Peter answered. ‘Roy didn’t think it wise,’ he said.
‘A direct link to two attendees?’ she asked again, puzzled.
‘It’s much more likely that Fawaz will take out as many high-profile names as possible, otherwise, why choose the summit?’ Roy asked.
It was clear to Helen that they’d discussed this without her.
She left, putting a call through to the ambassador’s driving team, as she did so. Hunch, jitters, vacillation or scepticism: it didn’t matter the rationale behind it, but she put in a request for a driver familiar with J-turning an automatic vehicle. Evasive driving was something that all ambassadorial drivers were skilled in, but complacency and lack of practice was always a possibility. She spoke to the ambassador’s driver in person. He assured her that he was fully competent with the manoeuvre, which, executed perfectly, thrust a vehicle one hundred and eighty degrees in the opposite direction with the engine still running.
She was connected to Peter and Roy via radio and she could feel their apprehension. She listened as they confirmed checks on all the finer points of their last opportunity to check security. Voices checked in from all over the estate. One more inspection of the guest list would be done, including all entourages. It was a mammoth task, but they were used to it. Peter’s department could do this sort of thing with their eyes closed. She wondered what sort of action Roy White had seen to reach such a senior position of trust at a relatively young age, and how he’d got the scar on his face.
She was taken by Polaris Ranger to the main house, and a short walk across the gravel brought her to a rear entrance. The kitchen was two storeys below. She met with the security team overseeing the catering and sat on the edge of a table, in an adjacent room to the main kitchen, and listened to their brief. They showed her photographs of every vehicle registered as arriving and leaving, which one had delivered what, along with their inventories and the vetting updates on the staff.
She took her time and checked each name against the security information. It took her two hours to plough through, by which time her stomach was telling her to eat, but she didn’t know if she could face a morsel.
‘This team here – the sous chefs accompanying the head chef,’ she said.
A security agent checked what she was looking at. ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ he said.
‘They’ve been added last week. Why weren’t they cleared before that?’ she asked.
‘I’ll find out, ma’am,’ he said, and left the room.
She heard a final update from Peter across the radio.
All they could do now was wait.
Chapter 55
Helen visited the kitchens and accepted a sandwich from a chef. The smells coming out of the various stations were incredible and all tension at the thought of eating dissipated. She quizzed the young helpers about their jobs and residential statuses, without attracting any animosity at her prying. She made it sound the most natural thing in the world. She’d memorised the files of most of them and checked minor details with them, ticking them off in her head. She peered in cupboards and looked under tablecloths. A few ancillary helpers looked at her oddly, but most were gracious and patient with her questions.
She moved upstairs to the main hall, where she could see Roy White in place behind the Hall of Mirrors, coordinating the security measures covering the whole estate, which is where he’d remain. The perimeter had been closed and all VIPs were in place inside the great hall, which was most famous for the signing of the Treaty of Versailles in 1919. Where Clemenceau strutted and demanded Germany’s blood, and where hundreds of presidents and prime ministers had graced the ornate stateroom since. Actually, it was garish and pretentious, and the light reflecting off the mirrors from the huge windows overlooking the Grand Canal hurt Helen’s head. She’d come to the kitchen to snoop around and have a break. She was no good to the prime minister and the ambassador if she was lacking in energy. Her nerves were holding and the journey times and routes, chosen by Roy and communicated to the gendarmes via the Police Nationale, had been a huge success. She heard the guffaws of politicians and statesmen and women vibrate through the long serving halls of the palace, together with regular updates from Peter and Roy about sniper positions and perimeter policing. Shortly, the guests would be asked to be seated for dinner. The sun still shone brightly and the west-facing Hall of Mirrors welcomed the brilliant rays through the huge glass windows. Crystal reflected across the room as Helen watched from the door as the arrival of the US president was announced. She eyed the personal security of each head of state, and watched as they spoke in earpieces, communicating with each other via updates from Special Agent White. It was a familiar sight and one that Helen felt comfortable with. The suits, fancy dresses and glittering accessories mingled into a blur, and she drowned them out. Sir Conrad entered the room, and she watched him as he was submerged in flattery and pomp. The room was full and noisy now.
She fiddled with her earpiece and made her way back to Roy. She was happy with the personal bodyguards standing behind the VIPs at all times, packing enough metal to put a dent in the Titanic. The photo opportunities outside in front of the magnificent building had run smoothly and the world’s media was happy. The best-case scenario was that they had it all wrong, and could all go back to their hotels after dinner was over.
Canapés circulated and waiters worked tirelessly to make sure no one was empty-handed. Roy gave her the thumbs-up, and she went back into the hall.
