State Of Emergency: (Tom Buckingham Thriller 3) (12 page)

He took his father’s hand, but gave it an extra squeeze as he had done on every occasion since the age of eight, when they had parted at the start of each term.

There was some moisture in his eyes, which Tom couldn’t ignore. ‘Steady on, Dad.’

‘Of course.’ Hugh wafted a hand in front of his face. ‘Come, sit.’ Hugh waved him to a chair. Tom sat. ‘Well, I suppose congratulations are in order.’

For a moment Tom was flummoxed, then realized Hugh meant Rolt’s new job. He waved away the compliment. ‘Nothing to do with me.’

‘Seems it was rather a foregone conclusion.’

‘Guess it does look like that.’

Hugh sighed. ‘Well, I’ve decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.’

‘No, you haven’t. You can’t stand the man. You’re just saying that for my benefit.’

Hugh smiled. ‘You know me too well.’

‘And you don’t have to be polite to me of all people. Let’s put what happened behind us.’

Hugh nodded eagerly. ‘An excellent idea.’

They smiled, both knowing it would probably take a lot more than that. Hugh hailed a passing waitress.

‘What can I get you, gentlemen?’

‘Tea, please, Eileen.’

‘We’ve got some scones today, Mr Buckingham, if you’d like.’ She gave him a fond look.

He patted his stomach, as Tom had known he would. ‘Not for me, sadly. The doc’s been on at me about my GI.’

‘Your what?’

‘Glycaemic index – blood sugar and whatnot.’

The awful thought struck Tom that his father had diabetes. ‘You haven’t got—’

‘No, no! Just Being Good.’

She looked hopefully at Tom, who shook his head, smiling.

‘Just tea for two then. Very Spartan.’ Hugh leaned back and Tom braced himself for the inevitable question.

‘What’s in store for you, now he’s attained high office? Will you still be at his elbow or does the Party supply him with a whole posse of advisers and minders and whatnot?’

‘I’m not sure yet.’ He sensed an almost imperceptible sigh of disappointment. Why couldn’t he just relax and take his father’s enquiries for what they were, genuine interest and a desire to be of help? ‘I’d tell you if I knew. I’m just not clear yet.’

When he was in the Regiment it was understood that Tom couldn’t talk about his missions, even though his father would have loved to hear about them. But going under cover inside Rolt’s organization was even worse; he couldn’t risk his father knowing anything at all. He had to keep up his cover every minute of every hour of every day and it had widened the divide between them.

Hugh smiled bravely, like someone who’d just been told they hadn’t won the Oscar. ‘Well, if you’re thinking of moving on there’s lots to talk about. Plenty of opportunities out there.’

‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind.’

Hugh peered at him. ‘You do look tired. I hope you’ve been looking after yourself. I expect you were up most of the night.’

‘Why do you think that?’ Tom asked irritably, the encounter with Randall still unpleasantly fresh in his mind. He felt immediately guilty and covered his embarrassment by smiling at the waitress as she arrived with the tea.

‘You’ve got both milk and lemon there. All right, Mr Buckingham?’

‘Marvellous, thanks.

‘With all the excitement …’

‘Oh, yeah, right. I am a bit wiped as it happens.’ He observed his father watch the waitress depart with genuine gratitude. Hugh managed to go through life showing only goodwill to people – something Tom had only recently come to appreciate. Why couldn’t he be more like him? Because every day of his life for the past six months he had been living a lie. It took its toll, no matter how often he told himself it didn’t.

‘Your digs still all right with Jez?’

‘Very convenient.’

‘He’s a good chap. Always liked him. I expect he’d have something worthwhile to offer you, if you became available.’

Tom put down his cup. ‘Dad. Go easy on the career counselling, eh? You know I’ll tell you if I want any help.’

‘Yes, yes. Sorry.’

Once again, there was an atmosphere between them. Tom needed to fill the silence. ‘How’s the City treating you?’

‘Well, to be honest, it’s been better.’

This was a surprise. He had never heard his father say his business activities were anything but ‘booming’ or ‘going swimmingly’. Relentless optimism was one of his trademarks. ‘Yeah? What’s been happening?’

His father, normally so robust and unflappable, looked almost ashamed. ‘I’ve had to … draw in my horns a bit. Couple of ventures went sour.’

Tom had always thought his father a past master at dodging a bullet.

