‘I have it.’ Emet announced boldly.
Frank, along with all of their friends, and her mum and dad, stared at her in utter jaw-dropping disbelief.
So she repeated herself. ‘I have it.’ Before adding, ‘Come on, Frank! Did you honestly think that a broken floor tile was a good place to hide your wallet? Ma’am Roberta found it while she was cleaning. She showed it to me. I told her I would keep it safe.’
Frank was stunned at what he was hearing. ‘My warrant card was in that wallet. So you knew. All along. You knew I was a policeman, but you said nothing. Why?’ he asked, his disappointment and pain evident in his voice.
‘This should be a private conversation. Do you really want to have it here?’ Emet asked him, suddenly feeling deeply embarrassed and ashamed.
‘At the scene of the crime? Yes. Yes, I do.’ Frank told her.
‘But with this audience?’ Emet asked weakly.
‘Okay, everybody. Let’s go. They need some space.’ Pastor Josh waved his hands around and drove the others out of the house, despite ‘But... But...’s from the more nosey people in the group, who were suddenly placated when Ethan whispered about his cameras, and then hurriedly returned to the party in his house.
Which Pastor Josh and wife Judy found to be thoroughly unseemly. So they went home.
‘Okay. We have about three minutes before Captain Reyna makes it to Ethan’s place, and about ten minutes before Ethan gets there, so let’s make it quick.’ Frank told her.
‘Not here.’ Emet told him, gesturing surreptitiously towards the corner in the room where she presupposed Ethan had hidden his camera and motion sensor.
‘Where, then?’ Frank asked, frustratedly.
‘I can think of a place...’ Emet nodded towards his back door.
Frank sighed. ‘Okay, but not through a wall. I need to see your face.’
Emet nodded.
And so Frank unlocked his back door, and both he and Emet headed through to his outdoor bathroom and closed it behind them.
‘I can’t agree with them spying on Emet and Frank. It's wrong. It’s just plain wrong.’ Pastor Josh ranted as he and Judy entered their house. ‘They need their privacy to sort this out.’
Judy headed for the kitchen, grabbed a glass tumbler and then headed for their back door.
‘Where are you going with that glass?’ Pastor Josh asked his wife.
‘You can forgive me for it later.’ she called out over his shoulder, as she headed for their bathroom.
Emet and Frank stood around a pace apart in his bathroom. Emet was nervous. Jumpy. But tried to hide it. ‘Wow! Ma’am Roberta did a great job in here. I wonder how she gets the dirt out from between the tiles. I can never get it that clean.’ she wittered, distracted by the brightness of the grout. Or, at least, pretending to be.
‘Emet.’ Frank brow-beat her, his sense of betrayal clearly obvious. ‘Why did you steal my wallet?’
Emet’s face flushed with pink shame. ‘Well, I wouldn’t call it stealing, more “taking for safekeeping”.’ she excused herself. In vain.
‘Emet, please!’ Frank pleaded earnestly with her. ‘Tell the truth.’
‘Okay! Okay!’ she submitted. ‘I took it because... because I could see that you are a policeman. And a senior one at that. I Googled you and...’ she chuckled wryly. ‘...you do not have a good reputation. Yet here you were sweet and kind and gentle and a little bit lost... not to mention incredibly British. I mean, poached eggs on toasted bread for breakfast? Do you even have taste buds? Do they actually function, like, at all? So I thought that I would hide who you are for a while. Keep you as you were. Maybe work to make you a little better. Knock some rough edges off. Improve you a little. Make you proper.... I don’t know... husband material.’
Frank looked at her in disbelief. ‘So you thought you could take me and – what? – make me better... maybe convert me... into someone you could... marry?’
Emet nodded feebly. ‘I mean, in my defence, have you seen the men around here? You do not have a lot of competition! It's either honest poor men, dishonest rich men with relatives abroad, or Ethan Peteros. Good men are hard to find.’
‘So you thought you’d make yourself one by manipulating someone who arrived here with a head injury and a terrible case of amnesia?’ Frank asked her, still digesting what he was hearing.
‘Still less risky than online dating.’ Emet told him. ‘I mean, okay, it wasn’t exactly honest... but have you seen most dating profiles? Plus, I saw a lot fewer naked body parts.’
Frank waved his hands in front of his face to tell her he wasn’t comfortable with the conversation. ‘Just stop there, okay. Enough. I don’t know what to make of this. I had no idea I was being played this whole time. I thought we had something really special. I mean, quirky, yes. But special...’
