Whispers of Betrayal by Michael Dobbs

Author:Michael Dobbs [Dobbs, Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780007400140
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2000-09-03T04:00:00+00:00

ELEVEN

Amadeus had taken to running, long jogs through the City at night when the traffic had gone and taken most of its fumes with it. He couldn’t think in the rabbit hutch that his wife insisted they call home, even when she wasn’t there, which was frequently. He needed space, time to figure it all out, wanting to squeeze away the last effect of those cigarettes and get himself honed for what he knew lay ahead. The Barbican where they lived might have been convenient for his wife’s shopping and social life, but to Amadeus it was worse than useless, the farthest point from any green field of almost any spot in London. He wished he were back on the mountainside of Longdon, and yearned for an enemy that could be fought with rifle and bayonet.

He was clear that matters had escalated beyond his control. What had started as a skirmish had grown into all-out confrontation. It happens, things slip in war. They had begun in search of an apology but apologies only counted in matters of honour and they’d been disastrously naïve to believe they might have found any shred of honour in Bendall. So now the stakes had to be raised. There was no middle way, no subtle means of getting this Government to change its policies. The Government itself had to be changed.

The logic was compelling, inexorable. Bendall had to go.

The consequence was equally inescapable.

Treason.

It was something they couldn’t admit to, of course, not out in the open. For a soldier to seek the downfall of an elected Prime Minister was an offence so inexcusable that it would force Bendall’s most implacable opponents to rally to his defence. Even the BBC would have to behave itself. It would make the bastard all but impregnable. No, a direct attack was impossible. Instead, Bendall would have to be worn down, undermined, humiliated and hounded until his position had crumbled and he crept out of Downing Street, or was dragged out by envious colleagues.

Somehow treason had become their duty.

This evening Amadeus had run as far as Regent’s Park trying to clear his mind, struggling to understand the process by which he had started as a loyal officer and ended up a revolutionary. He still wasn’t entirely clear by the time he had got back to the Barbican and headed for his apartment on the thirtieth floor. He used the stairs.

As he opened his door, the first thing he saw was the answering machine blinking at him. He punched the button. A message from a Sergeant Harris at Wood Street police station. Amadeus didn’t know a Sergeant Harris, or why he should be calling, but the policeman said it was important. Amadeus was to call back any time up to midnight. Or Sergeant Harris would call again in the morning.

Oh, bugger.

The sun had not yet risen, yet already the Telecoms Chairman was standing at his desk, tieless, unshaven, agitated. A copy of the morning newspaper trembled in his outstretched hand.

‘WHIPPED!’ it screamed.

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