First Among Equals

Andrew rose to protest but as the Speaker remained standing he had to resume his seat.

“This does not mean, however,” continued Mr. Speaker, “that I would not reconsider such a request at a later date.”

Andrew realized that Charles Seymour and Simon Kerslake must have pleaded for more time, but he was only going to allow them twenty-four hours. The clerk at the table rose and bellowed above the noise of members leaving the Chamber, “Adjournment.” The Speaker called the Secretary of State for Wales to move the adjournment motion on the problems facing the Welsh mining industry. The Chamber emptied of all but the thirty-eight Welsh MPs who had been waiting weeks for a full debate on the Principality’s affairs.

Andrew went straight to his office and tried to piece together the latest information from news bulletins before preparing himself for a full debate the following day. Simon made his way back to the Ministry of Defense to continue discussions with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, while Charles was driven quickly to the Foreign Office.

When Charles reached his room, he was told by the Permanent Under-Secretary that the Libyan Ambassador awaited him.

“Does he have anything new to tell us?” asked Charles.

“Frankly, nothing; it seems that we’re not the only people who are unable to make any contact with Colonel Gaddafi.”

“Send him in then.”

Charles stubbed out his cigarette and stood by the mantelpiece below a portrait of Palmerston. Charles had never met the ambassador before, largely because he had taken over at the Foreign Office only five weeks previously.

When Mr. Kadir, the five-foot-one, dark-haired, immaculately dressed Ambassador for Libya entered the room, the office resembled nothing so much as a study in which a headmaster was about to tick off an unruly boy from the lower fifth.

Charles was momentarily taken aback when he noticed the ambassador’s old Etonian tie. He recovered quickly.

“Foreign Secretary?” began Mr. Kadir.

“Her Majesty’s Government wishes to make it abundantly clear to your Government,” began Charles, not allowing the ambassador to complete his sentiments, “that we consider the act of boarding and holding Her Majesty’s ship Brosdsword against her will as one of piracy on the high seas.”

“May I say—?” began Mr. Kadir.

“No, you may not,” said Charles, “and until our ship has been released, we shall do everything in our power to bring pressure, both diplomatic and economic, on your Government.”

“But may I just say—?” Mr. Kadir tried again.

“My Prime Minister also wants you to know that she wishes to speak to your Head of State at the soonest possible opportunity, so I shall expect to hear back from you within the hour.”

“Yes, Foreign Secretary, but may I—”

“And you may further report that we will reserve our right to take any action we deem appropriate if you fail to secure the release into safe custody of HMS Broadsword and her crew by twelve noon tomorrow, GMT. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Foreign Secretary, but I would like to ask—”

“Good day, Mr. Kadir.”

After the Libyan Ambassador was shown out Charles couldn’t help wondering what it was he had wanted to know.

“What do we do now?” he asked when the Permanent Under-Secretary returned, having deposited Mr. Kadir in the lift.

“We act out the oldest diplomatic game in the world.”

“What do you mean?” said Charles.

“Our sit-and-wait policy. We’re awfully good at it,” said the Permanent Under-Secretary, “but then we’ve been at it for nearly a thousand years.”

“Well, while we sit let’s at least make some phone calls. I’ll start with Secretary of State Kirkpatrick in Washington and then I’d like to speak to Gromyko in Moscow.”

When Simon arrived back at the Ministry of Defense from the Commons he was told that the Joint Chiefs were assembled in his office waiting for him to chair the next strategy meeting. As he entered the room to take his place at the head of the table the Joint Chiefs rose.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Simon said. “Please be seated. Can you bring me up to date on the latest situation, Sir John?”

Admiral Sir John Fieldhouse, Chief of the Defense Staff, pushed up the half-moon glasses from the end of his nose and checked the notes in front of him.