Hugh waved a hand in the direction of the window. ‘All the trouble – it’s had quite an impact. In fact, your mother and I are thinking of downsizing.’

Tom looked at him in dismay: the idea of their selling the house – his childhood home – was unimaginable. Like most people once they’ve left home he hardly ever visited, but liked to know it was still there, a reassuringly fixed point on the compass. ‘You always said the only way you were leaving Newland was in a box.’

‘Well, one must adapt, you know. Adapt and survive.’

Tom did know – and he knew when Hugh was putting a brave face on something.

‘We’re not getting any younger, Tom. And the house really is too big for us. Then there’s the garden – far too much. Your mother says she can manage it, but between you and me …’

There was something forced about his casualness. ‘Bollocks, Dad. How much trouble are you in?’

Hugh shook his head, as if to dislodge something unwelcome. ‘It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Everybody’s in trouble, these days. You’ve only got to look around you. Anyhow, we’ve had many good years. It’s not as though we’re going to be on the breadline. I just have to take what I can get.’ He sipped his tea.

‘But, Dad …’

Hugh registered the intensity of Tom’s gaze and let out a long sigh. ‘You always get uppity when I start probing about
your
work. Now it’s
my
turn, okay? I’ll tell you more when I’m good and ready. All right?’

Tom had touched a raw nerve. He could not remember ever having seen his father so agitated.

‘Never mind all that. Your mother’s worried about you.’

Tom knew that this was shorthand for them both being worried about him.

‘She doesn’t know what you’re doing with your life any more.’

‘Dad, I’m thirty-two. I’m a big boy, I can look after myself.’

‘Look, I know you’ve made a point of never taking my advice, Tom, but nevertheless I’m going to give it. You need to think about the future.’

‘Well, I’m probably going to have a bit of time out, regroup.’

Hugh’s face came alive. ‘Well, that’s wonderful news, terrific. Mum will be delighted too – I can’t wait to tell her. I assume that means you’ll come and spend some time with us in the country.’

‘Could we change the subject now, please?’

Silence descended. It was a full minute before Tom spoke. ‘You still have any dealings with any of your oligarchs?’

‘
My
oligarchs?’ Hugh bridled. Several years ago he had advised on some very lucrative Russian-backed deals. But one had ended badly and Tom had warned him off doing any more, or thought he had. ‘Why on earth are you asking?’

Tom knew it wasn’t something he would want to be reminded of, but it was just possible that he might know something about Rolt’s shadowy visitor. ‘Bear with me, okay? I’ve got a first name – Oleg. He may be from the Crimea, a Tartar, perhaps. Goes around with a couple of heavies in tow.’

Hugh frowned, then leaned back and let out a snort. ‘Well, that’s not exactly narrowing it down! Have you any idea how many rich former Soviets are rattling around the nation’s capital, let alone how many are probably called Oleg?’

It had been worth a shot. His father’s connections with the City and high finance were second to none.

But Hugh’s face now reddened with anger. ‘And I resent the implication that I’m hobnobbing with gangsters. The people I deal with are all kosher.’

‘Okay, chill, Dad. It was just a question.’

Hugh’s forehead furrowed. ‘Anyway, why do you want to know?’

Tom decided there was no reason to be evasive. ‘Some contact of Rolt’s. Don’t think he wanted anyone to meet him, though.’

Hugh’s face remained blank.

‘It was only a thought. Forget it.’

‘My dear boy. I have to be discreet where clients are concerned. It doesn’t do to go around fishing and it would make me sound ignorant.’

Tom put his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I never mentioned it, okay?’

This wasn’t going well. His father stared at him. ‘Tom, what’s happening to you? You grill me about this man, asking all sorts of questions, but you’re never open with me about what you’re up to. You’ve said nothing about your time with Invicta when it must have been jolly interesting being at the shoulder of Britain’s most talked-about politician. And—Well, I just don’t understand it.’

Tom looked at his father with regret. He would have liked nothing more than to confide in him. It would go a long way to repairing the rift that had opened up between them, and it would be a relief to unburden himself with someone he loved and trusted … He leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘I’m sorry, Dad. You’re totally right. That’s part of what’s made it such a strain these last few months. Rolt’s obsession with secrecy and security when, to tell you the truth, it’s all been pretty bloody boring. Moving into politics has completely consumed him. He’s obsessed with the Muslim threat. He’s won popularity by whipping up fears about Islamist fighters coming back to blow up Britain, and once he gets his hands on some real power I think the rest of the government will have trouble restraining him.’

