White death

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‘I just don’t get it,’ complained Sir Gerald Coates as he and his colleague Jeffrey Langley hurried from the helicopter to the nearby 4x4 that was to take them the short distance to the hotel. ‘Why in God’s name bring us all the way from London to Scotland on a night in the middle of bloody winter for a meeting about medicines procurement?’

‘Someone obviously has a sense of the dramatic,’ Langley replied sourly as the driver closed the doors with one hand and held on to his cap with the other while the helicopter pilot increased revs again and took off into the night.

‘Rumour has it the PM himself was involved in calling it.’

‘Rumour had it there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq.’

Coates gave a wry smile. ‘My source was better but I’m damned if I can see the point in coming all the way up here to discuss the cost of paracetamol, can you?’

‘Not unless there’s some showbiz angle we don’t know about.’

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