Test of Resolve E-Book

Peter Murphy

• Herausgeber: No Exit Press
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 612

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2013

Beschreibung

A denounced President, her kidnapped daughter, a Hindu extremist group and the threat of nuclear war: America is once again thrown into turmoil in Peter Murphy's sequel to Removal As Ellen Trevathan settles into her presidency, she feels confident to come out as a lesbian to the press, an announcement that unleashes a storm of criticism against her authority. Her personal life becomes increasingly unstable when her daughter, Dani, is kidnapped by a Hindu extremist group, Svatantra Kashmir (SK). Director of the FBI, Kelly Smith, is called in to investigate and is soon immersed in a situation with far wider implications. Under pressure to comply with orders made by SK, Ellen has to tackle the threat of nuclear war between India and Pakistan and ensure the safety of her daughter. As the crisis escalates, public duty and personal concerns are thrown into conflict. The severity of the situation demands that one has to be sacrificed, and only Ellen can choose...

Leseprobe

A denounced President, her kidnapped daughter, a Hindu extremist group and the threat of nuclear war: America is once again thrown into turmoil in Peter Murphy’s sequel to Removal

As Ellen Trevathan settles into her presidency, she feels confident to come out as a lesbian to the press, an announcement that unleashes a storm of criticism against her authority. Her personal life becomes increasingly unstable when her daughter, Dani, is kidnapped by a Hindu extremist group, Svatantra Kashmir (SK). Director of the FBI, Kelly Smith, is called in to investigate and is soon immersed in a situation with far wider implications.

Under pressure to comply with orders made by SK, Ellen has to tackle the threat of nuclear war between India and Pakistan and ensure the safety of her daughter. As the crisis escalates, public duty and personal concerns are thrown into conflict. The severity of the situation demands that one has to be sacrificed, and only Ellen can choose…

Praise for Peter Murphy

'A gripping page-turner. A compelling and disturbing tale of English law courts, lawyers, and their clients, told with the authenticity that only an insider like Murphy can deliver. The best read I’ve come across in a long time'

– David Ambrose

'A brilliant thriller by a striking new talent. Murphy cracks open the US Constitution like a walnut. This is Seven Days in May for the 21st Century'

– Clem Chambers, author – Jim Evans thrillers

'Peter Murphy’s debut Removal introduces an exciting talent in the thriller genre. Murphy skilfully builds tension in sharp prose. When murder threatens the security of the most powerful nation in the world, the stakes are high!'

–Leigh Russell, author Geraldine Steel mysteries

'Weighty and impressive’

– Barry ForshawCrime Time

‘An absorbing read’

Mystery People

‘A very satisfying read’

Fiction is Stranger than fact

PRAISE FOR Test of Resolve

'Peter Murphy presents us with a truly original premise and a set of intriguing characters then ramps up the pressure on them all. Test of Resolve is an aptly named, compelling read with a nail biting conclusion' -Howard Linskey

'Test of Resolve is a gripping political thriller, (enhanced by) Peter Murphy’s deep knowledge of the legal and constitutional issues' - Paul Magrath

After graduating from Cambridge University he spent a career in the law, as an advocate and teacher, both in England and the United States. His legal work included a number of years in The Hague as defence counsel at the Yugoslavian War Crimes Tribunal. He lives with his wife, Chris, in Cambridgeshire.

Also by Peter Murphy

Removal

A Higher Duty

For

Chris

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Her Honour Judge Usha Kari for her help with Hindi words and phraseology. I would also like to thank my colleagues of the ‘metaphysical faculty’ of the law school summer programme which took me to India for the first time: Eileen Kaufman; Louise Harmon; and (sadly, the late) Surya Sinha; and my wife, Chris, who understood far more quickly than I the lack of separation between the mundane and the metaphysical which makes India so extraordinary. Their insight, wisdom, and experience was the foundation of my experience of the country.

The song I came to sing

remains unsung to this day.

I have spent my days in stringing

and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true,

the words have not been rightly set;

only there is the agony

of wishing in my heart…

Rabindranath Tagore, Waiting

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Copyright

1

May 25

THE VISITORDID not come often – not more than once every two or three years – but his routine was always the same. He would fly to Houston from Washington DC, having arrived there, Bev’s family could only assume, from whichever Indian city he was currently using as his base. He would rent a medium-size car at George Bush Intercontinental Airport, and drive into the city, carefully obeying every speed limit, every stop sign. He would park near the family’s home, in the anonymity of a shopping crescent on West Gray, where there was a Starbucks and a Black-Eyed Pea restaurant, and where the short stay of a nondescript rental car would not attract attention. He was always smartly dressed in a western-style suit and tie, the suit a lightweight dark gray, the tie red, worn over a pristine white shirt, his black shoes meticulously shined. He carried a smart black briefcase. All this, also, was for the sake of anonymity, of blending into the background. Bev knew from his previous conversations with him that the Visitor found western dress stifling, oppressive, and would have much preferred to be in the white Kurta pyjamas and sandals he always wore at home. But the Visitor was a man to whom detail was a way of life, because he had sometimes owed his life to the care he took over detail, and he had become an expert in the art of the inconspicuous.

The pattern of his visits never varied. He would first spend up to an hour with Bev’s parents. Bev’s father, Amit, was a dentist with a successful practice in the affluent River Oaks area of the city, where the family also lived in a discreet detached house guarded by a high fence. The house was not particularly large by affluent Houston standards, but it had every modern convenience, including a heated swimming pool, and was appropriate for a dentist of Amit’s standing. Bev’s mother, who had long ago adopted the name Marsha, had retired from her position as personal assistant to the president of a bank. The couple had lived in Houston for more than thirty years. Before moving to the United States, they had lived in New Delhi, where both had received a wide, liberal education. Amit had learned his dentistry there, pulling teeth and inserting fillings in hundred degree heat with humidity to match – much like Houston without the air conditioning, he would sometimes joke – and with geckos running up and down the walls. Despite his undoubted skills, he had to re-qualify when he arrived in America in deference to the usual institutional suspicion of foreign qualifications, an annoyance he bore with his usual stoicism.

