secretary bristled at having his offer of advice rejected. ‘Five minutes it is then, PM.’
Copeland slipped into his office and closed the door, desperate for a few moments alone in which to compose his thoughts.
The TV pictures of Stephen had been deeply shocking. Horrible to see such terror in the face of someone he’d known for so long. They’d been at Cambridge together. A friendship, it had to be said, founded more on pragmatism than affection. Thirty years of scratch-my-back that had paid off handsomely just eighteen months ago.
The party had been in crisis. A demand for a leadership contest. Copeland had been pushed into standing. He’d won, but with an infinitesimal margin. Bowen’s change of heart had clinched it. His old ‘friend’ had originally planned to support a competitor.
To Copeland’s further amazement, the party had gone on to win the general election by one seat. Which made him prime minister. It had been time to pay his dues, so he’d found Bowen a job in government.
And now he regretted it bitterly. Regretted the deals he’d made to get where he was, and more important, regretted the other little ‘arrangements’ Bowen had tempted him into.
Outside his front door the media vultures were hovering. But it’d be worse later when they knew more. Best to confront them now.
Gordon was waiting for him in the hall. He checked his watch.
‘Two more minutes, prime minister …’
‘No. I’ll do it now. If they’re not ready they can lump it.’
The signal was given for the constable to open the door. Copeland strode out towards the microphones on the pavement opposite.
‘
We’re now live from Downing Street
.’ He heard the urgent words of a correspondent alerting viewers.
‘It’s time I said a few words,’ Copeland began, his mind threatening to go blank. ‘You er … will understand there’s little I
can
say at this stage. The situation is still very confused. What is clear is that Stephen Bowen is being held a prisoner somewhere against his will.’
A questioner tried to interrupt, but Copeland held up a hand.
‘As you know, last week Stephen was on an official visit to Indonesia. At its conclusion he decided to spend a few days travelling privately. Perfectly understandable. The far east is a beautiful and fascinating part of the world … Anyway, during that time it seems he was taken prisoner. We don’t as yet know when or where. As I said, he was not on ministerial duties at the time and therefore didn’t need to be in daily contact with officials. Scotland Yard is leading the investigation. They will I’m sure be given the fullest co-operation by the relevant authorities in the countries concerned.’
‘Which countries, prime minister? Was he still in Indonesia?’ A woman from the BBC.
‘I can’t answer any questions at this stage. The investigation is very sensitive. I’m sure you’ll understand. Now, that’s all …’
An inbred politeness made it hard to back away. It’d be his downfall one day, his wife always said.
‘Will you cancel the arms contract with Indonesia?’ He recognised the Glaswegian tones of the terrier from the News Channel.
‘I …’ Dangerous ground. ‘The contract was a hard-fought one, involving weapons suitable for Indonesia’s national defence and nothing else. There’s no question of them being used in any internal repress …’
Damn, he thought. Cocked it up.
‘
Repression
, prime minister? Why does Britain sell weapons to a country with such a lousy human rights record?’
‘The British government has repeatedly made its views on human rights known to the Indonesian government. Repeatedly. Now that’s all …’
‘Is it true, prime minister, that a substantial aid package has been offered to Indonesia as an inducement to buy British arms?’
The prime minister flinched. The man was fishing.
‘No. It is not true,’ he flannelled. ‘We do provide aid to Indonesia, as we do to a great many countries all
Copeland slipped into his office and closed the door, desperate for a few moments alone in which to compose his thoughts.
The TV pictures of Stephen had been deeply shocking. Horrible to see such terror in the face of someone he’d known for so long. They’d been at Cambridge together. A friendship, it had to be said, founded more on pragmatism than affection. Thirty years of scratch-my-back that had paid off handsomely just eighteen months ago.
The party had been in crisis. A demand for a leadership contest. Copeland had been pushed into standing. He’d won, but with an infinitesimal margin. Bowen’s change of heart had clinched it. His old ‘friend’ had originally planned to support a competitor.
To Copeland’s further amazement, the party had gone on to win the general election by one seat. Which made him prime minister. It had been time to pay his dues, so he’d found Bowen a job in government.
And now he regretted it bitterly. Regretted the deals he’d made to get where he was, and more important, regretted the other little ‘arrangements’ Bowen had tempted him into.
Outside his front door the media vultures were hovering. But it’d be worse later when they knew more. Best to confront them now.
Gordon was waiting for him in the hall. He checked his watch.
‘Two more minutes, prime minister …’
‘No. I’ll do it now. If they’re not ready they can lump it.’
The signal was given for the constable to open the door. Copeland strode out towards the microphones on the pavement opposite.
‘
We’re now live from Downing Street
.’ He heard the urgent words of a correspondent alerting viewers.
‘It’s time I said a few words,’ Copeland began, his mind threatening to go blank. ‘You er … will understand there’s little I
can
say at this stage. The situation is still very confused. What is clear is that Stephen Bowen is being held a prisoner somewhere against his will.’
A questioner tried to interrupt, but Copeland held up a hand.
‘As you know, last week Stephen was on an official visit to Indonesia. At its conclusion he decided to spend a few days travelling privately. Perfectly understandable. The far east is a beautiful and fascinating part of the world … Anyway, during that time it seems he was taken prisoner. We don’t as yet know when or where. As I said, he was not on ministerial duties at the time and therefore didn’t need to be in daily contact with officials. Scotland Yard is leading the investigation. They will I’m sure be given the fullest co-operation by the relevant authorities in the countries concerned.’
‘Which countries, prime minister? Was he still in Indonesia?’ A woman from the BBC.
‘I can’t answer any questions at this stage. The investigation is very sensitive. I’m sure you’ll understand. Now, that’s all …’
An inbred politeness made it hard to back away. It’d be his downfall one day, his wife always said.
‘Will you cancel the arms contract with Indonesia?’ He recognised the Glaswegian tones of the terrier from the News Channel.
‘I …’ Dangerous ground. ‘The contract was a hard-fought one, involving weapons suitable for Indonesia’s national defence and nothing else. There’s no question of them being used in any internal repress …’
Damn, he thought. Cocked it up.
‘
Repression
, prime minister? Why does Britain sell weapons to a country with such a lousy human rights record?’
‘The British government has repeatedly made its views on human rights known to the Indonesian government. Repeatedly. Now that’s all …’
‘Is it true, prime minister, that a substantial aid package has been offered to Indonesia as an inducement to buy British arms?’
The prime minister flinched. The man was fishing.
‘No. It is not true,’ he flannelled. ‘We do provide aid to Indonesia, as we do to a great many countries all
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