Kompromat

Nikolai Nabokov, whose cover title was First Secretary at the Russian Trade Mission in Highgate, London, but whose real rank and title was that of ‘Major’ in Russia’s security and espionage service, the FSB, was indeed cross. He had been looking forward to strolling up to the bookmaker on Highgate Hill.

Nabokov sighed. His jowls quivered. He checked his watch. If he caught the Northern Line to Embankment, then walked along the river to Westminster Bridge, he’d be in plenty of time.

Harriet was already there, standing on the pavement halfway across the bridge, gazing up stream past the Houses of Parliament, like any other tourist.

‘I see the River Police are out in force today,’ Nabokov said.

‘Yes, Parliament’s in session.’

Codewords correctly exchanged, they stood there for a moment or two, admiring the view.

‘You need to get a message to Moscow urgently,’ Harriet said. ‘If the PM thinks he’s done a deal, that means he thinks Germany’s on side. So there must be a mix-up somewhere. Germany’s meant to be pushing for tougher, not softer terms, where Britain is concerned. That way more people will vote for Leave – out of sheer disgust at the way we’re being treated! You had better move fast. We need to stop this one in its tracks.’

Nabokov hurried off. In the train back to Highgate, he checked the Paddy Power app on his mobile to see that, after the PM’s remarks in the House of Commons, the odds had already lengthened against a Brexit victory. Amazing, wasn’t it, how quickly the market factored in these things. Definitely time to get a bet on.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Michael O’Rourke, the first Irish President of the European Commission, was all smiles when UK prime minister, Jeremy Hartley, entered his office on the 13th Floor of the European Commission’s Berlaymont Building in the heart of Brussels.

‘Good evening, Prime Minister,’ O’Rourke came to the door of his huge office to greet his distinguished guest. They shook hands warmly.

Hartley was accompanied by Sir Luke Threadgold, Britain’s ambassador to the EU, more properly known as the UK Permanent Representative.

‘Good evening, Sir Luke,’ O’Rourke said.

‘Good evening, Mr President.’

In Brussels, it was important to get the titles right. These things counted.

Just as they were sitting down, a tall flaxen-haired woman, in her early thirties, came into the room.

Hartley leapt to his feet. ‘Hello, Mary.’ He gave her a kiss on both cheeks. During the course of the long and painful negotiation that the prime minister had conducted with Britain’s European partners in the run-up to the Referendum, Mary Burns had gone out of her way to be helpful. Or at least as helpful as she could be in the circumstances.

As the president of the Commission’s Chef de Cabinet, Mary Burns was one of the most important people in Brussels. She organized O’Rourke’s day. Set the agenda. Nothing came into, or left, O’Rourke’s office without Mary Burns knowing about it.

‘Come and join us, Mary,’ O’Rourke said.

While the prime minister sat on the sofa, the others pulled up chairs.

‘As you can imagine,’ O’Rourke began, ‘I have been working very closely with the Member States, very closely indeed, to avoid an unfortunate outcome. I admit that at the beginning we could have done more to help the UK. I’m sorry we didn’t. We could perhaps have avoided some very long evenings.’

‘All-night sessions, as I remember,’ Jeremy Hartley interjected.

They all laughed. Get a joke in early on. That had always been Hartley’s policy.

‘The good news, Mr Prime Minister,’ O’Rourke continued, ‘is frankly that there has been a change of mood among the Member States in recent days. They are all increasingly concerned that a vote for Brexit in the Referendum may destabilize Europe as a whole. There are so-called populist movements in half a dozen countries – France, the Netherlands, Italy – I needn’t name them all. For my own country, Ireland, Brexit will pose a special problem. Are we going to reintroduce border controls between Northern Ireland and the south? I would hope not. Am I making myself clear, Prime Minister?’

Hartley nodded. The Irish, he thought, sometimes took a long time to get to the point but they got there in the end.

‘We realize,’ O’Rourke continued, ‘that the migration issue has always been at the top of the UK’s list of demands in the renegotiation.’

‘And it still is,’ Hartley said. ‘The problem is our plea fell on deaf ears. The other Member States hardly moved an inch.’

The president of the Commission, noticing that the door to his office was still open, rose from his seat, and walked across the room to close it.

‘At the moment, what I am about to say is totally confidential. The president of the European Council has called a special session at 10:00a.m. tomorrow morning. The truth is that the UK is no longer alone in its concern about migration. There are other Member States that are now as alarmed as you are.’

He gestured towards the huge television standing next to the EU flag in the corner of his office.