The sixty-inch TV on the wall played CNN on a loop.
The Delegates Lounge was meant to be a place to escape. To relax. To get to know the people you were negotiating with. A place for all UN personnel to mix, from office workers to political leaders. For some, a place to hook up; for others, a place they could pick up a dirt-cheap beer.
For permanent representatives, it was a chance to talk, away from the protocols and scripted dialogues of the Security Council chambers.
The lounge was a vast room with panoramic views over the East River. The furniture didn’t match, with chairs that were easier on the eye than the behinds of the people who sat on them. Yet how many of the world’s most defining moments had been shaped by decisions made in this informal space? How many of history’s iconic leaders had decided the fate of the world in this very spot?
As only the second African American to serve as UN ambassador for the US, Violetta Hill knew the weight of expectation. Yet as she sipped on her rum and Coke, she felt the weight of the past, present and future on her shoulders.
With an eye on the TV screen, Hill rubbed a string of emergency meetings out of the nape of her neck.
Her friend and mentor, Ambassador Kelly, could not have escaped the bomb. And neither could she escape the reality of the attack – that hole in the side of the building, as if some gargantuan monster had taken a bite.
Debris streamed like confetti and black smoke thick as tar billowed out of the upper floors. Like the political landscape, the embassy stood in ruins.
The scenes on the ground were no better. At least two hundred dead and many more unaccounted for. Medics and investigators swarmed the scene. Police carried bodies out in bags as bystanders looked on in shock and grief.
The latest bombing was being viewed by Hill’s administration as tit for tat. Naturally, the Kremlin hadn’t taken kindly to the accusation, and were countering with their own.
Trevor Longstaff, the veteran UK representative shook his head, his red nose growing redder with every glass of Merlot. ‘Can’t they turn this bloody thing off?’
‘What would you prefer?’ Anton Popov, the bald Russian representative, pushed his glasses onto the bridge of his nose. ‘Cartoons?’
Longstaff leaned back in his chair. ‘A little light relief wouldn’t go amiss. God knows we need it.’
‘I could go for that,’ sighed Dominique Blanc, the French representative. She was tall and svelte in a dark-blue dress. Her legs were crossed, with a black high heel dangling off the end of a foot.
‘You think they’ve got the big TV shows here?’ Popov asked.
‘I don’t think anyone’s asked,’ drawled Hill.
Zhao Chunian, the stocky, affable Chinese representative, popped another pretzel into his mouth. ‘I love Breaking Bad.’
‘Breaking what?’ Longstaff said. ‘Never heard of it.’
‘It’s on when you’re in the bar,’ Popov replied, exchanging a knowing glance with Blanc.
‘You would know,’ Longstaff snapped back, ‘you’re in here often enough.’
‘Am I the only one who’s concerned about this?’ Hill said, motioning at the TV screen.
Zhao unbuttoned the neck of his white shirt, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He loosened his black tie and snorted into his glass. ‘We know how high the shit rises.’ He took an angry gulp of whisky. ‘No one needs reminding.’
‘Forgive her,’ Blanc said, touching Hill’s knee. ‘This is only her fourth emergency meeting.’
‘There’s got to be something we can do,’ Hill said. ‘We are the Big Five, after all. I mean, this is why we’re here, to negotiate and come to an agreement.’
‘Yeah, except both our governments already agree,’ Popov said, his bulbous blue eyes staring at the carpet. ‘Our side thinks you attacked us. Your side thinks we attacked you.’
‘Come on, we don’t really believe that, do we?’ Hill asked, looking around the group.
Blanc picked a piece of fluff off her skirt and flicked it away. ‘Since when has it been about what we believe?’
‘Christ, I know you’re new to this, Violetta,’ Longstaff said, shifting his stiff frame in his chair, ‘but surely you know it’s not like being a senator back in Georgia.’
‘We don’t get to dictate the narrative,’ Blanc added, sweeping back her lustrous blond bob. ‘No matter how worrying it gets.’
