Fortress (33 page)

‘But, as you say, the sample is just the party faithful. They’re always at their worst when there’s a bit of bother on the streets.’

This was too much for Garvey. ‘Geoff, really, you can’t go around downplaying what’s uppermost in people’s minds right now.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just a turn of phrase. You know me, never knowingly overstated.’

And this with half the country going up in flames. He really was the limit.

Farmer looked up from the pages of figures perched on his knee. He had evidently detected an unexpected ally in his midst. ‘Well, to the home secretary’s point, there’s a further question in the same sample it’s worth drawing your attention to.’

‘Go on. Hit me while I’m down.’

‘Eighty-five per cent of those polled said they believed that Vernon Rolt’s call for a crackdown on suspected terrorists should be heeded by the government.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake—’

‘And if I could just finish? Sixty-five per cent of them said they would vote for the opposition if they were to adopt the same measures.’

‘Well, bollocks to that as well. Five months is a very long time in politics.’

Farmer wasn’t backing down. ‘We can’t overlook it. The party chairman has been onto us about it.’

‘Well, he can sod off.’

The PM got up and started moving round the room, fiddling with his many knick-knacks – evidence of his supposed popularity in various parts of the world the voters weren’t interested in – but Farmer wasn’t to be deflected. Garvey braced herself for what was coming.

‘Look, just as a holding measure, how about a meeting – you and Rolt? Nothing formal, just so we can get a photo of you together. You don’t have to show your hand, just listen to him for ten minutes.’

The PM didn’t seem to be paying attention. Farmer added: ‘All right, five. It might help check the rumour that you’re not receptive to fresh ideas.’

The PM’s face was very shiny now. ‘It’s his ideas I’m not bloody receptive to. I’ve nailed my colours to the multicultural mast and I’m not taking them down, especially for that – I know it’s terrible what happened to his hostel and after all he’s done for our boys and so on, but I refuse to be associated with a proponent of deportation. Derek, I’m disappointed in you. Sarah, where do you stand on Mr Rolt?’

‘I’m with you, Prime Minister – sorry, Derek. We’re a nation of moderates, and whatever the polls say, when the chips are down, we don’t like extremists. I say, stand your ground. Besides, everyone knows that the right message at a time like this is one of unity – the very opposite of what he’s trying to promote.’

Farmer gave an almost inaudible grunt of reproach.

Garvey glanced at her watch. ‘We need to cover security arrangements for Friday.’

The prime minister was clearly glad of a reason to get shot of Farmer. ‘Sorry, Derek, let’s pick this up later.’

Farmer gathered up his papers and got to his feet. ‘So you’ll give it some thought? Only we’re inundated by press enquiries about where you stand …’

Garvey knew this was a bridge too far. When the PM flipped he turned an alarming heart-attack red, reminding her of an angry tomato.

‘I’m not going to be pushed around by some Oswald Mosley wannabe with delusions of grandeur. Make it go away, Derek. Do your job.’

Farmer collected up his papers and shuffled out of the room. The PM shook his head as the door closed. ‘He may be right. A handshake would probably suffice. He can be invited to some low-level do or other and they can get their picture – but I’m buggered if I’m going to give him a personal audience. You know, they’ve got the same problem in the US, the rising tide of bigotry. The President and I compared notes.’

There was a wistful look in the PM’s eye, as if he was remembering a romantic weekend, before he’d had to come home to his wife.

‘Yes, and on that note, I really must give you a rundown on the security for the summit.’

The PM groaned. ‘Must you, Sarah? I’m sure you’ve got it marvellously under control.’

What was wrong with the man? He was hopeless on detail. Besides, she was going to tell him whether he wanted to hear it or not. Then if anything went wrong, God forbid, he couldn’t say she’d kept him out of the loop.

‘Basically there’ll be a total exclusion zone around Number Ten and Whitehall for the whole day. All the roads will be closed around the ambassador’s residence in Regent’s Park for his motorcade, or if he’s delayed he can helicopter in from Stansted, once they’ve parked Air Force One, and land in St James’s Park. Any hiccup at all, we have the place secure. Every pedestrian within a mile will be stopped and, if necessary, searched. The police have authorization to turn away anyone they don’t like the look of. We will also be closing Westminster, Charing Cross and Victoria tube stations and rerouting the buses. The only press invited will be ours and theirs, staff only, no freelances.’

