the queue of a dozen people it was evident to her escort that she needed to sit down and when he had pushed to the head of the queue he found her a plastic chair. She gave her name as Koh and smiled shyly at the policeman as he flipped through an extensive file of photographs, glancing up at her face. Someone else checked her name against the list of those expected and she was handed a pass. She stood up and was asked to place her two index fingers on a fingerprint reader and stare into an iris scanner, which she did with equanimity, knowing that none of her biometric details were on record. She explained that she did not have an ID card because she had recently moved from America and no one seemed to care. There was a good deal of haste and tempers were frayed in the hot, humid conditions of the security hut.

Her bag was fed through the scanner, and she moved unsteadily towards the horseshoe metal detector. On the other side there was a camera fixed at eye-level and two security guards wearing latex gloves were running their hands over visitors. Both had patches of damp under their arms. Kate stepped through the metal detector and held her arms out for the female guard but did not undo her coat. The guard said she must go back and put it through the machine. At that moment Kilmartin's phone went off in her bag. ‘Sorry, they're expecting me in Committee Room Five,' she said and she explained about the lack of taxis; that her pregnancy had not been an easy one; she'd left home without the papers she needed; and Lord, what was she going to do about her hair? All this was delivered in a breathless, academic clip while she removed her coat. She went back through the metal detector and laid it in one of the large plastic trays. As the conveyor belt took it through the scanner, she looked around and with a start noticed
Kilmartin's courier move to the second scanner and carefully place the shopping bag containing the bound volume in a tray.

Kate passed through the metal detector for the third time and raised her arms. With some irritation the security guard glanced at her then looked over her shoulder to the press of people escaping the rain, which was now beating down on the roof. She began to feel along her sleeves but suddenly seemed to lose patience and simply waved her through. Kate picked up her coat and bag and moved to the door. The courier had been frisked and now stood immaculately composed in front of the guard by the scanner, who was examining the book. ‘You may check the book, but you may not read it,' she said firmly and proffered a letter on House of Commons notepaper, but the guard ignored it and handed it to a plainclothes policeman, who looked through its pages then skimmed the letter. That was all Kate saw because someone opened the door and gestured her out. Struggling into her coat she went down the wheelchair ramp and headed for St Stephen's entrance thirty feet away.

Two policemen with automatic weapons stood on the steps of the entrance, sheltering from the rain. She passed between them, then turned to follow their gaze across the street to a small group of people who, despite the security, had managed to assemble on the other side of the road beneath the Henry VII Chapel of Westminster Abbey. Slightly detached from the group was a tall figure in a dark-green anorak. His hood was up but she was almost certain that this was Sean Nock and beside him was her mother and a very large figure whose face was obscured by an umbrella. At least that had gone to plan.

At that moment an ambulance, with lights flashing but no siren on, drifted to a halt on the westbound lane of St Margaret's Street and blocked her view. A policeman approached the driver's window and the ambulance lingered. She had to be sure it was Nock so she made some show of arranging her coat, at the same time aware of the churning in her stomach and the unusual dryness in her mouth. Telling Nock to come had admittedly been a risk, which was why she hadn't consulted Eyam or Kilmartin, yet she was sure not just of his attraction to her but also of Nock's troubled decency. The ambulance was waved on and moved towards an opening on the black metal barrier that separated Old Palace Yard from the traffic, and she looked once more at the
group, but didn't see him again. She turned and climbed the remainder of the steps to the gothic doorway, where another policeman gave her directions to Central Lobby.

There were no cameras; no one was watching. She walked the length of St Stephen's Hall, quickly removing the reading glasses and the woolly hat, then unfastening the grip and shaking out her hair. Passing through the Central Lobby – the intersection of the two main axes of Barry's masterly hybrid of religious and secular architecture – she turned once to see if the woman with Eyam's book was following, but saw no one. The screens in the lobby told her that a debate on Britain's fish stocks was in progress in the Chamber of the House of Commons and that the Joint Committee on Human Rights was already in session.

But there was little sign of activity in the wide, tiled Victorian thoroughfares. A feeling of evacuation, or maybe obsolescence, pervaded and for a second she was struck by the hopelessness of bringing Eyam's bits of paper to the site of the near-extinct cult of democracy. They might as well be lighting candles in a Tibetan monastery for all that the world outside cared. But outside there were real threats that seemed all the closer now she approached her destination.