‘Then why the hell am I here?’ Hill waved her glass around, almost spilling her drink over her purple trouser suit.
‘You work with it the best you can,’ Popov answered, his short, wiry frame swallowed up in an oversized yellow armchair.
‘There’s a reason it’s called “the impossible job”,’ said Longstaff in his plummy English accent.
Hill scratched a nervous itch in her short, natural hair. ‘Nothing’s impossible… Like my grandma used to say, there’s a way around everything.’
‘If you’ve got a way, then please share it,’ said Popov, checking his watch. ‘Because my wife is out shopping for gas masks and chemical suits.’
Longstaff took another sip of wine. ‘Sounds like you’re about to break out the launch codes, Anton.’
Popov threw a hand in the air. ‘Come on, Trevor, everyone knows you’re deploying your subs. The US says jump and you say: who on?’
‘The PM is considering his options,’ Longstaff said. ‘Same as the French.’
‘And where do the Chinese stand?’ Blanc asked Zhao. ‘You were ominously quiet during the Council meeting.’
Zhao finished his whisky, leaned forward and placed the empty glass on the square coffee table. He reclined in his chair and let out a sigh. ‘My government would like nothing better than to see its two main rivals tear each other down. But nuclear war?’
‘She’s asking whose side you’re on,’ Longstaff said.
‘China’s,’ Zhao shrugged.
‘Well I’m glad we cleared that up,’ Hill said. ‘Anton, what’s the latest from the Kremlin?’
The furrow in Popov’s brow deepened. ‘The Kremlin denies any association with the Moscow bomber.’
‘Except that he was ex-Russian intelligence,’ Longstaff said.
‘Our reports say he acted alone,’ Popov continued.
Blanc flashed a wry smile. ‘And he just happened to kill himself right after.’
‘Is it any different to the bombing in Washington?’ Popov replied. ‘Ex-CIA vet with PTSD drives a car loaded with explosives into the ground floor of the Russian embassy.’
‘It’s no wonder both sides are blaming each other,’ Longstaff remarked. ‘Recruit a chap to do the dirty work, dress it up to make him look like a lone radical, and when he’s done…’ Longstaff pulled an imaginary trigger.
‘Well I don’t buy that bullshit line either,’ Hill said.
Blanc nodded in agreement. ‘It’s a little too convenient. And yet a convenient excuse for two warring presidents to lock horns.’
‘Let’s not forget China,’ Popov sniped.
Zhao shrugged. ‘What about us?’
‘The South China Sea?’ Hill replied. ‘How far do you want to push your territory before the White House reacts?’
‘It depends,’ Zhao said. ‘How many warships and aircraft do you want to send into an area where you have no sovereign right?’
Popov snorted. ‘We could say the same about you moving missiles closer to the Russian border.’
Zhao waved away his remark. ‘Only in response to your military doubling your arms in the Far East.’
‘Please, let’s not sink to the same level as our superiors,’ Blanc said, appearing to share Hill’s frustration. ‘We’re just about the only people still in dialogue.’
‘It’s the bloody cold war all over again,’ Longstaff grumbled, his head in his hands.
‘Cold?’ Hill would have laughed if it was funny. ‘Our armed forces are ready to deploy in less than six hours, our air forces ready to mobilise in under fifteen minutes, our naval fleets are massing and you’re calling it cold?’ Hill looked up at the continuing news reports on the bombings. ‘Things were bad enough to begin with, but this? This is throwing gasoline on a pile of dynamite.’
‘Don’t let Trevor’s stiff upper lip deceive you,’ Zhao said, ‘we’re all panicked by how fast things are deteriorating.’
‘It would help if one of your agencies actually shared information,’ Blanc sighed. ‘Or, heaven forbid, let the UN handle the investigation.’
Hill paused, her drink to her lips. She put down the glass. ‘Dominique, you might just be on to something.’ Leaning forward, the US permanent representative looked around the group. ‘Do any of us think these two men planted either of those bombs?’
The delegates looked at each other, unconvinced.