Bev never knew exactly what passed between the Visitor and his parents. He was always sent to his room until the Visitor was ready to see him. But he knew that money changed hands. He had seen it. As an adventurous 10-year-old he had spied through a keyhole on one such meeting and had seen the Visitor remove from his briefcase wad after wad of crisp green banknotes, which he then handed to his father. Even as a 10-year-old boy, Bev found this odd. He was aware that his father earned a good living as a dentist, and that his mother was also quite capable of commanding a high salary. He did not stay at the door long enough to hear what they were discussing, which he assumed would be related to what the Visitor had to say when his turn came to meet him; but it seemed to Bev that sometimes, from his bedroom upstairs, he could hear his mother crying.

The Visitor was tall and imposing, over six feet in height, with proportionate build. He had a dignified, erect bearing, and thick gray hair, threatening to turn pure white. During his last visit, some two years ago, Bev had judged him to be between sixty and seventy years of age.

The Visitor always began by asking him about his education, on which he seemed to place great store. Through middle school and high school, Bev had to account for his grades, for any lapses in discipline, and for all his extra-curricular activities. As he grew older, there were questions about girlfriends, their names, families, areas of town, studies, ambitions, interests. He was also questioned about the family’s Hindu faith. The family worshiped together regularly at a temple on Hillcroft in Houston’s Indian district, just a short drive from home.

When the Visitor had last spoken with him, Bev had not found it difficult to reassure him. By that time, his high school grades and activities had taken him to Rice University, where he was majoring in politics with a minor in history. He was working hard and doing well. His love for football was still with him, but was now confined to the role of spectator. He had got away with his lack of size in high school, where he had sometimes come on from the bench as a wide receiver. But his slim frame and light weight ruled out any hope of college football. He now had a steady girlfriend, Shesi, who hailed from a respectable and long-established Indian family. Her father was an importer of rugs, Indian jewelry and other luxuries, and she was learning the business under his tutelage. As his oldest child, she expected to take it over eventually.

No, Bev had insisted, his studies had in no way diminished his religious belief. The truth was, faith and doubt competed every day in his mind; the statues, incense and chants had relaxed the hold they had on him as a child. No, he had insisted, his historical studies had not turned him from his convictions about the correctness of India’s political stances; the justice of her opposition to Pakistan; the historical record of the brutality of British Rule. The truth was, he mostly saw not black and white, but many shades of gray; a plague on all their houses, questions of justice and blame seemed to Bev to become easily blurred in the tortuous political webs of the modern world. No, Bev had insisted, his relations with Shesi were chaste and pure. The truth was, they had been sexual partners for over a year, naked and unashamed whenever time permitted, careful in their use of condoms, but joyful in the passion between them. The Visitor took no notes and displayed no reaction to the information Bev gave. But he told him, as he always told him, that he was special; that he would understand more when he was older; and that he must hold himself in readiness for some great service.

This information disturbed Bev, because he had no conscious understanding of what the Visitor’s occasional presence meant, or of what his words signified. It all seemed too grandiose, something set apart from Bev’s everyday life; something that invaded his life from another world; something sinister, even; and he had no confidence that he was in any way special. Yet, on another level, there were moments – rare but unmistakable – when he experienced a sudden tantalizing glimpse into the mystery, perhaps a dim memory of words spoken in the distant past. On this level, he almost felt that he knew the truth, and would remember it fully when some future moment came. But the glimpse would vanish as suddenly as it had come in the glare of daily life.

He suspected, of course, that the visits were unusual. None of his friends had ever reported anything similar within their families. But he did not dare ask his friends questions or tell them about the Visitor. He had been instructed from an early age that the visits, and what the Visitor said, were to be mentioned to no one outside the family. It was because Bev was special that the Visitor came, his parents said. No one outside the family would understand. Until recently Bev had followed this instruction faithfully, partly out of respect for his parents, and partly because he was not sure anyone would believe him even if he told them.

But the uncertainty and the sheer weirdness of it all played on his mind and, by the time of the last visit, as he was about to become a college graduate, the need for a second opinion, the need for reassurance, had become overwhelming. A few days after the visit, he had confided in Shesi. He told her after they had made love, which was when they always talked about things. Shesi believed him without hesitation, and quickly offered a decisive reality check. No, it was not a normal situation; no, it did not happen in other families, even Indian families. Was it weird? It was beyond weird, verging on the insane. She suggested a number of courses of action, ranging from coming to live with her family, to taking off to Canada, Australia or, as the evening wore on, anywhere. In a reckless moment, she offered to accompany him, wherever he chose to go. She was pleased that he seemed to like that idea. But these suggestions were not real life, and she did not press them.

That last visit had been almost three years ago. Bev was now in law school. The Visitor had never mentioned a choice of career but his parents, on the other hand, while seeming to leave open the whole range of options, often seemed to lean towards the law or the military. Politics was a third option, perhaps to follow after some success in one of the first two. Bev had no wish to join the military. He was physically very fit and mentally agile, both qualities suitable to an officer, but by temperament he was not aggressive or confrontational, and he had no patience for uniforms or pomp and ceremony. With no other prospects when he graduated from Rice, and with the offer of unconditional financial support through law school, Bev took the plunge. He studied hard, achieved a reasonable score on the LSAT, and was admitted to South Texas College of Law in downtown Houston, not very far from Rice. His political studies had sharpened his understanding of the role of the law in American life, and it seemed to him to be a game he could play well and enjoy. In the back of his mind also was the thought that the law would provide the means for independence. Once independent, he could consign the Visitor to the past. He could have nothing to do with him if he so chose, refuse to see him, tell him to his face to take his weirdness elsewhere. He could opt for a normal life.

