Assassins

  Mary later learned from Watkins that the Solicitor had drowned when he was being waterboarded.

  ‘Dammit.’ Mary cursed. ‘Oh well, with Gough out the way, that is one less for me to worry about.

  After he and Fiona left the Scottish Parliament Building, with Fiona hanging on his arm, Gavin was making his way back to the Palace when had a sudden change of mind.

  Fiona giggled when Gavin gripping her arm suddenly veered across Horse.

  ‘Where you taking me Gav?’ Fiona said, laughing.

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Hurrying to keep up with her husband who seemed in a hurry and clearly had a destination in mind. They passed the Royal Commonwealth Pools and a couple of Labradors splashing about in the water. Now on the grassy foothills of Arthur’s Seat the path they were on grew steeper and narrower. By the time they reached the summit Gavin and Fiona were breathing hard.

  There was not a soul in sight when Gavin pulled her down on the grass. They lay side by side gazing up at cloudless blue sky. A single buzzard circled lazily on the thermal currents.

  Gavin rolled onto his side and propped up on one elbow said to Fiona.

  ‘Fi, I love you to bits.’

  Gavin kissed her on the lips and then on the tip of her nose. He still loved the way her nose wrinkled when she smiled. He recalled how that was what had attracted her to him when they would flirt at the Xerox machine all those years ago. He was now thinking about the times before they got married. How they would talk about how many children they would have. He said he wanted two, Fiona said she didn’t mind having lots. Gavin sighed. Life doesn’t owe you a thing. Lots of couples can’t have kids.

  On her back with her auburn hair splayed out on the grass, Fiona smiled up at Gavin. She said. ‘Gavin Brewson, Your Majesty,’ Fiona grinned wickedly. ‘ You didn’t drag me all the way up this hill for no reason. What you got on your mind? I do hope, whatever it is, I am going to enjoy it?’ Fiona plucked up a dandelion stalk and blew the gossamer seeds into his face. She smiled when like liberated tiny fairies; they floated up into the sky.

  Gavin looked about him and then rolling over he kissed her with a passion that took her by surprise.

  Fiona wrapped her arms around him and pulled him on top of her. Gavin’s hands questioned her, and her hands answered. There was a time, way back, soon after they met, when they would joke about making love out in the open. That was all bravado. They could never see them actually doing such a thing… until now.

  A short time later, holding hands and giggling, the couple made their way back down the hill. Fiona said.

  ‘Wow, Gav did we actually just make love on Arthurs seat?

  Gavin laughed. ‘Yeah and I suppose if you was to get pregnant we would have to call him Prince Arthur!’

  Fiona, felt tears prick her eyes.

  *

  Back at the Palace, while Fiona went looking for Iris, Gavin headed down to the basement to find Henry.

  When the King came into his office, Henry rose out of his chair and gave him a rib-crushing hug.

  Gavin smiled. ‘You heard about my little speech then?’

  ‘Heard it! I was yelling at the TV, “go for it.”

  Gavin sat down on a spare chair and said.

  ‘Earlier on, when I was talking to you about me assembling a team of legal experts down here I was wondering if we can get started on that?’

  ‘Sure, that’s not a problem. I supervise a great team of building experts and I can get them on it right away. I can have the electrics, the heating and the air conditioning sorted out and have the rooms decorated and fitted out in… oh, I should say a week?’

  ‘Perfect,’ Gavin said.

  ‘How about I find you some legal people? I have some contacts. It wont be a problem,’ Henry said, delighted to be of help.

  ‘That would be great Henry.’

  Henry said. ‘Then I had better get on the phone then. Let’s get some people working down here.’

  Chapter Twenty-two

  10 Downing Street.

  In yet another COBRA meeting, the PM and his Cabinet were discussing what was now dubbed: “The Scottish Problem.”

  Sir Roger was about to hear an updated report on the effects of the latest sanctions imposed on the Scot’s. Showing no compassion, Sir William Barminster, Financial adviser to the treasury announced.

