Kompromat

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Harry Stokes, foreign secretary, called his political adviser, a bright and bubbly young man called Owen Griffiths, into his grand office overlooking St James’s Park for an urgent discussion.

‘There have been some developments in the Golden Shower affair,’ he said. ‘The MI5 have somehow managed to depixelate the tape, whatever that means, and they report that Ronald Craig is not, absolutely not, the man on the bed. The original report which gave rise to the Golden Shower scenario seems to have been written by a former MI6 officer, Martin Silver, under contract to the Democratic National Committee. They wanted him to dig up some dirt on Ron Craig. Now they are asking me as the minister responsible for MI6, as well as the Foreign Office, to make it clear that we totally repudiate any suggestion Ron Craig is one of the dramatis personae in the famous Golden Shower event.’

Stokes got up from his desk and strode across to the window. It was late October and the evening was drawing in.

‘Basically, Owen, I think this is a lose-lose situation,’ he continued. ‘If we go public and exonerate Craig, Caroline Mann’s people will complain we are playing politics. They will protest that we are behaving exactly like the Russians, interfering with the US Presidential election by coming out with such a very pro-Craig bit of information just days before the vote. But if we don’t say anything, then Craig’s people will yell blue murder. The Golden Shower rumour has already hurt their candidate. We can be sure Craig won’t put the prime minister at the top of his visitors’ list if he’s elected next week.’

As a SPAD – Special Political Adviser – Owen Griffiths was free from the normal bureaucratic hang-ups. ‘I think there’s some wriggle room here, Foreign Secretary. My advice would be to put nothing in writing. Why don’t you have a quiet word with Warren Fletcher, the American ambassador? You’ll be meeting him at London Zoo tomorrow when the Duke of Edinburgh opens the new tiger enclosure. That way we won’t be making any public statement, but we can always claim that we passed on sensitive information in a timely and appropriate way. What Warren Fletcher does with this particular piece of news is his problem, not ours.’

‘Great stuff, Owen. I know why we pay you.’

Next morning, a select group of invitees, including Foreign Secretary, Harry Stokes, Warren Fletcher, the American ambassador, Gennadiy Tikhonov, the Russian ambassador to the Court of St James’s, and the world-renowned conservationist and broadcaster, Thomas Pulborough, gathered in front of London Zoo’s spectacular new Tiger Territory. The Duke of Edinburgh, former President of the World Wildlife Fund, made a brief but powerful plea for more national and international action to save threatened tigers and all endangered species.

‘The situation of the tiger is getting worse all over the world,’ he said. ‘The Bali, Caspian and Javan subspecies are already extinct. The Sumatran tiger, which you see here today – two adults and three splendid cubs – is critically endangered.’

The duke pointed to the animals in the enclosure. The zoo had done a tremendous job of recreating a pocket of Indonesian rainforest in the heart of London. While the parents lazed in the late October sunshine, the cubs explored their newly enlarged and improved home, climbing up into the trees and splashing in the lake.

‘The Bengal tiger appears to be holding its own and the population of the Siberian or Amur tiger is actually increasing.’

The duke paused. As always, he had been well-briefed. ‘I am delighted to see that we have Ambassador Tikhonov among the guests here this morning. I hope he will pass on to Moscow the pleasure we all feel at the progress being made in Russia today, as far as the Siberian tiger is concerned. But this is no time for complacency.’

After the speeches were over, and the brilliant new Tiger Territory had been officially inaugurated, guests were invited to an official reception in the splendid new Thomas Pulborough Pavilion to mark the occasion.

Harry Stokes buttonholed Warren Fletcher, the US ambassador.

Fletcher had been four years in London already. He and his wife entertained on a grand scale in Winfield House, their splendid official residence in Regent’s Park, barely a butterfly hop from the zoo.

‘Isn’t the duke amazing?’ Fletcher said. ‘Ninety-five years old, if he’s a day, and still going strong. Wasn’t it great when the tiger came right up behind him as he was speaking? If they hadn’t put that glass screen in the way, the tiger could have had a right royal lunch!’ Then, Fletcher turned serious: ‘Nelly and I have had such a good time here. You guys have been really great. We’ll have to leave, of course, if Craig wins. A new president will always want to have his own man – or woman – in London.’

‘Do you think he will win?’ Harry Stokes asked.

Fletcher waited for a man with a plate of canapés to pass, then he said, ‘Between you and me, there’s a lot of dirty pool going on in this election. The release of those emails has hurt Caroline Mann badly. The Mann campaign is putting a lot of pressure on the FBI Director, Wilbur Brown, to show a bit more even-handedness. Now you guys could help there. You could help a lot. Your man, Martin Silver, reported that Craig featured in that Golden Shower tape. If you could come out with a statement saying there is there is strong and credible evidence that Ronald Craig was indeed implicated, then that could really swing things in Caroline Mann’s favour.’

It was as close to a direct plea for assistance as the ambassador could get without being overtly partisan. In a way, Harry Stokes felt sorry to have to disappoint him. The Fletchers had been fun. They had transformed the atmosphere at Winfield House. Pop stars had sung there. Jazz concerts had been staged there. Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall, as well as the young royals, had popped in on a regular basis. But the day Craig was elected president would be the day the Fletchers received their marching orders.

‘Oh dear,’ Harry Stokes said. ‘We couldn’t support that kind of statement. Apart from the fact that we don’t get involved in other people’s elections – officially, at least – all the “strong and credible evidence” – to use your words – we have, indicates that Ronald Craig was absolutely not the man on the bed in the Kempinski. On the contrary, we think the culprit’s a fellow from the FSB St Petersburg, called Fyodor Stephanov. Your people ought to check that out before you finger Ronald Craig.’

Warren Fletcher drained his glass. He checked his watch. ‘I’m going to scoot,’ he said. ‘We had word last night that Wilbur Brown plans to make a statement this morning. I need to contact him. Can I name you personally as the origin of this information? He’ll have to decide what to do with it.’

Harry Stokes shook his head. ‘Best not. We’re still trying to keep our hands clean on this one.’

‘What about calling you a “very reliable source”?’

‘I’ll settle for that.’

Just as Harry Stokes was preparing to leave, he noticed Gennadiy Tikhonov, the Russian ambassador, standing by himself with a glass of champagne in his hand. In the months since he became foreign secretary, Stokes had been at least twice to social events at the ambassador’s residence in Kensington Palace Gardens and had returned the hospitality in one of the Foreign Office’s own glittering reception rooms, the Council Chamber of the Old India Office.

Tikhonov was a large, cheerful man. He waved his glass as Stokes approached. ‘Hello, Foreign Secretary, what a wonderful occasion! Next time President Popov will bring a lovely Amur tiger-cub as a present for your marvellous zoo.’

‘Fantastic! Room for lots more tigers here!’ Stokes waved his arm at the large, leafy enclosure.

The two men shook hands warmly. Officially Britain was still taking a tough line on sanctions, but Stokes didn’t see why that should prevent him from having cordial personal relations with one of Russia’s top diplomats.

The two men stood together for a moment watching the clubs playing.

‘I see you were talking to our good friend Warren Fletcher,’ Tikhonov said. ‘I am sure we will all be sorry to see him go. I imagine Mr Craig has already picked his successor.’

‘What makes you so sure Craig is going to win the election?’ Stokes asked.

‘Some little bird told me.’ Tikhonov smiled.