‘That’s exactly it. We do.’ Emet admitted.
‘How can we? You’ve been stringing me along the whole time!’ Frank argued.
‘Because that’s the problem.’ Emet told him. ‘I stopped because I couldn’t do it any longer. I just couldn’t.’
‘Why?’ Frank asked, frustratedly.
‘Because... Because I love you, Frank Diggory. And I know that people who are truly in love don’t do that. They accept people for who they are.’ Emet blurted.
Frank turned away in frustration. He couldn’t bear to face her. Not for a few seconds at least. Until he composed himself. Then he turned around to face her once more. ‘But when I rescued you, you weren’t happy. You said I wasn’t the Frank you knew. How can you say that and tell me now that you love me?’ he probed.
‘Because I’m scared, Frank. I’m flat-out terrified. Maybe if you knew who you really were you would realise that you had someone else somewhere – someone else who wasn’t me.’ She turned her face from him, as if to stifle a sob, before comprising herself and adding, ‘Who wants to be with a “heroic” alpha male anyway? They’re usually empty himbos whose women are nothing but arm candy.’
Frank stood stock still for a second. Absorbed what he had heard. He was slightly confused for a second. He thought he would be angry. Or bitter. Or vengeful. He thought all manner of thoughts would have been buzzing around his head.
But they weren’t. He was clear-minded. Focused. Driven. Knew exactly what he had to do. No doubt in his mind.
‘Emet.’ he began. ‘I know who I am and I choose you. I’m not going to leave you.’
Emet opened her hands. ‘But why?’
‘Because you are you, Emet Manalo. And I am me.’ Frank told her. ‘And if you can accept me for who I am, whoever that is or will be, then I can accept you.’
Emet smiled. ‘Well, we’ve been in the bathroom together. We know what happens here. Why not? How bad can it get?’
Judy sobbed quietly with the tumbler between her ear and the bathroom wall.
‘Are you okay in there?’ Pastor Josh asked his wife.
‘Yes. Just thanking God for Stockholm Syndrome.’ Judy sniffed.
Now reconciled, and then composed, Emet and Frank headed next door. He sat politely in her family’s lounge, wondering why her mother and dad were giving him some really strange looks, while Emet retrieved his wallet from her bedroom.
She handed it to Frank. He opened it and sighed with relief. Everything was there. He put two fingers into the cash pouch of his wallet and pulled out a condom wrapper. He placed it on the seat beside him.
Much to Pastor Josh and Judy’s chagrin.
‘I’m not sure that’s appropriate.’ Pastor Josh snapped.
‘Yes, I mean, I'm glad you’re prepared, but can you not please wait until after you get married? Please?’ Judy pleaded.
Frank held up his hand to silence them, and with the other one used two fingers to pinch the contents and bring it out. He pulled out an SD card and sat it on his knee, beside the wrapper.
‘Well, that is a very strange way of taking your photos for printing.’ Pastor Josh commented. ‘Can’t you upload them to a website like everyone else?’
‘What’s on there?’ Emet asked.
‘The key.’ Frank grinned.
‘To what?’ Emet queried.
‘The end of a great evil.’ Frank told them.
‘Well, don’t let the Mayor know you have it – he wants to be re-elected!’ Judy quipped. ‘And you are the cash cow he has been milking.’
‘Yes. You should probably get to Ethan Peteros’ place. Quickly. Before the Mayor finds out.’ Pastor Josh concurred.
Emet and Frank got up to leave.
‘I’m praying for you: for both of you.’ Pastor Josh told them. ‘If this will end a great evil, then you must be victorious.’
They said their goodbyes and ran from house. The street was as quiet as it always was. The sleeping stray dogs barely stirred in the heat to see what all the commotion was.
They came to the lane. They ran up it, hand in hand. But then, at the end of it, and with a silently longing look, they parted. Emet ran through the brush beneath the palm trees; Frank took the path.
They were halfway. Ethan’s house was well within reach. They could both see it. But suddenly, they realised:
He knew.
The Mayor knew.
He stood on the path – him and several members of his Sanggunian Barangay. They blocked it.
Frank could not pass them.
‘I cannot let you do this, Sir Frank.’ The Mayor told him. ‘Our village has prospered while you have been here, while you have forgotten. I cannot allow you to remember.’
Frank stood still. Calmly, defiantly still. ‘Okay, I get it.’ he responded. ‘You’ve received a lot of money to keep me here, but tell me, Mayor Alvarez: at what cost?’
