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p and down。 “‘Oh； Adam Lang；’” he drawled； performing a pitch…perfect caricature of an upper…class Englishman； “‘have you noticed the way he changes his voice to suit whatever company he’s in？’ ‘Aye’”—and now he was a gruff Scotsman—“‘you can’t believe anything the wee bastard says。 The man’s a performer； just piss and wind in a suit！’” And now he became pompous； judicious； hand…wringing： “‘It is Mr。 Lang’s tragedy that an actor can only be as good as the part he is given； and finally this prime minister has run out of lines。’ You’ll recognize that last one from your no doubt extensive researches。”
I shook my head。 I was too astonished by his tirade to speak。
“It’s from the editorial in theTimes on the day I announced my resignation。 The headline was ‘Kindly Leave the Stage。’” He carefully resumed his seat and smoothed back his hair。 “So no； if you don’t mind； we won’t dwell on my years as a student actor。 Leave it exactly the way that Mike wrote it。”
For a little while neither of us spoke。 I pretended to adjust my notes。 Outside； one of the policemen struggled along the top of the dunes； headfirst into the wind； but the soundproofing of the house was so efficient he looked like a mime。 I was remembering Ruth Lang’s words about her husband： “There’s something not quite right about him at the moment； and I’m a bit afraid to leave him。” Now I could see what she meant。 I heard a click and leaned across to check the recorder。
“I need to change disks；” I said； grateful for the opportunity to get away。 “I’ll just take this down to Amelia。 I won’t be a minute。”
Lang was brooding again； staring out of the window。 He made a small； slightly dismissive gesture with his hand to signal that I should go。 I went downstairs to where the secretaries were typing。 Amelia was standing by a filing cabinet。 She turned around as I came in。 I suppose my face must have given me away。
“What’s happened？” she said。
“Nothing。” But then I felt an urge to share my unease。 “Actually； he seems a bit on edge。”
“Really？ That’s not like him。 In what way？”
“He just blew up at me over nothing。 I guess it must be too much exercise at lunchtime；” I said； trying to make a joke out of it。 “Can’t be good for a man。”
I gave the disk to one of the secretaries—Lucy； I think it was—and picked up the latest transcripts。 Amelia carried on looking at me； her head tilted slightly。
“What？” I said。
“You’re right。 There is something troubling him； isn’t there？ He took a call just after you finished your session this morning。”
“From whom？”
“It came through on his mobile。 He didn’t tell me。 I wonder…Alice； darling—do you mind？”
Alice got up and Amelia slipped into position in front of the computer screen。 I don’t think I ever saw fingers move so rapidly across a keyboard。 The clicks seemed to merge into one continuous purr of plastic； like the sound of a million dominoes falling。 The images on the screen changed almost as quickly。 And then the clicks slowed to a few staccato taps as Amelia found what she was looking for。
“Shit！”
She tilted the screen toward me； then sat back in her chair in disbelief。 I bent to read it。
The web page was headed “Breaking News”：
January 27； 2：57 PM （EST）
NEW YORK （AP）—Former British Foreign Secretary Richard Rycart has asked the International Criminal Court in The Hague to investigate allegations that the former British prime minister Adam Lang ordered the illegal handover of suspects for torture by the CIA。
Mr。 Rycart； who was dismissed from the cabinet by Mr。 Lang four years ago； is currently United Nations special envoy for humanitarian affairs and an outspoken critic of U。S。 foreign policy。 Mr。 Rycart maintained at the time he left the Lang government that he was sacked for being insufficiently pro…America。
In a statement issued from his office in New York； Mr。 Rycart said he had passed a number of documents to the ICC some weeks ago。 The documents—details of which were leaked to a British newspaper at the weekend—allegedly show that Mr。 Lang； as prime minister； personally authorized the seizure of four British citizens in Pakistan five years ago。
Mr。 Rycart went on： “I have repeatedly asked the British government； in private； to investigate this illegal act。 I have offered to give testimony to any inquiry。 Yet the government have consistently refused even to acknowledge the existence of Operation Tempest。 I therefore feel I have no alternative except to present the evidence in my possession to the ICC。”
“The little shit；” whispered Amelia。
The telephone on the desk started ringing。 Then another on a small table beside the door chimed in。 Nobody moved。 Lucy and Alice looked at Amelia for instructions； and as they did； Amelia’s own mobile； which she had in a little leather pouch on her belt； set up its own electronic warble。 For the briefest of moments I saw her panic—it must have been one of the very few occasions in her life when she didn’t know what to do—and in the absence of any guidance； Lucy started reaching for the phone on the desk。
“Don’t！” shouted Amelia； then added； more calmly： “Leave it。 We need to work out a line to take。” By now a couple of other phones were trilling away in the recesses of the house。 It was like noon in a clock factory。 She took out her mobile and examined the incoming number。 “The pack is on the move；” she said and turned it off。 For a few seconds she drummed her fingertips on the desk。 “Right。 Unplug all the phones；” she instructed Alice； with something of her old confidence back in her voice； “then start surfing the main news sites on the web to see if you can discover anything else Rycart is saying。 Lucy； find a television and monitor all the news channels。” She looked at her watch。 “Is Ruth still out walking？ Shit！ She is； isn’t she？”
She grabbed her black…and…red book and clattered off down the corridor on her high heels。 Unsure of what I was supposed to do； or even exactly what was happening； I decided I’d better follow her。 She was calling for one of the Special Branch men。 “Barry！ Barry！” He stuck his head out of the kitchen。 “Barry； please find Mrs。 Lang and get her back here as soon as you can。” She started climbing the stairs to the living room。
Once again； Lang was sitting motionless； exactly where I had left him。 The only difference was that he had his own small mobile phone in his hand。 He snapped it shut as we came in。
“I take it from all the telephone calls that he’s issued his statement；” he said。
Amelia spread her hands wide in exasperation。 “Why didn’t you tell me？”
“Tell you before I’d told Ruth？ I don’t think that would have been very good politics； do you？ Besides； I felt like keeping it to myself for a while。 Sorry；” he said to me； “for losing my temper。”
I was touched by his apology。 That was grace in adversity； I thought。 “Don’t worry about it；” I said。
“And have you？” asked Amelia。 “Told her？”
“I wanted to break it to her face…to…