  ‘Prime Minister, with regards to the forty per cent tax hike on low-earners and the sixty per cent cut in welfare payments I can report there has been a significant rise in Scottish homelessness. The banks are being cooperative in applying our new lending rules. This has led to a seventy per cent increase in bankruptcies among small to medium businesses and a twice-fold increase in house repossessions. Unemployment in Scotland has risen by a further twenty per cent. In addition, the Scottish manufacturing industry has been hit hard by the twenty per cent increase on energy costs imposed by the Chancellor last week. Unemployment is at an all-time high. I confidently predict that within two weeks the Scots will have had enough of Mary Dewar. I imagine before the end of the month she will have retracted her UDI and resigned.’

  Heads turned around when the door flew open.

  Looking flushed, the Home Secretary Katie Murrell and the Attorney General Sir Alec Chumleigh-Sloane hurried in and took their seats.

  ‘Sir Roger,’ Katie Murrell said, sounding worried. ‘Have you heard the news?’

  ‘What news? No. How could I have heard anything? I have been stuck in this blathering meeting for the past hour? Why? What’s happened?’

  The Home Secretary couldn’t keep the tremor from her voice. ‘I was just now watching King Robert making a speech up in Edinburgh and he says he is going to take over our banks in Scotland.’

  It took a moment before this news took hold. The PM roared. ‘He can’t do that!’

  The Home Secretary, looking grim said. ‘That’s what I thought until Sir Alec and his team of legal advisers looked into King Robert’s claim to have discovered a Royal Charter that gives the Scottish King and his successors for perpetuity, the power to rule Scotland and to pass whatever laws he chooses.’

  ‘Alec!’ The PM said, appealing to the UK’s top legal expert. ‘Tell me this isn’t happening.’

  ‘I am sorry Prime Minister. There is no doubting the existence of the charter and my people in Scotland have spoken to experts who have verified the veracity of the scroll. It would appear that in the 1603 Union of the Crowns Act, King James legal people had forgotten to annul the “Rights of Kings Charter” in force since the 13th century. And only the King can sign a bill to end that arrangement. Clearly, King Robert has no intention of doing so. In effect King Robert can do what the hell he likes and there is not a damn thing that we in Westminster, nor The Scottish Government can do about it.’

  Terry Beaumont listening to this was thinking the Essex boy wasn’t as dumb as people liked to believe. His plan to nationalise the banks would undoubtedly gain him much popularity among the ordinary Scottish people. Doesn’t everyone hate the banks? He had to admire the man’s courage. It was a risky but smart move. In his opinion it was a pity the politicians hadn’t got the guts to do it.

  ‘What are we going to do… anybody’? The PM said casting his eyes round the table and seeing a sea of blank faces.

  ‘The only way that I can see us getting out of this impasse,’ Home Secretary Katie Murrell said, ‘is to get the Scottish Government around the negotiating table.’

  ‘Are you mad?’ Sir Roger blustered. ‘Do you really think that the Scots will want to talk to us after we sank one of their fishing boats, flattened the town of Bonnie and crippled their economy?’ ‘They will never agree to it.’ Looking at his team of hapless Ministers he cried. ‘This is monumentally serious.’

  ‘Nothing else to done dear boy,’ said General Sir Rufus Warburton-Smyth, head of the army, ‘we must invade them. I can have my soldiers overrun it in twenty-four hours. We lock up all the politicians and then declare martial rule.
We capture that damn King and have the blighter hauled through the courts, have the bugger tried for treason. Throw the damn fellow in the Tower.’

  ‘We daren’t do that I’m afraid Rufus, ‘Sir Roger said wishing that he could. ‘We are already being accused by other world leaders of behaving like Colonial bullies. President Trump is upset with us too. Apparently a couple of tanks in the retreat of our armed forces the other night took a short cut across his bloody golf course. He is demanding that we pay him millions in compensation. Can anyone here tell what is going on in the heads of the stupid voters in this country? First they defy all logic and vote for Brexit and then the Scots went ahead and voted for independence! I don’t think I shall ever take any notice of opinion polls! What’s next to look forward to: Ed Balls wins Strictly Come Dancing? The Isle Of Mann demands independence, Croydon wants devolution, the Cornish people want their own currency, or God forbid, that Labour chap, elderly, rides a bike, could do with a shave, gets to be the PM? ‘ I don’t think Joe Public knows its elbow from its arse.’

  ‘Getting back to what action we should take regarding the Scottish Problem, Sir Roger,’ the Home Secretary said, just about containing her impatience with the man. ‘Can I make a suggestion?’ The Home Secretary wasn’t waiting for the PM to agree. ‘I can ask my PA, Eliza Nutter to come up with some ideas. Eliza is very good at that sort of thing.’

