Haversume sat back into the luxurious chair behind his ornate office desk. The familiar chimes of Big Ben announced the passing of 7 a.m. Early for a cigar on a normal day. But today was far from that.
Haversume opened the rich-brown humidor that sat to his left and removed a prohibitively expensive Cohiba Cuban cigar from inside. He cut the tip from its rear end and began to gradually ignite the rolled tobacco leaves. It was a ritual he found calming.
For months Haversume had survived on four hours’ sleep per night. Sometimes less. By now he should have been past the point of exhaustion. Yet he felt nothing but exhilaration.
It had worked. So very nearly derailed, his intricate design had come good in the end. He deserved the pleasure of this cigar, but the warmth of success – how close he now was to so much power – was the real reward.
His eyes swept across his office. Soon it would be swapped for the more traditional setting of 10 Downing Street. It was the culmination of decades of well-hidden ambition. And it was no less than he deserved.
Haversume’s rise to power was unconventional. A strange route which only strengthened his belief in his own superiority.
Who else could pull off a plan – years in the making – to seize control of one of the world’s most powerful governments? Who else could manipulate people from every walk of life? Compel them to put their own lives on the line for his advancement? Who else could mould public opinion to the point where he was one of only two possible replacements for the leader he would displace? And who else would use his only competition – Neil Matthewson – as the trigger for his ultimate coup?
It proved what Haversume had always believed. There was no one better.
But it had been a far from faultless journey. The time and effort had been enormous. The financial cost immense. Haversume had delved into the criminal underworld. He had created his ‘Stanton’ persona to place him at the apex of a criminal hierarchy, from where he was able to coordinate the attacks that had brought Great Britain to its knees.
At the same time he had cultivated his relationships in the military community. Had manipulated the patriotism of Callum McGregor, the most powerful man in British intelligence, to the point that McGregor had involved himself in the unthinkable. All of these things carried a price.
But the greatest cost had come at the end.
Haversume would have given almost anything to avoid Daniel’s death. Almost anything. The moment he heard of his godson’s involvement was the worst of his life, knowing that it meant Daniel would die. There was no choice. Haversume had reached a point of no return. Daniel had to be sacrificed.
As terrible as that loss had been, what followed was almost worse. Michael Devlin’s refusal to die had put the rest of the Lawrence family in danger. It had taken every ounce of Haversume’s manipulative genius to make their survival possible.
His frustration at Michael’s phone call to Hugh had been genuine. He had listened to his friend pass on Michael’s message with dread, knowing that if Michael shared too much with them, they would also have to be dealt with. So Haversume had offered them refuge – and isolation. Anything to keep them from hearing what else Michael might discover.
For a time he had been rattled by Michael’s success. But not now. Joshua had confirmed Mullen’s death and Sarah Truman’s capture. That gave Haversume the advantage. Michael Devlin might have turned out tougher than expected, but he still had a weakness. Devlin was an honourable man. And he had already been through a lot to keep this woman alive and by his side. Devlin would bargain for Truman’s life. Haversume was confident of that.
And if he was wrong? If Devlin refused? Well, if that happened, Haversume had other leverage. He might be reluctant to resort to it, but he would if necessary.
And what of Joshua? Haversume thought.
A man so well regarded, but whose failure had led to Daniel’s death. Joshua’s subsequent actions had been impressive. He had shown great commitment, demonstrating the talent for which he was infamous. But it did not change the fact that his failure had jeopardised everything. For that – and for Daniel – Joshua would pay a high price.
But all of this was for the future. For now, Haversume would enjoy his success.
The planning. The sacrifice. The cost. The worry. It had all come to fruition. And it had ended more cleanly, more completely, than Haversume had dreamed possible. The report of two bodies in a hotel suite in Belfast had been passed to every intelligence agency by Assistant Commissioner Alex Henley of the Metropolitan Police, and from there the identities of the deceased had quickly become common knowledge. The apparent victims of a mutual shooting, the men had been named as Joe Dempsey and Callum McGregor.
It was the perfect conclusion. Unthinkably convenient. The scheme’s greatest threat and the man who could later prove to be its biggest loose end. Each one taking the other out of the equation, and just hours after the release and subsequent ‘disappearance’ of Sergeant Trevor Henry. The final obstacles, all removed in one fatal morning.
Haversume could not have asked for more.
The feeling of contentment remained for several minutes. Haversume wanted to revel in his victory for as long as he could.
Finally – inevitably – the feeling was replaced by an urge to work.
A compulsive need to occupy his mind with details and strategies had served Haversume well. And it would do so again. As much as his upcoming appointment was a race already won, he would obsessively ensure that his leadership campaign would impress. It had to. The government had fourteen days in which to call a vote of confidence, to avoid an election. It was a vote they would only win if a new leader – Haversume – was firmly in place.
He accessed his computer’s contact list and found the email addresses of those Members of Parliament who he knew shared his public stance. They were good men and women, idealists who believed in the policies Haversume had only used for advancement. The likes of Jeremy Ross and Elizabeth Prince would form the backbone of his first government, and for this they needed to be under his spell.
There were seven addresses in all. Satisfied, Haversume began to type a short message that invited each to a House of Commons lunch. He was halfway done when he was interrupted by his secretary, the only member of staff who kept hours as unsociable as his own.
‘Mr Haversume, I have Michael Devlin holding on one.’
Haversume’s usual speed of thought deserted him. He had no idea why Devlin could be calling. So he could not react with anything but a false friendly greeting as he lifted the telephone to his ear.
‘Michael, thank God you’re OK. We’ve been worried sick. Where are you?’
‘You know exactly where I am, Stanton.’
Michael’s answer brought Haversume’s self-satisfaction to an abrupt end and made his blood run cold.
‘So why don’t you come and get me?’