‘How long will they be there?’ he asked.
‘As short a time as possible. The problem is twofold. What on earth can we do with them? And then, how shall we play it with the Americans? Let us start with the first. Reports from the house say that the residents are four and, given the set-up of the computer room in the attic and the initial impression given by the elder boy, it is likely that he is responsible. He is, let us say, mentally fragile. He seems to have withdrawn into an almost catatonic state and we shall have to have him clinically examined. Then it will be a legal question. What can we charge him with, if anything at all, with a hope of conviction? So far, we just do not know.
‘But the Americans are not in a forgiving mood. If precedents are anything to go by, they will want a rapid extradition followed by a US trial and a very long custodial sentence.’
‘And you, Prime Minister, what do you want?’
‘I want to avoid a war with Washington, especially given the man who now sits in the Oval Office, and I want to avoid a scandal over here with the public and the media taking the side of a vulnerable teenager. What do you think? So far?’
‘So far, Prime Minister, I do not know. As an eighteen-year-old, the boy is technically an adult but, given his state, it may be that we need to consult his father, or both parents. I would like to have a chance to talk to them all. And to listen to what the psychiatrist says. In the short term, we have to ask the Americans to give us a few days before going public.’
There was a knock, and a head came round the door. A personal secretary.
‘The American ambassador is here, Prime Minister.’
‘In the Cabinet Room. Five minutes.’
The Americans were three, all seated, and they rose as the Prime Minister and her small team of four entered. Sir Adrian came in last and sat at the back. He was there to listen, and to advise later.
Like many US ambassadors in prize posts, Wesley Carter III was not a professional career diplomat. He was a big-time Party donor to the Republicans, scion of a family owning a commercial empire in cattle feed based in Kansas. He was big, bluff, genial and steeped in old-world courtesy. He knew the real negotiations would devolve upon the two men with him. These were his number two, the deputy secretary of the State Department, and his legal attaché, a position always filled by a member of the FBI. Greetings and handshakes occupied several minutes. Coffee was served and the white-jacketed staff withdrew.
‘Good of you to see us at such short notice, Prime Minister.’
‘Oh, come now, Wesley, you know you are always welcome here. So, the bizarre events out at Luton. Two of your own people were there. They have reported to you?’
‘They have indeed, Prime Minister. And “bizarre” must surely be an example of your British understatement.’ This came from the State Department man, Graydon Bennett. It was clear the two professionals would now take over. ‘But the facts are still the facts. This young man has wilfully inflicted staggering damage on our database system at Fort Meade that will cost millions to repair. We believe he should be extradited without delay to face justice.’
‘Very understandable,’ said Mrs Graham. ‘But your own legal system mirrors ours in this sense. The mental state of the accused can have a powerful effect on any case. So far, we have not had a chance to ask a psychiatrist or neurologist to meet with this teenager and assess his mental state. But your own two SEALs saw him at the house. Did they not mention that he seems – how shall I put it? – fragile?’
It was clear from the expressions across the table that the two SEALs who had spoken out of the Luton house by radio to the embassy had reported exactly that.
‘And we have the question of the media, gentlemen. So far they have not latched on to what happened out there, what we discovered. We would like to keep it that way for as long as possible. When they do find out, I think we both know we will face a media storm.’
‘So what are you asking, Prime Minister?’ said the legal attaché, John Owen.
‘Three days, gentlemen. So far, the father has not – what is the phrase? – “lawyered up”. But we cannot prevent him from doing so. He has his rights. If he hires a lawyer, the story will break. Then the trench warfare cannot be prevented. We would like three days of silence.’
‘Can you not keep the family in seclusion?’ asked Carter.
‘Not without their consent. That would make matters ten times worse in the longer term.’ The Prime Minister had once been a corporate lawyer.
Due to the time zones, it was still before dawn in Washington. The embassy team agreed they would confer and consult, secure a decision on a three-day delay and inform Downing Street by sundown, UK time.
When they had gone Mrs Graham gestured to Sir Adrian to stay behind.
‘Your take, Adrian?’
‘There is a man, Professor Simon Baron-Cohen, out at Cambridge. Specialist in all forms of mental fragility. Probably the best in Europe, maybe the world. I think he should see the lad. And I would like to talk to the father. I have an idea. There may be a better option for all of us than simply sending the boy to a cell deep under Arizona for the rest of his life.’
‘A better option? What have you in mind?’
‘Not yet, Prime Minister. Could I go out to Latimer?’
‘Do you have a car?’
‘Not in London. I come up by train.’
The Prime Minister used the phone. There was a Jaguar from the ministerial car pool at the door in ten minutes.