Cabinet will be swayed more easily. Then we can push it through parliament.’
‘You’ll be directly undermining their authority. I’m getting a ton of calls already, demanding to know what the press conference is about. There’s a lot of frustration out there.’
‘Once we go public they’ll understand. I’ll make it up to them.’
Ella glanced at the back of the driver’s head, at the bodyguard next to him. Despite the soundproofed partition she lowered her voice. ‘Have you thought about the repercussions, Gabe? I mean really thought about them?’
Bryce exhaled noisily. ‘Don’t patronise me, Ella. I’ve thought of nothing else this past week.’
‘Because DuPont is going to go absolutely ballistic when this breaks. The other leaders will, too. We’re not the only ones who need that gas and oil. Most of Europe’s economies are depending on it.’
‘I know that,’ Bryce snapped. He took a breath. ‘Look, all we’re talking about here is delaying the treaty, not scrapping it. We need assurances, that’s all. Guarantees. Same applies to the relocation programme.’ Bryce was silent for a moment, then he turned and said: ‘What about Tariq?’
His Special Advisor tapped her cell. ‘I’ve scheduled five minutes in your office just before the press conference.’
‘It won’t take that long.’
Ella frowned. ‘Strange, he’s barely been seen since he returned from Istanbul. Even Rana’s being cagey about his movements.’
‘She’s covering,’ Bryce said. ‘Anyway, it’s irrelevant. Tariq’s history.’
Outside, a police motorcycle outrider shot past the car, square jaw jutting beneath his black visor. ‘The next few weeks are going to be hell,’ Ella muttered.
Bryce reached over and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, we’re doing the right thing. Tomorrow is about hard choices, plain and simple, and it’s my job to make those choices. It’s why people voted for us.’
Ella looked away. ‘I hope to God you’re right Gabe, I really do.’
Bryce saw her reflection in the glass and knew she was worried. Privately he was too, but what other options did he have?
The convoy continued northwards, the outriders carving a path through the afternoon traffic. Bryce took advantage of the silence, staring out of the window as he contemplated firing his Communities minister. Tariq had once been a trusted comrade, rallying Britain’s burgeoning Muslim community behind Bryce’s election campaign, earning his place in Cabinet with his intelligence and unswerving loyalty, a dependable mouthpiece both at home and in Brussels. He was passionate, a team player, and yet there had certainly been a cooling of their relationship in recent months, Tariq distancing himself from the intimacy of their ideological bonds, succumbing instead to the growing power of the Islamic Congress of Europe, aligning himself with pro-Cairo factions in the European parliament. It was understandable; Tariq was seen as the major conduit of Islamic influence and opinion in Bryce’s government and Bryce had encouraged it for his own political purposes, yet somehow it had led to the debacle at Heathrow. Despite the betrayal, he would miss Tariq’s counsel and powerful cultural influence. A hard man to replace, indeed. Something else he had to work on.
Outside, the green fields of Surrey yielded to the urban sprawl of the south London suburbs. Raindrops tapped the window, slithering across the thick glass like tiny tadpoles of mercury. He thought of the woman back at the cemetery, her bitter words, her warning about Cairo. Wherever she’d got her information from, and Bryce guessed it was from an uncensored blog somewhere, her facts were essentially correct; the treaty had to be stopped. The question was, for how long?
Sirens wailed as the convoy slowed and the traffic became heavier. Bryce looked beyond the warehouses, beyond the industrial units and the suburban rooftops that lined the motorway to
‘You’ll be directly undermining their authority. I’m getting a ton of calls already, demanding to know what the press conference is about. There’s a lot of frustration out there.’
‘Once we go public they’ll understand. I’ll make it up to them.’
Ella glanced at the back of the driver’s head, at the bodyguard next to him. Despite the soundproofed partition she lowered her voice. ‘Have you thought about the repercussions, Gabe? I mean really thought about them?’
Bryce exhaled noisily. ‘Don’t patronise me, Ella. I’ve thought of nothing else this past week.’
‘Because DuPont is going to go absolutely ballistic when this breaks. The other leaders will, too. We’re not the only ones who need that gas and oil. Most of Europe’s economies are depending on it.’
‘I know that,’ Bryce snapped. He took a breath. ‘Look, all we’re talking about here is delaying the treaty, not scrapping it. We need assurances, that’s all. Guarantees. Same applies to the relocation programme.’ Bryce was silent for a moment, then he turned and said: ‘What about Tariq?’
His Special Advisor tapped her cell. ‘I’ve scheduled five minutes in your office just before the press conference.’
‘It won’t take that long.’
Ella frowned. ‘Strange, he’s barely been seen since he returned from Istanbul. Even Rana’s being cagey about his movements.’
‘She’s covering,’ Bryce said. ‘Anyway, it’s irrelevant. Tariq’s history.’
Outside, a police motorcycle outrider shot past the car, square jaw jutting beneath his black visor. ‘The next few weeks are going to be hell,’ Ella muttered.
Bryce reached over and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. ‘Don’t worry, we’re doing the right thing. Tomorrow is about hard choices, plain and simple, and it’s my job to make those choices. It’s why people voted for us.’
Ella looked away. ‘I hope to God you’re right Gabe, I really do.’
Bryce saw her reflection in the glass and knew she was worried. Privately he was too, but what other options did he have?
The convoy continued northwards, the outriders carving a path through the afternoon traffic. Bryce took advantage of the silence, staring out of the window as he contemplated firing his Communities minister. Tariq had once been a trusted comrade, rallying Britain’s burgeoning Muslim community behind Bryce’s election campaign, earning his place in Cabinet with his intelligence and unswerving loyalty, a dependable mouthpiece both at home and in Brussels. He was passionate, a team player, and yet there had certainly been a cooling of their relationship in recent months, Tariq distancing himself from the intimacy of their ideological bonds, succumbing instead to the growing power of the Islamic Congress of Europe, aligning himself with pro-Cairo factions in the European parliament. It was understandable; Tariq was seen as the major conduit of Islamic influence and opinion in Bryce’s government and Bryce had encouraged it for his own political purposes, yet somehow it had led to the debacle at Heathrow. Despite the betrayal, he would miss Tariq’s counsel and powerful cultural influence. A hard man to replace, indeed. Something else he had to work on.
Outside, the green fields of Surrey yielded to the urban sprawl of the south London suburbs. Raindrops tapped the window, slithering across the thick glass like tiny tadpoles of mercury. He thought of the woman back at the cemetery, her bitter words, her warning about Cairo. Wherever she’d got her information from, and Bryce guessed it was from an uncensored blog somewhere, her facts were essentially correct; the treaty had to be stopped. The question was, for how long?
Sirens wailed as the convoy slowed and the traffic became heavier. Bryce looked beyond the warehouses, beyond the industrial units and the suburban rooftops that lined the motorway to
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