The Sins of the Fathers

Chapter Thirty

The United Nations

New York

"No grandstanding today, Mr Forbes?" Claudine Delacorte demanded as they entered the arena together. No press were inside the negotiations centre, but she was already thinking of later, when the first session was over, and what the spin doctor might do. His reputation went before him.

"That is sort of my job, Madame?" He grinned, before looking down at her legs, encased only in stockings. Her skirt was knee length, her heels were three inches high and her blouse just about hid her cleavage. She did not look bad for fifty-four, to be fair, but she was making an unnecessary exhibition of herself, in his opinion, appearing half naked in public like a cheap whore. He imagined her in a decent gown with a collar and leash, in her proper place at his feet. "Communication is the name of the game in modern politics...and we are not here just to take a kicking...Madame?"

"No...you are here to...what is your quaint phrase...make amends?"

"Up to a reasonable extent...as your second slew of scurrilous allegations seem to have no real evidence behind them..."

"If that were the case, you would not be here?" Delacorte pointed out, lifting her chin, not enjoying the way he looked at her. "Innocent women were imprisoned and then murdered to destroy any definitive evidence...and you would do well to remember that and perhaps show a little contrition?"

"Making some amends will have to do, Madame...enjoy your inquisition?" Forbes said as he walked around to the British side of the table, to take his place next to Connor Symonds and listen to what the UN wanted as their pound of flesh. He listened to the opening speeches from the other side, politicians justifying their little kangaroo court to each other, all taking little digs at the British and expressing their hopes for a speedy resolution to the business at hand, as the opening addresses dragged into a second hour. Forbes turned to Symonds and leaned forwards to whisper in his ear. "Good grief...at this rate we will be here until bloody Christmas?"

Symonds agreed wholeheartedly with his esteemed colleague. He was effectively trying to negotiate with a committee who hardly ever agreed with each other, let alone anyone outside of their sphere of influence. And it quickly became apparent that the various agendas of the lead negotiators on the other side of the table meant that the list of demands being made of the British was long and diverse. Obviously, they needed to agree to some sort of punishment to atone for his father's sins, but they could not just bend the knee on everything. He needed to know what everything they agreed to was going to cost, and that was not always easy to estimate. Trade agreements, tariffs and quotas were complicated and open-ended, and that was what he was relying on BIB to analyse and put a number on. His brother did not like the idea, but he had a trillion pounds in his mind as a manageable figure. Half of him just wanted to stand up and dump a cheque down in front of Madame Delacorte to draw a line under it all, leaving the UN to split it amongst themselves, but it looked like they were going to be fighting each proposal, line by line, which complicated the job no end. And then there were the various human rights issues. It seemed that the Americans, especially, were not going to let that little can of worms go as long as Sean Fletcher was calling the shots.

"The investigations into Andrew Symonds and the Hycanil vaccine included a much closer look at the Holy Order of Reformist Sisters...and it is safe to say that we would not have got so close to a definitive conclusion to those investigations without the help of two nuns from the Order." Stuart Stoddart said, speaking slowly to give the interpreters a chance. "I think it is safe to say that anyone who has seen those interviews will have been appalled by the harsh conditions within the Order, as well as the evidence of abuse. This must be addressed by the British government as part of this process?"