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ed 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？