‘And does anyone here think the CIA or SVR staged the attacks?’ Hill continued.
Again, her question met with no reply.
‘Then what if a third party was responsible?’ Hill asked.
‘If it was an extremist group, they’d have claimed it by now,’ Popov interjected.
‘And besides, our counter-terror units have stopped talking,’ said Longstaff. ‘They’re too busy spying on each other.’
‘What’s our own intel saying?’ Hill asked.
Blanc raised a finely plucked eyebrow. ‘UN intelligence?’
‘Sure,’ Hill said. ‘It’s non-partisan. Not blinded by national interest.’
‘And not in its remit,’ Zhao muttered.
‘Well, for what it’s worth, UN intel does suggest a third party,’ Blanc said. ‘There are whispers of January Seven.’
Hill slapped herself on the thigh. ‘I knew there was more to it.’
Zhao threw up his arms in frustration. ‘What does it matter? It’s not like we can act on it.’
‘It’s valuable intel,’ Hill said. ‘We could at least share it.’
Popov laughed. ‘With who, your CIA? This is like a lottery win for them.’
‘And Russian intelligence is thinking any different?’ Blanc replied.
‘Korea, Rwanda, the Congo…’ Longstaff counted the examples on liver-spotted fingers. ‘With such a glorious record, it’s no wonder no one takes us seriously.’
As the light faded over the East River, Hill gazed at her own reflection in the window. She looked tired. They all did – the result of a string of late Council sessions and sleepless nights. Hill thought taking the job of UN permanent representative for the United States would mean more freedom. A chance to make an impact, free from domestic apron strings.
She couldn’t have been more wrong. Her powers were neutered. As a member of the Security Council, the former member of Congress could sit and talk until the cows came home, but she couldn’t affect national foreign policy.
Neither could Hill rein in the vitriol coming out of the White House. It was almost as if both sides wanted a war, willing to play chicken with the fate of the world. Anything to avoid appearing weak.
Only hard evidence to disprove either side’s claims would cool the rhetoric. And even then, it would have to come from an independent source, giving neither side the opportunity to twist it for their own ends.
Hill rose wearily from her chair and felt sickly in the depths of her abdomen. She couldn’t possibly be the only one in fear of impending doom and she knew her counterparts shared her frustrations – they were merely more used to masking it.
Stretching her aching legs, Hill stood close to the window. ‘We’re sitting on a time bomb. And there’s not a damn thing we can do to stop it ticking.’
‘Nothing legal anyway,’ Longstaff murmured into his wine.
Hill turned and levelled a stare at Longstaff. ‘Then let’s do something illegal.’
Longstaff raised a bushy white eyebrow. ‘Clean hands no matter what, Violetta, that’s our motto.’
Violetta shrugged. ‘Then we’ll wear gloves. No dirt. No prints…’
Zhao leaned forward and set down his glass. ‘What are you suggesting?’
‘We use our own intel,’ Hill said. ‘Run our own operation. Find out who the hell’s doing this and leak it to the media. That way no side can hide it or deny it—’
‘You’re suggesting we go over our superiors’ heads?’ Popov asked with a sharp intake of breath.
‘I’m suggesting we go under the table,’ Hill replied.
‘Much as we’re all desperate for a solution,’ Zhao said, ‘we don’t have any operatives. Not for this kind of work.’
Hill chewed on it a moment. ‘Could we pull from our own resources? Pool together?’
‘You can forget that too,’ Longstaff replied. ‘You’re going to get bugger-all change from the military right now.’
‘You have to understand, Violetta,’ Popov said. ‘For any sane human being, it’s their worst nightmare. For agencies and militaries it means bigger budgets, increased powers of surveillance and paydays from private contractors.’
‘Besides,’ Longstaff added. ‘The moment you start requesting personnel, the game is up.’
Hill returned to her chair and picked up her rum and Coke.
‘Might as well face it,’ Popov sighed. ‘We’re officially fucked.’
