The Horse at the Gates (48 page)

Bryce’s former Special Advisor was the thirty-third and last Downing Street survivor to meet the Prime Minister that morning. The others, mostly kitchen staff and domestic workers, had already been whisked away and were now enjoying the hospitality of the Park Lane Intercontinental before this evening’s reception.

‘Miss Jackson,’ Saeed bowed, holding out his hand, ‘it’s good to see you–’ he nearly said ‘on your feet’ but quickly shifted gear ‘–back with us.’

Between the columns, the photographer went to work, capturing the handshake, the benevolent smile, the compassionate tilt of the head, his camera clicking softly, the remote light stands flashing. Ella blinked before the halogen spots.

‘Oh, come on Tariq, don’t be so stiff. Just call me Ella.’

Saeed glanced towards his people. He saw the photographer pause and look up over his viewfinder, the duty press officer’s pen poised above his pad. The others stared silently. No one had called him by his given name for some time, not since Hooper had offered his resignation to the pavements of Millbank. He smiled a little wider, dropping her hand. This would be short and sweet.

‘How are you?’

‘Tired of going to funerals. Today is a welcome change.’

‘How’s the treatment?’

‘Never ending,’ she smiled, although Saeed could see the smile was strained, the pain evident behind her eyes, magnified by the glasses perched on the end of her nose. Saeed had never liked her, her irritating tenacity, her brusque manner, the way she’d protected Bryce like a faithful dog. And the fact that she was a woman, of course. He had no respect for career women, particularly those hard-bitten hags who struggled to hide their bitterness towards men, taking every opportunity to exert their authority over the poor eunuchs beneath them. Saeed would have no such creatures in his government, only willing supplicants or women of the faith, like Rana Hassani. Rana had been a loyal servant and had gone to her death unwittingly, but she had played her part. Then there were others, strong women, like his wife for example, who’d given him three healthy boys, who kept home, and kept quiet. That was her role, as a woman, as a wife, and she accepted it without question, the media warned to keep their distance, their pictures never taken nor published. It was Saeed’s will.

Jackson had changed, however. Physically, her appearance wasn’t up to the high standards that Saeed recalled. Her hair was still tied back in a familiar pony tail, but the ends were split and straggly, dark roots clearly evident on her scalp. She wore her familiar trouser suit and shirt, but the suit was crumpled and the shirt devoid of its usual crispness. Saeed could see that her legs were as thin as matchsticks and her feet shod with comfortable shoes rather than the inappropriate designer heels she previously wore. Her tired face bore no makeup, the lines a little more pronounced around the eyes and mouth, a pale ghost of the woman she once was. It was to be expected of course, the head injuries, the failed spinal surgery, her acceptance of a life bound to the chair she now occupied. The fire was gone from her belly. In another life Saeed might have felt some pity.

‘Your suffering has been well documented, Ella. You’ve been very brave.’

‘Brave? Oh, I don’t know about that,’ she snorted. ‘Scared, yes. Angry, most certainly. And then there’s the self-pity – I’ve wallowed in plenty of that. But no courage, I’m afraid. That’s been in short supply.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Can we not talk about my injuries, Tariq? Can we talk about something else?’

Saeed spread his hands. ‘Sure.’

‘Can we talk about Gabriel?’

His eyes flashed angrily, but the smile remained frozen across Saeed’s face. ‘Your devotion is to be commended, Ella. But now is not the–’

‘I’d really appreciate it. Just a few words. In private.’ She turned towards Saeed’s staff and smiled. Saeed saw one or two of them return the smile, their expressions sickeningly sympathetic. The camera flashed again, capturing the frail figure in the wheelchair. He’d have to tread carefully here.

‘My schedule is full. It may be more appropriate to talk later, at the reception. It’ll be a lot less formal.’

Ella shook her head. ‘I won’t be attending, I’m afraid. I get very tired in the evenings.’

‘That’s regrettable,’ he simpered. ‘Perhaps another time then?’

‘You can’t give me five minutes, Tariq? For old times’ sake?’

She adjusted her useless legs and glanced toward his assembled staff once again. Saeed seethed. Despite her disability, the bitch still knew how to play the game. He nodded, the smile frozen on his lips. ‘Of course I can.’ He ordered the assembled personnel to leave the room and took a seat behind his huge executive desk. It was uncluttered, just a computer pad and a telephone occupying its surface, the polished mahogany reflecting Saeed’s face like a mirror as he pulled his seat in. Footsteps faded and the doors at the far end of the room were closed. They were alone.

‘Nice picture,’ Ella said, looking over Saeed’s shoulder. The Prime Minister turned, following her gaze. The painting was in oils on a huge canvas, a camel train snaking across the bleached white sands of the Arabian desert, the dawn sky a mixture of pink and red hues, the dark fingers of the Sawarat mountains in the background. When Saeed had seen it in Cairo he had to have it, and he felt it matched the period features of the room perfectly, lending it an almost colonial feel, something that bothered his more politically correct staff than himself.

‘
Sunrise over the Western Desert,
’ he announced proudly. ‘An emerging Egyptian artist, Ahmed Lufti. A very gifted young man, wouldn’t you say?’

‘It’s very you,’ Ella replied. Her wheelchair whirred as she guided it closer to Saeed’s desk with her joystick. ‘Can we talk about Gabriel?’

Saeed swivelled around and placed his hands on the desk. ‘Sure.’

‘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 chuckled. ‘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?’