Bryce,’ and turned away.
A minute later Ella appeared at his side, jabbering away into her cell headset, the wind whipping at her hair, at the faux fur collar of her beige overcoat. ‘Who was that?’ she asked, following his gaze.
‘Nobody.’ Bryce watched the woman as she departed, the sound of her footsteps snatched away on the freshening breeze. He could feel Ella’s eyes on him. ‘What?’
‘Are you alright, Gabe?’
‘Of course. Why’d you ask?’
Ella shrugged her shoulders. ‘Nothing. You look a bit pale, that’s all. Tired.’
‘What do you expect in this bloody job.’ The woman was distant now, a small figure glimpsed between the landscape of headstones. Then she was gone. Bryce sighed. ‘Let’s go.’
The sleek ministerial convoy waited along the access road, engines purring quietly, exhaust plumes condensing on the cold air. Doors swung open as Bryce approached, and sharp-eyed men in bulky overcoats scanned the terrain for trouble. He was about to duck inside his BMW limousine when he heard a faint chant carried on the wind. A large group of people had gathered at the main gates of the cemetery, placards held high. Black-clad policemen in riot gear lined the road, herding them towards the opposite pavement.
‘Who are they?’
‘Students mostly, plus a sprinkling of pro-refugee supporters,’ explained Ella. ‘They arrived a little while ago in a coach. There’s about forty of them, well-organised, a camera crew, nicely printed placards etcetera. Someone must’ve tipped them off that you were here.’
‘No bloody privacy anymore,’ Bryce fumed. He ushered Ella inside the BMW, a bodyguard closing the door behind him. He was glad to be out of the cold, embraced once more by the heated interior and the soft leather. He wriggled out of his overcoat as Ella keyed a button and raised the central glass partition, sealing the rear passenger compartment with a soft thunk .
‘I’ve issued a D-Notice,’ she announced, snatching the ear piece from her head. She winced as she caught several strands of hair in its rubbery hook. ‘Anyway, they can’t use any footage of you at Lizzie’s grave or otherwise.’
‘Good.’ Bryce watched the Range Rover ahead move off, then the smooth power of the BMW kicked in as it accelerated after it. They approached the main gates at speed, the ranks of headstones on either side a grey blur, the faces of the curious flashing by. Then the BMW was through the gates, turning past the police motorcyclists that blocked the road, past the chants of the protestors, most of them hidden from view behind a line of police vans, their screaming placards dancing an angry jig above the roofs – No More Borders! Justice for Refugees! Yes to Cairo!
‘You think they know something’s in the wind?’
‘Not a chance,’ Ella replied. ‘If they did there’d be thousands of them.’
Ten minutes later, the convoy curled up the slip road and onto the A3 motorway towards London. Bryce settled into his seat, the BMW’s passage almost soundless in the Kevlar-cocooned interior. He stared out of the window, watching the traffic flash by as the convoy ate up the miles towards the capital.
‘Tell me about tomorrow.’
‘The press conference is scheduled for five-forty five,’ Ella informed him, ‘followed by the Cabinet meeting at sixfifteen. I’ve laid on a few extra bodies for the communications office, too. We’re bound to get swamped afterwards.’
‘Fine.’
Ella paused, toying with the cell in her hand. ‘There’s still time, Gabe. We can justify the Heathrow suspension, but stopping Cairo is going to be a bloody hard sell. If you brief Cabinet beforehand they’ll be more inclined to support your decision. Cutting them out of the loop like this will just piss them off.’
Bryce shook his head. ‘My mind’s made up, Ella. This way the Heathrow dossier will have maximum impact, both here and in Brussels. If we get public opinion on our side beforehand,
A minute later Ella appeared at his side, jabbering away into her cell headset, the wind whipping at her hair, at the faux fur collar of her beige overcoat. ‘Who was that?’ she asked, following his gaze.
‘Nobody.’ Bryce watched the woman as she departed, the sound of her footsteps snatched away on the freshening breeze. He could feel Ella’s eyes on him. ‘What?’
‘Are you alright, Gabe?’
‘Of course. Why’d you ask?’
Ella shrugged her shoulders. ‘Nothing. You look a bit pale, that’s all. Tired.’
‘What do you expect in this bloody job.’ The woman was distant now, a small figure glimpsed between the landscape of headstones. Then she was gone. Bryce sighed. ‘Let’s go.’
The sleek ministerial convoy waited along the access road, engines purring quietly, exhaust plumes condensing on the cold air. Doors swung open as Bryce approached, and sharp-eyed men in bulky overcoats scanned the terrain for trouble. He was about to duck inside his BMW limousine when he heard a faint chant carried on the wind. A large group of people had gathered at the main gates of the cemetery, placards held high. Black-clad policemen in riot gear lined the road, herding them towards the opposite pavement.
‘Who are they?’
‘Students mostly, plus a sprinkling of pro-refugee supporters,’ explained Ella. ‘They arrived a little while ago in a coach. There’s about forty of them, well-organised, a camera crew, nicely printed placards etcetera. Someone must’ve tipped them off that you were here.’
‘No bloody privacy anymore,’ Bryce fumed. He ushered Ella inside the BMW, a bodyguard closing the door behind him. He was glad to be out of the cold, embraced once more by the heated interior and the soft leather. He wriggled out of his overcoat as Ella keyed a button and raised the central glass partition, sealing the rear passenger compartment with a soft thunk .
‘I’ve issued a D-Notice,’ she announced, snatching the ear piece from her head. She winced as she caught several strands of hair in its rubbery hook. ‘Anyway, they can’t use any footage of you at Lizzie’s grave or otherwise.’
‘Good.’ Bryce watched the Range Rover ahead move off, then the smooth power of the BMW kicked in as it accelerated after it. They approached the main gates at speed, the ranks of headstones on either side a grey blur, the faces of the curious flashing by. Then the BMW was through the gates, turning past the police motorcyclists that blocked the road, past the chants of the protestors, most of them hidden from view behind a line of police vans, their screaming placards dancing an angry jig above the roofs – No More Borders! Justice for Refugees! Yes to Cairo!
‘You think they know something’s in the wind?’
‘Not a chance,’ Ella replied. ‘If they did there’d be thousands of them.’
Ten minutes later, the convoy curled up the slip road and onto the A3 motorway towards London. Bryce settled into his seat, the BMW’s passage almost soundless in the Kevlar-cocooned interior. He stared out of the window, watching the traffic flash by as the convoy ate up the miles towards the capital.
‘Tell me about tomorrow.’
‘The press conference is scheduled for five-forty five,’ Ella informed him, ‘followed by the Cabinet meeting at sixfifteen. I’ve laid on a few extra bodies for the communications office, too. We’re bound to get swamped afterwards.’
‘Fine.’
Ella paused, toying with the cell in her hand. ‘There’s still time, Gabe. We can justify the Heathrow suspension, but stopping Cairo is going to be a bloody hard sell. If you brief Cabinet beforehand they’ll be more inclined to support your decision. Cutting them out of the loop like this will just piss them off.’
Bryce shook his head. ‘My mind’s made up, Ella. This way the Heathrow dossier will have maximum impact, both here and in Brussels. If we get public opinion on our side beforehand,
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