Not far away in Slotsholmsgade, Justice Minister Rikke Enevoldsen sat staring at her telephone. She was trying to digest the contents of her conversation with the Prime Minister; she could not believe he had just said that. They were not from the same party but had known each other for years; still, she was shocked. The Prime Minister had exposed himself to his critics by asking her to authorise illegal wiretapping. They had been dealt a priceless hand if they became aware of the conversation. The leading politician of the country might even have compromised himself permanently. Even within the government, there were outspoken opponents of the Prime Minister’s arrogant and headstrong management style. Suddenly, she had been handed the something that could decide future fighting in the party. She briefly thought of calling her lover and letting him in on the conversation, but she decided against it. She didn’t want to miss the look on his face when she told him. She felt butterflies in her stomach at the thought of them spending the night together. She picked up the phone.
The fact that she was about to instruct FE to conduct a conversation about illegal activities over the phone did not bother her in the slightest. Should a parliamentary inquiry tribunal later take 203interest in the matter, she would not be the first politician whose memory had become hazy. Anyway, my looks have got me out of trouble before, she reminded herself before calling the head of PET.