Whispers of Betrayal (39 page)

‘Some old soldiers, at least,’ he muttered wistfully, his frown a mixture of puzzlement and alarm. ‘But do you really think of me as old?’

‘Let’s put it this way. If you were a party, we’d be on to the jelly and musical chairs by now.’

Sam giggled.

‘But maybe that’s it,’ Goodfellowe continued, still frowning. ‘He might want me to resign. Kick me into the House of Lords to make way for someone else. Someone younger.’

‘You’re ten years younger than he is!’

‘But I like Barry Manilow …’ Goodfellowe had slipped into melancholy, indulging his Celtic roots, which always found it easier to visit the dark side first.

‘There’s only one way to find out, Daddy. Will you call me later?’

She was squeezing his hand again, and suddenly her words came back to him. She had been in the middle of telling him that something had come up, something that was really important
to her. A father and daughter thing that both instinct and experience suggested he was going to find difficult. ‘Look, there’s half a bottle of Chablis left and I can’t go wasting good wine on the whim of any old Prime Minister. We’re going to finish lunch, Sam, just you and me. I suspect Downing Street will still be there when we’ve done.’ He turned to Mickey. ‘Phone back. Tell them I’m with my mistress and can’t possibly be disturbed before two thirty.’

‘Should I say which mistress?’

He waved a vague hand. ‘Oh, find me one, will you? There always seem to be plenty around this place.’

‘Good luck, boss.’ Mickey kissed him on the cheek and wiped away the lipstick with a manicured thumb before leaving.

Goodfellowe returned to his lunch and swallowed a large mouthful of wine. ‘I suspect it’s going to be one of those days. Again. So, what were you saying has come up, Sam?’

She remained silent, concentrating on chasing a slab of vegetable terrine around her plate.

‘You said it was something really important, that’s what you said. Sounded as though it was going to cost me a hell of a lot of money.’

She pushed the plate aside and studied the grain on the wooden table in front of her. ‘It’s Darren and me. We …’ She looked up at him, needing to gauge his reaction. ‘This is really awkward. I’m sorry, Daddy, but we’ve got ourselves into a bit of trouble.’

‘Oh, Sam! Darling, don’t tell me you’re …’

‘The Big P.’

‘You’re …’ He couldn’t find the words, neither could he stop himself gazing with horror at her stomach.

‘No, Daddy! I’m not pregnant. What the hell do you think I am, an amateur?’

‘Then …?’

‘Big P. Prosecuted. For obstruction. It was during one of our demonstrations to save the streets. I didn’t want to tell you unless … But the magistrates found us guilty.’

‘And now you need a thousand pounds?’

‘For the fine and the costs. Sorry, Daddy, I hope this won’t embarrass you. But I think it’s worth taking a few risks in order to save London, don’t you?’

Goodfellowe laughed until he thought they might hear him in Heaven.

This book has taken me more than a quarter of a century to write. When I was a student of security studies in America, I wanted to write a thesis about the vulnerability of modern cities. Manhattan Island in New York seemed a classic example. However, in the climate of domestic dissent created by the Vietnam War, I was dissuaded from going ahead with the project on the grounds that it might have given the wrong kind of people ‘too many ideas’.

The security of cities continues to be a problem – indeed, it’s one that is growing. As cities become more technologically sophisticated, so they grow more vulnerable. I still have no desire to give too many specific ideas to those wrong kind of people, so although this is a book about bringing London to its knees and, like any writer, I have wanted to make the book as authentic as possible, in several instances I have modified my description of the attacks in order to alter or leave out vital components of any such operation.
Whispers of Betrayal
is to be read for fun, not as an instruction manual.

