The Horse at the Gates (35 page)

‘Duncan?’

‘That’s right. He’s signed an affidavit, stating that you forced him to circumvent admission procedures and accept Bryce as a patient in the name of national security. I’ve done the same, expressing my deep disquiet as to your motives and my concern for Gabriel Bryce’s health. These documents were drafted and lodged with the Attorney General’s office at the time. They will remain in her possession, sealed, as long as you announce your resignation today.’

Hooper’s face had turned from puce to ash white in less than a minute. He picked up the papers one by one, his disbelieving eyes scanning their contents, turning them over in his sweaty hands as if careful scrutiny would reveal them to be forgeries. Finally, he dropped them back on the table, his shoulders sagging just a little. ‘All this was all your idea, Tariq. The only way to guarantee Cairo, you said. Take the country forward.’

‘If you recall, you were more concerned about Washington than Cairo, right Jacob? Which is why a message was conveyed to President Vargas before your visit to-’

‘What?’ Hooper stormed.

‘That’s correct. It was felt that the White House should be given the opportunity to distance itself from you and any potential scandal. Your humiliation in Washington is proof that they took that opportunity.’

Hooper’s face boiled. ‘You fucking snake,’ he hissed, his lip curled into a sneer. ‘You back-stabbing little shit. You think I’ll just bend over, let you fuck me up the arse with this? I’ll bring you down too, smear you with enough dirt to screw up your own–’

He stopped suddenly, the words hanging in the air. Then the sneer morphed slowly into a knowing smile. ‘Oh yes, I get it now. Prime Minister Saeed, eh? You think that’s got a nice ring to it? You like the look of this office?’ He jabbed a finger towards Saeed’s chest. ‘The bright lights of Cairo have fried your brain, Minister. You think I’m going to make way for you? Think again.’

Saeed took a step back and sat down. There was only two ways this would go and clearly Hooper wasn’t going to take the easy route. ‘I’m sorry you feel like that, Jacob, truly I am. This country has suffered a lot of turmoil since the terror attacks and Cairo has given us all much hope for the future. You don’t figure in that future, Jacob. Your reputation is in the toilet, you’ve lost the confidence of the party and the people. Even your own staff are jumping ship.’

Saeed shifted in his seat and crossed his legs, brushing a speck of imaginary dust from his trousers. ‘Consultations with the Palace, the Privy Council’s office and the Parliamentary Party are complete and unequivocal – Jacob Hooper is a political liability and must be replaced. This afternoon I will issue a statement in the House calling for a vote of no confidence. And I’ll get it, Jacob, because the deep disquiet felt by many in regard to your stewardship will not go away. The country has lost faith in your abilities to carry it forward and many European leaders have expressed a reluctance to work with you. And abroad? Well, I think your international reputation speaks for itself. But there’s more.’

Hooper remained rooted to the spot, his eyes darting between Saeed and the evidence laid out before him. Saeed waved a hand towards the buff-coloured padded envelope on Hooper’s desk.

‘That last envelope contains further evidence against you, Jacob, evidence of more nefarious activities carried out in your name. Open it.’

Hooper snatched it up and tore it open, the contents spilling out over the desk. There were more documents and photographs this time, glossy black and white ten by eights, with stark, disturbing images. He saw Hooper lift them up to his face, his eyes narrowing at first, then widening as he finally grasped what he was looking at.

‘Jesus Christ, is that–?’

‘Gabriel Bryce, yes. Evidence of the treatment you condemned him to, his graphic deterioration in that awful facility. It’s all there, all engineered by you, your orders.’

Hooper let the photographs slip from his fingers, skimming across the smooth surface of the desk onto the floor. One of them landed by the heel of Saeed’s immaculately polished brogue, a disturbing image of Gabriel Bryce, stripped naked and crouched in the dark corner of a padded room, bony arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes pleading, haunted. Even Saeed was shocked when he first saw it.

‘Jesus Christ,’ Hooper repeated quietly. ‘What sort of animal are you?’

‘There’s something else.’ Saeed leaned over and pushed another photograph across the desk with his finger. Hooper stared at it.

‘You remember this occasion?’

Hooper frowned, then nodded. ‘My last tour of Afghanistan.’ He picked it up, studying it hard.