Mayor Alvarez angrily crossed his arms. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
‘I have dedicated years of my life to destroying an international smuggling gang. And they are not only interested in drugs or weapons. They do much more than that: they smuggle people, Mayor Alvarez. They smuggle women and children. They make them live lives of abject misery. Filipino women, Mayor Alvarez. Filipino children. They exploit them until there is nothing left to exploit. Then they discard them like leftovers. My memory can stop them. My memory can bring them down. So tell me, Mayor Alvarez: will it be them, or will or be your political power?’
Mayor Alvarez shook his head. ‘Come on, Sir Frank! You must know me better than that!’
‘To be fair, Mayor Alvarez, I hardly know you at all. I’m just counting on your humanity.’ Frank pleaded. ‘I am a trained policeman. I spent years undercover. I could fight you. I could fight all of you. And I would win. But I want you to be on my side.’
‘What about the people of this village, Sir Frank? Have you thought about them? They will lose a lot just more than an afam guest if you leave.’ Mayor Alvarez told him.
‘Oh, I am sure they'll miss me. And I’ll miss them. But their sacrifice will not go unnoticed.’ Frank argued.
‘By whom?’ Mayor Alvarez asked cynically.
‘By me.’ Frank told him. ‘I won’t let them down.’ He spotted something out of the corner of his eye. ‘Not like you just have.’
‘What?’ Mayor Alvarez thundered.
‘Too busy arguing to notice that it was all too late.’ Frank nodded towards Ethan’s place, where Emet had just dashed inside and shut the door behind her. ‘Isn’t that democracy in action?’ Frank grinned cheekily.
Mayor Alvarez and his council members spun around to face Ethan's place. Frank took the opportunity. He squeezed around them and sprinted for the front door.
They saw him.
They ran towards the front door. They banged on it. Hard. ‘This is Mayor Alvarez. On lawful Sanggunian Barangay business. You must let me in!’
‘I voted for the other guy!’ Captain Bautista mocked from inside.
She wasn’t even from this Subdivision.
Frank, on the other hand, snuck round the back of the building, away from the commotion, climbed up the side of the swimming pool, using the gaps in the wall tiles as footholds, and stood, precariously balanced on the side of the pool, his arms outstretched to steady him. He edged along the thin wall, one shuffled step after the other, until he leapt off the side of the pool, passed Ethan's brand new billiard table, and rapped on the pool door. ‘Hey! It’s me! Frank! Let me in!’
Emet ran to the door, unlocked it and allowed him to come in. ‘You are so not the Frank Diggory I know.’
‘I’m the improved version.’ Frank grinned as he entered.
Emet locked the door behind him, as the Mayor and his cronies continued to thump on the front door.
‘Ethan, do you have the call set up?’ Frank asked him.
‘Ready to rock and roll.’ Ethan smiled.
Emet hung back, out of shot.
Ethan pressed the button to start the call. Agents Kaplan and Hughes appeared quickly on screen.
‘DCI Diggory.’ Agent Kaplan perfunctorily greeted him.
‘Good to have you back, Frank.’ Agent Hughes smiled.
‘Good to be back.’ Frank acknowledged. ‘I have it.’
‘What do you have?’ Agent Kaplan asked.
‘The laptops from the Tondo raids: do we still have them?’ Frank asked them.
‘Yes. They were in a different truck. Yours was ransacked but they found nothing. Why?’ Kaplan asked.
Frank held up the condom packet. ‘I have the key.’
‘If that’s the key, then I do not want to see what it unlocks.’ Agent Kaplan snarked.
‘You can say nothing. I’ve seen your browser history.’ Agent Hughes scolded him.
‘I clicked on that link by mistake!’ Agent Kaplan protested.
‘Ten times?’ Agent Hughes retorted.
Frank took the SD card out of the foil. ‘This is the key – the encryption key. If I’m correct, it may well open some cloud accounts too.’ he informed them.
‘Then make it rain, Diggory.’ Kaplan challenged him. ‘And you’re Scottish, so you know what that means.’
Ethan led Frank into his server room, where Frank plugged in the SD card, Ethan virus checked it, and the contents were uploaded and forwarded to Agents Kaplan and Hughes.
‘The Joint Operation technical teams will check what you have provided and let you know what we find.’ Agent Kaplan told him. ‘We owe you a deep debt of thanks. We know this last month or so has been especially difficult.’