The Visitor came on May 25, while he was at home early in the summer vacation at the end of his second year of law school. He was preparing to leave for a summer school program in international criminal law at the University of Cambridge in England. Independence and normality were only a year or two away.

2

‘GOODEVENING,’ Conrad Beckers said, facing the camera with the discreet, confidential smile which, over the years, had become almost as much a national institution as the man himself.

‘This is a special night for us on the News Show on National Public Television, because we have with us the woman at the center of the tumultuous events that have shaken our nation to its core in recent months. A woman who, most Americans believe, saved our system of democracy, indeed our American way of life, for future generations in the face of armed resistance to the rule of law. She has appeared on the News Show several times during the intervening period, but always at times of stress, during the rebuilding of our government, when our discussions were dictated by the demands of the moment. Tonight there is an opportunity for a less harried talk. Our guest is the President of the United States, Ellen Trevathan. Madam President, welcome.’

The camera angle widened to show the President sitting to Beckers’ left.

Ellen Trevathan was a strikingly handsome woman, over six feet in height, her gray hair short and stylish, her dark blue eyes warm. Most observers thought that she looked every bit of twenty years younger than her age, which was comfortably above the norm for retirement. Much of her popularity derived from the fact that she had not been a career politician. She had started out as a university professor. Her writings on public administration got her noticed, and she soon made the move from a tenured professorship at George Mason University to the first of a number of high-level government jobs. She had a natural gift for dealing with people, a gift which stood her in good stead when Steve Wade asked her to run for the vice presidency on his ticket. Once in the job, she had commanded respect from political colleagues and opponents alike. Wade trusted Ellen, and allowed her an unusual amount of independent action. Taking full advantage of this, she steadily built a reputation in Washington as someone who said little in public, but quietly got things done behind the scenes. Her trademark gray-black suits cut high at the neck, Nehru style, became a familiar sight in the corridors of power. Tonight, she wore the suit over a plain white blouse, and black shoes with a low heel, one discreet silver bracelet partly visible underneath the right sleeve.

‘It’s my pleasure, Conrad. Good evening to everyone.’

Beckers swiveled his chair around to face her.

‘Madam President, I know you have something you would like to say to the American people this evening which has nothing to do with the recent crisis, and we will come to that in just a moment. But first, with your indulgence…’

He swiveled back to face the camera.

‘… I would like to remind our viewers of the extraordinary events which brought you to the White House just a few months ago.’

Cut to film. Exterior, day time. Conrad Beckers is standing outside the Russell Senate Office Building. The weather must have been warm; he is wearing a light suit and passers-by are wearing casual tops, shorts and sandals. He faces the camera, microphone in hand.

‘It has been barely a year since Ellen Trevathan became President of the United States in the most extraordinary accession in our nation’s history. She is, of course, the first woman ever to serve as President. But, for most of her life, she did not seem destined for high office. When she was first elected Vice President on Steve Wade’s ticket more than six years ago, very few people would have predicted that she would one day occupy the White House in her own right. Her career in politics had been a short one. Most of her career had been spent in academia, at George Mason University, where she specialized in relations between the states and the federal government. She later held two cabinet posts in which her brief was the environment and energy. She attracted little public attention and, indeed, seemed to thrive on getting things done with minimum fuss and publicity. It was, no doubt, those qualities that recommended her to Steve Wade when he came to choose a running mate. It was a choice which caused surprise in some circles, both within the party and among the public at large. But almost everyone came to agree that the choice was a wise one. She proved to be a competent, if low-key Vice President. She had let it be known within the party that she intended to run for President after Steve Wade’s second term of office. But many believe that her nomination would not have been a certainty.’

The camera zoomed in for a close up on Beckers.

‘But then, along came Lucia Benoni.’

Cut to film. Interior, day time. The images are of President Steve Wade: working at his desk in the Oval Office; in the White House press room speaking at a press conference; at a White House reception for foreign dignitaries; at Camp David, shaking hands with the Prime Minister of Israel and the President of the Provisional Government of Palestine. Conrad is supplying the voice-over.

‘We still await the final report on those terrible events which took place nearly a year ago now. Until that report is released, there is much we do not know. What we do know is that Steve Wade had an affair with a Lebanese woman, Lucia Benoni, and lied about it to the American people, even after Benoni was found murdered, shot in the head, execution-style, in a fashionable Washington apartment. Following reports in the Washington Post, it emerged that Wade was sharing Benoni’s favors with a Lebanese diplomat, Hamid Marfrela, who was himself murdered in equally mysterious circumstances a short time after Benoni. When evidence emerged of financial links between Marfrela, the President’s party, and the Sons of the Land, a white supremacist group based in Oregon, there were fears that the affair with Benoni might have compromised national security. Impeachment proceedings were begun in the Senate, as a result of which Wade was convicted of high crimes and misdemeanors. Steve Wade became the only President in our history to be impeached successfully. Ellen Trevathan became President by operation of our constitution. Steve Wade was to be removed from office. That was where the story should have ended. But in fact, it was only the beginning…’

The film changes. Exterior, day time, the Russell Senate Building.

‘Because as we all know only too well, Steve Wade refused to be removed. A group of high-ranking military officers, led by Marine Corps Commandant Steven Hessler, tried to block Ellen Trevathan’s accession to the presidency, and keep Steve Wade in office. With the assistance of former Attorney-General Dick Latham, they invoked a Cold War resolution of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, known as the Williamsburg Doctrine, and Ellen Trevathan was at the center of their attention.’

