House of Cards (63 page)

She paused but he said nothing.

In any event, I think I can persuade you to help on straightforward commercial grounds. Whatever happens, your takeover of United Newspapers is dead. You can either watch it be swept away in the storm which will undoubtedly engulf Urquhart, which means the Establishment will turn on you and you will never be able to raise money in the City of London for a business deal ever again - or you can kill it yourself, help me nail Urquhart, save your business and become the hero of the hour.'

'Why should I trust you?'

'Because I need you.'

'Need me?' his jowls fluttered in surprise.

‘I
need you to be a good newspaper man and publish the full story. If it's published with the backing of the
Telegraph
rather than dribbling out over the next few months in bits and pieces, nobody can ignore it. I will give you an exclusive which will blow your patriotic socks off. And once I've done that, I am scarcely going to be able to turn on you.'

'And if I say no?'

Then I shall find an army of Opposition backbenchers who would like nothing more than to take all the ammunition I can provide them with, stand up in the House of Commons where they are protected from the laws of slander, and make accusations against both you and Urquhart which will bring you crashing down together.'

All her cards were on the table now. The game was nearly over. Had he any cards left up his sleeve?

'Urquhart will fall, Mr Landless, one way or the other. The only thing you have to decide is whether you fall with him or help me push him
...'

It was early afternoon before Mattie returned to W
estmins
ter. The snow had sto
pped falling and the skies were
clearing, leaving the capi
tal looking like a scene from a
traditional Christmas card. The Houses of Parliament looked particularly
resplendent, like some wondrous
Christmas cake covered in brill
iant white icing beneath a
crystal blue sky. Opposi
te in the churchyard of St Mar
garet's, nestling under the wing of the great medieval Abbey, carol singers bro
ught an air of tranquillity and
Victorian charm to the pass
ers-by, wishing goodwill to all
men.

Celebrations were already under way in various parts of the House of Commons. One of Mattie's colleagues in the press gallery rushed over to explain.

'About 80 per cent of Government MPs have already voted. They think Urquhart's home and dry. It looks like a landslide.'

Big Ben tolled; to Mattie it had a new and awesome ring. She felt as if an icicle had dislodged itself from the Palace walls and pierced straight into her heart. But she had to press on.

Urquhart was not in his room, nor in any of the ba
rs or
restaurants in the Palace of
Westminster. She asked in vain
around the corridors
after him and was just about to
conclude that he had left the
premises entirely, for lunch or
interviews, when one of the Palace policemen told her that he had seen Urquhart not te
n minutes earlier headed in the
direction of the roof garden
. She had no idea that any roof
garden existed, or even where it was.

'Yes, miss. Not many people do know about our roof garden, and those that do like to keep quiet about it in case everybody rushes up there and spoils the charm. It's directly above the House of Commons, all around the great central skylights which light up the Chamber itself. It's a flat roof terrace, and we've put some tables and chairs up there so that in summer the staff can enjoy the sunshine, take some sandwiches and a flask of coffee. Not many Members know about it and even fewer ever go up there, but I've seen Mr Urquhart up there a couple of times before. Likes the view, I imagine. But it'll be damned cold and lonely today, if you don't mind my saying so.'

She followed his directions, up the stairs past the Strangers Gallery and up again until she had passed the panelled dressing room reserved for the Palace doorkeepers. Then she saw a fire door which was slightly ajar. As she stepped through it she emerged onto the roof, and drew in her breath sharply. The view was magnificent Right in front of her, towering into the cloudless sky, made brilliant in the sunshine and snow, was the tower of Big Ben, closer than she had ever seen it before. Every little detail of the beautifully crafted stone stood out with stunning clarity, and she could see the tremor of the great clock hands as the ancient but splendid mechanism pursued its remorseless course.

To the left she could see the great tiled roof of Westminster Hall, the oldest part of the Palace, which had survived the assault of fire, war, bomb and revolution and which had witnessed so much human achievement and misery. To her right she could see the River Thames, ebbing and flowing in its own irresistible fashion even as the tides of history swept capriciously along its banks. And in front of her she could see fresh footsteps in the snow.

He was there, standing by the balustrade at the far end of the terrace, looking out beyond the rooftops of Whitehall, north to where he knew the moors of his childhood still beckoned. He had never seen the view like this before, blanketed in snow. The sky was as clear as the air in the

Scottish valleys he had deserted; the rooftops carpeted in white he imagined to be the rolling moors on which he had spent so many enthralling hours hunting with the gillie, the steeples became the copses of spruce in which they had hidden while' they watched the progress of the deer. On a day such as this, he felt as if he could see right to the heart of his old Perthshire home, and beyond even to the heart of eternity. It was all his now.

He could see the white stone walls of the Home Office, behind which lay Buckingham Palace where, later that evening, he would be driven in triumph. There stood the Foreign Office, and next to it the Treasury at the entrance to Whitehall which he would shortly command more effectively than any hereditary king. Before him were spread the great offices of state which he would, soon dispense and dominate in a way which would at last lay to rest his father's haunting accusations and recompense for all the bitterness and loneliness to which he had so long condemned himself.

He was startled as he realised that someone was at his elbow.

'Miss Storin!' he exclaimed. "This is a surprise. I didn't think anyone would find me here - but you seem to have a habit of tracking me down. What is it this time - another exclusive interview?'