‘Correct, taken twelve years ago, just before you resigned your commission and became MP for Bolsover. An interesting composition, don’t you think?’

On the surface the photograph was unremarkable as military photographs went, a dozen soldiers in desert fatigues and UN berets grouped in front of a large truck, smiling faces, eyes squinting in the harsh Afghan sunlight. Hooper was at the front, overweight even then, arms clasped stiffly behind his back, puffy red face sweating in the heat.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘Chequers.’

Hooper’s eyes narrowed. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Your personal data drives, actually. Millie has been most cooperative. I think she’s suffered more from the Washington fiasco than you. She’s a very defensive woman, very bitter. And she blames you, of course. I have it on good authority that she’s been in contact with a very reputable firm in Lincoln’s Inn that specialises in divorce.’

Hooper reacted like he’d been punched, grabbing the edge of the desk. ‘She what?’

‘Don’t be naive, Jacob,’ chuckled Saeed. ‘We both know your ambition is easily surpassed by your wife’s. In fact, her abuse of the system is becoming quite legendary. I’m told she requisitioned the helicopter for personal use on at least two occasions, no doubt with your knowledge.’

‘Stupid bitch,’ Hooper muttered under his breath. He looked at the colour image again. ‘So she gave you a photo, so what?’

Saeed pushed the glossy paper back across the desk and tapped it with his finger. ‘As I said, an interesting composition. The man at the back, fourth from the left. You recognise him?’ He watched Hooper lower his head, his eyes squinting.

‘No. Should I?’

‘Yes, you should. That’s Daniel Whelan.’

Hooper’s mouth dropped open, a thin bar of saliva bridging his lips. ‘Bloody hell, so it is. I’ll be damned.’

Saeed smiled. ‘An accurate assessment, Jacob.’

‘What?’

‘The photograph
is
damning. It connects you to Whelan, to Luton and Downing Street.’

‘What? Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hooper snorted.

Saeed noted the incredulous look, the mirthless chuckle. ‘Hard to believe, I know, but let’s look at the facts. You both served in Afghanistan at the same time.’

‘So what?’ exploded Hooper, waving the photograph in the air. ‘This was taken at Kandahar. There were thousands of troops there, how the hell am I supposed to remember every man under my command? Especially a fucking private!’

‘–and some years later your careers in Whitehall overlapped too,’ Saeed continued. ‘In fact, at one point you both worked in the same building. You see the link now? Whelan committed the Luton atrocity and is by default connected to the Downing Street bomb. Somehow access was gained to the government vehicle used in the attack for an extended period of time, which proves Whelan had an accomplice with significant security clearance. The explosive material was military grade, and you have extensive contacts throughout the armed forces in your previous roles as Defence Minister and your service in the Logistics Corps. You avoided the blast itself–’

‘Because you called me!’

‘–and immediately assumed authority. Since then, the hunt for the bombers has stalled and Whelan remains at large. A dossier has been compiled. There are grounds for investigation.’

Hooper swayed on his feet, then dropped heavily into his chair. He looked shell-shocked, defeated. ‘This is an outrage,’ he whispered, ‘all a complete pack of lies. You can’t prove a thing.’

Saeed laughed. ‘What’s the quote, Jacob?
A lie can travel the world, while the truth is still tying its shoes?
The truth doesn’t matter. Proof doesn’t matter. Your reputation is already holed below the waterline and if this goes public you’ll sink without trace. I have it on good authority that the police will be forced to interview you formally, under caution. With your name already in tatters, the stain of suspicion would be hard to erase, whatever the real truth may be.’

Hooper buried his face in his hands, his breath coming in small gasps. At first Saeed thought he was crying, then changed his assessment to panic. The fight had certainly left him, he could see that now. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to turn the screw a little more, just to be sure.

‘But it’s not just about you, is it Jacob? There are your two young sons to consider, both nicely settled in their new school. Charterhouse, is that right? An outstanding school, certainly one of the best. However the board will frown upon their association with the Hooper family name and the stench of failure and disgrace. Not a good example for the rest of their young charges, and I’m sure the other parents will have something to say, too. A shame really, all because their father refused to co-operate for the good of the country.’