Hugh’s eyes were sparkling again. A bit of honesty, not to mention intrigue, and they were back on track.

‘So he’s not going to “save us from civil war”?’ Hugh made quotation marks with his fingers.

‘He’s more likely to cause it, if someone doesn’t put the brakes on him. Plus he’s got no empathy with his own men, the ones he’s built his reputation on.’

It was rash, but he felt he owed his father something.

Hugh’s eyebrows rose dramatically. ‘Ah, I see. Well, I admit I’m relieved to hear the sun no longer shines out of his backside, but it does beg the question, why have you chosen to put so much of your energy behind him?’

It pained Tom that his father never missed an opportunity to question his judgement. He gave the older man a hard look.

‘Sorry, sorry, I know, sensitive area. But, really, why not just leave? Jack it in, as you would say.’

Tom told himself not to rise to this and give his father a hard time. As much as he loved him, he had always resented any attempt to influence him. Even if he was able to come clean about what he was really doing inside Invicta, the worry alone would probably kill Hugh – never mind Tom’s mother. Anyway, it wasn’t an option.

‘Okay, Dad, Rolt got me on the rebound from the Regiment. I was impressed with his organization and what it was doing for ex-service blokes. Maybe my head was in a different place then – and, anyway, I didn’t know as much about him as I do now.’

‘Well, perhaps your next decision will be a better one.’

Tom gritted his teeth, willing himself not to react.

‘Speaking of which, I knew I had something to tell you. Your old CO turned up the other day, completely unannounced.’

‘Ashton?’

Hugh nodded. ‘It was a bit awkward, really. But we made a fuss of him. He was actually quite a nice chap.’

Tom’s eyes narrowed. That was strange. The last time he had seen Ashton was at Brize, when he’d told him he was out of the Regiment. Not surprisingly, they hadn’t spoken since. ‘What did he want?’

Hugh shrugged. ‘He didn’t say exactly. Wanted to know how you were getting on out there in the big bad world. Said he’d like to see you some time. Though he didn’t actually come out with it, I think he wants you to get in touch. You know, mend some fences.’

That was a surprise: Ashton had shown very little concern when he’d slung Tom out. ‘You sure that was all?’

‘Why not? He seemed genuine – didn’t strike me as the sort to go in for light banter. Anyway, you’ll be glad to hear I didn’t give anything away. I know from bitter experience that you don’t like me talking about you behind your back.’

Tom glanced at his watch. He’d had his fill of his father, but he didn’t want to leave on another sour note. ‘Look, Dad, it’s been really good to see you.’

‘Indeed it has, my boy. Do come and see your mother. She does miss you so.’

‘I will, I promise.’

‘And I’ll keep my ear to the ground. If I hear of any strange men called Oleg bearing gifts I’ll be sure to let you know.’ He tapped the side of his nose theatrically.

Tom paused, the memory of the Ordynka on its garish purple bed fresh in his mind. ‘I didn’t mention anything about gifts.’

Hugh shook his head in mock despair. ‘It’s a saying – surely you know that. “Foes’ gifts are no gifts: profit bring they none.”’

‘Yeah, yeah. Sophocles.’

‘So you did learn something at school!’ Hugh beamed. But even as they shook hands, Tom detected something in his father’s manner that troubled him.

22

17.00
Millbank, Westminster

The press conference was packed. Rolt’s triumph hadn’t just got the attention of the British press, it was an international story. Reporters and TV news crews from every country with a free press – or otherwise – were crammed into the room and the halls beyond.

Derek Farmer and his deputy press strategist, Pippa Stevens, were late, having abandoned their cab in the freezing, grid-locked streets and struggled the rest of the way on foot. Walking was his least favourite mode of transport. His cab account, appetite for beer and lunch on expenses – always ‘in the interests of putting the Party in a good light’ or for a magazine ‘gagging to do a flattering profile’ of some MP or other – had taken their toll. If he had to hurry, his gut wobbled pendulously and his carb-inflated thighs chafed together. Pippa had no such problem, her long, slim legs hardened by years of hockey on the playing fields of Roedean. With fifteen years fewer on the clock than Farmer, and a genuine enthusiasm for the gym, she had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of stamina and looked young enough to be his daughter. Despite the freezing wind, by the time they arrived he was mopping the sweat off his face with the tissue she had handed him with ill-disguised revulsion.