‘
I
hope it will be very exclusive, Mr Urquhart.'

'You know, I remember you were right in on the start. You were the first person ever to ask if I were going to stand for the leadership.'

'Perhaps it is appropriate that I should also be in on the
end...'

'What do you mean?'

The
time had come.

'Perhaps you should read this. It's the Press Association copy I have just taken from the printer.'

She pulled out of her shoulder bag a short piece of news agency copy which she handed to him.

london
-
30.11.91
.

In a surprise development, Mr Benjamin Landless has announced that he has withdrawn his takeover offer for the United Newspapers Group.

In a brief statement, Landless indicated that he had been approached by senior political figures asking for editorial and financial support in exchange for their approval of the merger.

In such circumstances
’
he said,
‘I
think it to be in the national interest that the deal be suspended. I do not wish the reputation of my company in any way to be impugned by the reprehensible and possibly corrupt activity which has begun to infect this transaction
’

Landless announced that he hoped to be able to release further details after he had consulted with his lawyers.

‘I
don't understand. What does this mean?' asked Urquhart in a calm voice. But Mattie noticed that he had crumpled the news release up in his clenched fist.

It means, Mr Urquhart, that I know the full story. Now so does Benjamin Landless. And in a few days so will every newspaper reader in the country.'

A frown crossed his brow. There was no anger or anguish in his face yet, like a soldier who had been shot but whose nervous system had still to allow the pain to prize away the blanket of numbness which the shock had wrapped about him. But Mattie could have no mercy. She reached into her shoulder bag yet again, extracting a small tape recorder, and pressed a button. The tape which Landless had given Mattie began to turn and in the quiet, snow-clad air they could hear very distinctly the voices of the newspaper proprietor and the Chief Whip as they conspired together. The conversation was unambiguous, the recording of remarkable clarity and the contents unmistakably criminal as the two plotted to exchange editorial endorsement for political endorsement.

Mattie pressed another button, and the voices stopped.

‘I
don't know whether you make a habit of taping all your colleagues' bedrooms, or just Patrick Woolton's, but I can assure you that Benjamin Landless tapes all of his telephone conversations
’
she said.

Urquhart's face had frozen in the winter's air. He was beginning to feel the pain now.

'Tell me, Mr Urquhart. I know you blackmailed Roger O'Neill into opening the false address in Paddington for Charles Collingridge, but when the police investigate will they find his or your signature on the bank account?'

There was silence.

'Come now, as soon as I go to the authorities you will have to tell them everything, so why not tell me first?' More silence.

‘I
know you and O'Neill between you leaked opinion polls and the news about the Territorial Army cuts. I know you also got him to enter a false computer file on Charles Collingridge into the Party's central computer-he didn't care for that, did he? I suspect he was even less excited about stealing the Party's confidential files on Michael Samuel. But one thing I'm not sure about. Was it you or Roger who concocted that silly tale about the cancelled publicity campaign on the hospital expansion scheme to feed to Stephen Kendrick?'

At last Urquhart managed to speak. He was breathing deeply, trying to hide the tension inside.

'You have a vivid imagination.'

'Oh, if only I did, Mr Urquhart, I would have caught you much earlier. No, it's not imagination which is going to expose you. It's this tape
’
she said, patting the recorder she held in her hand. 'And the report which Mr Landless is going to publish at great length in the
Telegraph.'

Now Urquhart visibly flinched.

'But Landless wouldn't
...
couldn't!'

'Oh, you don't think Mr Landless is going to take any of the blame, do you? No. He's going to make you the fall guy, Mr Urquhart Don't you realise? They are never going to let you be Prime Minister. I will write it, he will publish it, and you will never get to Downing Street.'

He shook his head in disbelief. A thin, cruel smile began to cross his lips. He couldn't tell whether it was the freezing weather or the frost he felt inside him, but he had that cold, tingling sensation up his spine once more. His breathing was steadier now, his hunter's instincts restoring his sense of physical control.

‘I
don't suppose you would be willing to
...
?' He let out a low, chilling laugh. 'No, of course not Silly of me. You seem to have thought of almost everything. Miss Storin.'

'Not quite ever
ything. How did you kill Roger O'Neill?'

So she had that, too. The frost finally gripped his heart. His ice-blue hunter's eyes did not flicker. His body was motionless, tense, ready for action. At last he knew how his brother had felt, yet this was no iron-clad enemy which confronted him but a stupid, vulnerable, defenceless young woman. Only one of them could survive, and it must be him!

His voice was soft, almost a whisper, melting into the snow around them. 'Rat poison. It was so simple. I mixed it with his cocaine.' His piercing eyes were fixed on Mattie; she wa
s no longer hunter, but prey. ‘H
e was so weak, he deserved to die.'

'No one deserves to die, Mr Urquhart'

But he was no longer listening. He was hunting, in a game of life or death whose rules allowed no respect for moral cliches. When he gazed down the gun sights at a deer he did not debate whether the deer deserved to die, nature decreed that some must die in order for others to survive and triumph. No one, particularly now, was going to deprive him of his triumph.

With surprising energy for a man of his age, he picked up one of the heavy wooden chairs from the terrace and held it aloft, poised to strike- down at her head. But she did not cower as he had expected. She stood her ground, defiant in front of him, even as she tried to comprehend her own danger.