‘The video of your performance in Belfast has gone viral on Twitter,’ said Kaminsky with what Bunter thought was smug satisfaction. You’ve gained 22,000 followers and 82,000 likes. Of course, Siobhan made sure all the silliness was edited out.’
‘I don’t have a Twitter account,’ said Bunter, attempting to light a huge cigar.
‘Of course you do. It’s one of the most active on Twitter.’
‘Is it?’
‘I particularly liked this Tweet of yours. Witty and succinct.’ He swivelled his laptop around for Bunter to see.
‘Beaver may want to dam up the Northern Ireland economy, but we refuse to allow a border in Northern Ireland, soft or hard, and I was pleased to confirm this yesterday in Belfast. We are one United Kingdom.’
‘I didn’t write that.’
‘It’s the kind of thing you might have written.’
‘What else have I been tweeting?’
‘We’ve tried to capture your wit and tenacity.’
‘Let me see, then.’
Kaminsky turned the laptop around. ‘Not now, Billy. We’ve got work to do.’
‘Couldn’t you have found a picture with my bow tie for my profile?’ he complained.
Kaminsky ignored this. ‘We need to talk about government communications.’
Bunter breathed a swathe of foul-smelling smoke across the table. It folded and lingered over the chestnut veneer.
‘What kind of communications?’ said Bunter.
‘Deniable ones. Give me your phone.’
Bunter spun the phone once and then slid it across the desk. ‘What do you want with my phone?’
‘Do you use WhatsApp?’
‘I don’t follow, old chap.’
‘WhatsApp. It’s a messaging app.’
‘Sorry old boy, you’ve lost me. I read Classics not Technology. I’ve tried to bring myself up to date. Even hired some American bimbo to tutor me on the techie stuff when I was Mayor, but we found we had other interests in common.’
Kaminsky shot him a stern look. Most of Kaminsky’s looks were stern. Others were just intense. ‘Pay attention, Bunter. I’ve loaded it on your phone. It works just like regular text messages except that these are encrypted. Look…’ Kaminsky showed him as he pressed a green icon on Bunter’s phone. Bunter blinked and observed without much interest. ‘You’ll use this for all communications with anyone that you want to keep private.’
‘Like Iggy?’
‘Definitely Ignatov and his father. But also your Cabinet colleagues. And me, of course.’
‘Things we don’t want the public to find out about?’
‘You can set these messages to disappear.’
‘I wish I’d known about this when I was Mayor. But listen, if I delete them on my phone, are they also deleted on the recipient’s phone?’
‘No. they’ll also need to delete them. But that’s only a problem if they know who the recipients are.’
‘Who’s ‘they’?’
‘I’m just preparing you, Bunter, for an apocalypse that may never happen.’
‘Show me again how I can make messages disappear.’
Mandy tapped on the door. When she stepped through Bunter couldn’t help but notice that her skirt was shorter even than yesterday. ‘Your call with President Putin, Prime minister begins in five minutes.’
‘Oh lor,’ said Bunter. ‘I’d completely forgotten.’
Kaminsky became animated. ‘Mustn’t keep the boss waiting.’ They both rose and Kaminsky almost led Bunter by his elbow across the room, where Bunter slotted himself behind his desk, flanked by two Union flags beneath a gilt-framed portrait of the Queen.
Bunter scowled up at Kaminsky who was lingering in front of the desk. ‘This is a confidential meeting between two heads of state.’
‘It’s fine, Billy. I’ll read MI5’s transcripts later.’ Kaminsky gave an ironic salute and left, while Bunter waited for the video call to begin, fumbling to perfect the knot in his bow tie.
At length Putin appeared on Bunter’s computer screen seated at the foot of a long table, wearing a grimace that served as a smile. He wore a dark suit and a red tie and Bunter thought he looked more self-assured than any leader had a right to be. ‘Good morning Mr Bunter,’ said President Putin in flawless English, ‘May I offer my belated personal congratulations on your accession?’
‘Good morning, Mr, ah, President. So glad that you could spare the time from your busy schedule.’
Putin looked at a rock of a watch that gleamed on wrist. ‘I can give you three minutes.’
‘Thank you, sir. I mean Mr President. Well look, firstly I want to make our position clear on the Salisbury poisonings.’
‘You’ve already done that,’ said Putin with impatience.
‘Have I? Have we?’
‘Of course. You summoned our ambassador. We summoned yours. Etc, etc.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Let’s put all this unpleasantness behind us and start as we mean to go on.’
‘Urm, yes. Of course.’
‘We have a glorious history, our two nations,’ began Putin, ‘as allies in a generational war against the acquisitive ambitions of the French. We were once united against a European empire led by Napoleon. In the end of course, my ancestor Alexander was forced to defeat the French alone…’ he continued in a lengthy diatribe against Europe in general and France in particular.
‘But surely you aren’t a descendent of Tsar Alexander?’ interrupted Bunter.
Putin smirked. ‘How would you know that?’ He folded his hands on the table, glancing again at his watch. ‘In any event, we find ourselves once again allied against the imperial French, and this time I propose we face them together. Once you have shrugged off the chains of the EU, Russia and England can enjoy a renewed friendship and affluence. We can talk about trade deals, and even embargos against the perfidious French. Perhaps in time, England could even form part of our Commonwealth of Independent States?’
‘Well of course, Great Britain welcomes any trade deals once we are outside the EU.’
‘I think we can do better than that. Much better. For too long England has been in thrall of the United States and NATO. Now might be the time to lose those shackles and form a new alliance with a stronger partner.’ Putin looked again at his watch. ‘There will be time for these discussions, and I look forward to welcoming you to Moscow for talks. Now I must attend to matters of state. I’ve enjoyed our outline discussions on our new partnership and free trade deal. We will issue a press release.’
‘Mr President… I wanted to ask about the Crimean bridge…’ but the screen was already blank. Bunter had a sneaking suspicion that he was being manipulated.