The PM’s eyes had already glazed over. ‘As I said, I’m sure you’ve got it all under control.’

A senior PA put her head round the door. ‘The cabinet secretary’s here, Prime Minister.’

The PM sprang to attention. ‘Jolly good.’

Garvey got swiftly to her feet. The last thing she needed right now was to be cross-examined by Clements in front of the PM.

‘And, ma’am, Stephen Mandler’s waiting for you in your office. He said it’s urgent.’

73

Westminster

Mandler was perched on the edge of the sofa, half folded over as if he had a stitch.

‘You look like a man who’s painted himself into a corner.’

He shrugged dejectedly. The comment had hit home, as Garvey’s comments usually did.

‘So, let me see if I’ve got this right. You’ve got Rolt being funded by people in the US who do surveillance software and private security. And you’ve got an Invicta man whose house you want to turn over without tipping off the Met.’

‘All I’m doing, Sarah, is keeping you in the loop.’

And possibly looking for somewhere else to lay the blame, once it came to it, which it usually did. ‘Thank you, Stephen, that’s most considerate. What is it you actually want?’

‘Leave to keep going, but without involving the police. We may need to lift a few people and question them without sending any shockwaves that might alert Rolt’s friends.’

‘Are you saying Rolt is somehow complicit in the bombing of his own hostel?’

‘Not in so many words – but you’re aware of what we know about the supposed “bomber” and that’s still under wraps for now. But if we take the two incidents together, the shooting in Walthamstow and the bombing, what do they have in common? It would now seem that both were planned specifically to deceive us about who was responsible. The first outraged the Muslim community because it appeared that the police had shot an innocent man, and the second got the rest of the population very worked up – not just over Syrian returnees, but just about everybody with a Koran in the house. If anyone wanted to split the public and turn the two communities against each other this has done it, and Rolt has stepped into that divide. It’s extremely bad news.’

‘But apart from your belief that trouble always comes in threes, and a nasty feeling about Rolt, this doesn’t amount to much.’

‘Look, can I just say, re the location for the summit—’

‘Stephen, there’s no way that’s going to change. The PM has staked his reputation and, indeed, his political future on pulling off a deal with the US that should put the economy back on the rails. What’s more, moving it away from Downing Street will, he thinks, make him look weak. I don’t like you going behind the backs of the police. As it is, there’s too much friction between you lot.’

She held his gaze. They both knew what she was talking about. 9/11 might have been averted had there been better communication between the US security services. 7/7 had caught them unawares here, yet the perpetrators were found afterwards to have been on the watch lists. And with Al Qaeda urging returnees from Syria to make lone-wolf attacks on any significant targets this was no time to be fomenting disunity between MI5 and the Met.

‘How’s your man inside Invicta? Has he made any headway?’

‘It’s a little early to say, but he’s certainly got stuck in. He’s the reason I’m here basically.’

‘His name wouldn’t be Tom Buckingham, would it, by any chance?’

The blood drained from Mandler’s face. ‘Wherever did you get that idea?’

She gave him a wry look. ‘You’re aware that our mutually esteemed cabinet secretary has a soft spot for Rolt. Turns out they dined at Clements’s club and Rolt was waxing lyrical about an ex-SAS man of that name. If he’s your man, and Clements is aware of him, I fear his number may be up pretty soon.’

74

Tom walked past the SO6 cops outside Invicta’s headquarters and through the front door, held open for him by another cop with an MP5. Inside, the security guard gave him a friendly nod. No questions, no search. And the receptionist greeted him as if he’d worked there for years.

‘I’ll sign you in, Mr Buckingham. Just go straight up,’ she said, with a sunny smile.

‘Thanks. It’s Hattie, isn’t it?’

She beamed.

Phoebe was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. ‘Hello, Mr Buckingham. How nice to see you again.’

She was so convincing, he wondered for a moment if she had just had a serious attack of amnesia. ‘Good to see you too – er?’

‘Phoebe.’

‘Of course, how could I forget?’

He took her hand and gave it a discreet squeeze.