Frank grinned. ‘Well, some days were hard, but lately, much less so.’
‘Until you hear from us again, DCI Diggory, there is only one thing we want you to do.’ Agent Hughes told him.
‘Oh? What’s that?’ Frank asked, curious.
‘Run.’ Agent Hughes told him. ‘Run fast. Run far. We have information that MI6 agents sympathetic to whoever it is who has been protecting Osman have landed in Ormoc by private jet from Manila. They got a One Way Ticket to Anywhere and ended up here. They know the NPAs failed. They are seeking your arrest. If you go behind bars, you will likely not come back out. You need to go and go now, Frank. Oh, and Ethan?’
A stunned Ethan popped his head into shot. ‘Yes, Ma’am?’ he asked.
‘Frank Diggory was never there.’ Agent Hughes told him. ‘You have half an hour at most.’
‘Good luck and Godspeed.’ Agent Kaplan greeted them, before both agents signed off.
Emet emerged from the shadows. She touched Frank’s cheeks tenderly. ‘How can this happen? You said you wouldn’t leave me!’
Frank touched her cheek tenderly too. ‘Don’t think of it as leaving. Think of it as being together, just not in the same place.’
‘But that is leaving!’ Emet protested.
‘Sir Frank, wait a second.’ Ethan called after him, as he ran to his bedroom and came back with a small overnight bag. ‘You have a new passport, some clothes and a ticket to your next destination. You leave from Tacloban airport in three hours. Go! Take Pastor Josh’s motorcycle. We’ll bring it back tomorrow.’
‘I’ll come with you!’ Emet called out, imploring her beloved.
‘No. Not now.’ Frank replied. ‘But I will come back.’
And then he pushed his way passed the Mayor and his cronies, ignoring their desperate clamour, and was gone.
Ethan whistled through two fingers. ‘Okay, people: Frank Diggory was never here. We need every camera, microphone and motion sensor gone. And we have only thirty minutes. Let’s go!’
Frank did not dare take the shorter route through Ormoc in case the MI6 agents caught him. Instead, he put the hammer down and sped along the longer, more circuitous, route via Isabel, driving like a maniac on relatively small roads.
He had to make this flight. His freedom, and possibly his life, depended on it.
As he was speeding towards Palompon, two unmarked black SUVs arrived in Paraiso. They disgorged their passengers onto the quiet road between the church and Kainan Paraiso, who then fanned out, in their polite, plain business suits, into every nook and cranny, to try to find any trace of DCI Frank Diggory.
The interviews began. Mayor Alvarez assured two agents – a severe, greying, podgy middle-aged man and his younger female counterpart – that ‘As Mayor of Paraiso Subdivision, I know that we have never harboured criminals of any description.’
‘Well, how do you explain the hundreds of thousands of dollars and pounds funnelled to this very Subdivision?’ the man asked.
‘Generosity.’ Mayor Alvarez grinned.
‘Taxpayer pounds and dollars.’ the woman added.
‘Taxpayer generosity.’ Mayor Alvarez explained. Thoroughly unconvincingly.
Other agents interviewed Pastor Josh, Judy and Emet, who all stated that they did not know a man who fitted their description of Frank Diggory.
Which was true.
Because the Frank Diggory they knew was not a criminal.
They were convinced of that.
Still others interviewed Ethan. Who told them he earned his money from cryptocurrency trading.
They didn’t believe him.
Nobody believed him.
Because no-one makes that amount of money from cryptocurrency trading.
Frank parked in the car park at Tacloban airport and ran as fast as he could towards the small, pristine, glass and steel terminal building. He crossed security quickly and efficiently. He got to the line for his gate just before it closed, just as they were about to call his name, and boarded his flight.
Evening was creeping its way across Paraiso. The MI6 agents were hungry. Hot and hungry and thirsty. Kainan Paraiso was the only restaurant for miles around that had aircon and the idea of a drive to Ormoc did not appeal to them. So all of them, all twenty-one, filed their way into the empty restaurant and eyed his laminated menus with some suspicion.
Alberto emerged, with no little fear, from his kitchen and walked towards the man and woman he had been told had interviewed the Pastor. ‘Can I take your order, please?’ he asked shakily.
The man cleared his throat. ‘This food.’ He pointed to the menu. ‘I’m sure it’s very tasty if you’re a local. But do you have something a little more... to our liking?’
Alberto thought for a second. ‘Well, I could make you some breaded chicken... with French fries... and I could make it without the soy sauce marinade so it’s really bland and tastes like carton. Or I could make you some poached eggs... on toast?’
