Heaven's Door (15 page)

“So, do tell.”

“Just feedback from the op, sir. Or more to the point,
no
feedback from the op.”

“Meaning?”

“No action at all – well, none observed. There was an issue with one camera, but we think we know why. Nothing sinister or suspicious.”

“So what does this tell us?”

“Precisely nothing, I suppose. Which is a lot better than
something
that we didn't want to hear. I think we've had enough of that.”

“And the targets?”

“Visible virtually all the time, sir. Fully accounted for. No time out worth recording.”

“You're right; no news
is
good news on this occasion.”

“Even so, not surprising, I suppose, given the level of surveillance. Not that I want to put a damper on it …”

“Well you just
did
. But you're right, of course. It doesn't actually change anything.”

Week 3; Monday, 6 April…

Tom sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, laptop open, trawling through his emails when his mobile pinged with an incoming text message. It was from Jonathan Latiffe. He checked his watch – 6.45 am.

‘Please call. Alpha again. Stuff to know.'

Tom topped up his cup from the cafetière on the worktop then perched on a bar stool again to make the call. Jonathan answered immediately.

“Hi, Tom. Just felt you ought to know what you'll be walking in to today. They tried earlier this morning to get them down off the wire, but when the chopper got close, it came under attack from some of the guys. A few had climbed up to the top of South Block and started throwing stuff at it. They had to get away fast.”

“So they haven't got them down yet?”

“Right. They figured there was no point in trying again straight away. Thought exactly the same would happen.”

“They did the right thing,” said Tom. “Any one hurt?”

“No, but I think the crew were pretty shaken up.”

“I'm not surprised,” Tom. “Look, Jonno, you can fill me in on the details when I get in. Are you okay to meet me at around nine?”

“Yes, I expected you'd want to. Jenny was holding everything until after your meeting with the PM at ten-thirty. So there's space on CT.”

“Good. What about the press?” asked Tom.

“Well, the mission was around five this morning – that's the best time, when everyone's at their lowest …”

“I know the theory well,” said Tom.

“Well, it seems for these guys it
is
just a theory. Too early to be sure about the press – only happened a couple of hours ago. But seems unlikely at that time in the morning.”

“Had any contact or comments from the PM or Grace about the deaths since we last spoke?”

“No, except it was Grace who told me about the rescue attempt, just a few minutes before I sent you the text. She asked me to bring you up to date right away. And I think she's planning to be at your meeting with Andrew, or at least for part of it.”

He ended the call and entered his 9.00 am meeting with Jonathan on Corporate Time, and then his mobile sounded again. It was Jenny.

“Hi, Jenny. How are you?”

“I'm fine, thank you, Home Secretary. And you? Did you have a good time?”

“It was absolutely great. And thanks again for making the arrangements – and on a Sunday. I guess I owe you a day off in lieu for that.”

Jenny laughed.

“So put me out of my misery,” he said. “What do you have to tell me? I can take just about anything except the news that you're looking for another job.”

She laughed again. “Well you can relax, then. As if I would ever do that. It's just to let you know that the press gang is gathering outside. They've been checking that you are back at the Street today, so I'm afraid you must be the target. I guess they'll want your comments on Alpha.”

He looked at his watch – 7.15 am.

“You're at work already? Do you
enjoy
making me feel guilty?” he said. “Anyway, thanks for the heads-up. By the way, I've spoken to Mr Latiffe this morning and I'm meeting with him at nine o'clock. Just so you don't send him away if he gets there before me. Looking forward to seeing you again very soon.”

“That's exactly what I was going to say, Home Secretary!”

Mags appeared, yawning in the doorway, just as the gravel crunched outside signalling the arrival of Tom's car.

“Oh no!” she said. “Paul's here already. No time for a quickie.”

“Tell you what,” said Tom. “You can fondle me while I'm cleaning my teeth.”

“You really do spoil me, don't you?”

