First Among Equals (37 page)

When Mr. Kadir
was shown into the Foreign Office it annoyed Charles to see the little man
still looking fresh and dapper. It was obvious that he had just shaved and put
on a clean shirt.

“You called for
me, Foreign Secretary?” asked Mr. Kadir politely, as if he had been invited to
afternoon tea.

“Yes,” said
Charles. “We wished to be certain that you are aware of the vote taken at the
United Nations an hour ago supporting the United Kingdom’s Resolution 12/40.9’

“Yes, Foreign
Secretary.”

“In which your
government was condemned by the leaders of ninety percent of the people on the
globe” – -a fact the Permanent Under Secretary had fed to Charles a few minutes
before Mr. Kadir had arrived.

“Yes, Foreign
Secretary.”

“My Prime
Minister is still waiting to hear from your head of state.”

“Yes, Foreign
Secretary.”

“Have you yet
made contact with Colonel Qaddafi?”

“No, Foreign Secretary.”

“But you have a
direct telephone link to his headquarters.”

“Then you will
be only too aware, Foreign Secretary, that I have been unable to speak to him,”
said Mr. Kadir with a wry smile.

Charles saw the
Permanent
Under
Secretary lower his eyes. “I shall
speak to you on the hour every hour, Mr. Kadir, but do not press my country’s
hospitality too far. 1)

“No, Foreign Secretary.”

“Good night,
Ambassador,” said Charles.

“Good night,
Foreign Secretary.

Mr. Kadir
turned and left the Foreign Office to be driven back to his embassy. He cursed
the Right Honorable Charles Hampton. Didn’t the man realize that he hadn’t been
back to Libya, except to visit his mother, since the age of four? Colonel
Qaddafi was ignoring his ambassador every bit as much as he was the British
Prime Minister. He checked his watch: it read 2:44.

Simon’s
helicopter landed in Scotland at two fortyfive. He and Sir John were
immediately driven to the dockside and then ferried out to HMS

Brilliant through the misty night.

“The first
Secretary of State not to be piped on board in living memory,” said Sir John as
Simon made his way with difficulty, his blackthorn stick tapping on the
gangplank. The captain of the Brilliant couldn’t disguise his surprise when he
saw his uninvited guests, and he escorted them quickly to the bridge. Sir John
whispered something in the captain’s ear which Simon missed.

“When is the
next raid due?” asked Simon, staring out from the bridge but unable to see more
than a few yards in front of him.

“They leave the
sub at three hundred hours,” said the captain, “and should reach Brilliant at
approximately three-twenty. They hope to have taken command of the ship in
eleven minutes and be a mile beyond territorial waters in under the hour.”

Simon checked
his watch: it was five to three. He thought of the SBS preparing for their
task, unaware that the Secretary of State and the Chief of the Defense Staff
were on board Brilliant waiting for them. He pulled his coat collar up.
Suddenly, he was thrown to the deck, a black and oily hand clamped over his
mouth before he could protest. He felt his arms whipped up and tied behind his
back as his eyes were blindfolded and he was gagged. He tried to retaliate and
received a sharp elbow in the ribs. Then he was dragged down a narrow staircase
and dumped on a wooden floor. He lay trussed up like a chicken for what he
thought was about ten minutes before he heard the ship’s engines revving up and
felt the movement of the ship below him. The Secretary of State could not move
for another fifteen minutes.

“Release them,”
Simon heard a voice say in distinctly Oxford English. The rope around his arms
was untied and the blindfold and gag removed.

Standing over
the Secretary of State was an SBS frogman, black from head to toe, his white
teeth gleaming in a wide grin. Simon was still slightly stunned as he turned to
see the commander of Her Majesty’s forces also being untied.

“I must
apologize, Minister,” said Sir John, as soon as his gag was removed, “but I
told the captain not to inform the submarine commander we were on board. If I
am going to risk two hundred and seventeen of my men’s lives, I wanted to be
sure this rabble from the SBS knew what they were up to.” Simon backed away
from the six foot two
giant
who towered over him still
grinning,

“Good thing we
didn’t bring the Prime Minister along for the ride,” said Sir John.

