‘You mentioned a war on drugs. Will that be part of a bigger war, on crime in general? A proper war, with ordnance? Things that go bang?’

     ‘That will be inevitable. It could get rather… noisy.’

     There was a pause.

     ‘Give me the prisons.’

     He was adept at suppressing his reactions. His face showed barely a flicker. Then came a look of understanding. He picked up my letter again, scanned it briefly and read aloud.

     ‘”…and review the sentences of the worst criminals so they can be dealt with according to the wishes of the majority of the people.”‘ He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

     ‘Yes, that bit. You owe it to me.’

     ‘I can’t give you complete control, you know.’

     ‘Understood. I’m sure you had the job earmarked long ago, and I can hardly expect to elbow someone out of the way. But I’ll make a highly efficient second-in-command. I filled in a personality profile once. It showed I had little potential for leadership…’

     ‘You haven’t done too badly so far,’ he interjected.

     ‘… but I was ideal deputy material.’

     I looked straight into his eyes. He held my gaze.

     ‘Give me the prisons,’ I repeated softly.

     There was another pause. It seemed like a very long one. I thought of Ellie, the real Ellie, who had loved me so much. If only she could see me now; how proud she’d be. At last he answered.

     ‘Report at nine a.m. tomorrow. The Home Office.’

EPILOGUE

I stood on the south side of Westminster Bridge, looking up at the Clock Tower of the Houses of Parliament. The famous old timepiece showed a couple of minutes to four. I felt glad, as always when I had the opportunity of hearing Big Ben ‘live’, as opposed to through a T.V. or radio loudspeaker. Show me a true Briton who feels no emotion at that sound, and I’ll show you a dead one.

     I gazed down into the murky water of the Thames. It had flowed past that point for millennia, and would continue to do so long after all traces of human civilisation had gone. No matter what we did to the world, the sun and the winds would continue to transfer a tiny proportion of the seas to the land, perpetuating the flow of fresh water. It was strangely comforting. No wonder so many songs had been written about rivers.

     I pulled the coin from my pocket for the last time, keeping it unseen in my tightly clenched left fist. The cruelly distorted images it had come to bear, floated before me. I forced my eyes shut and dragged forward the visions of the two women I had loved, who had loved me and shared my life, the real, benign women, in all their beauty.

     ‘Goodbye,’ I whispered. Big Ben’s supporting cast began to play his signature tune. Then the great bell rang the hour. Another four of the best-loved notes ever made by metal striking metal, boomed out on their hourly journey across London. On the last chime, I threw the coin as far away from the bridge as I could. It disappeared with a faint splash. The few ripples it left behind were soon obliterated by the wavelets.

     I straightened and turned resolutely towards Whitehall. A couple of soldiers were watching me. I walked past them briskly, heading for one of the capital’s top hotels.

     It was time for afternoon tea.

THE END