‘Good trip, I hope?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

A couple of Invicta staff came past and smiled at him.

Phoebe was staying in character. ‘We’ve lost Vernon, I’m afraid. He went off to see a group of MPs and he’s not back.’

‘No problem, I’ll wait.’

Phoebe’s eyes shifted pointedly towards the doorway of the room next to where they were standing. Inside, a woman was sitting on a chair, facing the desk: fortyish, attractive, with dark shoulder-length hair, in a dark coat and low-heeled shoes; professional, he guessed, educated. Phoebe leaned towards him. ‘Mrs al-Awati, the mother of the hostel bomber. Vernon invited her.’

If she heard them talking about her, she gave no indication of it. Instead, she stared into the middle distance, as if to avoid focusing on anything.

‘How come?’

Phoebe leaned closer. ‘He wants to show some magnanimity. He thinks it’s a good message to send out that he’s capable of forgiveness – and, of course, it’s a great photo-opportunity.’ She gestured at a photographer sitting on a bench further down the corridor, surrounded by his kit, reading the
Sun
. ‘Give me a sec, will you?’

Tom went into the room. ‘Mrs al-Awati, good afternoon. I’m Tom Buckingham. I work with Mr Rolt.’

She started to get up.

‘No, please.’

Her face was etched with grief, her eyes marbled with red, as if she had been crying for days. A handkerchief was balled up in her fist. Tom took her other hand as he sat down beside her. It was stone cold. He was tempted to keep hold of it just to add some warmth. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Over the years he had had to comfort the parents of fallen comrades, but nothing like this. Her face crumpled. She lifted the handkerchief and pressed it to her eyes. ‘Thank you. Do you know you’re the first person to say that to me? I still can’t entirely believe it. Maybe I never will.’

‘That’s an understandable reaction.’

She began to cry again.

‘It’s very courageous of you to come here today.’

She said nothing to this, just stared into her lap.

‘Why don’t you tell me a bit about him? He was in Syria. For how long?’

‘Why he went – I’ll never understand. He had a good job with the Co-op, a pharmacist. Not medicine, as we’d hoped, but still – respectable, you know. Then last September I got a text. He said he’d flown to Turkey. I thought he’d gone on a last-minute holiday. He was there five months. They wanted him for his shooting skills.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Clay-pigeon shooting was his sport. He won a lot of cups for it – he was so skilled. They’re all still in his room.’

‘Did he come back to you when he returned to the UK?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was he like, when he came back?’

‘He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t see his old friends. He was on his phone all the time, I don’t know who to.’

‘And what happened – with the authorities?’

‘They came down on him very hard. Detention, took his passport away. Nothing excuses what he did, but I think that was the worst part, the treatment he got when he came back. He thought he had gone to do a good, courageous thing … and then that.’ She gazed up at Tom, with a look of desperation. ‘Do you know what fighting is like?’

He nodded. ‘And when he was back home, how was it?’

‘He went away for a couple of weeks, suddenly. Said he couldn’t stay there. I hoped his girlfriend would help.’

‘Did he avoid her as well?’

‘Oh, no, she was new. They only got together after he was back is my impression. I saw her just the once. He didn’t introduce me. She was very devout. I don’t know if he feared I would disapprove of that in some way, because we weren’t. But I thought it was a good sign, you know, that he had some kind of emotional stability in his life.’

‘Have you definitely not seen her since?’

‘After what’s happened? Poor thing, she can’t have realized what she was getting into.’

‘Do you know her name, where she was from? Perhaps you could track her down, support each other.’

She seemed not to hear this. ‘He always wanted to be in the Army. From when he was a little boy. It was his dream.’

‘Mine too,’ said Tom.

She looked up. ‘And did you fulfil your dream?’

’I’ve been very lucky.’

‘Nurul’s father wouldn’t allow it. He told him that after Nine/Eleven, they wouldn’t take Muslims. I knew that wasn’t true but you couldn’t argue with my husband. He died a few years back.’ She bowed her head and shook silently as more tears came.

‘Do you know where he was living? Nurul.’

She sniffed. ‘The last time I saw him, he had overalls on. He said then he’d been working at a garage in Hatfield.’ She shook her head as if that, too, was mystifying.