“I agree,” said
Simon, looking up at the SBS commando. “She would have broken his neck.”
Everyone laughed except the frogman, who pursed his lips.

“What’s wrong
with him?” said Simon.

“If he utters
the slightest sound during these sixty minutes, he won’t be selected for the
final team.”

“The
Conservative Party could do with some backbench members of Parliament like
that,” said Simon. “Especially when I have to address the House tomorrow and
explain why I’m doing nothing.”

By three
forty-five Brilliant was once again beyond territorial waters.

The newspaper
headlines that next morning ranged from “Diplomatic Victory” in the Times to
“Qaddafi the Pirate” in the Mirror.

At a meeting of
the inner Cabinet held at ten in the morning Simon reported his first-hand experience
of Operation Shoplifter to the Prime Minister.

Charles was
quick to follow him. “But after the overwhelming vote in our favor at the UN,
it must be sensible for us to postpone anything that might be considered as an
outright act of aggression.”

“If the SBS
doesn’t go tomorrow morning, we will never have as good a chance, Prime
Minister,” said Simon, interrupting him.

All eyes at the
meeting of the inner Cabinet turned to Kerslake.

“WhY?” asked
Mrs. Thatcher.

“Because
Ramadan comes to an end today, and tomorrow the Moslems break their daylight
fasts. Traditionally it’s a heavy feasting-day, which means tomorrow will be
our best chance to catch the guerrillas off guard. I have been over the entire
operation in Rosyth and by now the SBS are well on their way to the submarines
and preparing for the assault. It’s all so finely tuned, Prime Minister, that I
obviously don’t want to throw away such a good opportunity.”

“That’s good
reasoning,” she concurred.

“With the
weekend ahead of us we must pray that this mess will be all over by Monday
morning. Let’s put on our negotiating faces for the Commons this afternoon. I
expect a very convincing performance from you, Charles.”

When Raymond
rose at three-thirty that Thursday afternoon to ask a second time for an
emergency debate, the Speaker granted his request, directing that the urgency
of the matter warranted the debate to commence at seven o’clock that evening.

The chamber
emptied quickly as the members scuttled off to prepare their speeches, although
they all knew that less than 2 percent of them could hope to be called. The
Speaker departed the chamber and did not return until five to seven when he
took over the chair from his deputy.

By seven
o’clock, when Charles and Simon had entered the House, all thirty-seven SBS men
were aboard Her Majesty’s submarine Conqueror, lying on the ocean bed about
sixty nautical miles off the Libyan coast. A second submarine, Courageous, was
ten miles to the rear of her. Neither had broken radio silence for the past
twelve hours.

The Prime
Minister had still not heard from Colonel Qaddafi and they were now only eight
hours away from Operation Shoplifter. Simon looked around the House. The
atmosphere resembled budget day, and an eerie silence fell as the Speaker
called on Raymond Gould to address the House.

Raymond began
by explaining, under Standing Order 354

Number 10, why
the matter he had raised was specific, important and needed urgent
consideration. He quickly moved on to demand that the Foreign Secretary confirm
that if negotiations with Qaddafi failed or dragged on, the Secretary of State
for Defense would not hesitate to take the necessary action to recover HMS
Broadsword. Simon sat on the front bench looking glum and shaking his head.

“Qaddafi’s
nothing more than a pirate,” said Raymond. “Why talk of diplomatic solutions?”

The House
cheered as each well-rehearsed phrase rolled off Raymond’s tongue. Simon
listened intently, privately agreeing with his sentiments and knew that, had
their roles been reversed, it would have been no different.

When Raymond
sat down, the cheers came from all parts of the chamber and it was several
minutes before the Speaker could bring the House back to order.

Mr. Kadir sat
in the Distinguished Strangers’ Gallery staring impassively down, trying to
memorize the salient points that had been made and the House’s reaction to
them, so that-if he were ever given the chance-he could pass them on to Colonel
Qaddafi.

“The Foreign
Secretary,” called the Speaker, and Charles rose from his place on the Treasury
bench. He placed his speech on the dispatch box in front of him and waited.
Once again the House fell silent.

