The Third World War: A Terrifying Novel of Global Conflict

31

The murmuring of low, disciplined voices faded into silence as the side door of the United Nations General Assembly Hall opened near the podium. For a moment, a cluster of people gathered at the entrance, half-exposed, half-hidden, dark-suited men, security guards, assistants with speech notes and files. Their feet shifted, heads tilting to pick up whispered conversations. The 1,743 delegates and their staff from 192 nations craned to see what was going on. This was a special emergency session called after the two terrorist attacks on India. Ambassador after ambassador, summoned in alphabetical order, had spoken about the need for dialogue and international cooperation. Then, just over an hour earlier, the Secretary-General had been notified that India wanted to speak immediately. Unbeknown to most, the leaders of China, Britain, Japan and Russia were also flying into New York. At first, the request from India had been denied, until Mehta's private secretary, Ashish Uddin, had telephoned John Kozerski, who then spoke directly to the office of the UN Secretary-General. 'India very much wants to retain the authority of the United Nations,' Uddin had said. 'For security reasons, which you will understand, we could not announce the movements. Nor do we have time to linger in New York and wait our turn. So either the announcement will be at the UN, immediately, or we will give a live address to be broadcast on both CNN and BBC.'

Uddin had swiftly won the argument, and now the cluster of people in the wings of the assembly hall melted away, leaving two figures exposed in the doorway. One was in a wheelchair, with a medical dressing covering the left eye, and the right leg protruding out and wrapped in bandages. The second person walked with one hand on a cane, the other balancing on the handle of the wheelchair, pushing it from behind.

To have walked it at a normal pace would have taken only a few seconds. But for Vasant Mehta and his daughter Meenakshi the journey to the podium took two minutes and seventeen seconds. Within seconds of starting out, as the two figures made their way under the huge UN emblem of an image of the world, flanked by olive wreaths as a symbol of peace, a murmur rippled through the historic General Assembly Hall. Father and daughter, lit up by spotlights, their images thrown on to two massive screens, looked out across the expanse of people. The murmuring dropped to a silence. The television networks cut into their normal programming and transferred to the stark image. The commentators spoke sparingly because the picture told all. In the hall, clapping began, a solitary staff member in one place, picked up on the microphones, and copied, louder and louder, until applause rose like a surging wave. As Mehta and Meenakshi reached the podium, the United Nations stood up, delegates rising to their feet like a Mexican wave, peppered with wolf-whistles, cheers, the slapping of desks and the shaking of papers.

Vasant Mehta turned the wheelchair to face the hall. He leant down and locked the wheels. Meenakshi handed him a file from her lap. He limped on to the podium and raised his hand in appreciation, just a single hand, palm outwards, diffident and quickly. He waited for the applause to fade. He stared out, unblinking, unsmiling, until the chamber returned to absolute quiet. Only then did he drop the cane at his feet. The noise echoed in the quiet. He kicked the cane away, and the image of it sliding across the polished stage came to symbolize the anger of India.

'None of you here will welcome what I have to say,' he began. 'I have come because my Parliament is in ruins and my house has been destroyed. My staff who protected me are dead. My daughter is in a wheelchair.' He glanced down at Meenakshi who raised her hand to him. He took it, squeezed and smiled. It had taken a lot to persuade Meenakshi to come with him.

'She is here not as a mascot, but as evidence of what you and I and the citizens we represent are ultimately working for — the protection and the future of our children and our families. There is nothing in the world more simple to understand.'

He paused to allow another wave of applause to break out. He let it die naturally, resting, two hands on the stand, absorbing the stabbing pain which seared through his right leg. As a stillness again took over the hall, Mehta said: 'I have failed in that simple duty. I have failed abysmally.'

He dragged his leg forward to try to ease the pain. His face creased up. The ache he could withstand with a poker face. The sudden jabbing of torn nerve ends still took him by surprise. He gripped the stand. 'In due course, I will take the honourable path and resign. India is a democracy and we have institutional machinery which will make the transition seamless and transparent. But before I go, I will announce to this assembly my nation's new doctrine, which is being implemented to protect our people, and I will explain why we are doing it. And when that is done, perhaps the television reporters will ask the White House whether or not it believes I am an honourable man or an enemy of the United States.'