*

Guildford Centre of Justice was a huge new complex, which included a range of facilities located in buildings around New Station Yard, a massive rectangular courtyard. The Centre had been developed to reflect Guildford's status as one of the NJR's regional hubs. Dominating the site, opposite the main vehicular entrance to the courtyard, was Guildford New Station, the police headquarters for the South Thames Division covering the area bounded by the Metropolitan Police District to the north, the M3 to the west and the English Channel to the south and east, and which housed the region's Flexible Response Teams.

In his palatial office on the second floor, Chief Superintendent John Mackay rose from his chair to welcome his new recruit. John was a large man who carried just a little too much weight around his middle, although his light athletic movements belied his fifty-plus years.

“Detective Inspector Cottrell,” he said, beaming and extending his hand. “Welcome aboard. Delighted to have you on the team.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jo. “I'm very happy to be here.”

He gestured for her to sit down.

“Before we start,” he said, “have you had breakfast? I don't suppose you have.”

“No, sir, but I don't usually have much, just coffee and toast. I managed half of that this morning before I set off.”

“Must have been an early start; so let's put that right. I can really recommend the toasted teacakes. Let's rustle up a plateful before we get down to business. Okay?”

“Definitely, sir,” said Jo, with a relaxed smile.

John pressed a button on the desk phone and a voice crackled on the loudspeaker.

“Yes, sir?”

“Alice, can you get us some coffee and teacakes, please, right away.”

“I've got them standing by in the canteen, sir.”

John laughed. “Am I that predictable?”

“Consistent is a better word,” Alice replied.

He laughed again as he released the button.

“But predictable is more accurate,” he said to Jo, who was still smiling.

*

“Good morning, Tom. Welcome back.”

The prime minister's private office at Number Ten, or his ‘inner sanctum' as he liked to call it, was a functional room lacking the opulence and grandeur of the rest of the famous address. It featured an antique wooden desk with red leather inlay covered by a glass top, and, behind it, a well-upholstered swivel chair of similar vintage. In front of the desk, and facing it, was a pair of wing chairs a couple of feet apart and turned slightly in towards each other. A huge sideboard occupied one side of the room and floor-to-ceiling book shelves the other. In front of the book shelves was a low, circular glass-topped table between two armchairs. A single, plain chandelier hung from the ceiling.

Grace was already seated in one of the wing chairs and looked as though she had been there for some time. Evidence of that was a nearly empty coffee cup in front of her on the corner of Andrew's desk. Her eyes met his, betraying no indication of either her mood or her feelings towards him.

“We felt it was important that you were up to date with the Alpha situation,” said Andrew. “
Especially
after what happened last week,” he added.

“Jonathan told me about the aborted attempt to get them off this morning,” said Tom.

“Splendid!” said Andrew, waving him to the vacant wing chair. “So we're all friends again at the Home Office. I'm so pleased. Grace, do you want to bring the Home Secretary
even further
up to date.”

“Yes, of course.” She turned to Tom, with the same dispassionate expression. “We'll be making a further attempt in a couple of days' time depending on the weather conditions. We'll use two choppers this time. If we've got personnel on the superstructure we'll send in a Wildcat first to strafe the roof of South Block with live ammo, so they'll be clear that we mean business. If that doesn't send them back straight away, we'll get in as close as possible and aim directly at them with a second machine gun loaded with blanks, using a hailer instructing them to climb down. If needed, we'll fire a few blank bursts to simulate the start of an attack. Once they've retreated, the second chopper will go in and release the two on the wire.”

“Sounds good,” said Tom, thinking how eerily similar it sounded to his own dream attack on the platform. “What happens if that doesn't work?”

“Then they'll withdraw,” said Grace, “and we'll look for a Plan C. But any third attempt is likely to feature live ammunition in both machine guns.”

“In the meantime,” put in Andrew, “let's hope Plan B works. Thank you, Grace.”

Grace rose from her chair.

“Yes, thanks, Grace,” said Tom, standing up.

Their eyes met briefly again.

*

“My main concern, Tom, is that you may be incapable of taking a step back from what is now a done deal.”

After Grace's departure, Andrew had ordered coffee and croissants and the two men had moved away from the desk to occupy the arm chairs which faced each other over the low table where the refreshments had been placed..