The film changes again. Exterior, day time. The images are mid-1960’s vintage, various shots of cities then behind the Iron Curtain: Belgrade, Prague, Budapest.

‘Ellen Trevathan had been a life-long critic of American foreign policy. She was an active opponent of America’s foreign wars over many years, from Vietnam to Afghanistan. In her younger days, she attended disarmament conferences and peace rallies, some held in cities behind the Iron Curtain. She wrote articles and position papers condemning American military interventions abroad, including Iraq and Afghanistan, the detentions at Guantanamo Bay, and the practice of extraordinary rendition. Hessler and others claimed to doubt her patriotism and questioned her reliability as Commander-in-Chief, should the use of military force be necessary to defend the United States or its interests abroad. They claimed that the Williamsburg Doctrine, adopted in 1965, in the wake of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, entitled them to bar Trevathan from the White House on those grounds.’

Exterior, day time, outside the Capitol.

‘And it was here, at the heart of our Government, that Hessler marshaled his marines and a crowd of thousands, many of them armed white supremacists, to imprison the United States Senate in its own chamber after the historic vote to impeach Steve Wade was taken.’

Yet another change. Interior, day time, Houston, South Texas College of Law, the student lounge. Video-taped footage of the presidential swearing-in.

‘By this time, Ellen Trevathan had removed herself and some influential government figures to Houston for safety reasons, where, as we now know, she took the oath of office in a law school and recruited its dean, Ken Hunt, as her Attorney-General in place of Dick Latham, who was allegedly a moving force behind the conspiracy. It was there also that she made plans with her Vice President, Ted Lazenby, and Secretary of Defense, Raul Gutierrez, to re-take the White House and the Senate, by military means if necessary. Mercifully, that was not necessary. In the most dramatic turn of events of all, Wade was shot dead in the White House by a member of his own detail, secret service agent Linda Samuels. Only after that was President Trevathan able to disperse the crowds and restore order peacefully, bringing an end to what was arguably the most serious crisis in our nation’s recent history. Only two reliable witnesses remain of Steve Wade’s death. One is Kelly Smith, then Acting Director, now Director, of the FBI. The second is Jeff Morris, a police lieutenant and temporary federal agent, now President Trevathan’s Press Secretary. Together, they were attempting to negotiate a settlement on behalf of Ellen Trevathan when Wade was shot by Samuels. Samuels was shot in turn by her colleague, Agent Gary Mills, who is still under psychiatric care in hospital at this time. Steven Hessler and Dick Latham currently face grave criminal charges, including treason. There are doubts, we are told, about Hessler’s mental competence to stand trial. Both men deny the charges against them.’

Back to the studio, live.

‘Madam President, those were extraordinary times. I know you are glad they are over, as are we all.’

‘Yes, indeed.’

‘You have made it clear, and I understand why, that you are reluctant to talk too much about them until the final report is released.’

‘That’s correct, Conrad. I have done everything in my power to expedite the report, and we hope to have it available within the next six weeks to two months.’

‘And in any case, Madam President, that is not our main purpose tonight. I know that there is something you want to say to the American people this evening, and the floor is now yours.’

3

THECAMERAMOVED to Ellen and brought her face to face, alone, with the people.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, it was indeed my wish to speak to you this evening. I asked Conrad if he would allow me to be a guest on the News Show, and he graciously agreed. I could have chosen to speak to you from the White House. But my subject this evening is not a political one. It is a deeply personal one. This evening, I want to make you aware of something about myself, something I have never willfully concealed, but something I have chosen not to talk about, until now.’

Ellen paused and held her hands together tightly in her lap.

‘Tonight I come out to you all – to the people of America – as a lesbian. I have been aware of my sexual orientation from a very young age. I have never been ashamed of my sexuality. But I am a very private person. I have always believed that sexuality is a personal matter, one that should not concern others, even when a person is, as I have been, in the public eye because of his or her career. Before becoming President, I tried my best to live as quietly and unobtrusively as possible, given the positions that I held. And I am grateful that the media respected my privacy and did not find it necessary to confront me. But I do now regret having remained silent, because I understand that, if I had spoken up, it might have made it easier for other lesbians, and for gay men, to offer themselves for public office. I know how hard it has been during our recent history for those in the public eye to come out, because we have in some ways become such an intolerant and divided society. If my coming out this evening contributes in any way to improving that situation, I will be very happy. But I must confess that my reason for speaking out this evening is also much more personal.’

Ellen smiled and extended her left arm. Following, the camera widened its angle to take in the woman seated on the President’s left. She was some inches shorter than Ellen, more than fifteen years younger, with a fuller face and longer hair, red, tied at the back, dark brown eyes, wearing a light gray suit over a colorful blouse of brown and orange with flashes of dark and lime green, with high-heeled brown shoes.

‘This is my partner, Kay Ryan. I met Kay about seventeen years ago, after her marriage had ended. We fell in love. We have never lived together. Kay has a beautiful daughter, Dani, who is now in law school at Georgetown. I’ve been privileged to get to know Dani as she has grown up, and I am proud to be her step-mother. Kay and I do now plan to have a home together. We intend in due course to have a ceremony to become civil partners. And tonight I introduce Kay to the American people.’

The camera moved back to include Conrad Beckers in the shot.

‘Madam President, this is indeed a momentous occasion. And, Ms Ryan, welcome to the News Show. Perhaps I could start with you. If it’s not too obvious a question: how do you feel about the President’s statement this evening?’

Kay was smiling, but she held her hands with the fingers tightly intertwined.

‘I’m really glad that Ellen has chosen to do this. It’s something we’ve talked about over the years, but somehow it never seemed to be the right time. It hasn’t been easy with Ellen in such a public position, and especially since she became President, of course. But it’s something we have both wanted.’

‘Did your daughter, Dani, have anything to say about it?’ Beckers asked.

