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“We have a consensus.”
“No we don’t,” the trade and industry secretary said bluntly.
“Yes we do, Kevin. This is my department, my call. I decide a course of action and you agree to it. Voilà. Consensus.”
The men around the table exchanged despairing glances.
“Our statement is as follows: ‘The government will not tolerate acts of violence or hatred toward Great Britain or her people. It will be up to the courts to decide the fate of Mr. Silchek and Mr. Vladmizc. But the home secretary hereby authorizes the immediate clearing of Parliament Square. Moreover, the work visas of all those involved in last week’s rallies will be reviewed, with immediate effect.’ ”
The room erupted.
“You can’t be serious, Alexia! Revoking visas? What about freedom of speech?”
“Not revoking. Reviewing.”
“But with a view to deporting people! For peaceful protest.”
“There was nothing peaceful about what happened to that flag, Kevin.”
“The prime minister will never allow it.”
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sp; Alexia smiled thinly. The trade and industry secretary was really beginning to get on her nerves. “Oh, I think you’ll find he will. Henry’s support is nothing if not staunch.”
Throwing his papers down on the table in a petulant rage, Kevin Lomax stormed out.
Charles Mosely said, “If nothing else, Home Secretary, I would suggest you reconsider the tone of the statement. It sounds . . .”
“Strong?” Alexia suggested.
“I was going to say ‘Stalinist.’ Put bluntly, it won’t win us any votes.”
“I beg to differ.”
“But, Alexia, be reasonable. We all—”
“Meeting adjourned. Good day, gentlemen.”
Ten minutes later, in the back of her ministerial Daimler, Alexia kicked off her shoes, sighing heavily.
“What’s wrong with these men, Edward? They’re all such cowards.”
Sir Edward Manning shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He had bandaged the wound on his finger, explaining it away as a kitchen accident, but the lines that Sergei Milescu had sliced into his chest were far harder to dress. Not only were they agonizingly painful, but they put him in a constant state of fear that blood was about to seep through his shirt. Sergei wanted information on Mrs. De Vere, something scandalous enough and serious enough to have her forced out of her job. Right now Edward had no idea how he was going to get it. All of which made it extremely difficult to concentrate.
“I mean, you tell me, Edward. Have they forgotten how many men died for that flag?”
“I highly doubt Charlie Mosely’s forgotten,” Sir Edward said through gritted teeth. The pain was almost unbearable. “His son was killed three years ago in Helmland. Blown to bits by some roadside bomb.”
Alexia gasped. “Oh God. Really? I had no idea.”
“It was in your briefing notes, Home Secretary.”
“Was it? Shit. No wonder he was so touchy about the flag thing. Why didn’t you stop me, Edward?”
They both knew this was a rhetorical question. For a few minutes the Daimler glided on in silence, each of them lost in their own private thoughts.
Alexia watched Sir Edward Manning as he stared out of the window. He looks even stiffer and more controlled today than usual.
