The Horse at the Gates by D C Alden Page A

its multitude of attractions. Now it appeared desolate.
    Two families in our village have already gone...
    ‘Prime Minister,’ Hassani began in a quiet voice behind him. ‘The relocation programme is a humanitarian effort on an unprecedented scale, a challenge that we here in Britain have met with resounding success.’
    Bryce turned to face her. ‘I’m afraid that’s not the case-’
    ‘Let me finish,’ Hassani commanded, holding up her hand. Bryce fumed silently. True to form, she’d completed the predicted mood swing from respectful colleague to irritating nuisance in one small sentence. He’d look forward to sacking her, too, if he ever got a word in.
    ‘Suspending the program, or whatever it is you intend to do, is not only illegal, it will also damage international relationships, especially across the Islamic world. Furthermore, it will cause great distress among the seven million Muslim voters right here in Britain. To even suggest such a course of action is unethical, unconstitutional and, quite simply, unacceptable.’ Her voice had risen steadily as she spoke, the last word delivered just short of a bark. Before Bryce could answer, the Communities deputy continued her lecture.
    ‘Both Britain and Pakistan have enjoyed a long history together and many of the refugees see Britain as a spiritual home. To deny them the opportunity to come here is an abuse of their human rights. The programme must continue, so that displaced friends and relatives may be welcomed into the bosom of the Pakistani community. It is our duty to-’
    ‘A duty we can ill afford,’ Bryce cut in. He took a deep breath, knowing he had to tread carefully. ‘Rana, I sympathise with your argument, but it’s a fact that the refugees have travelled through some extraordinarily prosperous countries to arrive at the gates of Europe. As well as a temporary suspension, I intend to pursue agreements with the Gulf states, encourage them to accept a share of the burden until the situation in Pakistan is resolved.’
    Hassani’s eyes bored into him. ‘The refugees are a burden to you?’
    Bryce chewed his lip; this debate was going nowhere. He glanced at his watch. ‘Your two minutes are up.’
    ‘I strongly advise you to reconsider your position,’ Hassani urged, wagging a slender finger at the ceiling. ‘Much hatred has been directed towards the refugees and this suspension will only fuel such loathing, a state of affairs you will be held responsible for.’
    Ella stepped between them, towering over the tiny minister. ‘That’s enough, thank you Rana. I think you’ve made your point. Now, if you don’t mind, the Prime Minister has a press conference to attend.’ She glared at Ella then left the room, leaving the door wide open. Ella swung it closed behind her.
    ‘Jesus Christ, that bloody woman.’
    Bryce stared at the door. ‘How the hell did she find out?’
    ‘Must be someone at Heathrow, one of Davies’ team probably.’
    ‘I warned him, no leaks.’
    ‘If Rana knows, then so does Tariq.’
    Bryce let out a long sigh. ‘Well, in a few minutes everyone will know.’
    ‘She’s right about one thing,’ continued Ella. ‘The Muslim community will see this as a bad day for them.’
    ‘Which reminds me.’ Bryce produced a piece of paper from his jacket pocket. ‘A shortlist of prospective candidates to replace Tariq, all with the necessary credentials. Go over it, would you? Let me have your thoughts?’
    Ella plucked the paper from his fingers and scanned it quickly. ‘I will.’ She stood in front of Bryce and her hand reached out and smoothed the lapels of his jacket. ‘You look very nice,’ she smiled. ‘Very handsome.’
    ‘Ella-’
    ‘I can have an opinion, can’t I? If I can’t have you, then at least allow me that.’ Bryce said nothing as she picked a thread of lint from his shoulder. She smiled and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m always here for you, Gabe. You know that.’ Bryce saw the pain of rejection