Kay’s smile broadened.

‘Dani has been goading us to do this for three or four years,’ she replied. ‘She loves Ellen, and she’s an independent young woman with her own views. I know she is watching the show as we speak, and I can almost hear her cheering.’

Beckers laughed.

‘That is good to hear,’ he said. ‘I know that you have your own career, in the law. But could you tell us a little about yourself?’

‘That’s correct. I’m a partner in the law firm of Mayer Hargreaves Harrison & Ryan here in Washington. We do commercial litigation. My former husband, Dale Harrison, is also a member of the firm. We are still law partners and we remain good friends… and, of course, Dale is Dani’s father. They are very close and they spend a lot of time together.’

Kay took a breath.

‘I didn’t have quite the same experience as Ellen. I grew up in Iowa in a pretty conventional home, and I was pretty conventional myself when I was younger. That involved being a straight-A student, attending Sunday school, being a high school cheerleader, and all that kind of thing. Later it meant getting married and having a child. I don’t regret any of that. Without it, I wouldn’t have Dani. Dani is the apple of my eye. She is a beautiful and talented young woman. But I was always aware of being attracted to women, and a time came in my life when I had to acknowledge it. I had an affair with a long-time friend. I told Dale about it, and we agreed to part amicably. That affair didn’t last, but it was then that I met Ellen. She is my true soulmate.’

‘Is this a coming out for you too? How will the other partners in your firm – including your ex-husband – feel about this evening’s announcement?’

‘They will be very happy for me. We have all been friends for years – it’s that kind of firm – and they have known about my sexuality and about my relationship with Ellen for years too. They have always been very accepting.’

Beckers nodded.

‘Turning back to you, Madam President, I couldn’t help noticing what you said about making a home together for the first time. Where will that home be? Will it be …?’

‘In the White House, yes,’ Ellen replied immediately. ‘That is our intention. The White House is where the President of the United States lives with his family, and now, her family. Kay and Dani are my family. Kay and I will live there. We will also have a home outside the White House, of course, and Dani will be with us in both places whenever she wants to be.’

Beckers chewed thoughtfully on the end of his Mont Blanc pen.

‘I guess the question I have is: some people may find that …?’

‘I’m sure there are some people who will disapprove, Conrad. I understand that it can sometimes take time for people to adapt to new situations. And, unfortunately, there will always be prejudice, of one kind or another. There were people who muttered about having a black family in the White House when President Obama was elected – and indeed after. I’m sure there will be those who will complain and say hateful things about my family. Frankly, my message to them is: “get over it”. There is no place for prejudice in the America I love and whose President I now am.’

‘There will be a presidential election in another eighteen months,’ Beckers said. ‘Do you intend to run?’

Ellen smiled.

‘That is a question I have had to put on hold. Since the crisis, my first responsibility has been to hold the government together in the wake of the turbulence we all went through then. We are back on a fairly even keel now, but there is still a lot to do, within the various government departments and within the military. There may well be some parts of our government that are still not entirely reconstructed by the time my present term of office – Steve Wade’s unexpired term of office – ends. When I served as President Wade’s Vice President, I did intend to seek my party’s nomination. But I have to admit that the turmoil has made me think again about what I really want to do. I know I have to make a decision quite soon, and I will. But let me say that, whatever my decision may be, it will have nothing to do with what I have said tonight – except that, of course, I will talk to Kay about it before I decide.’

Beckers smiled, and turned to Kay.

‘Would you like the President to run, Ms Ryan?’

She returned the smile.

‘I want Ellen to do whatever she wants to do. She knows I will support her, whatever decision she takes.’

‘There is still one question that intrigues me, Madam President,’ Beckers continued. ‘The media in this country, and indeed abroad, are usually not exactly shy about reporting stories, sometimes factual, sometimes mere gossip and rumor, about the private lives of politicians. But I can’t recall more than a handful of stories speculating about your sexuality over the years. And they never seemed to last long, or go anywhere. Why do you think that was?’

Ellen shook her head.

‘I really don’t know, Conrad. Kay and I have asked ourselves the same question many times. We have tried to keep a low profile, as I said before. But even so, there have been times when we felt sure we were about to be outed, and we decided to be honest and make the best of it when it happened. I have to think that the media was so involved with Steve Wade’s sex life that mine was uninteresting by comparison. We had issues with stories about Steve throughout my time with him, some real, some probably not, but always out there in public view. And in Steve’s case, they were not just stories, they were scandals, so much more interesting than anything I was doing. I guess that must have been the reason. Finally, of course, there was Lucia Benoni.’

Beckers nodded, the pen rolled between his thumb and first finger.

‘Would it be fair to say that Steve Wade’s departure took away your cover?’ he asked with a smile. ‘Is that why you chose this evening to come out?’

She returned the smile.

‘Yes, I think that’s fair. That’s part of it.’

‘The lack of attention probably wouldn’t have lasted much longer?’

‘Probably not. And I’m sure it influenced my timing in making the announcement this evening. But whatever the reason, I am grateful to all those journalists – yourself included, Conrad, because I know perfectly well that you knew – who had the kindness to respect my privacy.’

‘Madam President, Ms Ryan,’ Beckers concluded. ‘It has been an honor to have you both on the News Show this evening. I hope you will both come back often.’

‘I hope so, too,’ Ellen replied, smiling.

Beckers turned to face the camera.

‘And now to events in the Middle East. The Secretary of State has spent another long day in negotiations in Amman, Jordan.’

4

ELLENAND KAY had supper with Dani in the White House Residence before watching their programmed recording of the News Show. Ellen and Kay were leaning back, side by side, on the sofa.

‘What did you think?’ Kay asked anxiously, as the credits rolled. ‘I don’t know. I came across like a complete fool.’