‘Chicken and chips sounds perfect.’ the man agreed. ‘Twenty-one portions of chicken and chips, please. No marinade. And to drink?’
Alberto felt confident that he had this under control now. ‘We have everything: iced tea, Coke, Sprite, Fanta, Irn Bru...’ he told him, before wincing. He’d spoken too soon.
The two agents looked at each other and knew. They just knew.
‘Has Frank Diggory eaten here?’ the woman asked.
Frank’s flight landed at Mactan Airport an hour before MI6 locked down all transport to and from Leyte. His wallet contained a left luggage tag for Ibales Luggage Handling Service, so he left the domestic terminal, went to their office, and handed the tag over to them. They returned with a holdall, which he accepted, took to a nearby gents toilet, locked himself inside a cubicle, and opened. Inside was a couple of days’ change of clothes, some US dollars, a flight ticket to Miami and a laptop.
He took out his new passport and inspected it so he could be convincing when he crossed immigration. He read through the information on the photo page in complete disbelief, before muttering to himself, ‘Oh-oh! Canada!’
He rearranged his luggage in his bag, checked into his next flight online, and headed for the bus to the international terminal.
On reaching it, he entered inside its clean, seemingly barely used interior, beneath its ornamental and strikingly beautiful wooden roof, and headed for security. Once through there, Immigration. He showed them his passport.
‘Good evening, Sir Adam Virgule-Deux.’ the female Immigration officer smiled as she stamped his passport. ‘I hope you enjoyed your stay in the Philippines.’
‘I can honestly say that it was life-changing.’ Frank told her, grinning.
‘In that case, we hope to see you back someday.’ she told him, as she handed his passport back to him.
‘Oh, you can count on it.’ Frank grinned as he accepted it from her and made his way into the departure lounge.
As soon as he was comfortable, Frank used the laptop to video call Emet.
She didn’t bother greeting him. ‘You said you wanted to be with me.’ she pouted.
Frank tried to assure her. ‘I am with you. I will always be with you. Just not physically. Not yet.’
He could hear her dad’s voice calling in the background. ‘Good man. Wait until after the wedding, at least.’
Frank chuckled. ‘Look, I know this is hard, but I might have to go dark for a while.’
‘You could have done that here.’ Enet argued. ‘You could have lain on the beach with a low factor sunscreen. If the sun didn’t get you, the pig poo in the water would.’
‘I have to disappear, Emet.’ he tried to explain.
‘Why?’ she pleaded despite knowing the answer.
‘Because there are factions in UK law enforcement who want me gone.’ He told her.
‘But you could have stayed.’
‘I'd have gone to prison.’
‘So? I would have visited you.’
‘In the UK? Where it’s cold and wet and people don’t eat rice three times a day?’
Emet thought for a few seconds, before emitting a thoroughly unconvincing ‘So?’
Frank sighed. ‘I have to go somewhere they can’t bring me back from. At least until the trial. And if they’ve reactivated my previous misdemeanours, possibly until I'm pardoned. I’m sorry, Emet. I really am.’
‘I’ll wait for you.’ she told him. ‘I’m good at waiting. I can even catch a jeepney without complaining.’
‘It could be years.’ Frank told her.
Emet sighed. ‘I waited years to meet you. I can wait a few more to be with you.’
‘I do not deserve you, Emet Manalo.’ Frank breathed.
‘Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now.’ she replied, before they tearfully bade their farewells as Frank's flight was called.
MI6 realised that Frank had been there. They were aware of his relationship with Emet. So they were sure he would return.
And so they set up a watch.
A watch that slept in Frank’s old house.
That woke up every morning to the Boo Radley’s ‘Wake Up Boo!’ on the radio.
A watch that ate poached eggs on toast for breakfast at Kainan Paraiso each morning, while listening to themes from the James Bond movies.
They fell asleep every evening to Ma’am Luz’ dulcit, lubricated tones belting out Richard Marx’s ‘Right Here Waiting’.
While they waited.
And Emet waited too.
And Frank flew from Cebu to Tokyo to Denver to Miami to Tocumen International Airport in Panama. He picked up (again) a bag from left luggage, took a train downtown, and got out, as he had been directed in a map in his luggage, at (and he had to laugh at the irony of this) Estaciòn Paraíso.
He headed to a little colonial era apartment block on San Miguel and pressed on the buzzer.
