‘Yes, and could easily be the flotsam and jetsam of everyday reality. Welcome to 2017.’ She went to the frosted wall. Up close, it was like seeing the world through a film of gauze. As if there were ghosts on the other side; or reality on the other side, and ghosts on this. ‘The whole thing has the look of a master plan cooked up by a fantasist in his mum’s box room. So we find them before they reveal what they’re doing, and that bursts their bubble.’ She was saying all this to the wall, or to herself. ‘The Supreme Leader can spout all he likes about how this crew were acting on a British blueprint, and we can say, sure they were. And you lot firing warheads into the Sea of Japan, that’s right there in Nostradamus.’
‘They’ll produce the document.’
‘And we’ll deny it’s genuine. Come on, Claude. We’re playing a propaganda war here. The winner’s the one with the pokerest face.’
‘“Pokerest”?’
‘It’s two in the morning. What do you want, Will Self?’
‘And if the killing crew show up, saying look what we did?’
‘Yes, well, that part can’t happen.’ She turned to face him at last. ‘They have to die, Claude. I would have thought that was obvious.’
‘It can’t look like an execution.’
‘It doesn’t matter what it looks like. You think their deaths will play poorly? Maybe a year from now, when one of the Sundays does an in-depth. But three days after Abbotsfield, and there’ll be a street party in The Mall, with crowds queuing up to see their corpses. And any lefties screaming judicial murder had better be wearing hard hats.’
‘It’s the sort of decision we don’t make without Home Office input.’
‘Fuck that,’ said Lady Di. ‘They started it. They want to play London Rules, they should have known to write their wills first.’ She shook her head. ‘We end this. And then we take a long look at the SS fucking D. Starting with chopping their balls off.’
When she left he’d tried to take a nap, which turned into a feverish ten-minute wrestling match: he’d come to with an erection frighteningly close to a victory cheer. Its memory still an ache in his groin, he’d splashed water on his face and patrolled the hub, hovering by Josie’s desk, trying to feel paternal. He asked whether she ever went home; she laughed and said she could say the same thing. There was something in the air, the ozone that crackles during an emergency.
Around five, two names popped up at almost the same time. Students, on Chinese passports, both of whom had dropped out of sight the previous weekend.
‘Let’s find out where they are,’ he said, as if saying the words made a difference. All around him, the boys and girls were already focused on this very task.
Those loose threads, he thought again. Let’s start tugging.
‘Dancer Blaine,’ he said to Josie.
‘Sir?’
‘Call him,’ Whelan told her. ‘It’s time I had a word.’
‘They’re kids.’
‘Kids?’
‘Students. Nineteen, twenty, like that. Planted here years ago. Could I get a cup of tea?’
Catherine made to move, but Devon Welles was faster; was out of the door, heading kettlewards, before she was on her feet.
Emma Flyte lowered herself into the chair he’d vacated. Exhausted as she was, she still possessed a radiance. From the overhead bulbs a high-watt light left everyone else – Welles and Shirley excepted – colourless. Falling on Flyte, it found hidden golds and greys.
River said, ‘Middle East?’
‘North Korea.’
Louisa whistled softly. ‘That’s big.’
‘But nothing new,’ said Lamb. He poured the last of his bottle into his glass. ‘The Fat Controller’s sponsored so many terrorist acts, it’s a wonder he hasn’t had T-shirts printed. Have you locked her in?’
‘Trust me,’ Flyte said. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’
Welles returned with a mug of tea, and she took it gratefully. ‘Thanks. They recruited her a couple of months ago. Picked her up in a club. She has relatives, she said. They showed her pictures.’
‘They’re probably already dead,’ said Coe. When looks turned his way, he shrugged. ‘That’s how they do things. The State Security Department.’
‘The SSD,’ said River.
‘Thanks. If I have trouble with any other sets of initials, jump right in.’
‘She was already involved with Ho,’ Flyte continued. ‘Scamming him, pure and simple.’
‘Told you,’ said Shirley.
‘And they reeled her in, on the SSD’s instructions. They wanted the blueprint. The whatyoucallit—’
‘The Watering Hole paper.’
‘Which they already knew about,’ said Lamb, almost to himself. ‘That’s interesting.’
‘So glad I’ve got your attention,’ said Flyte.
‘How come they didn’t kill her?’ Louisa asked.
‘She did what she does. She wrapped one of them round her little finger.’
‘I doubt it was her finger.’
‘Yeah, this is the parental control version. Shin, his name is. That’s how she got away. The others think he killed her, after they came for Ho.’
‘Clearing house,’ Welles said. Chairless now, he’d planted himself against the wall next to Louisa, who’d ceased her exercises.
‘Uh-huh. Because they’re nearly done.’
