“And she’s gone missing.”
“Apparently. And he rather suspects . . .”
“Foul play?” suggested Whelan, hating the moment even as it was happening.
“Yes. Well, no. He rather suspects your old Service has something to do with it, actually.”
Whelan said, “He thinks the Service has abducted a colleague of his? Our Service? That’s absurd.”
“Isn’t it? Doesn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t happen. Exactly what I told him.”
“Then why are you coming to me with it?”
Nash noticed the second croissant on his plate. It was clearly a discovery of some moment; he glanced around, as if making sure it hadn’t been left there by accident, then indicated its presence to Whelan, as if he were the body to whom reports of such finds should be made. Whelan, unwilling to take part in this pantomime, waited. Nash sighed, sliced an inch off one end of the pastry and transported it to his mouth, his expression suggesting that the whole endeavour was an unfortunate necessity. Then glanced around once more. There was nobody near enough to hear his next word, even if he’d spoken out loud rather than simply mouthed the syllables. “Waterproof.”
“。 . . I beg your pardon?” Then Whelan shook his head: he’d heard. “I mean, what, no, seriously? He said that?”
Nash nodded.
“And he meant . . . You’re saying he thinks that’s what happened? That someone triggered the Waterproof protocol?”
Nash said, “Well, he didn’t come out and say it directly. But that’s clearly what he was hinting at.”
He picked up the knife once more, and sliced what was left of the croissant in half.
Whelan said, “That’s ridiculous. There was an inquiry, I set it up myself. Waterproof, well . . . Okay, there was a certain amount of grey area. But the official line, the actual finding, was that the protocol was never used.”
“Yes, I’m aware what the official finding was, and I’m equally aware that the report will remain sealed for years to come. Even a virgin like me can draw the line between those dots.”
“That’s as may be. But leaving aside any . . . discretion involved in the conclusions reached, how is a newcomer like Sparrow even aware of Waterproof’s existence?”
“Because such is the role of special advisers, blessed be their name, that there is no document passes a portal anywhere on Downing Street that they can’t lay their eyes on at will. And don’t ask me how or why that started, because believe me I’ve no idea.” No idea, but an evident distaste. The manner in which Nash tore into the last piece of croissant made this clear. “And now that this particular bee has entered this particular bonnet, it apparently behooves me to catch it and pin it to a board, or whatever it is one does with bees. I’m not an expert.”
“But why me? I mean . . . You’re in daily contact with Diana, surely. Can’t you just ask her about it?”
“Well, I could and I can’t. You know how political things get. And I rather have to stay on Diana’s good side, if you know what I mean. Like I say, it wasn’t my idea. It was Sparrow’s.”
“Well, what does he think I can do about it? I’m not a police officer.”
“No, quite. Though I’m not sure that would carry weight at the Park, the way things are. Diana does rather seem to have pulled the drawbridge up.”
“What makes you think she’ll lower it for me? I’ve no authority there. You know that.”
Arguably less than none. Because while there were many things about Diana that Whelan had failed to recognise while she was nominally his subordinate, this much had become clear since: that she practised a scorched-earth policy towards anyone not entirely committed to her advancement. In this, he realised, she was in keeping with the political zeitgeist, and he was self-aware enough to know that, had he recognised this at the time, it wouldn’t have significantly altered the outcome. Even Nash, technically one of Regent’s Park string-pullers, knew to tread carefully around Diana. String-pullers carry weight, but Diana carried scissors.
“Besides,” he went on, “an official inquiry is a shallow grave. Anyone approaching it with a shovel is likely to find bones. That’s how Diana will see it. That I’m trying to resurrect an old scandal, and hang it round her neck.”
“Diana’s not going to worry about bones that were buried by one or other of her predecessors.” Nash’s face was a bland mask. “More coffee?”