Chapter 14: Roll Out

Julia and Henry made their way into the office the following morning. Julia’s feelings were a mixture of concerns about the security situation and content with how the two of them had supported each other, surprising herself that a situation on which she took the lead was still one in which they could share. Henry was following just behind her, a pace off but not so far back as to let anyone think he was out on his own. There was a greater police presence than usual. They both found it disturbing that it was needed and comforting that it was present.

The two of them stopped at a checkpoint at the north end of Westminster Bridge. As well as the uniformed MCF officer carrying out checks, three officers in body armour and carrying Heckler and Koch MP5 carbines, the Metropolitan police’s standard issue semi-automatic weapons, were keeping watch on the bridge and the river. “He’s with me,” Julia said to the officer at the barrier, nodding at Henry.

“You’d be better off with him being leashed,” the officer replied, “but as long as his ident checks out that’s your concern.” She took Henry’s card and checked the number against a list on a paper on her clipboard. As she did so, Julia was noticing how many women had their men on a collar and lead. This was something new; since the bombing. “Still, it seems he’s OK.” The officer stepped back to let them through. Henry found himself instinctively reaching for his neck as though he’d forgotten he should have a collar on. The officer who had checked them through just shook her head as he went by.

It took them another ten minutes to walk to the Department’s building. Julia was pleased that Henry didn’t mention the officer’s remarks. She didn’t want to get into a debate over whether she was going to be leading him around like a dog. By nine o’clock, Henry was working away at his desk and Julia was on her way up to see the Minister.

She bumped into a frowning Suzanne Trench in the corridor. “Is there a problem?” Julia said. “Any thing I need to tell the Minister? I’m just in to see her.”

“No, it’s not work, although you could ask her if she’s read that briefing on the Entrepreneur Scheme.”

Julia was disappointed that Suzanne hadn’t heard anything back. She’d thought it a good piece of work and had encouraged her to send it through. “I’m sure she’ll get back to you soon. But it’s not that you say?”

“No. It’s Ollie – Oliver Hughes – the guy I’ve taken on sponsorship. He got stopped this morning and the stupid man didn’t have his ident card. Now he’s cooling his heels in Lambeth Police Station.”

“You’ll want to go over there and get him out, I suppose?”

“I think ‘want’ is the wrong word! ‘Need’, is more like it, although I feel like leaving him there a while so he maybe thinks twice about it in the future. It’s not as problem if I go over there is it? If it is, a few hours being ‘talked to’ by the MCF might improve his memory. But, I mean, how could he be so stupid? Today of all days? He must know that the MCF would be twitchy as hell after yesterday.”

Julia shook her head. “Well, whatever you think is best. We can have our discussion on the Entrepreneur Scheme later this afternoon if that works for you. I’m going to be busy most of the morning with the Minister and any fall out from that.”

“Thanks,” said Suzanne, obviously relieved that the problems with Ollie weren’t going to make things worse than they needed to be.

Julia headed on to Sylvia’s office, keen to show that things were carrying on as normal in spite of the security situation.

“You have a ten o’clock meeting with Ms. Courten, Minister. Is there anything you need in addition to the file?” Julia asked as she stood in front of Sylvia’s desk. Behind her, through the window she could see the green leaves of plane trees lining the street outside bright in the late spring sunshine. They seemed to confront the gloomy mood that had settled on government offices since the bombing.

“No that’s fine. I suppose you’ve seen the coverage of the arrests?”

Julia nodded. “I’m assuming it’s more than a case of ‘round up the usual suspects’?”

“It had better be or the MCF and the Home Secretary will be even deeper in the manure than they are already. I’m glad I haven’t had to answer the questions that have been coming at them from back benchers in the House. Whether or not the MCF have cocked up, no minister wants to have be on the defensive over something like this. Still, first indications are that it’s a poorly supervised individual that managed to fall in with the wrong ideas. I’ve made the point to the PM that we need to strengthen the sponsorship programme if we want to reduce the risks of things like that happening. She was very supportive of what I was proposing. I don’t think we’ll have any more trouble from the Home Office or Education over Ms Courten’s programme. Anything you can let me have that will support that sort of argument will play well with the party and the PM.”

Julia looked a little startled at the cynical way with which Sylvia had sprung to take advantage of the Fordswell atrocity to promote her own interests, even though she had been thinking much the same way herself before the bombing. “So, no evidence of a dissident group, just a lone bad actor?”

“That’s what the MCF are saying but we’ll find out more in time. Whoever is behind it they managed to mess it up. Put the bomb in the wrong place, thank goodness. Otherwise it could have been the nastiest mess since the IRA tried to kill Thatcher back in ‘84.” Sylvia folded her arms as if to draw a line under an unpleasant discussion. “How is your own sponsorship exercise going?”

Julia smiled, thinking back to the way that her conversation with Henry had gone the previous evening. “We’re working things out. It’s been so helpful to have Ms Courten as a mentor, obviously. I think Henry is actually finding that it’s working well for him.”

“And for you?”

Julia felt a little uncomfortable discussing her personal situation. “Ah, it’s strange, sharing the place and stranger still that Henry used to be my boss but there are compensations. The flat is great, of course, but I’m getting used to the benefits of having Henry on hand as well. And I’ll confess to taking a little advantage of things as well. I guess I’m more comfortable with it than I expected. Anyway, I asked Henry to bring Ms Courten up. She should be here any moment.”

Almost as soon as Julia had spoken, there was a knock at Sylvia’s office door. In response to Sylvia’s peremptory “Come!”, Henry appeared, following in the wake of a leather-clad Raven Courten. He seemed to be walking awkwardly. Julia realised that it was probably a combination of being aroused by Raven’s arrival and the fact that his cock was still locked in the chastity device. Raven took off her leather trench coat and handed it to Henry without looking at him. He took it almost reverentially.

Henry had barely finished hanging up Raven’s coat when Sylvia’s office door opened again to admit the bulky form of a woman that Julia recognised but had only rarely come face to face with; the Prime Minister’s Principal Political Advisor, Claire Dobell-Bull.

Dobell-Bull had a disturbing reputation of not suffering fools gladly and barely suffering anyone else at all. She was known as someone that wanted to push decisions through and get things done. One of the Prime Minister’s oldest friends and longest serving political allies with the scars to prove it – the two had been at University together – it was Dobell-Bull that was credited (or reviled, depending on your point of view) for much of the thinking behind New Order and its rise to power. Her intimidating physical presence with broad shoulders, hips and bosom and her unconcealed sexual appetites, had given rise to the nickname “Bull-Dyke” which she seemed to enjoy.