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Amelia made her way down the aisle。
“Is everything all right？” she asked。 She looked concerned。 She must have heard Lang’s outburst of temper； everyone must have。
“We’re just doing some work on my memoirs；” said Lang。 “I’m telling him what happened over Operation Tempest。”
“You’re taping it？” said Amelia。
“If that’s all right；” I said。
“You need to be careful；” she told Lang。 “Remember what Sid Kroll said—”
“The tapes will be yours；” I interrupted； “not mine。”
“They could still be subpoenaed。”
“Stop treating me as though I’m a child；” said Lang abruptly。 “I know what I want to say。 Let’s deal with it once and for all。”
Amelia permitted herself a slight widening of her eyes and withdrew。
“Women！” muttered Lang。 He took another gulp of brandy。 The ice had melted； but the color of the liquid remained dark。 It must have been a very full measure； and it occurred to me that our former prime minister was slightly drunk。 I sensed this was my moment。
“In what way；” I asked； “was Mike McAra na。ve？”
“Never mind；” muttered Lang。 He nursed his drink； his chin on his chest； brooding。 He suddenly jerked up again。 “I mean； take for instance all this civil liberties crap。 You know what I’d do if I were in power again？ I’d say； okay then； we’ll have two queues at the airports。 On the left； we’ll have queues to flights on which we’ve done no background checks on the passengers； no profiling； no biometric data； nothing that infringed anyone’s precious civil liberties； used no intelligence obtained under torture—nothing。 On the right； we’ll have queues to the flights where we’ve done everything possible to
make them safe for passengers。 Then people can make their own minds up which plane they want to catch。 Wouldn’t that be great？ To sit back and watch which queue the Rycarts of this world wouldreally choose to put their kids on； if the chips were down？”
“And Mike was like that？”
“Not at the beginning。 But Mike； unfortunately； discovered idealism in his old age。 I said to him—it was our last conversation； actually—I said； if our Lord Jesus Christ was unable to solve all the problems of the world when he came down to live among us—and he was the son of God！—wasn’t it a bit unreasonable of Mike to expect me to have sorted out everything in ten years？”
“Is it true you had a serious row with him？ Just before he died？”
“Mike made certain wild accusations。 I could hardly ignore them。”
“May I ask what kind of accusations？”
I could imagine Rycart and the special prosecutor sitting listening to the tape； straightening in their chairs at that。 I had to swallow again。 My voice sounded muffled in my ears； as if I was talking in a dream； or hailing myself from a great distance。 On the tape； the pause that followed is quite short； but at the time it seemed endless； and Lang’s voice when it came was deadly quiet。
“I’d prefer not to repeat them。”
“Were they to do with the CIA？”
“But surely you already know；” said Lang bitterly； “if you’ve been to see Paul Emmett？”
And this time the pause is as long on the recording as it is in my memory。
Delivered of his bombshell； Lang gazed out of the window and sipped his drink。 A few isolated lights had begun to appear beneath us。 I think they must have been ships。 I looked at him and I saw that the years had caught up even with him at last。 It was in the droop of the flesh around his eyes and in the loose skin beneath his jaw。 Or perhaps it wasn’t age。 Perhaps he was simply exhausted。 I doubt he could have had much sleep for weeks； probably not since McAra had confronted him。 Certainly； when at last he turned back to me； there wasn’t anger in his expression； merely a great weariness。
“I want you to understand；” he said with heavy emphasis； “that everything I did； both as party leader and as prime minister—everything—I did out of conviction； because I believed it was right。”
I mumbled a reply。 I was in a state of shock。
“Emmett claims you showed him some photographs。 Is that true？ May I see？”
My hands shook slightly as I removed them from the envelope and pushed them across the table toward him。 He flicked through the first four very quickly； paused over the fifth—the one that showed him and Emmett onstage—then went back to the beginning and started looking at them again； lingering over each image。
He said； without raising his eyes from the pictures； “Where did you get them？”
“McAra ordered them up from the archive。 I found them in his room。”
Over the intercom； the copilot asked us to fasten our seat belts。
“Odd；” murmured Lang。 “Odd the way we’ve all changed so much and yet also stayed exactly the same。 Mike never mentioned anything to me about photographs。 Oh； that bloody archive！” He squinted closely at one of the riverbank pictures。 It was the girls； I noticed； rather than himself or Emmett； who seemed to fascinate him the most。 “I remember her；” he said； tapping the picture。 “And her。 She wrote to me once； when I was prime minister。 Ruth was not pleased。 Oh； God；” he said； and passed his hand across his face。 “Ruth。” For a moment； I thought he was about to break down； but when he looked at me his eyes were dry。 “What happens next？ Is there a procedure in your line of work to deal with this sort of situation？”
Patterns of light were very clear in the window now。 I could see the headlamps of a car on a road。
“The client always has the last word about what goes in a book；” I said。 “Always。 But； obviously； in this case； given what happened—”
On the tape； my voice trails away； and then there is a loud clunk； as Lang leans forward and grabs my forearm。
“If you mean what happened to Mike； then let me tell you I was absolutely appalled by that。” His gaze was fixed unwaveringly on me； he was putting everything he had left within him into the task of convincing me； and I’ll freely confess； despite everything I’d discovered； he succeeded： to this day； I’m sure he was telling the truth。 “If you believe nothing else； you must please believe that his death had nothing to do with me； and I shall carry that image of Mike in the morgue until my own dying day。 I’m sure it was an accident。 But okay； let’s say； for the sake of argument； it wasn’t。” He tightened his grip on my arm。 “What was he thinking of； driving up to Boston to confront Emmett？ He’d been around politics long enough to know that you don’t do something like that； not when the stakes are this high。 You know；
in a way； he did kill himself。 It was a suicidal act。”
“That’s what worries me；” I said。
“You can’t seriously think；” said Lang； “that the same thing could happen to you？”
“It has crossed my mind。”
“You need have no fears on that score。 I can guarantee it。” I guess my disbelief must have been
obvious。 “Oh； come on； man！” he said urgently。 Again； the fingers clenched on my flesh。 “There are four policemen traveling on this plane with us righ