Revenger

43

‘So… How do you think we should deal with him?’ asked Cameron Young, turning away from the TV screens filled with pundits digesting Adams’s rally at the O2, and pressing the ‘mute’ button on his remote control.

‘Well, we could start by telling the world that this is the racist, Islamophobic, xenophobic extreme right-wing agenda of a man who wants to reintroduce fascism to Britain,’ suggested his Opposition equivalent, Brian Smallbone. ‘Mark Adams is just a twenty-first-century Oswald Mosley.’

‘Well, Mosley was fanatically pro-European union, not against it,’ Grantham observed. ‘Although he and Adams certainly have one thing in common: they were both ministers in a Labour government.’

‘Do I have to listen to this?’ Smallbone snapped back.

‘Really, Jack, was that strictly necessary?’ Young asked, doing his best to disguise his amusement at Smallbone’s anger. Grantham’s uncanny ability to get under people’s skins had certainly not diminished over the years.

‘Well, I’m always a believer that you can’t defeat your enemy without knowing him. It also helps to understand his strengths and weaknesses, even if it’s uncomfortable, or even embarrassing, to admit them,’ Grantham said.

Smallbone looked disgusted. ‘Strengths? The man’s a turncoat who’s betrayed every worthwhile principle he ever stood for. What fucking strengths can a slime-coated shitbag like that possibly have?’

‘He filled the O2, how’s that?’

‘So did the kids from Glee, and I’m not taking them seriously as political thinkers either.’

‘My point is, twenty thousand people just did take him seriously. And so should you. So my advice is: forget ideology or moral objections, and consider the logic of the situation. If the electorate looks at Adams’s ideas and thinks they’re as vile as you say they are, then you’ve got nothing to worry about. But if people start thinking that he might have a point, then you should at least consider what that point might be.’

‘The point is that if the electorate go for Mark Adams then they’re fucking morons.’

‘Even morons have votes. But what if they’re not morons? What if they have genuine concerns and they think Adams is answering them? Shouldn’t you have answers too? And shouldn’t you make sure they’re better than his?’

Cameron Young had said nothing, but he’d not missed a syllable of the argument being played out in front of him. This, he was thinking, was the next election in miniature and Adams’s best way of winning it: let the two parties on either side of him beat themselves to a pulp, then step in and take the prize. Then Cameron Young’s phone buzzed, alerting him to the arrival of a text. He looked at it and frowned as the other two continued.

‘What kind of answers can you have for a man who thinks the white race is dying out?’ Smallbone asked.

‘Depends on whether he’s got his facts right,’ said Grantham, ‘and whether anyone actually cares. If he’s talking bollocks and you can prove it, no problem. But if he isn’t, and the voters do care, then you can’t just tell people, “You’re not allowed to care about that.” Not as long as this is a democracy, anyway.’

‘Which it won’t be, if Adams has his way.’

‘Well, then,’ said Young, finally entering the fray, ‘let’s make sure he doesn’t, eh? Thank you so much for coming over, Brian.’ He got up and held out his hand, making it clear that the meeting was over. ‘I think we’re all going to need a little time to digest what Adams said, get a feel for the media and public response and then make our plans accordingly.’

Grantham had risen from his seat and was preparing to leave, too, but Young stopped him: ‘Jack, if I could ask you to stay for a moment…’

Young let Smallbone leave the room and then, as Grantham settled in his seat again, said, ‘There’s been a significant development, and I’d like to have your input on it.’

‘What kind of development?’

‘There’s been another riot.’

‘There’s always another riot.’

‘Not like this one. Mark Adams is about to find he’s been knocked off tomorrow’s front pages. Someone’s just turned South London into a warzone. We’re talking fifty deaths, maybe more…’

‘Fifty? Bloody hell, what happened?’

‘That’s what we’re going to find out. Make yourself comfortable. I’m going to order us some coffee and sandwiches. This is going to be a long night.’