  The PM’s face registered his distrust. He regarded this Nutter woman as far too bossy and self-opinionated. He was about to dismiss the suggestion out of hand when he thought that he might as well hear what Nutter had to say. After all he doesn’t have any other ideas. And he had to admit she was bloody excellent at what she did. What the hell!

  ‘Ok, do that Katie, but I need her to get on with it. We don’t have a lot of time.’

  ‘I will get her on it right away Sir Roger. In the meantime, have you given any thought to us offering a bribe to King Robert? Give him a financial incentive to abdicate?’

  The PM said brightly. ‘That’s not a bad idea Murrell. Ten grand ought to see the blighter orf.’

  ‘With respect sir,’ the Home Secretary replied patiently, which was the only way to play the PM when he was being particularly curmudgeonly. ‘It would have to be tens of millions of pounds I’m afraid. You can’t buy off a King with a few measly thousands!’

  ‘Tens of millions!’ Roared the PM. ‘Bugger that. We must find another way to bring the blighter to heel.’ Turning to Beaumont Sir Roger pointed a fat finger in his face. ‘This is your fault Terry. I want to see you in my office right away… no, make it this afternoon. I can’t do it right away. I have matters of greater importance to attend to.’ On his feet now Sir Roger announced. ‘Gentlemen, the meeting is adjourned.’

  ‘And Ladies!’ Katie Murrell needed to remind the PM.

  ‘Of course, and them too.’

  After the COBRA meeting broke up, Sir Roger had Charlotte Sweetwater come to his private study.

  The attractive, thirty-two years old, unmarried Private Assistant stepped inside the PM’s private study and then closed and then locked the door behind her. The PM, looking thoroughly miserable was behind his desk and slumped down in his chair.

  Charlotte, her eyes misted over, approached his desk from the side.

  ‘Aw you poor lamb.’ She cooed squeezing her wasp-like figure past him in the tight space between his chair and the wall.

  When he felt her clothes brush against his shoulder and her then her scent waft over him, Sir Roger emitted a small grunting noise, particular to that of a contented badger. With her bosom enveloping his pudgy neck Charlotte, with long sensuous movements of her slender fingers began to massage his shoulders. Her brow creased in consternation and speaking as one would to a child Charlotte said.

  ‘Have them awful people been speaking bad to you again Sir Roger?’

  ‘Ummm.’ Sir Roger purred keeping his eyes closed.

  ‘Poor you,’ Charlotte said swatting away one of his hands that had reached back to grope for her buttocks. Kneading his neck she purred. ‘Let Kittikins massage all them stresses away eh?’ When Sir Roger’s hand shot up and cupped her breast Charlotte leapt out of his reach and went and sat at a chair facing his desk.

  ‘Aw Kittikins.’ Sir Roger complained.

  ‘I rather think, Sir Roger that you were getting a little too excited and that’s not good for you.’

  Charlotte straightened her skirt and with her legs crossed at the knee and her hands folded in her lap she announced. ‘I am going to sing to you Sir Roger.’

  Inwardly Sir Roger groaned. He closed his eyes and pulled a face in agonised readiness. Charlotte had sung to him before.

  With her head tipped at an angle and her eyes drifting off, swaying her torso, Charlotte began to sing. “Somewhere over the rainbow…”

  By the second verse, hearing what sounded like a cat being drawn through a mangle, the PM was fast losing the will to live. He didn’t see any point in asking her for sex again. This is how it always went: Charlotte would go all doe-eyed and pout her luscious lips and then tell him: “Oh, Sir Roger, I can’t possibly. Yet you know how much I ache for you to touch me in that way. If only you weren’t married.” She would then emit a sigh that sounded like the tide going out.

  Sir Roger Bottomley was the baby that Charlotte had always yearned for. Another of her yearnings was to finally give her self to the man she loved, (currently, Sir Roger!) Charlotte can get so angry thinking about his lying-cheating-bitch of a wife, Dame-Edith Van-Dross. The way she carries on with that French rogue Marcel DuPont, the woman doesn’t deserve to be married to such a great man as Sir Roger. Now, if she and Sir Roger were married, that would be different. Sadly for Charlotte, and more so for Sir Roger, until he and Dame Edith are divorced, her strict religious notions can never permit her to consummate their relationship.

