The Ghost(英文版)-第18章

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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。”

　　Lucy　printed　it；　and　when　I　took　it　back　up　to　the　study　I　felt　a　curious　bashful　pride；　like　a　schoolboy　handing　in　his　homework。　I　pretended　not　to　see　Amelia’s　outstretched　hand　and　showed　it　first　to　Ruth　（at　last　I　was　learning　the　etiquette　of　this　exile’s　court）。　She　nodded　her　approval　and　slid　it　across　the　desk　to　Lang；　who　was　listening　on　the　telephone。　He　glanced　at　it　silently；　beckoned　for　my　pen；　and　inserted　a　single　word。　He　tossed　the　statement　back　to　me　and　gave　me　the　thumbs…up。

　　Into　the　telephone　he　said；　“That’s　great；　Sid。　And　what　do　we　know　about　these　three　judges？”

　　“Am　I　allowed　to　see　it？”　said　Amelia；　as　we　went　downstairs。

　　Handing　it　over；　I　noticed　that　Lang　had　added　“domestic”　to　the　final　sentence：　“The　international　struggle　against　terror　is　too　important　to　be　used　for　the　purposes　ofdomestic　personal　revenge。”　The　brutal　antithesis　of　“international”　and　“domestic”　made　Rycart　appear　even　more　petty。

　　“Very　good；”　said　Amelia。　“You　could　be　the　new　Mike　McAra。”

　　I　gave　her　a　look。　I　think　she　meant　it　as　a　compliment。　It　was　always　hard　to　tell　with　her。　Not　that　I　cared。　For　the　first　time　in　my　life　I　was　experiencing　the　adrenaline　of　politics。　Now　I　saw　why　Lang　was　so　restless　in　retirement。　I　guessed　this　was　how　sport　must　feel；　when　played　at　its　hardest　and　fastest。　It　was　like　tennis　on　Centre　Court　at　Wimbledon。　Rycart　had　fired　his　serve　low　across　the　net；　and　we　had　lunged　for　it；　got　our　racket　to　it；　and　shot　the　ball　right　back　at　him；　with　added　spin。　One　by　one　the　telephones　were　reconnected　and　immediately　began　ringing；　demanding　attention；　and　I　heard　the　secretaries　feeding　my　words　to　the　hungry　reporters：“I　have　always　been　a　committed　supporter　of　the　work　of　the　International　Criminal　Court。”　I　watched　my　sentences　emailed　to　the　news　agencies。　And　within　a　couple　of　minutes；　on　the　computer　screen　and　on　television；　I　started　seeing　and　hearing　them　all　over　again　（“In　a　statement　issued　in　the　last　few　minutes；　the　former　prime　minister　says…”）。　The　world　had　become　our　echo　chamber。

　　In　the　middle　of　all　this；　my　own　phone　rang。　I　jammed　the　receiver　to　one　ear　and　had　to　put　my　finger　in　the　other　to　hear　who　was　calling。　A　faint　voice　said；　“Can　you　hear　me？”

　　“Who　is　this？”

　　“It’s　John　Maddox；　from　Rhinehart　in　New　York。　Where　the　hell　are　you？　Sounds　like　you’re　in　a　madhouse。”

　　“You’re　not　the　first　to　call　it　that。　Hold　on；　John。　I’ll　try　to　find　somewhere　quieter。”　I　walked　out　into　the　passage　and　kept　following　it　round　to　the　back　of　the　house。　“Is　that　better？”

　　“I’ve　just　heard　the　news；”　said　Maddox。　“This　can　only　be　good　for　us。　We　should　start　with　this。”

　　“What？”　I　was　still　walking。

　　“This　war　crimes　stuff。　Have　you　asked　him　about　it？”

　　“Haven’t　had　much　chance；　John；　to　be　honest。”　I　tried　not　to　sound　too　sarcastic。　“He’s　a　little　tied　up　right　now。”

　　“Okay；　so　what’ve　you　covered　so　far？”

　　“The　early　years—childhood；　university—”

　　“No；　no；”　said　Maddox　impatiently。　“Forget　all　that　crap。This　is　what’s　interesting。　Get　him　to　focus　on　this。　And　he　mustn’t　talk　to　anyone　else　about　it。　We　need　to　keep　this　absolutely　exclusive　to　the　memoirs。”

　　I’d　ended　up　in　the　solarium；　where　I’d　spoken　to　Rick　at　lunchtime。　Even　with　the　door　closed　I　could　still　hear　the　faint　noise　of　the　telephones　ringing　on　the　other　side　of　the　house。　The　notion　that　Lang　would　be　able　to　avoid　saying　anything　about　illegal　kidnapping　and　torture　until　the　book　came　out　was　a　joke。　Naturally　I　didn’t　put　it　in　quite　those　terms　to　the　chief　executive　of　the　third　largest　publishing　house　in　the　world。　“I’ll　tell　him；　John；”　I　said。　“It　might　be　worth　your　while　talking　to　Sidney　Kroll。　Perhaps　Adam　could　say　that　his　lawyers　have　instructed　him　not　to　talk。”

　　“Good　idea。　I’ll　call　Sid　now。　In　the　meantime；　I　want　you　to　accelerate　the　timetable。”

　　“Accelerate？