Adam watched from behind the thin walls of the motion picture set. It was a perfect facsimile of the prime minister’s office, right down to the stationery. Early and Turnbull were seated in replicas of their chairs, while three GoPro cameras were hidden throughout the office, recording every word they said from three different angles. Adam watched on a rack of monitors with Beau.
Beau was a rock star. That’s all there was to it. When he and Early arrived with their sleeping guest at the closed-down studio, just after three a.m., he had expected to be alone. They found the Number 10 office set, built and perfectly lit, just as he had asked Beau to do. All the employees had gone home for the night. It was clear sailing as they brought Georgia, still asleep from the car ride, into the stage. Then, just as they entered the blackened cavernous room, someone appeared. They weren’t alone. It was Beau. He took one look at the standing, sleeping, near-comatose prime minister and just about soiled his pants.
“Good god, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“We have no choice. Why are you here?”
“If I had half a brain, I wouldn’t be.” Adam chuckled. He knew why Beau was here. He was a friend. He was here for that reason and no other. It was exactly what he needed now, too. As badly as he might crave water, or air, or food, he didn’t even realize how desperate he was for just one person to be on his side, and yet here he was, this big, tall lug of an Englishman, putting everything he had at risk just for the sake of friendship. It was everything he could do not to pull him in for a hug and a cry.
Beau had set him up with the monitors and helped make sure the lights were right. Adam and Early did the rest. The PM’s secretary knew what he had to do. He stayed on script like a pro, like he’d been acting in movies his whole life.
“Wait a minute. It doesn’t make sense to me, Jack? Why would I write to the press with the truth? The truth? It would seal my fate, send me to prison, crumble the government. It could cause a panic.”
“It didn’t make sense to me, either, ma’am. But you said you wanted to write out the truth about the bombing.”
“That I was involved? Was I going to write that?”
“Yes, you were. That it was Heaton’s idea, but you eventually went along with it. That you had the American unknowingly place the bomb by switching the dossiers.”
“Yes, yes, of course, I know that. I know what we’ve done … but why would we write this letter? I’m confused, Jack. This doesn’t make any sense.” She stood, shakily, reached for the edge of the desk, and hobbled over to the door. “I feel like I’m dreaming. This is all so strange. Even the office. It looks…” She stopped and turned to Jack in midsentence. There was a tear in each eye. After a pause, she spoke again through fractured words.
“Jack, I’m a drug addict.… I’m a drug addict. I’m not in control of myself. I’m lost. I fall asleep out of nowhere. Nothing seems real. I’m in trouble. I’m lost.…” With that she turned and walked to the closed front door to the office.
Adam and Beau, out on the floor of the stage, weren’t sure what to do. That door she was about to open went to nothing. She would expect to see the rows of desk sets and then the long hallway out to the lobby of Number 10, but instead she’d see only an empty, dirty sound stage, maybe Beau and Adam at the monitors, watching. This would be a disaster. There was nothing he could do.
Early jumped up and gently grabbed her arm, just seconds before she was about to open the door.
“Ma’am, just relax. Have a seat. You need to catch your breath.” She was out of it now, her eyes were rolling, her speech stammered.
“No, no, I just need to run upstairs. I need to get something.” Early gently led her back to the desk set and sat her down in her chair. “Oh Lord, Jack. I am so out of sorts, aren’t I?”
“It’s okay. I’m here with you, ma’am. We’ll get through this. You just relax.” She sat back in her chair. He poured her a glass of water. She drank the whole thing, took a deep breath, appeared to calm down. Adam and Beau both simultaneously started breathing again. Early had averted a disaster.
“What have we done, Jack? How did I let this happen? We could have killed Roland, couldn’t we have? We’ve let so much happen, let so many down. This is a disaster. It’s a tragedy. I’ve done the unthinkable.” She sat there in profound grief. Early just stared at her, not sure if there were words worth calling on. Adam and Beau watched in a stunned stupor.
“I’ll resign. I’ll tell everything—that I was involved in the plot, in cahoots with Heaton, helped place the bomb … that I’ve been covering it up.” Then, as her face shut down, it just as quickly rebooted with another thought. “That I love her. I’ll tell everyone that I love her, that I’ve never loved anyone. I haven’t, Jack, ever, and now I have and I’ve lost her, I’ve lost me. I’ve lost everything. I’m pathetic.” She started to cry now, uncontrollably.
It was almost unbearable to watch. She stood now, with a strength fueled by a weighty anguish. She shuffled to the office door again, this time with a purpose. She moved too fast for Early, who was overcome with his own share of the grief and regret. She beat him to the door and opened it wide, about to step out, only to realize she was stepping into nothing. Pitch-black emptiness. It stopped her cold.
“What is this? What is this?” A man suddenly, instantly, emerged from the darkness, from nowhere—the bald man with the goatee. He came close, was on her before she could even put arms up. He had a cloth in his hands as he pulled her into his long arms, put the small oily towel over her mouth and nose. He pulled his face in close to hers, their bodies in a lock so she couldn’t move, and he wrapped her tight in his grasp as she inhaled a zinc-like scent from the material he was holding over her mouth. She knew who he was now. She saw past the shaved head and the facial scrub, like an old photo in a chemical bath slowly coming into shape. It was him, the American, Adam Tatum. He was nodding slowly, softly, telling her to breathe deeply, and then she was gone. Back asleep. Back into her bed at Number 11.