‘Un momento!’ a familiar voice called from inside as she rushed to the door and yanked it open.
‘Doctor Bedi!’ Frank exclaimed.
‘Come in! Come in!’ she beckoned him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked her as she led him inside.
‘Well, the authorities behind Operation Barium thought that, given all the changes you had been through, you could well do with some psychological counsel.’ she explained in her flat and disinterested, unfiltered Indian accent.
‘But doesn’t that give away the fact that I'm here?’ Frank asked her.
‘Officially, I’m establishing a new surgery here. Unofficially, I am here to avoid my husband’s divorce lawyers. And my divorce lawyers. Don’t get divorced. Divorce is expensive.’ she wittered as she led him up two flights of stairs to his fully-furnished apartment. ‘Oh, and the Welsh woman said to give you a message. She said “Watch the house this afternoon”. No idea what they means. Oh well, enjoy Panama!’
And with that, Doctor Bedi was gone.
Frank placed his bag on the floor, removed his laptop, connected it to the Wi-Fi and opened an app.
There on the screen, in all its fusty glory, was the ‘Mother of All Parliaments’ in London, which heralded itself with its throaty bray of ‘Yeah!’
Why on earth would Agent Hughes want him to watch this?
Why would anyone want to watch this?
Just as he was tiring of the hooray-Henrys and their elderly public schoolboy high-jinkery (which was after around five seconds) he noticed that it wasn’t the Prime Minister at the Despatch Box facing questions from His Majesty’s Opposition. Instead, it was the weasel-faced, tall and perpetually snarling Home Secretary Sir Lawrence Fitzwilliam – effectively his boss – who was up there being cross-examined.
Frank was exhausted from the flight, but he was paying at least a little more attention now.
From his own benches (the wooden church-like cushioned pews on which the Members of Parliament sit when the chamber was in session), a seemingly humble politician rose, like several others, to his feet to speak.
The speaker of the House – a small, pompous and deeply self-important chap, nodded in his direction (as he had been directed to do by an MI5 officer earlier). He rarely did so. This particular politician hardly ever did anything and had little of any value to say. But the speaker did as he was asked to do and announced him: ‘Brian Gilchrist, Argyle and Sutherland.’
All other would-be questioners sat down. The Right Honourable Brian Gilchrist cleared his throat and read his question nervously from a piece of paper without raising his eyes: ‘My question is in two parts: given what has happened in the press over the last twenty-four hours, can the Right Honourable Gentleman comment please on the rumours that he has been involved in corrupt and illegal dealings with a Turkish arms dealer and smuggler, a certain Orhan Osman?’
That got the Opposition benches all riled up. Across from them, papers were waved and ‘Resign!’ was yelled, while his own side let out a bray that would have made a donkey jealous.
The Right Honourable Sir Lawrence Fitzwilliam, Home Secretary, stood to his feet. ‘I can assure the Right Honourable Gentleman, and the other members of this House, that there is nothing to these rumours. They are nothing but media tittle-tattle, and I stand ready to sue anyone who repeats them.’ he boomed, to a deafening bray of approval.
Questioners stood to their feet, ready to hold the Home Secretary to account.
But Brian Gilchrist had not sat down.
As soon as the braying fell silent, he added, ‘Mister Speaker, my question was in two parts. Actually, I deceived the House. It is actually in three parts. The second part is: “Is the Right Honourable Gentleman aware that officers from Metropolitan Police are outside the doors of this Chamber right now waiting to arrest him...’
The chamber was in uproar. Politicians standing to their feet, scanning around like anxious meerkats in formal clothes, desperate to see if it was true. The Home Secretary himself shocked and bewildered, asking again and again, ‘But what about immunity? I have immunity.’
And the braying. The deafening braying.
‘Order! Order!’ the speaker bellowed, slamming his gavel down again and again. ‘We will have order and decorum in the House!’
As soon as the noise died down, Brian Gilchrist added, ‘...and will the Right Honourable Gentleman face this situation with the dignity and respect befitting a member of this House?’
That was it.
The whole place was a deafening riot of braying, yelling, invective.
And at the centre of it, a Home Secretary who did not know where to look, who wished the earth would open up and swallow him.
‘Order! Order!’ the Speaker boomed, banging his gavel once, twice, three times more.
‘But Nigel... my immunity.’ the Home Secretary stammered to the Speaker.
‘Not for this. Never for this. Time to resign, old boy.’ The Speaker told him over the din, as he battled to keep order.
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