‘Nonsense,’ Ellen said, taking her hand. ‘You were great!’

Dani had been lying on the floor in front of the TV, but now she got to her feet, walked around the back of the sofa, leaned over, and hugged and kissed Ellen and Kay in turn.

‘You were great, Mom. So were you, Ellen. I am so proud of you both,’ she replied, the excitement in her voice obvious. ‘Talk about sending a message! You came across so reasonable, so logical, as well as making clear to everyone how much you love each other. I can’t see how anyone could argue with what you said, and I can’t see how anyone could hold it against you. It’s a triumph!’

Kay kissed Dani in return.

‘Thank you, sweetheart. But wait until you see some of the headlines tomorrow,’ she said. ‘We have given the American establishment a major kick in the teeth tonight, and tomorrow they are going to start kicking back.’

‘I hope I’m not hearing you say you regret coming out,’ Dani replied. ‘Because I think it’s the best thing you’ve ever done – apart from having me, obviously.’

Kay reached up her hand to pat Dani’s shoulder.

‘I have no regrets at all. I would go back to Conrad Beckers’ studio right now and do it all again. But I’m still worried about how it will play out. I’m worried that they will be particularly hard on Ellen.’

Dani shrugged impatiently, walked quickly away and stood with her back against the wall by the large table on which the TV stood.

‘It would be so unfair for people to criticize Ellen now,’ she protested. ‘Ellen, you have been such a hero to people since the crisis. I haven’t heard a word spoken against you. Everything the press has said has been so positive.’

‘That was before I announced on public television that I am a lesbian and that I am going to bring my female lover to live with me in the White House,’ Ellen replied, with a grim smile. ‘Hero or not, that’s not going to sit well with some of those good folks in the heartland. And they will let me know it over the next few days. We have called down a storm on our heads, and there’s nothing we can do except batten down the hatches and ride it out. But we knew it would be that way. We did the right thing, and we have to trust that it will work out in the end. “This too shall pass”, as the saying goes.’

She stood, walked over to Dani and pulled her into a hug.

‘I’m glad you’re going to be out of it for a while, Dani. You can read all about it in The Times of London, and you can send us emails to let us know what people think about it all in Europe.’

‘I almost wish I wasn’t going,’ Dani replied. ‘I feel I should stay in Washington and go through this with you.’

Kay stood, walked over to Dani, and joined in the hug.

‘No, this is something Ellen and I have to do,’ she said. ‘What you have to do is to be on that plane to England at 7.30 on Saturday. You have to take those classes at Cambridge University, learn all about international criminal law, and get those credit hours under your belt.’

‘I don’t know, Mom. If this is going to be serious…’

‘Your Mom is right, Dani,’ Ellen said firmly. ‘Don’t worry. It’s going to be bad for a few days. After that, it will settle down. But from now on it will always be part of our lives, so we have to get used to it. We can’t let it run our lives. We have to be able to live with it and function with it. The last thing we need is to let it disrupt our plans.’

She smiled.

‘Besides, I need an expert in international criminal law. When you get back, I need to talk to you about whether I should try to persuade the Senate to sign up to the International Criminal Court.’

Dani returned the smile.

‘Yeah, right. I’m sure you need me to tell you what to do about that,’ she said.

‘I might,’ she said. ‘I need to understand why we didn’t do it years ago. I’m sure you will make more sense than some of the briefings I’ve been shown from the State Department. Take some notes for me.’

‘I will.’

There was a knock on the door. An agent opened the door and stood just inside the room.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Madam President, but the Press Secretary is here.’

Ellen stood and walked towards the door.

‘Jeff, come in.’

‘Thank you, Madam President.’ He nodded. ‘Kay, Dani.’

Kay and Dani smiled in response. Jeff Morris was as tall as the President and his bearing was just as assured. During the Benoni investigation and the crisis he had proved himself, both to Ellen and to her Vice President Ted Lazenby, time after time, as a cool head and a capable administrator. During the crisis he had worked alongside Ellen throughout her stay in Houston, leaving only to accompany Kelly Smith to the attempt to negotiate at the White House. He had been there with Kelly when Steve Wade was shot. Once the crisis had been resolved, he had genuinely expected to return quietly to his duties as a lieutenant in the Washington D.C. Police Department. But Ellen had made up her mind to keep him if she could. There were several positions within the administration that might have suited Jeff. The idea of appointing him as her Press Secretary was sheer intuition on Ellen’s part. It raised a few eyebrows at first – not least Jeff’s. But she had been right about Jeff’s coolness, his organizational strength, and his ability to articulate complex issues precisely, yet succinctly. He had been in the role for only one or two months, but the press generally agreed that he had already made it his own. The only overt concessions he had made to it were to sacrifice his wispy moustache and to trade in his preferred sports jacket for a more formal dark gray suit. The dark gray look complemented his salt-and-pepper hair to perfection.

‘So what are you hearing?’ Ellen asked.

Jeff shook his head.

‘It’s just as we expected – totally chaotic,’ he replied. ‘The social networking sites are burning up. We’ve blindsided the Networks and local TV. They were taken completely by surprise and they haven’t been able to gear up for a coherent response. Right now, they are shooting from the hip and completely disorganized. No one’s going to be able to make sense of it all tonight. Everyone wants to have their say, and it’s going to be some time before it dies down enough for someone to start to analyze the situation objectively. The team will work on it overnight, and we will have some kind of report to you by mid-morning tomorrow. By then, we will also have all the headlines and all the reaction from TV stations across the country, so we should be in a position to evaluate the overall picture a bit more scientifically. I’m still thinking that you need to go ahead with your press conference tomorrow, so that people remember that you are the President, and have your usual work to do, whatever they heard about you tonight.’

Ellen nodded.

