House of Cards (58 page)

Urquhart was shaking him to stop the incomprehensible gabble, and he was surprised at how much physical force was needed before the man was brought under some sort of control.

'Roger, for God's sake shut up!' He pushed him bodily into a chair and the shock caused O'Neill to pause for breath.
‘
Now slowly, Roger. What are you trying to say?'

The files.
The
confidential party files on Samuel you asked me to send to the Sunday newspapers.' He was panting for breath from physical and nervous exhaustion. 'Well, I was able to use my pass key to get into the basement storage room without any trouble, but the files are all in locked cabinets. I had to force the lock, Francis. I'm sorry but I had no choice. Not very much but it bent a little. There's so much dust and cobwebs around that it looked as if no one had been in there since the Boer War, but yesterday some bitch of a secretary decided to go in there and noticed the bent lock. Now they've gone through the whole lot and discovered that Samuel's file is missing.'

You
sent them the original file? You didn't just copy the interesting bits as I told you?'

‘F
rancis, the file was very thick, it would have taken hours to copy. I didn't know which bits they w
ould be most interested in, so
I
sent them the lot. It could have been years before anyone noticed the file was missing, and then they would have thought it was simply misplaced.'

'You bloody fool, you
...'

'Francis, don't shout at me!' O'Neill screamed. It's me who's taken all the risks, not you. The Chairman's personally interrogating everyone with a pass key and there are only nine of us. He's asked to see me this afternoon. I'm sure he suspects me. And I'm not going to take the blame all on my own. Why should I? I only did what you told me
...
Francis, I can't go on lying. I simply can't stand it any more. I'll go to pieces!'

Urquhart froze as he realised the truth behind O'Neill's desperate words. This quivering man in front of him had no resistance or judgement left; he was beginning to crumble and flake like some old, brittle newspaper. The eyes were flickering furiously once more as the words tumbled out, and Urquhart realised that not even for a week, not even for
this
week, could O'Neill control himself. He was on the very edge. The slightest wind could send him hurtling down towards destruction. And he would take Urquhart with him.

'Roger, you are over-anxious. You have nothing to fear, no one can prove anything and you must remember that I'm on your side. You are not alone in this. Look, don't go back to the office, call in sick and go home. The Chairman can wait till Monday. And tomorrow I would like you to come and be my house guest in Hampshire. Come for lunch and stay overnight while we talk the whole thing through - together, just the two of us
’

O'Neill gripped Urquhart's hand in delight and relief, like a cripple
flinging
to his crutch.

'But don't tell anyone that you are corning to visit me. It would be very embarrassing if the press were to find out that a senior party official is my house guest just before the final leadership ballot - it wouldn't look right for either of us - so this must be strictly between the two of us. Not even your secretary must know
’

O'Neill tried to mutter a word of thanks but was cut short by three enormous sneezes which had Urquhart reeling in disgust. O'Neill didn't seem to notice as he wiped his face and smiled with the new found eagerness of a spaniel.

I
’
ll be there, Francis. I
’
ll be there.'

SATURDAY 27
th
NOVEMBER

Urquhart got up before dawn. He hadn't slept, but was not in the least tired. He knew this was to be a very special day. Well before the early light of morning was breaking above the New Forest moors, he dressed in his favourite hunting jacket, pulled on his boots and strode out into the freezing morning air along the bridle path which led across Emery Down towards Lyndhurst. The ground mist clung closely to the hedgerows, discouraging the birds and damping down all sound. It pressed around him like a cocoon and he was utterly alone, a man on an empty planet who must make his own decisions and decide his own fate.

He had walked nearly three miles before he began a long, slow climb up the southern face of a hill, and slowly the fog began to clear as the rising sun cut through the damp air. He had just emerged from a bank of swirling mist when he saw the stag across the patch of sun-cleared hillside, browsing amongst the damp gorse. He slipped gently behind a low bush, waiting, like a hunter for his prey. But he was not a complete hunter. He had never hunted a man. He had been too young for Hitler, too busy at university for Korea, too late for Suez. He had never known what it was like to exchange another man's life for his own, to condemn someone before they had the chance to do the same to you.

He wondered how his brother had died. He imagined him in a shallow dugout underneath a Dunkirk hedgerow, waiting for the barrel of the first German tank to appear over the brow of the hill. As he lay there ready to kill, to destroy as many other lives as possible, had he felt exhilarated like some savage animal by the chance to shed blood? Had he been immobilised by terror, a man turned rabbit by panic in spite of his training and sense of duty? Or had he felt a calming certainty about the need for. self-preservation which had overcome all apprehension and a lifetime of Sunday School morality - just as Urquhart felt now?

The stag edged closer towards him as it continued to browse, oblivious of his presence. Suddenly, Urquhart stood bolt upright, not twenty yards in front of the deer which froze in confusion. Neither breathed as they stood in confrontation, until Urquhart let forth a peal of almighty laughter, racking his body with the sound which bounced off the surrounding banks of mist. The stag, sensing that it should already have been dead, leapt to one side and in an instant was gone.

Urquhart spent all morning walking through the woodlands and across the downs, not returning home until almost noon. When he did so, he walked straight into his study without changing, and picked up the phone.

He first called the editors of the four leading Sunday newspapers. He discovered that two of them were writing editorials supporting him, one was supporting Samuel and the other was noncommittal. However, all four were confident in varying degrees that he had a clear advantage, a conclusion confirmed by the
Observer's
pollsters who by now had succeeded in contacting a substantial majority of the Parliamentary Party. The survey predicted that Urquhart would win comfortably with 60 per cent of the vote.