“The NJR is no longer a hands-on priority for the Home Secretary,” Andrew continued. “Yours is a leadership role, not even a management function. You've done the job – defined the future state and facilitated our getting there. That's what leaders do – not dash around in helicopters interfering in other people's work.”

“I think that's very harsh, Andrew. If it
is
a done deal …”

“It
is
, Tom, there is no
‘if'
…”

“Okay, point taken, but let me put it another way, then.
If
my hands-on involvement with the NJR
is
finished, then it's only
just
finished. Until the feedback to the House last week, you seemed perfectly happy with what I was doing. And my impression – and other people's – was that the speech itself went well. So what other things have led you to this conclusion?”

Andrew was silent for several moments.

“Let me turn this around, Tom, and ask
you
a question. Do you honestly feel you can now turn away from the new regime and leave it with Latiffe – and Goody, I suppose? That's what you need to do, and what I
insist
that you do. They are more than capable of taking the reins, and you will just screw up their jobs if you don't back off.”

Tom leaned forward, but Andrew held up his hand to stop him and continued.

“And you asked about other things. I just have an uneasy feeling about your attitude towards certain elements of the NJR itself. The opening to your speech in the House – the bit about the prayers – was way over the top on the sympathy side. To be fair, you got away with it, but that could have been interpreted as an expression of doubt – wondering if it was really okay what we'd done. We can't afford that. And then there's this knee-jerk reaction in charging off to Alpha to see those bastards on the wire. Given what nearly happened to that chopper this morning, we could have lost the Home Secretary and the Scottish Secretary plus a couple of MPs all in the same pointless exercise. So tell me,
are
you having second thoughts on some of the provisions?”

“Absolutely not! And, as I said, I think that's harsh, drawing that sort of conclusion from two minor incidents after more than three years of my unswerving pursuit of this new justice system. Here's an example within this timeframe that you've chosen
not
to mention – my extending the provisions to hit drug dealers,
and
in the face of some opposition. It was on
my
insistence that it went through, with your backing, of course. I hardly think that points to a softening of my commitment to the over-riding principles. But …” it was Tom's turn to raise his hand to stop Andrew jumping in, “I will admit that it will be a wrench to hand over the reins to Jonathan. However, it's a challenge that I will meet, so you need have no worries about that. Okay?”

Andrew paused before responding.

“Whatever we decide, Tom,” he said, “I want you to be comfortable with it. So, if you're telling me right now that you can leave Latiffe alone to manage this, then that's great. We'll give it a go and review it again in, say, three months. In the meantime, we won't say anything more about it. Okay?”

Tom nodded.

“
However,
that's just one option,” said Andrew, leaning forward. “But here are a couple of others I'd like you think about.
Either
… we detach Home and Justice again and Latiffe gets full Cabinet status, and this time Police Reform goes with Justice, rather than shared. You stay Home Secretary. And you can't say Jonathan doesn't
deserve
a full Cabinet role based on his support as a Shadow Minister.

“
Or
… we focus you on the current real biggy – Security and Counter Terrorism, and make you Minister of State. That would mean shunting Ruby Weller to one side, of course. I could try to get the role up-graded to Cabinet level, but frankly, I'd rather not, and I'm not sure I could anyway. That would mean a step back, but we can position that carefully. We'd say we were focussing you on where your strengths lay, ex Special Forces, wealth of practical knowledge, et cetera. We would make it absolutely clear that it's not a question of demotion.”

“Even though it would be,” Tom said.

“Well, yes,” said Andrew, “in hierarchical terms, but not in the context of visibility or salary, if I get my way. This could, in fact,
raise
your profile again. You're a campaigner, Tom; an agent for change. The NJR's all about the status quo now; a
new
status quo – if that's not a contradiction in terms – but, all the same, a maintenance job.”

Tom did not reply.

“Look, let's leave it for now, but please think about those options. Let's get together again in, say, ten days time – a week on Thursday – and let me have your thoughts. And, as I said, if you want to stay as we are for now, then we'll review it after three months. Okay?”