The Horse at the Gates (49 page)

‘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.’

‘Why?’

Saeed leaned close, his eye never tiring of the exquisite detail. ‘It is felt by many that the recent devastation has presented an opportunity to start again, to build something that all Europeans can marvel at. There’ll be no more Defence Ministry, no more Horse Guards or soldiers on horseback. Long-dead generals will be removed from their plinths, replaced with more contemporary pieces.’

Ella frowned. ‘But the current restoration works–’

‘Have been halted.’ Saeed slowly circumnavigated the model, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘London needs a new vision, one that better reflects its place in a new Europe.’ He pointed a slender finger towards a particularly well-constructed miniature building. ‘The architects in Riyadh have naturally included a mosque, complete with a magnificent bronze dome and full-sized minarets, each one a full thirty feet higher than Big Ben. Its footprint will encompass the existing bomb site, and what remains of Downing Street. The Foreign Ministry and the Cabinet Office buildings will also be demolished to make way for it. It’s a necessary addition for those of us of the faith who are unable to find adequate facilities during the course of their working day. And particularly during Ramadan.’

Ella manoeuvred her chair closer, studying the fine detail of the miniature building. ‘It’s huge.’

‘Of course.’ Saeed squatted down to peer along the length of the model’s impressive flag-lined avenue. ‘Britain’s Muslim population is flourishing. Many of my own government are of the faith and visiting dignitaries will expect to be able to worship in the heart of London, close to their embassies and the seat of power. As a modern city we cannot expect important visitors to shuttle back and forth to the existing facilities at Regent’s Park. Besides, the sheer scale and traditional design of this new construction means it will become an attraction in itself, much like the Blue Mosque in Istanbul.’ The cripple’s silence was deafening. Saeed straightened up. ‘You seem troubled.’

Ella shook her head as she continued to inspect the model. ‘It just doesn’t seem right. You can’t just wipe away Britain’s history because of a bit of bomb damage.’

Saeed looked down at her, choosing his words carefully. ‘And progress cannot be hindered by misplaced sentimentality, Ella. Many people in this country have little or no interest in history. Its economic opportunities we must provide now, not the preservation of old stone. In any case,’ he soothed, ‘the whole of London is steeped in antiquity, so the loss of a few buildings will soon be forgotten.’

‘Where’s the money coming from?’

‘Various sources, including Brussels, of course. The Gulf States have agreed to make a substantial contribution.’

Ella hit her lever and whirred past Saeed toward the desk. ‘I think it’s misguided, offensive even. Gabriel would never have allowed it,’ she muttered.

‘Gabriel isn’t here,’ Saeed reminded her. The Nokia trembled in his pocket; it was Parry. Saeed strode past his desk to another door set between two columns. He held it open. ‘Would you mind, Ella? An important call. Someone will take care of you.’

Ella manoeuvred her wheelchair into the outer office where several of Saeed’s staff were busy working. ‘We’ll talk soon,’ he promised. He slammed the door behind her and sat down at his desk. He lifted the Nokia to his ear. ‘Speak.’ Nothing, only the faint crackle of static on the line. ‘Hello?’

‘Oh my God,’ the voice whispered. ‘Oh Jesus.’

‘Parry? What’s the matter?’

The administrator’s voice trembled with emotion. ‘There’s been a terrible accident. At least, I think it’s a... oh, Jesus.’

‘Listen to me,’ hissed Saeed. ‘Get a grip on yourself and tell me exactly what’s happened.’

‘They’re dead.’

Saeed bolted upright in his chair, his thought processes kicking into overdrive. Bryce dead? How? Never mind, that wasn’t important right now. It was imperative he got hold of Sully, get this mess cleared up, keep the corpse on ice until he figured out a plan.

‘Where’s the body?’

‘Bodies. Plural.’

Saeed held his breath. ‘Come again?’

Parry’s voice cracked. ‘There’s blood everywhere, all over the floor. And the smell, Jesus Christ. The room’s full of flies.’

Saeed laid the phone down on the desk and took several deep breaths, steadying his hands on the mahogany surface. He could hear Parry’s tinny voice calling to him from the Nokia’s earpiece. After a moment he picked it up.

‘Listen to me, Parry. I want you to start from the beginning. When you went to check, the accommodation was secure, yes?’

‘That’s right. I used the master to gain access,’ Parry explained. ‘Place is swarming with flies. Like a bloody horror movie.’

‘Focus, you idiot!’ Saeed hissed. ‘Then what did you do?’

‘The patient’s room was secured from the outside. I had to slip the bolt to get in. Sully and Malone were lying on the floor. I didn’t go too close, but it’s obvious they’re both dead. What shall I do?’