Bernard Cornwell - Wildtrack

“A dead girl?” I suggested.

He shook his head. “An incident happened on the high seas, beyond the limits of our or anyone else’s sovereignty. Agreed that the boat is British registered, which is why there was a British inquest, but the coroner’s findings were quite clear. It was an accident.”

“Couldn’t you have given Kassouli another inquest? Just to satisfy him?”

“There was no legal reason for doing so. There would have had to be fresh evidence, and there was none.”

“There was a rumour,” I said, “that lies were told at the inquest.

I hear Bannister was on deck when Nadeznha died, not Mulder.”

“As you say,” John said delicately, “a rumour. Insufficient, alas, to initiate new proceedings.”

“But it was explored?” I persisted.

“I really couldn’t say.”

Which meant that the Government had toyed with the idea of re-opening the inquest, but had sheered away for lack of real evidence.

“So Kassouli’s been threatening you?” I accused John.

He gave a tiny and frosty smile. “One does not threaten HMG.”

“He told me he’d pull all his jobs out of Britain, then follow it with his investments, and then persuade all his rich pals to do the same thing. That won’t look good on the unemployment figures.” The Honourable John concentrated on chewing, but finally decided he would have to reveal something from his side of the table. “You aren’t the first person to bring us this message, Nick. A Kassouli embargo on Britain?” He frowned as he drew from his meat a length of string which he fussily placed at the side of his plate. “I do trust, Nick, that you won’t be telling any of this to the newspapers? HMG

wouldn’t like that.”

I ignored that. “Could Kassouli hurt us?”

The Honourable John leaned back and stared at the painted ceiling for a few seconds, then jerked his head forward. “Not as much as he thinks. But he could embarrass us, yes. And he could damage confidence at a time when we’re working hard to attract foreign investment.”

“How bad would the damage be?”

“We’d survive.” He said it without much fervour. “The longer-term damage would be to unemployment. If all Kassouli’s jobs went to Germany or Ireland or Spain, we’d never see them again. And most of them are in just the kind of sunrise industry we need to encourage.”

“So he could hurt us?” I insisted.

“Embarrass,” he insisted.

“So what do I do?”

The Honourable John grimaced with a politician’s dislike of a direct question which needed a straight answer. “I really can’t say,” he said primly. “I’m merely a humble back-bencher, am I not?”

“For Christ’s sake, John. You’ve been briefed on this! Just as soon as I telephoned you trotted round to the Department of Industry or whatever honey-pot has got the problem and told them what I told you!”

“I might have mentioned it to the Permanent Secretary,” he allowed cautiously. The real truth was that HMG had moved with the speed of a scalded cat; partly because they were terrified of Kassouli, and even more terrified that I’d spill the whole rotting can of worms into Fleet Street’s lap.

“So what do I do?” I insisted.

He swirled the white wine around in his glass, trying to look judicious. “What do you feel is best, Nick?”

“I’d hardly be coming to ask for your help if I knew what to do, would I? I’ve got some madman threatening economic warfare against Britain unless I help turn Anthony Bannister into fish food.

Wouldn’t you say that was a matter for government, rather than me?”

“Fish food?” The Honourable John could be wonderfully obtuse when he wanted to be.

“They want me to turn out his lights, John. Switch him off. Banjo him. Kill the fucker.”

He looked immensely pained. “Did Kassouli say as much?”

“Not exactly, but I can’t think what the hell else he wanted. I’m supposed to steer the good ship Lollipop straight to point X on the chart. What do you think is going to be waiting for us? Mermaids?”

“I shall really have to insist that I’ve heard no implications of murder. So far as I know, all Kassouli wishes to do is deny Bannister the chance of winning the St Pierre.”

“Don’t be pompous, John. The bastard’s up to no good. You want me to go and squeal this tale down Fleet Street? Someone will listen to me. I’ve got a fragment of bronze that will insure that.”

“They’ll listen only too avidly, I fear. Nothing excites the press so much as a chance to damage our relationship with the United States.” He stared at me helplessly.

“Then for Christ’s sake, reassure me! Tell me the Government’s on top of this problem. Don’t you have friends in Washington who can tell Kassouli to rewire his brain?”

“Not with the amounts of money he contributes to members of Congress, no.” He shrugged. “And you forget that Kassouli has never made these threats openly. They have been—how shall we say?—hinted at. Usually by intermediaries like yourself. Kassouli naturally denies making such threats, nevertheless HMG is forced to take them seriously,”

“Then give him his God-damned enquiry! Why ever not?”

“Because counter to the squallings of the left-wing press, Nick, HMG do not actually control the judiciary. A new inquest can only be instituted if there are fresh revelations of fact. There are not.

So we must look to you—”

“Hold it!” I said. “Here’s a revelation of fact. I’m not going to help Kassouli, because I don’t fancy joining my father in jail. What I’m going to do is go back to Devon and, if Bannister’s bloody mistress hasn’t stolen my boat, I’m going to tow it off to a nice safe place where I shall rig it. Meanwhile you’ll be losing lots of jobs, but don’t blame me, I’ve done my bit for the country and I’ve got a fucked-up spine to prove it. And you can tell Melissa not to try and find me before I sail, because I’ll have disappeared. The kids’ school fees are in the bank, and there isn’t any more money, so it isn’t worth her looking. Will you tell her that, John? Tell her I’m up a bloody creek and bankrupt.”

“Nick, Nick, Nick!” The Honourable John held up a pained hand.

“Of course we’re not asking you to adopt responsibility for this situation.”

“You’re not?”

He waved away a waiter. “I repeat that I am not a member of Her Majesty’s Government…”

“…yet.”

“But I think I can fairly reflect what the Government is thinking.

Frankly, Nick, we’d rather Mr Kassouli did not press his threats against us. I think that’s a fair stance, and a sensible one. But, as I said, the threats have not been made openly and we need to know a great deal more about their nature. Your information is valuable, but we’d like more. Is it a real threat, for example? Do I make myself clear?”

“The answer to your first question is yes; to the second, no.” He wouldn’t look at me. “What I think I’m saying is that HMG

would be most grateful, most grateful indeed, if you were to keep us informed of Mr Kassouli’s intentions. Nothing more, Nick. Just information.”

“How grateful would HMG be?” I mimicked his pronunciation.

He gave a small laugh. “I don’t think we’re talking about fiscal remuneration, Nick. Shall we just agree that we would silently note and privately approve your patriotism?”

“Jesus bloody wept.” I waited till he looked at me. “You want me to go along with Kassouli, don’t you?”

“We want you to keep us informed. Through me, though naturally I shall deny this request was ever formally made. It’s entirely unofficial.”

“But the only way I can keep an eye on Kassouli is by going along with his plans, isn’t it? So I do help him, and HMG will be very grateful in the most nebulous and undeniable manner. Is that it?” The Honourable John thought about his answer for some time, but finally nodded. “Yes, I think that is it. And you do want your boat back, don’t you? This would seem to effect that desideratum.” It was all so very delicate. Kassouli justified revenge as righteous anger. The Honourable John was making it a case of expediency.