The Lords' Day (retail) (37 page)

She smiled, all sweetness.

‘Look, we can still talk to Wakefield through the screens, even if he can’t respond. So we tell him that whatever he’s going to do, he must do it when I’m next inside.
While I’m there I find some way – eye contact, that’s probably all that’s required – to bring the protection officer up to alert. And we wait on old Archie to . . .
well, do whatever he’s going to do.’

‘You’d be placing yourself back in the firing line, Harry,’ Tibbetts reminded him.

But Tricia was waving her hands. ‘Let’s slow down here a little. We’re rushing this.’

‘No one’s rushing – except for Daud Gul,’ the commander replied. ‘We have to review our options.’

‘And one of those options is to assume that they’ll release the hostages once Daud Gul arrives back in his homeland in’ – she glanced at a screen on the wall that was
showing the progress of the Super Hornet – ‘around two hours.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘
Then
we go in.’

‘We will have lost the element of surprise.’

‘But gained the element of justification, remember. And the only justification for going in beforehand is a theory based on Harry’s spectacularly wayward instinct.’ The claws
were coming out, but very slowly.

‘Are you afraid of making a decision, Tricia, is that it?’ Harry asked.

‘The only thing I’m afraid of is discovering we’ve made the biggest mistake of our lives. We’re playing for huge stakes here.’

‘I’ve got something, that might be relevant,’ Tibbetts said tentatively. ‘Not sure what it means, but for what it’s worth, I’ve just had the autopsy report on
Bulgakov. Seems he was suffering from a clapped-out heart. Cardiomyopathy. Had months to live, maybe only weeks. He was killed by a heart attack caused by the fall.’

‘So – death by natural causes,’ Tricia added doggedly.

‘That depends on why he fell. Whether he was pushed. Whether he tripped.’

‘He was pushed,’ Harry insisted.

Tricia sighed, like a patient mother. ‘But how can you know?’

‘Because his death stretches coincidence to the breaking point.’

‘Why are you always looking for conspiracy, Harry? Building up a case to call in the
kamikazes
– and for what? For no better reason than some sick old man had a heart
attack!’

‘Some sick old man who had helped organise the greatest crime of the century.’

‘Look, I hate to make this personal,’ she said, turning to the others, ‘but so much of this comes down to the matter of Harry’s judgement. It’s an issue here, and
I’m afraid the record shows that his judgement has been seriously flawed, not just in politics but even in the Army.’

‘What on earth do you know of my military career?’

‘I know a great deal about it, about you. You were vetted by our friends in MI5 here.’

Five wriggled in embarrassment. This really wasn’t the way the game should be played.

‘When you became a Home Office minister,’ she continued, ‘I got a nice thick file. All about your run-ins with your senior officers, your bending of the rules . . .’

‘I think that’s called initiative.’

‘Always taking risks.’

‘That’s what you do in the military.’

‘But too many risks in the opinion of your senior officers. Didn’t you take your airborne brigade on a para drop in conditions that were considered reckless? I seem to remember the
official report said that broken bodies were left scattered across Sardinia. Some crippled for life. Sometimes you seem to place a very low value on other people’s lives, Harry.’

‘I’m not sure any of this is relevant,’ Tibbetts intervened.

‘I’m afraid it’s entirely relevant,’ she retorted. ‘We are proposing to take a course of action that, if it goes wrong, could result in one of the most mind-blowing
catastrophes in our country’s history. That decision should be based on something more solid than the views of a man whose judgement has been shown to let others down time after time.’
Even when she was trying to be restrained, it seemed there was no mercy.

They looked towards Harry, but he would say nothing. He wouldn’t climb down into the gutter with her.

‘After all, Harry’s not part of COBRA,’ she continued. ‘Not a minister, not an official. He’s really nothing but a passer-by. I believe he’s been allowed to
take too much on himself.’ There it was, Harry the scapegoat, along with a reminder that it was their fault, not hers.

