It was half past four in the afternoon. They were coming on the forty-eight-hour mark since the bomb had exploded. Georgia had left the hospital and gone straight into a series of meetings, one at Treasury and another in the PM’s small office at the House of Commons. Several of the leaders of her party wanted her and not Felix Holmby, the deputy prime minister, to do the Prime Minister’s Questions in the House the next day. They didn’t think Holmby was the right face, knew it may be the highest-rated turn at the dispatch box in years, and wanted to have a clear plan on who was going to be seen running the government through this phase. The consensus was Georgia. Eventually Holmby agreed.
Back at Number 10, she settled into her first meeting in the prime minister’s office. Richard Sandville-Amply, the minister for Europe, had forced a meet to discuss, in light of the tragedy, the state of the upcoming referendum on Europe. The vote would be a serious reckoning on currency and trade and Britain’s future in the European commonwealth. The decision point had been almost a decade in the making. A few years earlier there had been a referendum that almost sent Scotland out on its own. Since then that particular scenario was always in the air. Yet as realistic as this threat now seemed, it was nothing compared to the cloud that the referendum to leave Europe left hanging over daily life.
Georgia deftly put off an answer. If it were up to her, she’d see it through. She knew in her heart and in her polling briefs that it would pass, putting the final nail in the coffin of the decades-long “European experiment.” Roland, however, much more pro-Europe than she had ever been, would have loved nothing more than an excuse to derail the vote.
After the tea with Sandville-Amply, Georgia led another emergency session in the Cabinet Room to hear from Darling and the others on what progress had been made in the investigation. Davina Steel, in her short-cut black leather jacket, dark blue skirt, and bright red silk shirt, led them through what they had, which was once again not much. They had canvassed many of the well-known informants with ties to ISIL and other radical jihadists groups, and were now even surer than yesterday that this was going to be something other than the usual bunch. Wiretapping of extremely high-level sources in all of the key terror cells had found them to be just as curious about the forces behind the blast as they were.
Just as in the meeting the day before, no one seemed too happy with Davina Steel’s results. She faced another series of long faces; probing, almost accusatory questions. A bunch of scared, grimacing, whining faces, she thought. Wealthy, powerful people looking for someone to blame. It wasn’t going to be her, she told herself. She was going to put this one to bed; she was going to win this one, make these overweight men with their throat-clearing harrumphing and their exasperated, over-the-top gasps truly sorry. It may take time, but she felt certain she’d have the last word.
Later, in a private meeting with the chancellor that Steel had requested, for the first time she spoke candidly about her misgivings. The two of them met in the prime minister’s private den. It was Georgia’s first meeting in the place Roland most liked to have important discussions. He was an expert in the one-on-one and had gotten his way more than often in this cozy anteroom turned work area. It was the “python’s den” to his opponents. The nickname was bequeathed after Roland’s famous, almost python-like ability to cajole, flatter, twist, turn, and, finally, charmingly bring an opponent around to his way of thinking.
Steel was nervous. They sat opposite each other on small fluffy couches across a finely polished dark wood coffee table. Everything about Georgia made Steel feel a little weak, not just because she was the most powerful woman in Britain, either. It was her confidence, her ability to look at people, and, as Steel saw it, almost see through them, into what they were feeling. She seemed older than her years to Steel, but also there was something about the chancellor that made her seem much younger, like a girl: an older sister whose parents had gone out and had never come home, leaving her in charge.
“There is one aspect to the events of two days ago that I wanted to discuss. I thought it would be best if I spoke to you alone. It’s about David Heaton.”
Georgia sat up. “What about Heaton? Surely you don’t think he could be involved. I was in that meeting. I know Heaton well. I’ve known him for many years. I walked him to the door as they left; it was several hours before the explosion.”
“Two hours. And I’ve seen the security tapes. I saw them leave. It’s exactly as everyone is saying.”
“You couldn’t be insinuating that Heaton had anything to do with this? That’s absurd.”
“No. Of course not. But in his group, there was one person in it, someone relatively new to his firm. An American. Did you notice him? Have you had any dealings with him?”
“An American? No. It was mostly Heaton who spoke, Heaton and a fellow from Paris, Despone. He had prepared the brief from what I remembered. We were to give it a look through and have him back in. But I don’t remember an American. What about him?”
“It’s just that he was new. Very new. Doesn’t seem to have much experience in the business at hand, nor have much of a reason to be at a top-level meeting. It doesn’t seem right to me. I wanted to let you know I will be looking into it. I know Sir David Heaton is an important man. I also know that you and he have a history.”
“Well, I don’t see how this could add up to anything, but please do go ahead on any hunch that you have.” She smiled at Steel as she quickly got to her feet. “And please, do not let the old dragons out there in the Cabinet Room get under your skin. I happen to think you and your group are doing a fine job in a trying time. Keep the back stiff, you hear?”
Georgia reached across the table and shook Steel’s hand warmly. Steel caught a strong whiff of her perfume, which she found surprisingly alluring.
“There’s one more thing I need to tell you, Madam Chancellor, about the American, the one in Heaton’s delegation. His name is Adam Tatum. He lives in Chicago, Illinois. He’s originally from Michigan, just outside of Detroit. He’s an ex-cop.”
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. There’s something else about him you should know.”
“What is it?”
“He spent ninety days in jail in federal prison. Almost two years ago. The case was quite serious. It was very public. He admitted his guilt, but for some reason that we’ve yet to discern the charges were dropped and he was released.”
“What was he arrested for, this Tatum?”
“Attempted murder.”
“Who in god’s name did he attempt to murder?”
“The governor of Michigan.”