Page 136 of The Unlikely Spare
Brilliant. Just feckin’ brilliant.
Every intelligence agency, every police force, every border control officer will have my face memorized within hours.
“I’d actually characterize it more as an unplanned vacation with an armed escort. Much less paperwork than official royal tours,” Nicholas says.
Callum blinks at him. “What?”
“I guess technically you could say I’ve been kidnapped by a brooding Irishman with a nasty temper. Say hi to Eoin. Eoin, meet my brother.” He flashes the phone screen in my direction.
“What the hell is going on, Nicholas?” Oliver barks. His face crowds next to his husband’s on the screen, and I flinch at the look on the former prime minister’s face. I’m reminded that he’s the man who used to control the United Kingdom’s intelligence services and military operations.
“Well, we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a pickle,” Nicholas says, and despite myself, despite everything, I can’t help my snort.
This man will always entertain me, amuse me, surprise me.
Nicholas clocks my reaction, and for a heartbeat, his expression softens. But then he seems to remember he’s keeping me at arm’s length because his face shutters again.
His voice is brisk as he speaks again, “So, here’s the short version. Eoin here was planted in my security detail by his mentor at Scotland Yard to find a traitor among my protection officers. But twist of the century, his mentor turns out to be the mastermind behind the organization that’s been trying to kidnap me. Apparently, they’ve been recruiting people from former colonies with rather legitimate grievances about how the British aristocracy pillaged their countries for centuries. Oh, andEoin’s brother is involved too, and his brother and his mentor thought Eoin would release me to them. But he won’t, so now we’ve got both the authorities and terrorists hunting us. All it really needs is for me to have a secret twin brother, and then we’d have a proper soap opera drama.”
Callum’s face has gone slack with shock, while Oliver’s eyes have narrowed to laser focus.
“What do you need us to do?”
Nicholas smiles. “Well, since I’ve already been kidnapped—theoretically speaking—I thought we might actually use it to our advantage. Specifically, to convince Grandmother, along with my mother’s side of the family, to part with a rather substantial amount of blood money as a way of acknowledging historical wrongs. Call it reparations, call it ransom, call it whatever makes the lawyers happy. After all, nothing says ‘sorry about the colonialism’ quite like transferring a few billion pounds to the descendants of those we exploited, does it?”
There’s a beat of perfect silence before Oliver lets out a bark of startled laughter.
“You want to fake your own kidnapping…to force colonial reparations?” Oliver clarifies.
“It’s hardly faking,” Nicholas says. “It’s just that my nominated kidnapper isn’t as willing to go through with the whole plan as the terrorists expected him to be. And we’re rather hoping that once the announcement of the establishment of the funds is set up, the terrorist groups will back off and you know, stop hunting me like I’m one of the foxes my relatives used to go after.”
“Do you think your mother’s family would agree to something like this?” Oliver asks.
“Well, that’s where I’m going to have to rely on your persuasive skills. Grandmother gets to be remembered as the monarch who finally acknowledged our less-than-sterlingimperial past instead of the one who clutched the family jewels until her final breath. Once the royal family agrees, I can imagine the other aristocratic families, including the Preston-Alexanders, would have more pressure to fall in line.”
Oliver’s face is still contemplative. “A start is all we’ll need. Most of the Crown Estate is untouchable by the monarch these days. It’s held in trust for the nation. But if the royal family and other aristocratic families acknowledge the need for reparations, MPs would face enormous pressure to draft a special Act of Parliament releasing some of the Crown Estate holdings for that purpose.”
“So we need to get Grandmother onside first, and then the Preston-Alexanders and other aristocratic families to get the public’s attention.”
“I think we could potentially pull something together, but we’re going to need some time. How safe are you now?” Oliver asks.
“We’re managing,” I say, scanning our surroundings even as I speak. The riverbank is still deserted, but every moment exposed feels like tempting fate.
“We’ll have to do it without it becoming public that you’ve supposedly been kidnapped. There’s the whole ‘don’t negotiate with terrorists’ mantra that I spouted often enough from Number 10,” Oliver says.
“Or don’t let it be known that you’re trying to arrange for terrorists to get what they want so they stop hunting me,” Nicholas replies.
“The head of RaSP, Colin Pierce, is corrupted. He’s on his way here and needs to be neutralized as soon as possible,” I say.
Oliver nods briskly. “Leave that to me.”
Callum’s frowning. “But how do we explain to the public that you’ve gone AWOL from the royal tour?”
“I’m sure you can come up with something plausible,” Nicholas says.
Callum’s frown deepens. “Can you stay safe for twenty-four hours while we try to organize the announcement of a reparation fund?”
“I’ll keep him safe,” I vow.
