The Reluctant Hero by Michael Dobbs Page A

challenged what he called her unpardonable rudeness to the President. She had countered that it would have been difficult for him to hear let alone understand what was being said with his head stuck halfway up the President’s arse. He had accused her of flagrant discourtesy. She had replied, in earshot of all, that she would have taken his advice about manners more seriously if he hadn’t spent so much of the dinner with his hand creeping up her thigh. After that they decided to suspend hostilities until another day, and found seats at opposite ends of the bus.
    Sydykov, who was still in harness, had spent much of the journey back to their hotel on his mobile phone. Eventually he stood up and faced the guests, clinging on with both hands as the bus swayed and bucked.
    ‘I have to offer you all an apology,’ he said. ‘But the weather has got worse. A lot of snow is coming. As you know, we had intended to take you into the Celestial Mountains tomorrow morning to visit our latest hydroelectric project, but the roads will be unreliable. So I’m afraid we shall be forced to change the schedule. I’m sorry to have to ask, but is there anything you would care to do tomorrow morning instead?’
    In the half-light of the poorly illuminated bus, a discussion began that teetered between accepting an invitation to morning coffee with the Deputy Prime Minister and a discussion about tourism and transport, when Martha’s voice cut through the babble.
    ‘I’d like to visit the central prison.’
    ‘The prison? But – why?’ Sydykov replied uneasily.
    ‘Human rights. The President said we shouldn’t be worried about it, and a visit to the prison would help convince us.’
    From the rear of the bus Bowles could be heard muttering about their trip being turned into some sort of publicity stunt. Sydykov, too, had his objections. ‘But we have had no notice.’
    ‘That’s the point,’ Martha replied. ‘An unannounced visit. Couldn’t be better.’
    ‘I am really not sure it will be possible without preparation—’
    ‘No, no, Mr Sickof, that won’t do at all. President Karabayev assured us you have nothing to hide – his words, not mine – and I respect him as a man of his word. Do I need to take the matter up with him?’
    It was a threat that left Sydykov swaying with uncertainty. He wasn’t one to second-guess the presidential whim. Then Bowles joined in.
    ‘This is ridiculous. We can’t let you hijack the whole proceedings,’ he protested from the back of the bus. ‘You can’t demand that our hosts make special arrangements just for one.’
    Sydykov shrugged his shoulders, as if to indicate reluctant agreement, until another voice interrupted them.
    ‘That’s not a problem. I’d like to go, too.’
    It was Harry.
    ‘Excellent! We have a quorum,’ Martha exclaimed.
    At that moment, with the hotel in sight, the bus hit another pothole and Sydykov was thrown back into his seat. He didn’t get up again, but instead began agitatedly banging the buttons on his mobile phone.
    The guard had been reluctant to leave the other man alone with the prisoner.
    ‘Why should you worry? Look at that,’ the visitor had said, nodding towards Zac’s pathetic form, huddled in the shadows of the corner. ‘A butterfly with broken wings. I need no protection from that.’
    The guard knew better than to contradict him. He saluted, and left them alone.
    For a while, after the door had been slammed shut, the visitor said nothing, standing quietly, thoughtful, his hand against his nose to fight the stench until eventually Zac stirred and looked up.
    ‘You are an interesting man, Mr Kravitz,’ the visitor said quietly. ‘You come to my country to cause trouble and deep offence, so we lock you up and throw away the key. Yet still you seem bent on causing trouble – you, and your friend, Harry Jones.’
    Zac shook his head in confusion, aroused by some distant memory.
    ‘Oh, did you not know? Mr Jones is here, in Ashkek. He