Kompromat

‘If I were to turn on that television now, what would I see? I would see riots in German streets, cars burning in France. In Holland, the phenomenal rise of the anti-Muslim party. And it’s not just the TV; the newspapers are full of it.’

‘And social media too, Mr President,’ Mary Burns reminded her boss.

‘So what are you proposing, Mr President?’ Jeremy Hartley asked quietly.

Michael O’Rourke glanced again in the direction of the door, as though to check that it was still closed.

‘What the Commission is going to propose tomorrow, at the meeting of the European Council, is a solution to the migration question which I am sure will meet your approval. Let me explain. When you put forward your own proposals earlier this year in the context of the “renegotiation”, you proposed that the UK should be able to introduce what you called an “emergency brake” on migration.’

‘Yes, and you turned us down flat,’ Hartley reminded him. ‘If you had accommodated us on that, everything would be different today. But you didn’t give us the help we needed. Isn’t it a bit late in the day to come forward with something now?’

‘I’m afraid you have misunderstood me, Mr Prime Minister,’ O’Rourke said. ‘What the Commission is proposing now is an EU-wide solution to the migration problem. Not just a formula to keep the UK happy but a way forward that will work for every Member State. To be specific, we are proposing that any Member State that believes it is under intolerable pressure as a result of migratory movements may introduce an emergency brake. And the key point is that emergency brake will be able to last just as long as the Member State concerned thinks it is necessary.’

‘Why didn’t you think of this before?’ Hartley asked. ‘It would have saved a hell of a lot of trouble.’

Michael O’Rourke did his best to soothe the prime minister’s ruffled feelings.

‘The time wasn’t right then. We think the time is right now.’

‘I’d like to see the language,’ Hartley said.

Michael O’Rourke turned to his Chef de Cabinet. ‘Mary, would you be kind enough to read the text to the gentlemen.’

Mary Burns had a soft, lilting Irish voice, which could lend light and life to even the dullest prose.

Hartley stood up. ‘I’ll have to consult the Cabinet on this overnight. As you can imagine, the implications are enormous. This could change everything.’

A thought occurred to him. ‘Are all the other Member States agreed on this? The Council would have to be unanimous, wouldn’t it?’

‘The decision of the Council would indeed have to be unanimous. And, yes, as far as we know, all the Member States are agreed.’ O’Rourke reassured him.

‘What do you mean, “as far as you know”?’ Hartley asked sharply.

‘We are still waiting to hear from our German colleagues. The Chancellor apparently has been hard to reach. But we do not anticipate any problems.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Next morning, Jeremy Hartley arrived in good time at the Justus Lipsius Building on the Brussels Rond Point Schuman, home of the European Council, the place where the EU’s key legislative decisions taken.

Nancy Ginsberg, the BBC’s chief political correspondent, thrust a microphone at him as he strode into the huge, red-granite building, accompanied by Sir Luke Threadgold.

‘Is a bad deal better than no deal, Prime Minister?’ she shouted.

Hartley gave her a jaunty thumbs up. ‘It’s going to be a good day for Britain. A good day for Europe too!’

Arne Jacobsen, the Danish prime minister, then serving as the president of the European Council, decided it was time to start. It was already well past 10:00a.m., the official time for kick-off that day.

Sitting at one end of the huge, lozenge-shaped Council table, he strained his eyes to see who was present and who was not. Back in the good old days, there had been just the six founding fathers of what was then the European Economic Community. Now there were twenty-eight members of the Community’s successor in title: the European Union. The Council table had had to be continually expanded to accommodate the arrival of the new Member States. In its latest configuration, it seemed to be almost as long as a football pitch.

Arne Jacobsen noted that the president of the Commission, Michael O’Rourke, was already in his seat down the far end of the room. Other delegations were making their way to their allotted places at the table. The room was filling up.

Jacobsen turned to Eloise Pomade, the senior official in the Council’s secretariat, who sat on his immediate right. She had held the job almost a decade, weathering crisis after crisis. Somehow the EU survived them all. But this Brexit business, she reflected, was in a category of its own.

‘Is the German delegation here yet?’ Jacobsen asked.

‘The German delegation is certainly here. I’ve seen the German ambassador a moment ago. But I don’t think Mrs Brun has arrived yet.’

She picked up a pair of opera glasses and scanned the room. ‘No, she’s not here.’