Secrets and Lies

 “The issue, Minister,” said Dink Lightly, “is that the diaries you’ve provided for the book—”

“My personal diaries, yes.” The Minister famously disliked listening to anyone else speak for longer than a few minutes.  Dink, his ghostwriter, was coming to terms with it but he still had to avoid sighing in frustration that the Minister was clarifying a point that was obvious to everyone in the room.

“Yes,” he said, mentally sighing instead.  “Yes, those diaries. The issue is that they contain, well, confessions.  Of crimes.”

“Everyone makes mistakes,” said the Minister cheerfully.  He grinned at Dink with his best campaign smile.  “I think we used that a slogan last year, in fact.  You can put that in the book.”

Dink forced a smile onto his face and reached for his notepad.

“Ah, before you write that down, Mr. Dink,” said a nasal voice to his left.  He couldn’t help but think of a weasel trying to be human whenever he heard that voice.  “That slogan, Minister, was the one we trialled to explain the increase in the number of people being sent to prison.”

“Ah,” said the Minister in the tone of someone being reminded of something unpleasant.  “That was not our greatest success, right?”

“Far from it, Minister,” said the weasel.  Dink tried to remember that the man’s name was Jacob, just in case he had to offer an opinion.

“So probably only a third-rate success,” said the Minister sounding thoughtful and apparently having only heard what he wanted to hear.  “I think the book should—“

“Focus on the top-tier successes,” said Jacob.  The Minister glared at him for a few seconds and then nodded.  “Ok, don’t use that quote.  Or save it for the sequel maybe.”  Dink glanced surreptitiously at Jacob who shook his head fractionally but firmly.  Dink wrote down some words at random to appease the Minister and wondered how much longer this would go on for.

“Right,” said the Minister.  “That’s all then, right?”

“Ah,” said Dink, but the weasel laid a cold, clammy hand on Dink’s wrist and spoke over him.

“Not quite, Minister.  The diaries, as this young man,” and Jacob smiled at Dink in a way that made him want to vomit, “is trying to tell you, contain details that are not in the public interest, though the public would likely be very interested in them.”

“What?”  The Minister could be disarmingly blunt when he wasn’t actually interested in what was being said.

Jacob took his hand off Dink’s wrist and Dink narrowly avoided shuddering in relief.

“The diaries state that you broke the pandemic rules,” said Dink.  “Repeatedly.  And inventively, in some cases.”

“Those rules didn’t apply to me,” said the Minister.  He looked at his watch.  “I’m on the news in five minutes and I’d like to watch it.”

“They did,” said Jacob smoothly.  “And finding out that you’d broken them would put you on the news rather a lot Minister, but not in any way you’d like to watch.”

“Well change the law, then,” said the Minister.  “Have them not apply to me, since I’m the Minister and I’m running the show here.  How is this difficult?  Why am I having to listen to this?”

“Changing the law retroactively would require Parliament to be told all the details,” said Jacob.  “Which might endanger your chance of re-election.”

“Oh.”  The Minister frowned and adjusted his position on his chair in a way that suggested he had been about to stand up and leave no matter how the conversation went.  “I need to be re-elected.  At least until I can make this position hereditary.  So… just don’t put that bit in the book.”

Dink found himself writing down hereditary? and wondering what the Minister was on about.  A moment later Jacob took his pen out of his hand and carefully scribbled over hereditary until only the question mark was left.

“The problem, Minister,” said Jacob, “is that under the rules set out for the writing of these books for government officials the ghostwriter must report any evidence of criminal activity if they come across it.”

“Well done,” said the Minister, smiling warmly at Dink.  “I shall act on it at once.  Is that done now?”

“Not to you, Minister,” said Jacob.  Dink thought he sounded wheedling now.  “To the police.”

“Good Lord,” said the Minister.  “Haven’t I abolished them yet?”

“Legislation is in passage,” said the weasel with a smile that Dink felt showed far too many teeth that were far too white.  “But realistically it would be better to submit the evidence to them and then have them decide that there is no crime to investigate.  A little work with the Official Secrets Act after that and we can cover this up for a hundred and fifty years, by which time no-one will care.”

The Minister gave the weasel the side-eye.  “And how do they decide that?” he asked.  “What’s it going to cost?”

“It used to be a peerage,” said Jacob.  “In the good old days.  You’d just knight the Chief Constable or give his wife a modest title, one that comes with a small stretch of land, and be done with it.  But under the current circumstances… you’re probably going to have to give up on abolishing the police force.”

“No!”

“Hear me out, Minister, at least.  There is an alternative.”

“I won’t have these plebs trying to prosecute me!  They’re persecuting me enough already without changing the damn letters around!”

“Indeed, Minister, though can you truly say they have no cause?”  Jacob didn’t wait for his boss to answer. “Instead, let’s have the police force report into you directly.  They will be placated by the legislation to abolish them being dropped and we’ll slide their reporting lines under you as part of amendments to other bills. A little bit of PR work and we can change the M from meaning Metropolitan to Militia, I should think.”

“The M?”

“As in London Metropolitan Police: LMP, Minister.  We can make it London’s Militia Policing.  And it will your own private army.”

Dink reached for his pen to note that down but Jacob removed it and, without once looking at Dink, snapped it in half.

“Capital idea,” said the Minister.  “They’ll have a hard time arresting me if I’m giving the orders, right?”

“Precisely, Minister.”