  When mercifully, Charlotte ended the song on a long drawn out note that the PM thought would never end, Charlotte looked round at the PM and saw that he was doubled over with his forehead on his desk. She was thinking the two of them, alone inside this locked room; she could go to him now and in the name of love, abandon her virginity to him. That was when the familiar voice inside her head piped up, Charlotte. Shame on you having these wicked carnal thoughts. Charlotte sighed deeply, but not as deeply as Sir Roger who when she left his office with her sad eyes on show, and the top button of her blouse undone, was positively distraught.

  *

  Lord Soper, Chief of Intelligence Services, having just had his spies report further disturbing news from Scotland, hurried into the second COBRA meeting in twenty-four hours.

  ‘Prime Minister,’ the head of MI5 said, sounding breathless. ‘King Robert of Scotland is to have talks with Sheik -Ali-bin-Lina, the Crown Prince of Bahwait.’

  ‘Never heard of him.’

  ‘The Sheik is a senior Royal in Bahwait.’

  ‘So, never heard of the place.’

  ‘Bahwait is on the Arabian Peninsula nestled between two much bigger Middle East countries. The place is so tiny you could carpet the whole place. The Crown Prince has so much money he doesn’t know what to do with it. He already owns four Premier Division Football Clubs and half of Knightsbridge, and a Garden Centre in Crewe.’

  ‘That’s a bit peculiar isn’t it?’

  ‘Hmm,’ mused Lord Soper his finger on his chin and looking skywards. ‘I was thinking that. Why would he want a garden centre in Crewe?’

  ‘What are you blathering about Soper? I was talking about this damn King having talks with this Prince whatever his name is in blah-blah land or some such place.’

  ‘Oh I see, yes, the talks,’ Soper said, getting back to the whole point of bringing the issue up. ‘The King and the Crown Prince are to have arms talks Prime Minister,’ Soper said matter-of-factly. ‘King Robert is hoping to strike an oil-for-arms deal with the Crown Prince. Apparently the Bahwait’ian’s, for a tiny country, have far more weapons than they will ever need and they have
run out of oil.’

  ‘Damn and blast em!’ roared General Sir Rufus Warburton-Smyth, Head of the army who liked to emphasise his pompous importance by slamming his hand down on the table. The noise woke the Chancellor of the Exchequer who had had a bad night at the Casino.

  ‘We must invade Scotland before they get the chance to rearm. What weapons are we talking about?’ The General enquired of Lord Soper, ‘a few beat up old tanks, some rusty rifles, a couple of clapped out patrol boats, eh?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Soper warned. ‘The Sheik can provide Scotland with the most advanced weapons known to man.’

  ‘Then that settles it,’ the General said as if he was about to get up and leave. ‘We must invade Scotland without delay. We’ll give them haggis-eating defectors a jolly good rogering with a cricket bat.’

  It hadn’t escaped the attention of those seated around the table that of late, the General was inordinately interested in rogering bottoms.

  ‘We can’t invade Scotland.’ The PM said shaking his head. ‘The Queen would be most upset.’

  ‘Yes, but, surely getting rid of this upstart would be doing her a favour?’ Suggested the Home Secretary.

  Sir Roger was nodding but not really listening to her. His mind was otherwise occupied with her decent pair of knockers. Not that he’d actually seen them, nor had he had any hands-on experience with them.

  ‘Sir Roger…?’ Katie said, frowning at the PM, and trying to get his attention after he seemed to have drifted off into another world.

  She certainly got his attention when she leant forwards to see if was taken ill.

  ‘Hmm, nice,’ Sir Roger muttered, now having lost the thread of the discussion.

  ‘Sir Roger, you were saying that the Queen would be most upset,’ Katie reminded him, ‘if we were to invade Scotland?’

  ‘Oh yes, the Queen. Do keep up Murrell,’ Sir Roger said irritably. ‘I have spoken with Her Majesty and she is insisting that we begin peace talks with the Scots. I did try to get her to understand that until the Scot’s reversed their UDI it wasn’t possible to open talks. But she wasn’t having any of it. I plan to keep her in the dark about what we do.’