Nick Oldham - Backlash

She smiled at everyone. ‘Should I arrange tea, Richard?’ she asked her husband.

‘That would be lovely,’ he said. She nodded and returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind her, presumably about to use room service.

The smile dropped from the PM’s face and he became all business.

‘Now, people, Mr Kramer informs me that we have some problems out there. I would like to be briefed from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.’

Kramer eyed FB.

FB spluttered at being put on the spot, overawed by the company. ‘Er. . yes. . erm. . I actually think that the appropriate person to explain is Inspector Christie. He has hands-on control of the situation. Inspector?’ FB faced Henry, turning right away from the PM, giving Henry a nod and a look which said, ‘Let me down at your peril.’

The uniformed inspector had a bit of a problem in stopping his bottom lips from dropping. He did a double-take on his boss, then looked at the PM who was already pissed off with the farce taking place in front of him.

More rapidly than he would have liked in normal circumstances, he got his thoughts together and spoke. ‘Several things have happened this week. Firstly there was a large disturbance on a council estate in which one of our officers was badly injured. Three murders have been committed and now two of our officers have disappeared while investigating one of these, and a bomb has also exploded in a gay bar, but thankfully no one was injured.’

The suite door opened. A waiter and trolley came in, bearing tea, coffee and biscuits. Henry paused until the waiter left.

The PM asked, ‘Are you saying that all these things are connected?’

Henry shrugged inadequately. ‘There does seem to be a common factor, although it is just as possible that all these things could have taken place in isolation of each other. The common factor is the right-wing group Hellfire Dawn, in particular their paramilitary wing which has claimed responsibility for the bomb and the riot. They are a nasty thread running through all the incidents.’

‘So what are you doing about it?’

‘As much as we can. The media will get blitzed tomorrow, the already massive police presence is being increased-’

Henry was cut off by FB saying forcefully, ‘We’ll be coming down hard on law breakers and ensuring that Blackpool remains as peaceful as possible.’

‘But my priority,’ Henry said, stepping in with equal assertiveness, because he wanted to get things into perspective and it was not often that you have the ear of the prime minister, ‘is that we have two officers missing.’

‘Ahh,’ the PM said, astutely, ‘meaning that you actually don’t give a toss if the government is made to look stupid in a week when law and order is high on the agenda.’ He said it lightly, but seriously.

All eyes fell on Henry. ‘I want to find out where these officers are. My main concern is for their safety and, if I’m allowed to be honest — ?’

The PM nodded. Kramer squinted angrily at Henry. FB looked down at the carpet, wishing he hadn’t brought him along.

‘Sitting here talking to you, as big a deal as it is for me, is actually wasting my time, sir.’

FB groaned. His face had become almost without colour. Tension hung in the air.

The PM regarded Henry Christie icily. ‘I think you are right. I am preventing you from doing your job. I admire your honesty. I promise you I won’t keep you much longer.’

Henry nodded. Words would no longer come from his dried-up mouth.

The prime minister’s attention moved to Karl Donaldson. ‘I have heard there may be an American angle to the bomb?’

Donaldson, who tended to slouch while sitting, pulled himself up. ‘You hear things fast, sir.’

‘I know the right people. Forgive me.’ The PM reached for a feature phone on the coffee table, pressed a button to select the conference facility. The dial tone sounded. He pressed a button which started an automatic dial. A long number. As it dialled, the PM said to Donaldson, ‘Someone wants to have a word with you.’

The ringing started. On the third ring it was answered.

‘Bob, is that you?’ the PM asked.

‘Yeah, pal,’ drawled a male American voice. Karl Donaldson shot upright immediately, recognising the owner of the voice straightaway.

‘Bob, I won’t keep you long. I’ve got Karl Donaldson from the FBI legal attache in London here with me — can I put him on?’

‘Sure.’

The PM indicated the phone and that Donaldson should move closer to it. ‘It’s the President of the United States for you,’ he said casually.

Everyone in the room became rigid.

‘Mister President, this is Karl Donaldson speaking.’

‘Hi, Karl, how the hell are ya?’ he asked like he was an old buddy.

‘Better for hearin’ y’all, sir,’ Donaldson said, drawing a short laugh from the most powerful man in the world.

‘Good. Karl, to business. The bomber, this terrorist.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I won’t beat about the bush. I am very concerned that one of our citizens is causing havoc across the pond. I want him stopped. I want him caught. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Donaldson said.

‘I am authorising you to work alongside the British authorities and bring this bastard to justice. I’ve already spoken to your boss in London and this has been cleared. Give it a hundred and ten per cent, Karl. Go for it. I don’t want to put you under any pressure, but this guy needs stopping and if anybody can do it, you can.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the American snapped smartly. Henry thought Donaldson was about to jump up and salute.

‘Richard?’ the President asked.

‘Yes, Bob?’ the PM responded.

‘Speak to you soon.’

‘Bye.’

The call ended. The PM pressed a button on his phone and sat back.

‘Thank you, people — that is all. My bed is calling, because even a prime minister has to sleep.’

Dismissed, they shuffled out of the suite, dumbstruck and more than amazed that they had had an audience with the British Prime Minister and been patched through to the President of the United States all in one go.

‘Shit — pinch me,’ Donaldson breathed once they had cleared the room. ‘He doesn’t want to put me under pressure? Is the man mad? Jeez, I did not say that. The President of the United States is not mad, understand, not mad. Guys, did that really just happen?’

They stopped at the top of a flight of stairs.

‘Yes it did,’ Kramer said cruelly. His veneer of pleasantness so beloved by the public and the media had vanished. Underneath was the harsh, ruthless man with massive ambition. ‘And, let me make this clear on behalf of the prime minister that just because he did not come out and state that the pressure is on all of you, it is. ACC, I expect to be kept fully informed of all developments as I will be briefing the PM regularly.’

FB nodded unhappily. He did not seem to like Kramer as much as he had done forty-eight hours earlier. FB led them down the steps, Henry being the last in line. Before he could step down, Kramer took hold of his arm. ‘Chat, please, inspector, if you don’t mind.’ Kramer’s eyes were grey, tinged with steel, laced with snake venom.

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘We all have choices.’ He steered Henry across the corridor and drew him into a room, very similar to the prime minister’s.

‘What’s this? The big warning?’

‘You could say that.’ Kramer’s voice reflected the message in his eyes. ‘I hope you have no ambition left in your job, Inspector. Because if you do, you’ve just fucked it up by laying your hand on me. Nobody denies me, Inspector, not in any aspect of my life, least of all a low-ranking dickhead like you — no one.’