The Inquiry. Will Caine

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СКАЧАТЬ parti-pris.’ Morahan stopped abruptly, stared down at his crossed hands. No one spoke. He raised his head in anguish at the three men around him.

      ‘Hey,’ said Sandford with youthful vigour, ‘slow down. We’re sixteen years on. That’s hardly a partisan view, we all recognise it. All it means is that you got there first. We as a nation reaped the whirlwind you saw gathering.’

      ‘Prime Minister,’ said Morahan, ‘sixteen years ago I left the world of politics to return to the law. I would prefer to stay there.’

      ‘If you accept this role,’ said Sandford, ‘so you will. It may be enabled by government but it is a judicial inquiry. I’m asking you to both help me and perform a duty for your country.’ With that, Sandford rose to his feet. The meeting was over.

      Heavy-legged, Morahan pulled himself up, shook the three proffered hands and, exchanging parting courtesies, headed for the door. The cherubic assistant private secretary magically appeared and escorted him out.

      As the door clicked shut, Sandford turned to Atkinson. ‘You knew him then. Will he do it?’

      ‘He’ll fall in line,’ replied Atkinson roughly. ‘Always a supine streak to him in my view.’ Sir Kevin Long raised a discreet eyebrow.

      ‘He had the guts to resign,’ said Sandford.

      ‘You’re wrong. He didn’t have the guts to see it through.’

      ‘Will he see this through? I want it done properly.’ He paused. ‘Let’s be clear, our secret friends need a bloody good kicking.’

      ‘Your message was clear. We’ll make sure he doesn’t forget it.’

      Sandford gave a conspiratorial smile. ‘There’s the politics of it too, isn’t there?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Atkinson’s voice betrayed anxiety at missing a trick.

      ‘We have four more years in power. During that time, there’s bound to be a big one. Maybe several.’

      ‘Yes, bound to be.’

      ‘So when it happens, people’ll never be able to say we didn’t do everything to anticipate it – to think the unthinkable. That we didn’t just leave it to the police and MI5. We shone a public light on them, we pulled together the wisest heads in the land to scrutinise them. No stone was left unturned.’

      ‘That’s good, Robbie.’ Atkinson’s admiration was genuine. ‘Very good.’

      ‘Thanks, Geoff. I’m surprised you hadn’t seen it yourself.’ Simultaneously they turned to the Cabinet Secretary but Sir Kevin Long was saying nothing.

      ‘Well, let’s hope that’s all settled,’ said Sandford, rubbing his hands. ‘Kevin, perhaps I might have a minute with the Home Secretary.’

      ‘Of course, Prime Minister.’ The Cabinet Secretary eased gracefully from the room.

      ‘What are you going to surprise me with now?’ asked Atkinson.

      ‘Think about it, Geoff. On whose watch did the terror return?’

      ‘The last Prime Minister, of course.’

      ‘And who was Home Secretary during the years the terror was being planned?’

      Atkinson chuckled. ‘The last Prime Minister.’

      ‘Precisely,’ said Sandford, triumph in his eye. ‘Chilcot did for Blair. Morahan can do for her.’

      ‘So…’ concluded Morahan that evening, after explaining the Prime Minister’s invitation to his wife, Lady Iona, at their Chelsea home. Like him, she was a public figure; née Chesterfield – which she’d kept as her professional name – she had risen to be Head Mistress of a prestigious London girls’ school and one of the country’s most formidable educationalists.

      ‘So indeed,’ she replied, looking beyond him.

      He inspected the fine bone structure of her high-cheeked face, the still creamy glaze of her skin, the dark brown hair expensively laced with auburn tints – and, as so often, found it hard to interpret what was going on within. Was she even thinking about what he had told her? She might just as easily be hatching some new scheme in the compartmentalised lives they had become accustomed to living.

      ‘Do you have a view?’ he asked.

      Her eyes shifted to engage his. ‘The obvious one. If you scrutinise the security services, it may – probably will – bring their scrutiny onto you.’

      ‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘That has been the main focus of my thoughts.’ He stood and walked over to the drawing room triple window, resting against its ledge. ‘Perhaps I’ve reached that stage of life when one can no longer be cowed.’

      ‘In that case…’

      ‘Put it this way,’ he interrupted. ‘I agree with the Prime Minister. It should be done. The intelligence services failed us in 2003—’

      ‘Isn’t that harsh?’

      ‘They should have stood up to Blair instead of kowtowing. The blame was theirs too.’

      ‘Some might say we’ve moved on from then,’ she said softly.

      Was she offering him, if at heart he needed it, a way out, an escape from the trap door? It steeled him. ‘Sandford’s right. We need to see inside them.’

      ‘If they let you.’ The softness had gone.

      The next morning, Sir Francis Morahan wrote to the Prime Minister that it would be an honour to chair the Inquiry. A few weeks later he agreed its terms of reference with the Home Secretary:

       1. To inquire, after twelve years countering of the terrorist threat, into the reasons for security failures and the lessons to be learnt in preventing future terror attacks in the UK.

       2. To inquire into present security policy and strategy towards British Islamist extremists returned and returning from conflict zones.

      Over the coming months premises were leased, a Secretary to the Inquiry appointed and supporting secretariat hired, a Government Legal Department solicitor seconded, a panel of independent experts assembled. Morahan gave a media conference at which he asked for submissions from interested parties. His secretariat found itself deluged by a torrent of paper, particularly from government departments apparently able to locate an unending supply of data and research with only limited relevance to his terms of reference, all of which had to be logged in, read and summarised for the panel of experts. Once this work was completed a senior QC and junior counsel would join the Inquiry to initiate its interrogative phase.

      Occasionally, Morahan smelt the whiff of an unholy alliance between the likes of the Cabinet Secretary and the civil and intelligence services, to appear to be doing a naïve Prime Minister’s will but all the while finding ways to thwart him.

      ‘And then,’ Morahan said, ‘something happened.’

      The Common had burst into tea-time life with the noise СКАЧАТЬ