This book has been a particular source of pleasure for me. One of the many privileges of being a writer is the extraordinary number of people who are willing to let you invade their lives and drink deep of their experiences. I’ve had more help on this book than perhaps any I have ever written. In particular there are a large number of former military men, real-life versions of Amadeus and Scully, who gave freely of their time and who I hope will enjoy the finished results. It’s a cliché to suggest that the inspired bits are theirs while the faults and fumbles are all mine, but in this instance it is almost entirely true. Paul Ford explained to me how things go bang, Alasdair Hutton talked to me about the insanity of jumping out of the back of aeroplanes, and Jasper Archer introduced me to the Guards (although I hasten to add that he is an entirely different creature to the tormented Freddie Payne). Ian Patterson has been
an immense source of strength, humour and wisdom, introducing me to any number of specialists, including David Wills and Dan Tomlinson, who allowed me to drag him around London late at night conjuring up all sorts of lurid scenarios. All these men are of great talent, many are still young with a lifetime of service ahead, and I was hugely impressed by the quality of men and women who have been through the military. But that’s the sad point – they’ve been through it and quit. An exceptional number of gifted men and women seem to have drifted out of the British armed forces in recent years, largely, I suspect, because of the incompetence of their political masters. That has been the country’s great loss.

I’ve had fun with many other aspects of this book. The splendid restaurateur, Patrick Wynn-Jones, MBE, has been kind enough to allow me to base The Kremlin on his excellent restaurant, Pomegranates, near the Houses of Parliament. Liz Brooks of the Dyslexia Institute very kindly introduced me to the difficult but no longer impossible world of word-blindness. Thanks to the work of the Institute, the Amadeuses of this world have a much better chance of fulfilling their potential than ever they had. My old university chum David Broadbent allowed me to lean on his experience of modern Eastern European wines while another university colleague, Anthony Browne, introduced me to Christopher Burr, a Master of Wines who told me fascinating stories about the vineyards of Massandra and the classic vintages of the Russian Tsars. The ultra-modern world of computers presented me with a greater challenge, but Jennifer Klinec and Simon Dodd guided me through their virtues and vulnerabilities. I received advice and inspiration in considerable measure from David Welch and Peter Dobbs, while my former newspaper colleague Chester Stern tried to steer me around the many obstacles I created for myself in the area of policing a modern city like London. I owe Mary Wetherell an apology for taking her name and appending it to an entirely different character, but I hope she will have some fun with the results.

Other friends have always been there to help me with my books. People like Andrei Vandoros, Jim Spicer, Jeremy Hanley, John Whittingdale, Tamsin Rosewell, Anne and Bernard Jenkin. I couldn’t do the books without them, but then neither could I have much fun in life without them.

Two people in particular need a special vote of thanks this time around. Tim Hadcock-Mackay and Torquil MacKenzie-Buist have helped me and my family immensely through this last year and enabled me to bring
Whispers of Betrayal
to completion. They have been not only splendid supporters but also the greatest of friends. I have spent a sometimes chaotic but extremely happy time with them, finishing off the book at their lovely dog-filled house in Ashcott. It will always be a special memory.

Finally, this book is dedicated to Jill Dando – not in the way I would have wanted, but fate is cruel. She was a very special person and always immensely kind about my books, but then she was kind about almost everything and everyone. Her memory continues to burn brightly not only for her fiancé Alan Farthing and her family, but for countless others. I am one of them.

MD
January 2000

The Tom Goodfellowe series

GOODFELLOWE MP

THE BUDDHA OF BREWER STREET

WHISPERS OF BETRAYAL

The Francis Urquhart trilogy

HOUSE OF CARDS

TO PLAY THE KING

THE FINAL CUT

Other titles

WALL GAMES

LAST MAN TO DIE

THE TOUCH OF INNOCENTS

Michael Dobbs’ first novel,
House of Cards
, launched the career of the villainous Francis Urquhart, one of the most memorable fictional characters of recent years, who was immortalized by Ian Richardson in three award-winning BBC TV series. His books have foretold the downfall of Prime Ministers and the growing turmoil within the Royal Family. His most recent novels, both featuring Tom Goodfellowe, are
Goodfellowe MP
and
The Buddha of Brewer Street
.

For more than two decades Michael Dobbs has been at the right hand of political controversy. He was at Mrs Thatcher’s side as she took her first step into Downing Street as Prime Minister, and was a key aide to John Major when he was voted out. In between times he was bombed in Brighton, banished from Chequers and blamed for failing to secure a Blair – Major television debate. He is now one of the country’s leading political commentators and a BBC TV presenter of current affairs.

His experiences have led him to be described as ‘Westminster’s baby-faced hit man’ and ‘a man who, in Latin America, would have been shot’.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.

HarperCollins
Publishers
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Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins
Publishers
2000

Copyright © Michael Dobbs 2000

The Author asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book
is available from the British Library

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