The Ghost(英文版)-第22章
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“And have you？” asked Amelia。 “Told her？”
“I wanted to break it to her face…to…face。 Obviously； that’s no longer an option； so I just called her。”
“And how did she take it？”
“How do you think？”
“The little shit；” repeated Amelia。
“She should be back any minute。”
Lang got to his feet and stood looking out of the window with his hands on his hips。 I smelled again the sharp tang of his sweat。 It made me think of an animal at bay。 “He wanted very much to let me know there was nothing personal；” said Lang； with his back to us。 “He wanted veryvery much to tell me that it was only because of his well…known stand on human rights that he felt he couldn’t keep quiet any longer。” He snorted at his own reflection。 “His ‘well…known stand on human rights’…Dear God。”
Amelia said； “Do you think he was taping the call？”
“Who knows？ Probably。 Probably he’s going to broadcast it。 Anything’s possible with him。 I just said； ‘Thank you very much； Richard； for letting me know；’ and hung up。” He turned round； frowning。 “It’s gone unnervingly quiet down there。”
“I’ve had the phones unplugged。 We need to work out what we’re going to say。”
“What did we say at the weekend？”
“That we hadn’t seen what was in theSunday Times and had no plans to comment。”
“Well； at least we now know where they got their story。” Lang shook his head。 His expression was almost admiring。 “He really is after me； isn’t he？ A leak to the press on Sunday； preparing the ground for a statement on Tuesday。 Three days of coverage instead of one； building up to a climax。 This is straight out of the textbook。”
“Your textbook。”
Lang acknowledged the compliment with a slight nod and returned his gaze to the window。 “Ah；” he said。 “Here comes trouble。”
A small and determined figure in a blue windbreaker was striding down the path from the dunes； moving so rapidly that the policeman behind her had to break into an occasional loping run to keep up。 The pointed hood was pulled down low to protect her face； and her chin was pressed to her chest； giving Ruth Lang the appearance of a medieval knight in a polyester visor； heading into battle。
“Adam； we’ve really got to put out a statement of our own；” said Amelia。 “If you don’t say anything； or if you leave it too long； you’ll look—” She hesitated。 “Well； they’ll draw their own conclusions。”
“All right；” said Lang。 “How about this？” Amelia uncapped a small silver pen and opened her notebook。 “Responding to Richard Rycart’s statement； Adam Lang made the following remarks： When a policy of offering one hundred percent support to the United States in the global war on terror was popular in the United Kingdom； Mr。 Rycart approved of it。 When it became unpopular； he disapproved of it。 And when； due to his own administrative incompetence； he was asked to leave the Foreign Office； he suddenly developed a passionate interest in upholding the so…called human rights of suspected terrorists。 A child of three could see through his infantile tactics in seeking to embarrass his former colleagues。’ End point。 End paragraph。”
Amelia had stopped writing midway through Lang’s dictation。 She was staring at the former prime minister； and if I didn’t know it was impossible； I’d swear the Ice Queen had the beginnings of a tear in one eye。 He stared back at her。 There was a gentle tap on the open door and Alice came in； holding a sheet of paper。
“Excuse me； Adam；” she said。 “This just came over AP。”
Lang seemed reluctant to break eye contact with Amelia； and I knew then—as surely as I had ever known anything—that their relationship was more than merely professional。 After what seemed an embarrassingly long interlude he took the paper from Alice and started to read it。 That was when Ruth came into the study。 By this time I was starting to feel like a member of an audience who has left his seat in the middle of a play to find a lavatory and somehow wandered onto the stage： the principal actors were pretending I wasn’t there； and I knew I ought to leave； but I couldn’t think of an exit line。
Lang finished reading and gave the paper to Ruth。 “According to the Associated Press；” he announced； “sources in The Hague—whoever they may be—say the prosecutor’s office of the International Criminal Court will be issuing a statement in the morning。”
“Oh； Adam！” cried Amelia。 She put her hand to her mouth。
“Why weren’t we given some warning of this？” demanded Ruth。 “What about Downing Street？ Why haven’t we heard from the embassy？”
“The phones are disconnected；” said Lang。 “They’re probably trying to get through now。”
“Never mindnow ！” shrieked Ruth。 “What fucking use isnow ？ We needed to know about this a week ago！ What are you people doing？” she said； turning her fury on Amelia。 “I thought the whole point ofyou was to maintain liaison with the Cabinet Office？ You’re not telling me they didn’t know this was coming？”
“The ICC prosecutor is very scrupulous about not notifying a suspect if he’s under investigation；” said Amelia。 “Or the suspect’s government； for that matter。 In case they start destroying evidence。”
Her words seemed to stun Ruth。 It took her a beat to recover。 “So that’s what Adam is now？ A suspect？” She turned to her husband。 “You need to talk to Sid Kroll。”
“We don’t actually know what the ICC are going to say yet；” Lang pointed out。 “I should talk to London first。”
“Adam；” said Ruth； addressing him very slowly； as if he had suffered an accident and might be
concussed； “if it suits them； they will hang you out to dry。 You need a lawyer。 Call Sid。”
Lang hesitated； then turned to Amelia。 “Get Sid on the line。”
“And what about the media？”
“I’ll issue a holding statement；” said Ruth。 “Just a sentence or two。”
Amelia pulled out her mobile and started scrolling through the address book。 “D’you want me to
draft something？”
“Why doesn’the do it？” said Ruth； pointing at me。 “He’s supposed to be the writer。”
“Fine；” said Amelia； not quite concealing her irritation； “but it needs to go out immediately。”
“Hang on a minute；” I said。
“I should sound confident；” Lang said to me； “certainly not defensive—that would be fatal。 But I
shouldn’t be cocky； either。 No bitterness。 No anger。 But don’t say I’m pleased at this opportunity to clear my name； or any balls like that。”
“So；” I said； “you’re not defensive but you’re not cocky； you’re not angry but you’re not pleased？”
“That’s it。”
“Then what exactly are you？”
Surprisingly； under the circumstances； everybody laughed。
“I told you he was funny；” said Ruth。
Amelia abruptly held up her hand and Lang for Sidney Kroll；” she said。 “No； I won’t hold。”
I WENT DOWNSTAIRS WITHAlice and stood behind her shoulder while she sat at a keyboard； patiently waiting for the ex–prime minister’s words to flow from my mouth。 It wasn’t until I started contemplating what Lang should say that I realized I hadn’t asked him the crucial question： had he actually ordered the seizure of those four men？ That was when I knew that of course he must have done； otherwise he’d simply have denied it outright at the weekend； when the original story broke。 Not for the first time； I felt seriously out of my depth。
“I have always been a passionate—” I began。 “No； scrub that。 I have always been a strong—no； committed —supporter of the work of the International Criminal Court。” Had he been？ I’d no idea。 I assumed he had。 Or； rather； I assumed he’d always pretended he had。 “I have no doubt that the ICC will quickly see through this politically motivated piece of mischief making。” I paused。 I felt it needed one more line； something broadening and statesmanlike。 What would I say if I were him？ “The international struggle against terror；” I said； in a sudden burst of inspiration； “is too important to be used for the purposes of personal revenge。”
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