During this exchange Five had begun squirming in his seat. He didn’t like the game she was playing and he didn’t like her – it wasn’t that he didn’t care to take
orders from women, it was this woman he found distasteful. No small talk, just fangs. As his sense of irritation grew, he began gripping his nicotine stick ever tighter, so tightly that with a loud
snap it broke in two, interrupting Tricia Willcocks in mid flow. Eyes turned to him.

‘You wish to confirm what I’ve been saying, Five?’ she asked, smiling.

Five cleared his throat. ‘A passer-by,’ he repeated, washing it around his mouth, ‘that’s one way of putting it. But with quite a track record. It’s coming back to
me now – from that file you mentioned, Home Secretary. Active service in Northern Ireland, the first Gulf war, and some rather hush-hush operations we get rather twitchy about discussing
which took place in western Africa.’

She tried to interrupt but he rode through her.

‘We’re not talking about pushing paper clips here, but putting one’s life on the line – and getting various chunks of it shot away. Can’t remember how many medals
and commendations he’s got for all that’ – he drew circles in the air with one part of his nicotine stick – ‘but I think there was a Military Cross and a bar, with a
GSM thrown in there somewhere, too. Desperately unfashionable stuff nowadays, in some circles, at least. But I think it entitles him to have an opinion.’ A general rustle of approval crept
round the table.

‘Not in COBRA,’ she persisted.

Tibbetts intervened. ‘I’d like to remind you, Home Secretary, that I’m the official charged with the responsibility for this situation. It’s my decision what we do
next.’

‘I don’t deny that.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But I am Home Secretary.’ She intended it to sound like a threat.

‘A fact of which I am eternally conscious.’

‘And I would like to ensure you stick by the rules.’

‘This is COBRA. There are no rules,’ Tibbetts replied, growing exasperated.

‘Then I would like the proceedings minuted,’ she continued. ‘It would be helpful afterwards if we could have a written record to see who was responsible for what,’ she
said.

‘Oh, I’m sure your friends in the press will see to that!’ he snapped.

And with that, their game had changed. His defiance and contempt for her had now been pushed into the open. He shouldn’t have allowed that, but he was exhausted and she was impossible. The
battle lines had been drawn.

‘I suspect you may be seeking early retirement after this, commander.’

‘But not in the next twenty minutes. I propose we move on.’

‘Yes I think we should,’ Five intervened. ‘Daud Gul’s almost halfway there. We’re running out of time.’

‘We have to resolve this,’ Tibbetts said, trying to regain control of his temper. ‘Since this is such an important issue, I’m going to ask each of you for an opinion. I
know it’s not the way we usually work within COBRA, when we try to use more subtle means to reach a consensus, but I fear this is too important to allow for any misunderstanding. I’ll
go round the table one by one. I’d like to start with you, Colonel Hastie. After all, you and your men will be in the firing line on this one. Do we wait for Masood and his men to walk out
– or do we go in and kick them out?’

Hastie drew breath, not wanting to hurry this. ‘I’ve been studying them very carefully. I see no sign of them lightening up, let alone letting up, as I would expect if they intended
to release the hostages. I believe we should accept the risks and go in.’

‘Thank you. And you, Chief?’ Tibbetts turned to the Chief of the General Staff.

‘Ditto,’ he said with military abruptness.

And so it began. A civil servant insisted he had no opinion, couldn’t decide and wouldn’t decide, even when Tibbetts pushed; the Minister from the Foreign & Commonwealth Office
leaned towards delay, as did the one from Health, while their counterpart from Defence refused to disagree with his senior military officers and sided with the Chief. As Tibbetts went round the
table, pressing them all, the matter showed as many phases as the moon.

‘Thank you, everyone. I think that’s about it,’ Tibbetts concluded.

‘But what about me?’ Willcocks demanded, glaring.

‘I beg your pardon, Home Secretary,’ Tibbetts offered in genuine apology, ‘I thought you had already stated your view with unimpeachable clarity.’

