David Harley [Harley - Sidetracked

SIDETRACKED

David Harley

Copyright 2019 David Harley

All rights reserved.

S o there he was, marching down Whitehall to discover his fate, prepared to fight for his life, at the head of a procession of half a million people stretching back to Hyde Park. In fifteen minutes they would arrive. His mouth was dry and he could hear his heartbeat. Striding relentlessly forward, he paid no attention to the growl and clatter of the helicopters overhead, or the rhythmic beating of the drums behind. Like an Orange march in reverse, he thought after what had happened, he was no loyalist to the Crown. The only thing missing was the sound of flutes and the smell of burning tyres. The young volunteers in the armed trade-union militias, some masked, rifles slung from their shoulders, walked alongside. Bright-eyed and ready for action, they scanned the tops of buildings and side alleys as they moved down the street. They all knew the army was waiting for them in Parliament Square.

Matt shot Sam a sideways glance and their eyes briefly locked. The one person he could still trust. If anyone knew what was going on in his head, it was Sam. He hoped he looked fearless, but she would sense his gnawing nerves. He wanted to show her what he was capable of in the heat of battle. If they got through the day unscathed stuff the burdens of office, they would find some time and a quiet place to talk. Away from the crowds and the razzmatazz, the ever-shifting doubts and certainties, the highs and lows of their fight together. She had never asked for anything more than he could give. He would tell her he owed her nearly everything.

Have you spoken to our soldiers? he asked her.

They swear the plans are in place, she replied. Well only know for certain when we get there.

They passed the Cenotaph, the Ministry of Defence, and then Downing Street on the other side, hidden from view behind the armoured vehicles and high concrete defences. Matt pictured James Crouch peering through his binoculars from the garret window, knowing the game was up but refusing to admit it, trapped in his bunker by his own doing. Once this absurd standstill was resolved, Matt would show no mercy. Crouch was guilty of treason. One could almost say the same of the King. His behaviour had been unforgiveable. Ten minutes left.

The change in Matt had begun six months earlier, in the cocktail bar of the Mayfair Hotel.

He sat on the edge of the group, as the magnum of champagne arrived in a silver cooler, together with eight crystal flutes.

To success! said Justin Fishbourne, raising his glass. And to the man who knows how to work the system better than anyone in Westminster - Matt Barker!

While everyone around him drank to his health, yaying and whooping, Matt stared at the pile carpet. Fishbourne leaned over and patted Matt on the thigh.

Youre an absolute genius. I honestly dont think we could have got this deal without you.

Thanks, Justin, but I was only doing my job.

Go on, accept a little praise. Why dont you loosen up and join the fun?

Everythings fine. The contracts signed, were all happy, dont worry about me.

After glancing at his watch, Matt looked across at the door leading out of the bar. He knew the compliments were a sideshow, and at the first sign of trouble they would disown him. The unspoken rule never varied: lobbyists provided cover when convenient and were eminently expendable.

He had been in the game for nearly ten years and could smell an emotionally vulnerable MP or civil servant at a hundred paces. He used to enjoy walking the high wire between what was probably legal and ethical, and what definitely wasnt. In this latest case, that sense of risk and danger had been missing. All he had done was convince an elderly backbencher to table a couple of amendments to the energy bill at committee stage, and play three games of squash with the permanent secretary, two of which he let him win.

This modest outlay had helped Western Energy to secure licences for fracking and shale gas production on Exmoor and in the Peak District. The potential profits were estimated in billions. Matts employer, the public affairs agency Nightingale Booth, had charged a tidy fee of two million pounds for all his hard work. Matt himself cleared up a ten per cent commission, which would be a useful cushion over the next few months in case he ran into trouble.

Ive told the prime minister about you, said Fishbourne, bending his head and leaning into Matts ear. He asked me to tell you the governments very grateful.

No bullshit please, Justin. Flattery makes me suspicious. It gives me the feeling someones trying to sell me something I dont want.

Ill be straight with you, said Fishbourne. Theres another small favour Id like to ask. This time its more of a personal matter: I need someone whos prepared to massage the media on a rather sensitive issue. Discreetly demolish a few reputations. Try a few diversionary tactics.

Get to the point. Whats the issue and whos the client?

Weve got a problem with some of our major shareholders. Some of them are drawing the wrong conclusions from the company accounts. To put it bluntly, theyre accusing me of robbing the employees pension fund.

A wave of ennui swept over Matt.

And did you?

How could anyone imagine I would do such a thing?

Matt had spotted the gleam in his eye.

You wouldnt be the first. If you want me to help you, youd better start by telling me the truth.

Fishbourne looked taken aback, even offended. Leaning forward, clasping his hands together, he lowered his voice.

Of course, I wouldnt steal money from the fund. It would be disgracefully unfair on the staff. Its been badly managed for years, and I felt it my duty to obtain a better return on investment. So on one or two occasions I took out a small temporary advance. Ill pay everything back, naturally, once weve made a decent profit. Theres no point in just leaving it there, year after year, earning nothing.

Matt felt slightly nauseous but showed no emotion. It was all so cheap and predictable. The light from the table-lamp glinted on Fishbournes gold cufflinks.

What exactly do you want me to do?

Just dig around a bit. Plant a few stories questioning the moral probity of the shareholders leading the revolt the usual thing, evidence of tax evasion, alleged involvement in white-collar fraud, lurid sex life basically, whatever you can find thatll hurt their credibility. This pension funds been a goldmine for me, I wouldnt want to lose it. Ill make it worth your while just name your fee.

Matt took a deep breath and blinked. His patience was seeping away.

Im afraid this may be rather difficult

Before he could finish, he heard someone call his name. He looked up and saw Felicity, Fishbournes PA, waving at him from the other side of the room.

Have you two got something to share with the rest of us?

Fishbourne winced at the unwelcome interruption.

Just business, he growled back. Nothing for you to worry about.

Felicity was not to be silenced.

Why dont you say a few words, Matt? she continued. Tell us your secret. How do you manage to get up the arse of so many politicians without any of them ever noticing?

A silence fell over the room, as everyone stopped talking and waited for Matts answer. With their uniformly silly grins, clearly impressed by Felicitys chutzpah, the others doubtless expected Matt to play the game and reply in the same vein. With Fishbournes proposal still buzzing around his head, he slowly stood up to reply.

You should know, Felicity. You and I have done it together often enough.