The Prime Minister and the Foreign Secretary were deep in conversation as the Prime Minister’s secretary entered the office. Their meeting had already lasted much longer than allowed for in the diary, and such deviations from the daily schedule were undoubtedly not an everyday occurrence. Still, she took that as a token of the discussion being essential to the Prime Minister.
‘This Ulla Strand is still waiting outside. She says she won’t leave until she gets an answer. And she has brought a journalist. That Jan Bundgaard. He’s barraged me with phone calls the last few days. I’ve asked Hans Joergen to come, and I think he will be here any moment, but his briefing to the foreign journalists has dragged on,’ she snorted.
The Prime Minister arrogantly waved the secretary out of the room and turned agitatedly towards the Foreign Secretary:
‘It may damn well be that you don’t know how that copy of the hostage video ended up on the evening news, but it’s your fucking responsibility!’ he said, slamming his fist on the coffee table.
‘It’s water under the bridge,’ answered the Foreign Secretary with a shrug.
‘It was never intended for the public, and it is simply 332incomprehensible to me that you haven’t found out who leaked it. And now, of all moments, in the middle of an election campaign! This has put us all in a very, very difficult situation. I hope you can see that. What’s going on with the Russians, by the way?
‘Good question. I’ve asked through official channels, but there’s no news from the kidnappers; they’ve disappeared from the face of the earth. Maybe, they’re no longer interested in the money. What do I know? They no longer call the number of Russian security forces they have available for negotiations,’ the Foreign Secretary said matter-of-factly.
At that moment, there was a soft knock on the door, and before the Prime Minister could answer, the press secretary marched into the room.
‘Please accept my apologies for not being able to join earlier. I’ve just been by the press centre, and we’ve got the entire media out for our blood. The opposition has told Reuters that they demand immediate government action in the Kaare Strand Affair,’ he said, panting. ‘The first questions for PMQs have already arrived,’ he continued and handed out a sheet of paper.
The Prime Minister skimmed the paper quickly, shaking his head as he laid it down.
‘Can’t Interpol come up with a single useful piece of information?’ he snapped.
‘Apparently, the Russian security forces have covered everything up. They’re possibly embarrassed that they haven’t found the hostage takers, which undoubtedly paints the efficiency of their entire security apparatus in a bad light. Obviously, no one has a clue. We did decide that the Russians should handle the situation as they 333saw fit, which makes it slightly awkward to make any demands,’ explained the Foreign Secretary and put his fingertips together.
‘Bloody hell! They’ve probably already shot him. You saw how they went ballistic in that theatre in Moscow. The hostage rescue was not exactly what you would call a textbook example. We’re in for a shitstorm from the press, the opposition and the electorate. To say that we don’t need that in the run-up to the election is putting it mildly. And the polls will punish my party for this. Not yours, even though you have just as much to answer for. And the truth is that the decision to let the Russians take charge was one you agreed to,’ the Prime Minister cursed and stood.
‘As long as the polls show that the coalition government is still in for a clear majority, I don’t think we need to fight internally. The fact that my party has gained in the polls doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s at the expense of yours. And even if that were to be the case, you can afford to concede a couple of mandates. We have bigger fish to fry. If Kaare Strand, in fact, has been killed, we must ensure that this tragic outcome is not released until after the election. Then it will be four years till you have to look the voters in the eye again, and by that time, no one will remember any more,’ the Foreign Secretary suppressed a smile as he avoided the Prime Minister’s stare.
The Prime Minister walked to the window, raising his arms in despair. He looked out over Prince Joergen’s courtyard, and for once, he was not entirely clear how he would weather this storm. He had no way of making the Foreign Secretary’s participation in the decision-making process public without coming clean on the entire thing. He could not win back the lost seats without telling 334the truth. And that will cost me even more seats, he thought as his frustrations ran amok in his mind.
‘We could go on TV this evening. But if we decide to do that, we can’t delay any longer. We must call a meeting now, get it on the evening news, and then we still have time to prepare,’ the press secretary interjected.
The Prime Minister turned angrily to face his press secretary and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.
‘What about Ulla Strand and this journalist?’ he snarled.
The question went unanswered. After a couple minutes, his irritable mood was replaced by the familiar focused gaze.
‘I’ve got it! Obviously, I’m not going to speak to her, and certainly not when accompanied by this journalist. I will not get more involved in this issue than I already am. The best way forward is for you to chat with her and be slick enough to gaslight her,’ the Prime Minister said.
‘But what do you want me to say? She’s accusing you and the government of doing nothing. And deploying her husband to Afghanistan in the first place,’ stuttered the press secretary.
‘The question of guilt is unfortunately not something that can be delegated, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to paint the Prime Minister as a hero. As usual, without paying any petty interest in the truth,’ the Foreign Secretary said drily.
‘Say it’s about the protection of the realm and that we’re doing everything in our power. Come up with something. You don’t normally have any qualms about planting stories based on wafer-thin foundations. I just don’t want it to be anything that could be used against me later. We have to get through the election successfully first,’ the Prime Minister said dismissively.335
You are a complete and utter bastard. But a clever one. The Foreign Secretary was flooded with an involuntary excitement. The last time I had to take all the flak was in connection with the custody of Akhmed Zakajev during the Chechen World Conference in Copenhagen. I was the one who had to deflect all the political pressure from Russia and endure the harassment of Danish truckers and suppliers, and you didn’t step onto the scene until I had saved your bacon. You just concentrated on being a high-flying Prime Minister on the EU scene. And now your lust for power has landed you in hot water again, and once more, you show what a coward you are, thought the Foreign Secretary nodding pensively as he got up.
‘I agree that you are the one that has to handle Ulla Strand and Jan Bundgaard. And then I assume that I, from now on, can merely concentrate on ensuring that Kaare Strand is stone dead?’ quipped the Foreign Secretary sarcastically at the press secretary and left the office without waiting for an answer.