“This isn’t about the Middle East. It’s about Jonathan Lancaster.”
She looked up sharply. “Why is a famous Israeli intelligence operative coming to a London reporter for information about the British prime minister?”
“It must be something important,” Gabriel said evasively. “Otherwise, the famous Israeli operative would never dare to do such a thing.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” she agreed. “But surely the famous operative has a great deal of information about Lancaster at his fingertips. Why would he ask a reporter for help?”
“Contrary to popular myth, we don’t compile personal dossiers on our friends.”
“Bullshit.”
Gabriel hesitated for a moment. “This is a strictly personal matter, Ms. Cooke. My service isn’t involved in any way.”
“And if I agree to help you?”
“Obviously, I would give you something in return.”
“A story?”
Gabriel nodded.
“But you can’t tell me what it is,” she said.
“Not yet.”
“Whatever it is, it had better be something big.”
“I’m Gabriel Allon. I only do big.”
“Yes, you do.” She stopped walking and gazed at the London Eye turning slowly on the opposite bank of the river. “All right, Mr. Allon, we have a deal. Perhaps you should tell me what this is all about.”
Gabriel withdrew the Telegraph article from his coat pocket and held it up for her to see. Samantha Cooke smiled.
“Where would you like me to start?”
Gabriel returned the article to his coat pocket. Then he asked her to start with Jeremy Fallon.
33
LONDON
She was a good reporter, and like all good reporters she provided her audience with the necessary background to put her story into proper context. Gabriel, a former resident of the United Kingdom, knew much of it already. He knew, for example, that Jeremy Fallon had been educated at University College London and had worked as an advertising copywriter before joining the political unit at Party headquarters. What Fallon discovered was that there was an antiquated campaign organization dedicated to selling a product that no one, least of all the British voting public, wanted to buy. His first priority was to change the way the Party did its polling. Fallon didn’t care which party a particular voter supported; he wanted to know where the voter did his shopping, what programs the voter watched on television, and what hopes the voter had for his children. Most of all, Fallon wanted to know what the voter expected from his government. Quietly, working far from the public spotlight, Fallon set about retooling the Party’s core policies to meet the needs of a modern British electorate. Then he went in search of the perfect pitchman to take his new product to market. He found one in Jonathan Lancaster. With Fallon’s help, Lancaster successfully challenged for Party leader. Then, six months later, he was swept into Downing Street.
“Jeremy got the dream job as his reward,” Samantha Cooke said. “Jonathan appointed him chief of staff and gave him more power than any other chief of staff in British history. Jeremy is Lancaster’s gatekeeper and enforcer, a deputy prime minister in everything but name. Lancaster once told me it was the biggest mistake he’d ever made.”
“On the record?”
“Off,” she said pointedly. “Way, way, way off.”
“If Lancaster knew it was a mistake, why did he do it?”
“Because without Jeremy, the Party would still be wandering in the proverbial political wilderness. And Jonathan Lancaster would still be a lowly opposition backbencher trying to make a name for himself once a week during PMQ. Besides,” she added, “Jeremy is completely loyal to Lancaster. I’m quite confident he would kill for him and then volunteer to mop up the blood.”
Gabriel wished he could tell her how right she was. Instead, he walked on in silence and waited for her to resume.
“But there was more to their relationship than just a bond of debt and loyalty. Lancaster needed Jeremy. He truly didn’t believe he could govern the country without him at his side.”
“So it’s true, then?”
“What’s that?”
“That Jeremy Fallon is Lancaster’s brain.”
“Actually, it’s complete rubbish. But it didn’t take long for that perception to take hold in the public. Even the Party’s own internal polls showed a majority of Britons thought Jeremy was the one who was truly running the government.” She paused thoughtfully. “That’s why I was so surprised when Jeremy was at Lancaster’s side the day he finally called the election.”
“Surprised?”
“Not long ago there was a nasty rumor running round Whitehall that Lancaster was planning to push Jeremy out of Downing Street.”
“Because he had become an electoral liability?”
Samantha Cooke nodded her head. “And because he was so unpopular within the Party that no one wanted to work for him.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”