Saeed reached down and picked up the resignation letter at his feet. He smoothed it out and leaned over, sliding it across the desk. ‘It doesn’t have to be this way, Jacob. Sign that and leave now, today. Arrangements will be made. You’ll be comfortable, nothing extravagant, but comfortable, a decent pension.’

‘What about my boys?’

‘They’ll stay at Charterhouse, as long as you do as you’re told. After all, why should the sons be punished for the sins of the father? Unless, of course, the father decides to open his mouth, in which case their little feet won’t touch the ground.’

Hooper slumped further down in his chair, like a boxer on his corner stool, bloodied, beaten, unable to continue the fight. His face was a sickly grey colour, his eyes fixed on the landscape beyond the window. Confusion, disbelief, anger, denial, acceptance – Saeed had seen them all today and in a relatively short space of time. Hooper was a predictable animal and he’d played his role perfectly, but now it was time for the principal to leave the stage. Saeed slipped his cell from his pocket and punched a number.

‘Come up now,’ he ordered, then ended the call.

Hooper lifted his head. ‘Who are you calling?’

‘I have a small team waiting downstairs. Time is of the essence, Jacob, the continuity of government paramount. The office of the Prime Minister is to be reorganised.’

‘What happens now?’

‘You’ll sign the letter, then a car will take you to Chequers. You have three days to vacate the premises, after which I suggest a long holiday, somewhere private. Perhaps you’ll be able to save your marriage, perhaps not, but you’ll talk to no-one. A security team will be assigned to you and there’ll be no contact with the media. In a few months you’ll be assessed, then we’ll figure out a position for you somewhere, possibly Europe. It’ll be very low key, but you’ll get used to it. The alternative will be much worse for you and your family.’

Saeed got to his feet and gathered his documents together, slipping the photographs back inside the folder. Through the frosted panels he saw a group of people enter the outer office. As he reached for the door handle, Hooper said, ‘Why, Tariq?’

‘Excuse me?’

Hooper remained slumped in his chair, his eyes fixed on the view beyond the window, his voice almost a whisper. ‘Why? Why set me up, threaten me, threaten my children? What did I ever do to you?’

Saeed walked towards the desk. He kept his voice low too, conscious of the bodies outside the door. ‘Look at me, Jacob.’ Hooper turned his head. ‘Would you have gone if I’d have just asked nicely? Of course not. For you the premiership represents nothing more than power and prestige, the status to be savoured and enjoyed like exquisite food or vintage wines. You’re right, I do want this job, but for entirely different reasons than your own.’ Saeed glanced towards the door, then leaned over the desk, the whisper barely audible. ‘You see, the country is heading in a new direction, one that you could never contemplate steering towards nor comprehend why. I, however, do understand, as do others in Europe and elsewhere. The vision is a clear one, the goal now achievable. The task will take decades, but the groundwork has now been laid. This office and the responsibility it brings is nothing more than a tool to be used in the construction of something magnificent, a historical vision that has fired the imaginations of men for centuries. You think I care about country mansions and helicopters? I couldn’t care less.’

Saeed straightened up and shook his head. ‘You are a stupid man, Jacob Hooper, stupid and arrogant. I think the media have you pegged rather well at the moment. And later today the headlines will add ‘finished’ to their growing list of superlatives.’ He tapped the resignation letter on the desk. ‘Sign it. People are waiting.’

Hooper hung his head, chin on his chest, legs splayed out before him, arms dangling over the rests of his chair. If he was beaten before, he was well and truly crushed now, Saeed realised. He’d get no more trouble from him.

Hooper raised his tired, bloodshot eyes. ‘Give me a couple of minutes, would you Tariq? Allow me to compose myself?’

Saeed glanced at his watch and nodded. ‘You’ve got five.’

There were a dozen people waiting in the outer office, handpicked to take over the running of the Prime Minister’s office. Most were communications staff, ready to begin the task of informing the media of Hooper’s resignation to a waiting world. The news would not come as a shock, Saeed knew, because Hooper had performed so badly, and with the Christian festival of Christmas around the corner, the people would be keen to see a steady hand on the tiller as quickly as possible. And that would be Saeed’s hand, of course.

‘Is the Prime Minister all right, Sir?’ Every head in the outer office turned towards Polly as she spoke.