It
seems it would take an earthquake to stop you winning now, Francis
’
the editor had said.

He then called a Kent number, and asked to be put through to Dr Christian.

'Good afternoon, Chief Whip. Nice of you to take time out of your weekend to enquire about Charles. He is progressing very well indeed, I'm delighted to say. His brother the Prime Minister is down here almost every other day to see him, and it's been like a tonic to both of them
’

There's something else I wanted to ask you, doctor. I need your advice. We have a Member of Parliament who has a real problem. He's a cocaine addict, and recently his behaviour has deteriorated rapidly. His physical mannerisms - the nasal problems, exaggerated eye movements -have become much worse. His speech varies between a chaotic cavalry charge and a slow, incomprehensible drool. He has become very agitated and disturbed and has caused several public scenes. He has grown utterly paranoid, making wild accusations and threats. The man is clearly very ill, and I am trying to persuade him to take treatment but, as you keep telling me, addicts are often the last people to face up to their problems.

In the meantime, he occupies a very sensitive position of considerable trust. It could inflict untold damage if he were to break that trust and be indiscreet. The question I have for you, doctor, is to what extent a man in that situation is able to keep his word and any sense of perspective. Is there any chance we can trust him?'

'You sound as if you have a very sick man on your hands, Mr Urquhart. By the time he is unable to keep his behaviour private but makes a public exhibition of himself on a regular basis, showing those sort of physical symptoms, then he is in the final stages of collapse. He is probably taking the drug several times every day, which means he's not only unable to do his work but—much more seriously from your point of view — has lost all self restraint. The habit is very expensive and he will do anything to continue his supply of drugs. lie, steal, cheat, sometimes kill. He will sell anything he can lay his hands on in exchange for drugs, which includes any information he may have. He will also be getting very paranoid, and if you try to persuade
him
too hard to seek treatment against his will, he may turn on you as a vicious enemy and do anything to destroy you. I have seen it tear husbands from their wives and mothers from their children. They are driven by a need which stretches far beyond all others
’

'He's already threatened to break the deepest confidences. Are you saying he might be serious about that?'

'Deadly serious
’

'Then we have a problem
’

'A very considerable one, by the sounds of it. I'm sorry. Please let me know if I can help
’

'You already have, doctor. Thank you.'

Urquhart was still sitting in his study when he heard O'Neill's car draw up in the driveway outside.

As the Irishman stepped into the hallway, Urquhart could not help but note that the man who now stood in front of him was almost unrecognisable as the man he had taken to dinner in his club less than six months before. The casual elegance which O'Neill used to effect had now turned into outright scruffiness. His hair was unkempt, the clothes were badly creased as if he had found them at the bottom of a laundry bag, the tie hung loosely round the unbuttoned and crumpled collar. Trying to look at O'Neill as if meeting him for the first time, Urquhart was shocked. The gradual decline over several months had become part of O'Neill's pattern for those colleagues who saw
him
frequently, and had largely hidden the true extent to which he had deteriorated. The once suave and fashionable communicator now looked like a common tramp. And those deep, twinkling eyes
,
the features which women had found so captivating and clients so enthusing, had sunk without trace, to be replaced by two wild, staring orbs which flashed around the room in constant pursuit of something they could never find. This was a man possessed.

Urquhart led O'Neill to one of the second floor guest rooms, saying little as they wound their way through the mansion's long corridors while O'Neill babbled away about whatever came into his mind. Increasingly in recent days his conversation had turned to others and their opinion of him; in O'Neill's mind the whole world seemed slowly and unjustly to be turning on him, betraying him. His Chairman, his Prime Minister, his secretary now. Even his local policeman seemingly patrolled the street for no other purpose than to spy on O'Neill, waiting to pounce on him.

O'Neill threw his overnight bag carelessly on the bed, showing little interest in the room and its fine views across the New Forest scenery.
They
returned the way they had come down two flights of stairs until Urquhart led him through the heavy oak doors into his book-lined study. He suggested O'Neill help himself to a drink, and watched with clinical concentration as O'Neill filled the entire tumbler with whisky and began draining it Soon the alcohol had begun to do battle with the cocaine, and the raging in O'Neill's eyes became just a touch less frenetic even as his tongue became thicker and his conversation began increasingly to lose its coherence. Depressant fought stimulant inside him, never achieving peace or balance, always leaving him on the point of toppling backwards or forwards into the abyss.

'Roger,' began Urquhart, 'it looks as if we shall be in Downing Street by the end of the week. I've been doing some thinking about what I shall need, and I thought we might talk about what you wanted.'

O'Neill took another gulp before answering.

'Francis, I'm bowled over that you should be thinking of me. You're going to be a class act as Prime Minister, really you are. As it happens, I've also been giving some thought to it all, and I was wondering whether you could use someone like me in Downing Street — you know, as a special adviser or even your press spokesman. You're going to need a lot of help and we seem to have worked so well together that I thought
...'

Urquhart waved his hand for silence. 'Roger, there are scores of civil servants to take on those responsibilities, people who are already doing that work. 'What I need is someone like you in charge of the political propaganda, who can supplement the civil service properly and can be trusted to avoid all those mistakes which the party organisation has been making in recent months. I would very much like you to stay at party headquarters—under a new Chairman, of course
’

A look of concern furrowed O'Neill's brow. The same meaningless job, watching from the sidelines as the civil service ran the show, as aloof as he thought they were incompetent? What the devil was in it for him?