The Shaking

Chapter Six

19.32. Deputy Prime Minister's Office, Whitehall.

Stuart Pullman got wind of the Daily Post earthquake story almost as soon as the first edition was posted online. As he read through the report forwarded to him his anger grew. Though the informant wasn't mentioned by name there could be no doubt who had leaked what was supposed to be a confidential briefing paper. That maverick Brian McLean was running his mouth off again.

Ian Campbell's going to love this thought Pullman. Coming so soon after yesterday's tremor he'll not pass up the opportunity to make out I've fumbled the issue. Stuart's white-hot rage at Brian McLean intensified. I've not come this far to have my career tripped up by some beardy beak-nosed lunatic fringe wackjob. Though he may not be an official civil servant any longer the little shit was going to learn the hard way that no one - no one! - crosses Stuart Pullman and gets away with it.

It was pointless him asking Environment Minister Pippa Slater to pressurise the UKGeoScan management into immediately dismissing McLean; Campbell's minion wouldn't lift a finger to help Pullman. No, if he wanted to pursue a vendetta against the scientist and cause him some real problems, he'd need to use alternative methods: Stuart knew exactly how to do just that.

Rather than use the official intergovernmental network he knew to monitored and perhaps leave an incriminating trail of correspondence, Pullman used the covert means he and Christopher Parsons had agreed on long ago to arrange an informal meeting. Though the Home Secretary couldn't officially instigate a police investigation, there were ways and means, nods and winks methods of getting some serious scrutiny focused on the geologist, to be quickly followed with charges of breaching confidentiality; McLean had no doubt signed the Official Secrets Act, and he would learn to his cost breaking that law was no joke. When the government's legal steamroller had finished flattening him, Brian McLean would spend the rest of his miserably impoverished ruined life wishing he'd kept silent.

20.54. Undisclosed location in central London.

There are places, even close to the closely scrutinised febrile hubbub of Westminster, where the powerful can conduct their business in absolute confidentiality: Exclusive gentlemens' clubs located behind imposing Georgian townhouse doors; places those ignorant of their existence pass by unaware of every day.

It was in a sumptuously furnished private room within such an establishment where Stuart Pullman and Christopher Parsons - Home Secretary, co-conspirator, and one of Pullman's strongest allies - met. Parsons, a rising star in the party, hadn't quite garnered enough seniority to be considered a contender in his own right, but was influential enough to be able to sway the outcome of a contest. Once the steward had served a light snack and left, closing the door, Parsons began.

"I can imagine what it was that brought you here." He said, with a hint of joviality. "It must be rather embarrassing having the Post splashing that briefing paper all over the front page; especially shortly after Mizz Slater decided to make an issue of it in cabinet. My deputy Hamilton told me the atmosphere was quite feisty. What a shame I was in the West Country and didn't get back until after all the fuss had died down! Do you ever get the impression someone doesn't have your best interests at heart? I don't know about you, but I think Campbell is very close to launching his leadership bid; what say you?"

"Yes, you're right on both counts." sighed Pullman.

"So how might I be able to help you?" asked Parsons.

"A couple of things: Of course I'd like to be able to absolutely count on your support for my candidacy when the time comes, and yes, it will come soon; I think we can both agree that our dear PM's Best Before date has long passed: What matters now is how and when he goes. We'll have to beat Campbell to the punch, which means no long-drawn out contest; instead it'll have to be a quick breaking of the neck in full cabinet; an instant matter of principle, all-or-nothing issue; one where they'll have to react with their guts right there and then."