But Tricia was never as simple as that. ‘I have raised questions, that’s all, none of which have been satisfactorily answered. But as you say, we must move on and it’s your
neck on the line. My conclusion, for what it’s worth, is that I will support you in whatever you decide, commander.’ It was a most skilful side step. Her views were as clear as a
lighthouse on a calm night, but no one was going to be able to accuse her of undermining any operation, if that’s what he decided. Yet history is written by the winners, and by those friends
she had scattered around the media, and she was determined to leave herself sufficient wriggle room to line up on the winner’s side, whichever that turned out to be.

Tibbetts saw through her, but what could he say? He offered her his gratitude, which she accepted with a nod of her head and a tight smile. It disappeared rapidly when she discovered that he
wasn’t quite finished.

‘And you remind me, Home Secretary, that perhaps there is someone else whose view I have taken for granted.’ The policeman turned in his seat. ‘Harry?’

It took a few seconds for Harry to compose himself. His lips were exceptionally painful; he still had the salt taste of blood in his mouth. The words came slowly.

‘We vowed we would tread gently in their land.’

It was a vow that every one of them knew had been broken. He had their attention.

‘The Mehsuds were warriors, as they were brothers, long before we came into their land, and as they will be long after we have left. They are strangers from a distant place about which we
know too little, and yet we have made them our enemies. That is a tragedy, and one day, perhaps, we might give as much attention to their troubles as we do to their threats, and remember that in
the eyes of their families and those they have left behind, each of the men in that chamber is their Black Prince, their Nelson. So I suggest, whatever it is we decide to do today, that we do it
with humility and not from hatred.’ His tongue probed the swollen part of his mouth while he sought his words, still finding raw wounds. He would need stitching inside, too, after this.

‘It’s a big step to take a human life. We should not do it lightly. I hope I have never done it without asking myself a thousand times if what I was doing, and had done, was right.
And today we must decide again, yet we have no way of knowing for certain what is in the minds of these men. It’s possible the Home Secretary is right, that they might leave without
inflicting further harm. But we must go beyond that, for what we do matters not just for today, but even more for the days yet to come. If we do nothing in the hope that they will simply walk away,
I suppose it might save the Queen. But it will do irreparable damage to our freedom. From this day forward we will live in fear of when they will return – and they
will
return. There
is no limit to the ambitions or the imagination of those who play the game of terror, those who know they can take advantage of us – they will return like jackals to the prey, time and again,
in the sure knowledge they will get fed. If we allow them to walk away, we open the doors to disaster – not today, maybe, but tomorrow and for as long as anyone remembers this day and the
weakness that we showed. We wouldn’t be saving the Queen; instead, we would be condemning her realm. Yet if we look disaster in the eye and face it down, they will not come here again. Then,
whatever the outcome, we will have won the day.’

The room had grown still. Slowly, after a long pause, the eyes that had been fixed on Harry turned to the police commander. He seemed not to move, apart from the methodical rising and falling of
his chest. His attention was focused on a thin manila folder that lay on the desk in front of him. Reluctantly he opened it.

‘I have here a letter that hands legal authority for dealing with this situation over to Brigadier Hastie and his men. We all understand what that means; it effectively amounts to a
warrant of execution. No one has signed such a thing in this country for nearly thirty years.’

He looked round the table, waiting for objections, but none came. He picked up a pen and, with a slow hand, put his name to it.

‘And God help you,’ Tricia Willcocks said as she pushed back her chair and walked from the room.

11.18 a.m.

T
HE
USS
A
BRAHAM
L
INCOLN
had been on station south of the Straits of
Hormuz, several hundred miles off the Pakistan coast. It was one of two carriers in a task force stationed permanently in the region in support of Operation Enduring Freedom, that ongoing and
seemingly ever-lasting campaign constructed of chewing gum that had been designed to kick the Taliban out of Afghanistan and put a blast of cold air up the collective arse of the Iranians – a
campaign that, like gum, had stretched much further than expected and had proved impossible to get rid of. The
Abraham Lincoln
had history; it was the carrier on which, a lifetime earlier,
an American President had looked over the smouldering battlefield of Iraq and declared ‘Mission Accomplished’. Many more missions had been flown from the carrier since then, and
precisely how much had been accomplished was still a matter of mystery to the skipper.