Charles opened
his case by emphasizing the significance of the United Nations vote as the
foundation for a genuine negotiated settlement. He went on to say that his
first priority was to secure the lives of the two hundred seventeen men on
board HMS

Broadsword, and
that he intended to work tirelessly to that end. The Secretary General was
hoping to contact Qaddafi personally and brief him on the strong feelings of
his colleagues in the General Assembly. Charles stressed that taking any other
course at the present time could only lose the support and good will of the
free world. When Charles sat down, he realized that the rowdy House was not convinced.

The
contribution from the back benches confirmed the Prime Minister’s and Simon’s
belief that they had gauged the feelings of the nation correctly, but neither
of them allowed the slightest show of emotion to cross their faces and give hope
to those who were demanding military action.

By the time
Simon rose to wind up for the Government at nine-thirty that night, he had
spent two and a half hours in the chamber listening to men and women tell him
to get on with exactly what he was already doing.

Blandly he
backed the Foreign Secretary in his pursuit of a diplomatic solution. The House
became restive, and when the clock reached ten, Simon sat down to cries of
“Resign” from some of his own colleagues and the more right wing of the Labour
benches.

Raymond watched
carefully as Kerslake and Hampton left the chamber. He wondered what was really
going on behind the closed door of Number 10 Dow i g Street.

When Raymond
arrived home after the debate, Joyce congratulated him on his speech and added,
“But it didn’t evoke much of a response from Simon Kerslake.”

“He’s up to
something,” said Raymond. “I only wish I was sitting in his office tonight and
could find out what it is.”

When Simon
arrived back in his office he phoned Elizabeth and explained that he would be
spending another night at the Ministry of Defense.

“Some women do
lose their men to the strangest mistresses,” said Elizabeth.

“By the way,
your daughter wants to know if you will have time to watch her play field
hockey in her intramural final on Saturday.”

“What’s today?”

“It’s still
Thursday,” she said, “and to think you’re the one in charge of the nation’s
defenses.”

Simon knew the
rescue attempt would be all over one way or the other by lunchtime the next
day. Why shouldn’t he watch his daughter play in a field hockey match?

“Tell Lucy I’ll
be there,” he said.

Although
nothing could be achieved between midnight and six o’clock now that the
submarines were in place, none of the Joint Chiefs left the operations room.
Radio silence was not broken once through the night as Simon tried to occupy
himself with the bulging red boxes containing other pressing matters which
still demanded his attention. He took advantage of the presence of the Joint
Chiefs and had a hundred queries answered in minutes that would normally have
taken him a month.

At midnight the
first editions of the morning papers were brought to him.

Simon pinned up
the Telegraph’s headline on the operations board.

“Kerslake’s in
His Hammock Till the (ireat Armada Comes.” The article demanded to know how the
hero of Northern Ireland could be so indecisive while Britain’s sailors lay
bound and gagged in foreign waters, and ended with the words “Captain, art thou
sleeping there below?” “Not a wink,” said Simon. “Resign” was the single-word
headline of the Daily Express.

Sir John looked
over the Minister’s shoulder and read the opening paragraph.

“I shall never
understand why anyone wants to be a politician,” he said, before reporting: “We
have just heard from reconnaissance in the area that both submarines Conqueror
and Courageous have moved up into place.”

Simon picked up
the blackthorn stick from the side of his desk and left the Joint Chiefs to go
over to Downing

Street. He
passed the morning street cleaners on their way to work before London woke up
and started another day.

They shouted
“Morning, Simon” and “Have You got our ship back yet?”

,
,Ask
me in three hours’ time,” he wanted to say but only
smiled.

He found the
Prime Minister sitting in the Cabinet room in her bathrobe.

“It’s no use, I
couldn’t sleep,” she said. Simon went over the final plan with her in great
detail, explaining that everything was ready and would be over by the time most
people were having their breakfasts.

“Let me know
the moment you hear anything-however trivial,” she concluded, before returning
to the latest gloomy study of the economy from the Wynne Godley team, who were
suggesting that the pound and the dollar would be of equal parity by 1990.