Hill could have torn her own hair out. Billions of lives were at stake, her own children’s included. She had been captain of all her debating teams through high school and college. Yet even she couldn’t argue with Popov, as cynical as he was.
Taking another sip of her drink, she glanced over the rim of her glass at the TV. The news took a breather from the Moscow bombing to round up other domestic stories.
The round-up included a story about a US soldier on trial for leaking documents to the press. Hill thought nothing of it at first. Then it hit her.
She swallowed the last of her rum and Coke, lowered her glass and looked around the group. ‘Of course.’
‘Of course what?’ Longstaff asked.
‘Anton,’ Hill continued. ‘How many enemy operatives are you holding without trial?’
Popov feigned ignorance. ‘What enemy operatives?’
‘That’s more than one, then,’ Hill said. ‘And Zhao?’
Zhao wore an uncomfortable frown. ‘I can neither confirm nor deny.’
‘I know of at least two,’ Longstaff replied. ‘Starting with one of ours.’
‘Let’s admit it, we all have them,’ Hill said. ‘And I’m betting more than a few have the skill sets we need.’
Longstaff huffed in semi-amusement. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’
Hill waved her arms. ‘Why do we keep them in the first place? We feed them, clothe them, when we could just remove them from the equation altogether.’
‘You know why,’ Popov said. ‘Bargaining chips.’
Blanc tapped a manicured finger against her lips. ‘And you’re suggesting we cash them in?’
‘Jesus, if there’s any time it’s now,’ Hill replied. ‘It’s got to be worth a shot.’
Again, the group fell silent, yet Hill could see the cogs whirring as each delegate considered their options.
Longstaff stared at the polished tips of his shoes. ‘So we pull a few strings, cash in a few of these chips?’
‘I guess we’d donate one each,’ Blanc added.
‘We’ve got some of the most highly trained assets rotting behind bars,’ Hill said. ‘Every one of them disavowed.’
Zhao stared deep into his glass. ‘Which means they no longer exist.’
‘And even if they did, who’s going to admit it?’ Longstaff said. ‘It’s a good point, Violetta.’
‘It’s also a crazy idea,’ Popov snapped.
‘All the best ones are,’ Hill replied, not entirely convinced of her own logic.
Popov glanced over a shoulder, as if someone was watching and listening. He perched himself on the edge of his seat and lowered his voice. ‘Do you realise what you’re proposing?’
Longstaff sipped on his Merlot. ‘If it goes belly-up—’
‘It could be treason,’ Zhao said.
‘Consorting with the enemy at the very least,’ Blanc added. She necked her white wine and set the glass down hard on the table. ‘I’m in.’
Hill locked eyes with the ageing British diplomat. ‘Trevor?’
Longstaff shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Violetta.’
‘Come on,’ Hill said, ‘you fought in the army, right?’
‘Her Majesty’s SAS,’ Longstaff replied, puffing up with pride.
‘Who dares wins, Trevor,’ Blanc said. ‘Isn’t that what they say in the SAS?’
Longstaff blew the air out of his cheeks. ‘I’m going to regret this.’
Hill clapped her hands and turned to Popov. ‘Anton?’
‘This is suicide,’ he replied.’ You do know that?’
Blanc took over from Hill. ‘Only if we’re not careful, Anton. We’re talking about disavowed operatives, funded by slush money, through shell accounts our countries don’t have the legal powers to investigate.’
Popov wavered. ‘I suppose we could always veto any investigation by the other members of the Security Council.’
‘Plus, if it succeeds, I’m sure your glorious leader will take the credit,’ Longstaff remarked.
Popov straightened his back. ‘Screw it, I’d rather go out swinging… But we never had this conversation. And certainly not anywhere near the UN.’
With Hill and the others agreed, all eyes turned to Zhao Chunian. Yet Zhao remained silent.
‘Chunian?’ Hill said. ‘This doesn’t happen without you.’
Zhao looked down between his legs. He shook his full head of thick black hair, greying at the sides. After an agonising pause, he looked up at his opposite numbers. ‘Someone’s going to have to tell the secretary general.’