Mandler listened without comment, which Tom could only hope was a sign that it had sunk in, then shook his head mournfully. ‘Do you have any idea what pressure I’m under? The country’s in uproar, the PM’s polls are flat-lining, and he’s only a few months away from an election. Plus the cabinet are all scheming against each other, and most of the Whitehall departments are at each other’s throats. The home secretary and the Met are barely on speaking terms. Now we’ve got this bloody summit, which the PM’s staked his survival on, so London’s going to be on lockdown. I’ve got a lot bigger worries on my plate than what happens to you.’

‘I’m not just thinking of myself. Don’t you understand that? The stability of the whole country’s at stake.’

Mandler nodded at the hangar. ‘Get me some red meat and you’ll get the resources to fight your battle.’

‘Our battle,’ said Tom, but Mandler was already in the car.

Chapter 72

72

10 Downing Street, London

Everything about the prime minister should have suggested a man at the top of his game, thought his home secretary. Sprawled over his sofa he was tanned, with not a single grey hair and no unattractive bags under the eyes, the signature facial feature of anyone in the top job. The neck was developing a bit of a wattle, Sarah Garvey noted, a hangover from a crash diet he had embarked on a year ago. And he was doing his best to look relaxed in a polo shirt, lightweight chinos and loafers. The trouble was, he was in the shit and he knew it.

‘Okay, Derek, hit me with it.’

Farmer glanced at her. ‘Sure you wouldn’t like to clear the room first?’

The PM smiled grimly. ‘I think Sarah will have heard worse things about me than anything you can deliver, and said them too, most probably.’

She gave him a grim smile back, relieved that she was still a confidante, that she hadn’t been eclipsed – yet.

Farmer sighed and launched in. ‘Okay, so this sample’s taken from the party faithful, which is what makes it particularly worrying as they were giving you a pretty easy ride before all this chaos. Sixty-five per cent of those polled said they thought the PM had not handled the crisis well, seventy per cent say you should have broken off your meeting at Camp David and come home to take charge.’

The PM showed no reaction.

‘And seventy-three per cent say they don’t believe the enhanced Anglo-American relationship will deliver either prosperity or security.’

Garvey noted a pink tinge spreading over the PM’s cheeks. He lurched forward and jabbed the air. ‘Yeah? Well, bollocks to that. And POTUS and I won’t be announcing any detail before our summit anyhow. How the fuck do they think they know? Honestly, Derek, where do you find these people?’