‘Sounds good, Jeff. Let’s meet for coffee and talk about it tomorrow morning. I’ve had enough for one day. I’m sure you have too. Go on home. Let’s get together at about eight.’

Jeff half turned towards the door and stopped.

‘If I may, Madam President, whatever the press thinks, and whatever all those people out there think, I think you were great – both of you. I’m proud to be serving under you. Kelly called me a little while ago, and she said to tell you that the same goes for her.’

‘Thank you, Jeff,’ Ellen smiled. ‘Give Kelly my best. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Good night, Madam President.’

‘I need to be going too,’ Dani said. ‘I still have way too much packing to do. I’ve put out an unbelievable amount of stuff to take. I can’t figure out how to squeeze it all in, and even if I can, I’m not sure I’m going to be under the weight limit.’

Ellen laughed.

‘I’ve been there,’ she said. ‘You should have seen me when I started going abroad. I couldn’t pack a bag to save my life. I was sure I couldn’t survive without it all, and I probably never used more than fifty percent of it. How are you getting home?’

‘An agent has been assigned to take me home in an unmarked car. I’m supposed to meet him outside. He’s probably waiting for me now.’

‘Good,’ Ellen said. ‘And how are you getting to the airport on Saturday?’

‘I’m taking her,’ Kay said.

Ellen looked concerned.

‘I’m not sure that’s wise, Kay. The press will be watching. I can arrange transport.’

Kay shook her head.

‘No, that’s OK. Dale is coming with us. We will use his car, just in case they’re waiting for mine. We’ll be fine. I have the number to call if there is any trouble.’

‘We have to start thinking about things like this more seriously.’

‘Not on Saturday,’ Kay said firmly. ‘I’m a mother. My daughter is going to England for the first time. I want to take her to the airport. I want one more experience of normality, Ellen. Let’s think of this as our last purely private trip for a while. OK with you, Dani?’

‘I’m cool,’ Dani replied. Then she walked over to Ellen, hugged her and held her tight.

‘I’m going to miss you, Ellen.’

Ellen kissed her forehead.

‘I’m going to miss you too, Dani. Take care of yourself. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’ She walked across the room to kiss Kay, then turned to leave. She paused at the door. ‘You’re one of the great Presidents, Ellen. I just know it.’

Before Ellen could reply, she was gone.

* * *

Later, they lay naked together under a single sheet with the overhead fan sending a cool breeze down to play on their bodies, Ellen on her back, Kay resting her head gently on Ellen’s breasts.

‘This can’t be the first time two women have made love in the White House,’ Kay said.

‘I’m sure it’s not,’ Ellen replied, grinning. ‘I don’t know the details of who and when, but if you want, I can have a staff member research it and write us a memo.’

‘Not necessary,’ Kay smiled. ‘I’m just grateful you and I can be together – here, or anywhere else, it doesn’t really matter.’ She suddenly giggled. ‘Still, it is an interesting question, isn’t it?’

The giggle was infectious.

‘Yes, it is,’ Ellen said. ‘I may have to have someone check it out, just out of curiosity. Perhaps I can use it with the press as precedent when they give me a hard time about it.’

They lay in silence for some time.

‘It’s going to be a real storm, isn’t it?’ Kay asked eventually.

‘Yes.’

‘Thank God Dani is out of it.’

‘Jeff briefed her on handling any press questions in England, right?’ Ellen asked. ‘She understands what to do?’

‘Yes, and she knows our ambassador is keeping a discreet eye open for her, with assistance from the Secret Service and Special Branch in London. I just hope she can put it out of her mind and concentrate on her studies.’

‘And on having a good time,’ Ellen said sleepily. ‘Let’s not forget that. That’s the best way to take her mind off all this.’

‘I just hope they leave her alone,’ Kay said, after a long pause.

But Ellen was already asleep.

5

‘YOUAREA sleeper, Bev.’

As the words were spoken, Bev knew instantly. He also knew instantly that he had always known; that the glimpses had been real; and that all that was lacking to bring them into full consciousness was the Visitor’s confirmation.

The Visitor sat opposite Bev, across the dining table. He had not asked a single question. Not a word about law school; not a word about grades; not a word about Shesi. Nothing. The omission was so stark, the break in the pattern so radical, that Bev’s full attention had immediately been engaged. Something was very different today. Bev’s parents had spoken with the Visitor as usual, but then, for the first time in Bev’s recollection, and in an almost casual tone, he had asked them to leave the house for an hour or two; take themselves off to Starbucks, have a coffee; keep an eye on his car. His parents complied without a word, his mother’s eyes anxiously seeking Bev, his father leading her away by the arm and out through the front door.

‘Are you familiar with the term?’

Bev nodded.

‘I saw a movie once. The story-line was that the Soviets had planted a young man in America during the Cold War as a small child. He grew up as an American and became an officer in the Navy.’

‘Yes. He grew up as an American. To all the world he appeared to be American, an ordinary American young man and nothing more. But he knew his language; he knew his true home and his people. And he knew his destiny. That is the way with sleepers.’

‘But how would he know?’

‘Sometimes he just knows. But in any case we tell him, or his parents tell him. He must be told – eventually, at the proper time. But not later than the age you are now. This is only fair, because whatever decisions the sleeper takes about his life – about his career, a marriage, children – he must know who he is and what may be expected of him. So it is usual to give him this information at about your age, although in your case there is another reason for doing so.’

Bev held his head in his hands. The Visitor stood, walked around the table and placed his hands on Bev’s shoulders.

‘Your parents were asked to volunteer to come to America before you were born. We made arrangements for their Green Cards, and later for them to take American citizenship. We paid the expenses of their resettlement, looked after them, provided for them financially until they were secure in their new home. Since then we have continued to supply whatever they might need. We have assisted them with your education, specifically your college and law school tuition fees. And all this is for one reason, and one reason only.’

