Read Online Blame It on the Bossa Nova by James Brodie - Free Book Online

into it because he wants to get Polaris off of Kennedy.”
    “What’s Polaris?”
    “Polaris is a nuclear missile, launched by submarine - Expensive toy. Macmillan wants it - Christ knows why - Imperial prestige, and all that, fading glory - I don’t know.... You’re not meant to know any of this by the way. Don’t go shooting your mouth off down the boozer or you’ll have MI5 down on you like a ton of bricks. It’s what’s officially known as the Independent Deterrent....Anyway the British Government is prepared to pay seven teaching hospitals, seven hundred and fifty kidney machines and fifty thousand OAP deaths a year through hypothermia to get hold of it - Some people say it’s a bargain, I don’t know. Kennedy wants us in Europe to bolster NATO, it’s all part of his European defence strategy. He doesn’t give a fuck about the internal strains that puts on poor old Supermac. Try explaining about the problems of New Zealand lamb to a four star general from Arkansas. If that isn’t bad enough - and this is really secret - Carrington’s cocked it up again.”
    “Remind me again, who’s Carrington?” I knew he was something high up in the war machine.
    “First Lord of Admiralty.”
    “Ah yes, that’s right.”
    “After Portland and the Krogers they told him to get his finger out. Well, it’s happened again, you’ll hear all about it soon enough. It’s just a cipher clerk we got hold of. On its own they could get away with it, but on top of all the rest.... You see they keep promising to get all the rotten apples out of the barrel, but the trouble is, the barrel’s rotten too... And on top of all this the press don’t want to know since the Telegraph and the Mail got done for two hundred and seventeen grand. They run away from stories now. And I tell you, there’s a lot to run away from.”
    “Why are you telling me all this?”
    “Because I’m not sure whether you’re stupid, or you just don’t care.... And I want to give you the choice. Not only that, I don’t want you backing out of something half way through, running to mummy and saying you didn’t know what was going on.... ‘Cos you see, the Tory Party’s coming apart at the seams, the country’s coming apart at the seams. And a lot of people are going to get very nasty when the shit starts flying. And I’m dropping you right into the middle of it.... It’s not a game. You could get hurt. I haven’t conned you by the way. Everything I said was true. You could earn really big money for very little effort - Take this by the way - If you still want it.” He casually passed me a brown envelope. I looked briefly inside. It was stuffed full of fivers, at least three hundred quid’s worth. “... But you could get hurt. And if you do there are no come-backs. That’s part of the deal. Understood?” This, then had been the purpose of the lecture. Now that the contract was to be implemented the final clause had to be spelled out. I thought for a while but there was still no choice. It’s hard to comprehend danger, fear and political intrigue in Richmond Park on a Sunday afternoon.
    “Understood,” I said. The suave, urbane face of Toby that had receded during the transmission of hard facts returned as we walked back down the hill to the car park. He began to introduce into the conversation esoteric information with regard to demographic trends among the fallow deer population of the park. It was wasted on me. I, for my part, made efforts to reassure him not only of my undiminished enthusiasm for the cause, but also my new found ideological commitment.
    “Who’d have thought they’d have the nerve to repeat the old Guatemala ‘54 trick, eh Toby? ........ Banana Republics are one thing. Banana Sub-Continents are something else again.” It was wasted on him. We turned a corner at the end of the ferns. I could see the car park and his Morris Oxford, and standing next to it, smoking a cigarette, Pascale. As we approached her I saw