Ihate people who aren’t punctual, the Foreign Secretary thought; his watch told him it was 10:02. He glanced out the window at Nordea Bank’s main building. From the government’s crisis room in the Foreign Office, he could look directly at Nordea’s headquarters and fully understood why the bank had decided to replace it with a new building. The old structure, dubbed the desert fortress by locals, was every bit as charmless as its nickname implied. His train of thought was interrupted as the Prime Minister suddenly entered the room.
‘This is a right mess, this one. Have we got anything on the perpetrators? And yes, please accept my apologies for being late; the bridge was up.’
The Prime Minister radiated the energetic confidence that often annoyed his political opponents. He looked around the crisis room. The atmosphere was anxious. As well as the Foreign Secretary, there were a few aides from the Ministry, the Secretary of Defence and his secretary, and several representatives from the National Police. They all seemed nervous. Almost as if it were Election Day, he mused and sat down. The videotape sent back to Copenhagen via satellite 183transmission from the embassy in Moscow was ready to be shown. Once the Prime Minister was seated, the Foreign Secretary signalled for the screening to begin. As the lighting dimmed, the images flickered across the screen. Not a word was uttered. The darkness only amplified the tense mood. It sucked all oxygen from the room. When the images were replaced by static noise on the large screens, everybody sat stunned. Terrified. Some involuntarily put their hands to their mouth to hold back the urge to throw up while they desperately tried to digest what they had just witnessed. Like flies in a spider web, all were aware that the situation was entirely out of their control. Finally, the Foreign Secretary broke the perturbed silence:
‘It’s almost been thirty-six hours since our embassy in Moscow became aware of the situation, and we’ve notified the Russians through the usual channels. This morning we received a brief from the Russian Foreign Office assessing a Chechen link to the hostage takers. Their Ambassador to Denmark has already requested a meeting. This is clearly something the Russians regard gravely, and our embassy in Moscow has prepared a good brief assessing the various causes of action. You’ll be given a copy now,’ he said as the lights were turned up.
The Prime Minister leafed through it superficially then rubbed his eyes in a slow, tired movement before passing it to his ministerial secretary and turning towards the Foreign Secretary:
‘Is this really all we’ve got at this stage? What can Interpol provide? The Russians apparently want to handle this themselves, and if we don’t get a better handle on this ourselves, I suppose we have no other option?’
The Foreign Secretary did not answer but instead picked up the brief, flicked through a couple of pages and began to read aloud: 184
‘The Federal Republic of Russia has, at this point, no information concerning the kidnappers holding the Danish citizen Kaare Strand hostage. Chechen bandits are known for their acts of terrorism in Russia. No initial investigations have pointed towards known groups, and no one has claimed responsibility for the kidnapping.’
The Foreign Secretary folded the paper, adjusted his glasses and looked at the people gathered before continuing: ‘We have requested the assistance of the National Police of Denmark and FE until the situation is resolved and have asked the Russians to exercise full discretion.’
‘Chechen bandits? What a load of nonsense!’ the Prime Minister spurted. ‘The newspaper article clearly references the Russian soldiers in Afghanistan, incriminated in narcotics transportation. The Russians are just trying to protect their own interests,’ he continued and closed his eyes while massaging his temple.
‘We undeniably have a problem concerning ISAF. No one wants headlines about a hostage drama connected with the ISAF force. That could very well ruin the good vibes amongst the alliance members,’ the Secretary of Defence interjected.
‘Good vibes? As if it wasn’t enough that those Special Forces soldiers shot a couple of Russians. They just had to be so damn heroic instead of focusing on the humanitarian aspects of our presence in Afghanistan. But they couldn’t leave that opium be, could they? This is exactly what we don’t need in the middle of the election campaign,’ hissed the Prime Minister.
It’s curious that you suddenly no longer support the American policy of combining the war on drugs with the war on terror. You’ve never been open to hearing my warnings about precisely that, thought the 185Foreign Secretary and sat up straight as if he wanted to say something. But the courage to confront the Prime Minister evaporated, and he slumped back into his chair. The Defence Secretary, on the other hand, still had the pluck to offer his views:
‘I’m sorry, but I was just reading the FE section of the FO brief. It appears that FE has been putting pieces together for a while. Unfortunately, the facts were initially lost when the military attaché in Kabul was hit by a roadside bomb.’