Bev sat up straight. The Visitor returned to the other side of the table, but remained standing.

‘It sometimes happens that there is something we need to have done – in America, in Europe, wherever it may be – which cannot be done by one of us, or that we prefer to have done by someone who is not one of our own. It may be a small thing which can be accomplished with ease and does not affect the sleeper’s life at all. On the other hand, it may be something momentous which requires a considerable sacrifice. Often it cannot be done before the sleeper has made his way in the world, established himself in some way, perhaps in military service, the police, the security services, the law, the business world. Often we need someone in a position of responsibility, perhaps even in a position of power. It may take many years before the sleeper can be used.’

The Visitor smiled.

‘And sometimes, the time never arrives. Perhaps the sleeper never achieves a suitable position. Perhaps there is simply no service for him to render. In this case, the sleeper lives out his own life.’

Bev looked up.

‘Without any demands being made at all?’ he asked. ‘After you’ve made all those arrangements, spent all that money? Come on, you must make sure you get something out of him.’

The Visitor smiled again.

‘What is asked of a sleeper is always unique to the sleeper. We do not waste sleepers on inappropriate tasks. Therefore, the practice of having sleepers is not always cost-effective,’ he replied. ‘That is why we do not have many sleepers. We are not like the Soviet Union, Bev. We do not have unlimited resources for such things. We make judgments as best we can. We must try to see events and trends a generation or more before they happen. We make arrangements accordingly. It is not an exact science.’

He looked up.

‘In addition, whatever the sleeper does, or does not do, must be voluntary. He has complete freedom of choice. When he is told what is expected of him, he may refuse. He may say to us: “No, I enjoy my life and I prefer to live my life. I have no interest in you or what you propose.”’

Bev shook his head.

‘Right. Then, what happens to him?’

‘Nothing happens to him,’ the Visitor replied. ‘We have to make a judgment about whether to continue our support, in the hope, perhaps, that some other opportunity for service opens up which the sleeper is prepared to accept; or whether to cut our losses and accept that the project has failed, in which case the sleeper never hears from us again.’

‘What? You just leave him alone? There are no consequences?’

‘There are consequences in the sleeper’s own conscience, of course.’

‘That’s not what I mean. Are you telling me that you don’t do anything about it? I mean, not even get back the money you’ve paid out?’

‘What would you expect us to do?’

‘Well, let me see,’ Bev replied nervously. ‘Perhaps the sleeper might have an accident. He might be run down on the way home from work by a driver who fails to stop. He might receive an exploding package through the mail. His child might disappear from school.’

The Visitor laughed aloud.

‘You watch too many movies, Bev. We are not the Soviets.’

‘You know where we live,’ Bev replied. ‘You may not have unlimited resources, but it would not be difficult for you to get back at us, at my family.’

The Visitor seated himself.

‘Bev, listen to me,’ he said. ‘When I say that we are not like the Soviets, I do not speak only of resources. I speak also of our principles, our moral values, our religious precepts. You have been schooled in the Hindu teachings. You are familiar with the law of karma. You must know that if we were to seek any kind of retribution, we would surrender our moral position, and on some level it would come back to haunt us. We would lose our moral claim to make requests of any sleeper. Ours is a just cause, and it must be upheld by just means, or it means nothing.’

Bev looked at the Visitor closely.

‘So, if you made a request to me and I were to refuse …?’

‘You would become a lawyer; no doubt you would marry Shesi; you would have children; you would look after your parents; and you would become in all respects a model American citizen.’

‘I am the sleeper? Not my parents?’

‘Correct. Remember, Bev, a sleeper must appear to be totally natural in his environment. You are a completely American boy …’

‘Even though I go to Temple, and speak Hindi, and …’

‘Yes, despite those things. You are the child of immigrants, but you are not yourself an immigrant. Your whole upbringing, your whole education has been in America. Yes, you are of Indian origin, but America is full of people whose families are from somewhere else. America is the great melting pot. You are American, Bev, in all respects except your soul, and it is because of your soul that we make a request of you.’

Bev stood and banged his fists on the table in frustration.

‘My soul? What do you know about my soul? What do you know about me? You show up here for an hour or two every few years and talk about my education, my grades. Then you disappear again. What do you know about what I do the rest of the time, about who I am?’

The Visitor smiled.

‘You have not visited Kashmir yet, have you, Bev?’

Bev sat again and looked down at the table.

‘No.’

‘But your parents have talked to you about their birth place?’

‘Yes.’

‘It is a place of incomparable beauty,’ the Visitor said. ‘One day you will see for yourself those majestic snow-covered mountains, the lush valleys, the trees. It is truly a place where the deities themselves may feel at home.’

He paused.

‘And your parents have talked to you about what the Muslims have done to Kashmir, what they did to our families?’

‘Yes.’

‘You have read about the time of India’s so-called independence?’

Suddenly, the Visitor became animated, vehement. It was a side of him Bev had never seen, quite different from his usual quiet, logical self. He began to pace up and down as he spoke, waving his arms and, for first time, he raised his voice.

‘Our great country did not become independent. It was torn apart. In place of subjugation by England we were made to divide our land, to surrender part of our land to those of the Muslim faith. This should never have been. We would have treated the Muslims fairly. They could have remained in India and prospered, as they had for centuries. But Jinnah had stirred them up. He told them that the government could not protect them, that there would be endless religious wars. But the truth was that Jinnah had too many ambitions, personal ambitions. He wanted his own country. Imagine that, Bev! Imagine the hubris of a man who can think that he can carve his own country out of our mother India! Was it not inevitable that someone would strike him down, or at least send him packing? But no! They failed to stand up to him, every one of them. Nehru failed; Mountbatten failed; even Gandhi failed – and he paid the price for it.’

The Visitor looked down darkly for a moment.