The Defence Secretary had now gained momentum, and as no one had interrupted, he continued, believing that the Prime Minister was listening.
‘It’s only indications, but intelligence confirms that right-wing groupings in Russia increasingly finance their activities with drug money. And the three Chechens our Special Forces soldiers busted carrying narcotics in Helmand province are no longer imprisoned in Kabul. They’ve simply vanished. A connection to the kidnapping has not been established, but I find it likely.’
The Prime Minister turned impatiently to his press secretary:
‘When do we have to tell the press? We don’t exactly need the opposition to gain more cards in their hand in the middle of the election campaign. Their views on Denmark’s participation in Afghanistan are well known; they’ve said it just brings terrorism to our doorstep and will use this as proof of their stance.’
The Prime Minister had regained his composure, but it was apparent to everyone that he was highly irritated.
‘I think we should just wait for the press to approach us,’ answered the press secretary, as he stood up.
He didn’t want to argue with the Prime Minister, any more than anyone else did. But he was in his element, and he was well 186used to preventing the Prime Minister from committing political suicide through some misguided faith in his own invulnerability.
‘The story can’t be suppressed for much longer. We need to clarify our relationship with the Russians – who will view this as an internal issue. Especially if Chechens are involved, as everything indicates. The video bears all the signs of a typical Chechen hostage-taking, like the ones Arbi Barayev is notorious for. Who doesn’t remember the four British and New Zealand telecommunications employees he took hostage? Arbi Barayev’s men had already killed them – their cut-off heads were found in a ditch – but he tried to get ransom anyway. It was the beginning of a growth in the financing of the Chechen War.’
The press secretary glanced at the gathering, keen to reap recognition for his grasp of the facts; he received nothing but blank stares. They all knew him only too well: his spin was usually not to their advantage, and this matter would undoubtedly turn out the same.
‘We cannot know whether Kaare Strand is still alive, but we should hedge our bets and not open ourselves up to the opposition’s criticism. I’ll initiate press contingencies, and let’s get our Ambassador home as soon as possible,’ the press secretary concluded in a low voice as he switched on his mobile phone and scrolled through the phone numbers in his pocketbook.
As usual, form is more important than content, the Foreign Secretary reminded himself and unwittingly gritted his teeth. The Prime Minister’s populist approach had created a rift between the governing parties early on in the Cabinet’s life. Throughout his career, the Foreign Secretary had advocated that intellectual preparation, thorough analysis and informed debate were the best 187political tools, whereas the Prime Minister believed that image was everything. His landslide victory at the last election had only confirmed his view. The victory was based on a well-spun media presence that lionised the Prime Minister in US presidential style and only strengthened his crowd-pleasing. Any case could be won or defended through the media rather than politics. The truth was, unfortunately, that the man in the street neither understood nor had a genuine interest in politics. The Prime Minister’s tactics had, slowly but surely, led to the government not having any political project. It was all just a series of headlines without political ballast. But although the Foreign Secretary might disagree entirely with the Prime Minister’s way of safeguarding the voters’ trust, he had to acknowledge that the opinion polls did tilt the scales: as long as the Prime Minister could ensure the government, and himself, favourable polling, nobody in his Cabinet would dare to disagree with him. This morning was no exception. Nobody had spoken out, even though the videotape’s content generated many challenges and questions for the government. The Foreign Secretary’s thoughts were interrupted when the Prime Minister left the room, closely followed by his press secretary, who was talking rapidly into his phone.
No one needed the meeting to be summed up. It was apparent to everyone in the room that the Prime Minister expected them to sort this out. And fast. Out of the corner of his eye, the Foreign Secretary noted the Chief of Defence leaning over to whisper in the ear of his head of department. When he looked up, he gave the Foreign Secretary a wry look of surrender and gathered his papers. The Foreign Secretary merely shrugged. Business as usual. With one exception: he was usually alone in being on the 188receiving end when the Prime Minister handed out blame, but today the Secretary of Defence had joined him in the firing line. The Foreign Secretary pushed his glasses wearily onto his forehead and rubbed the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily. This had the potential to be, by a long stretch, the most demanding diplomatic assignment of his career. It might have made a difference had he finished his degree in political science back in the day. He did feel strangely naked, right now – with a breeze of loneliness sweeping the room. He must call home and cancel this evening at the theatre. It had been planned for months – to make up for not being home enough with his wife. Tonight would be yet another night away from home.