Saints and Sinners

Chapter Fourteen

March 2065

United Nations Conference

New York

Claudine Delacorte sat in the back of her car as the demonstrators surged forwards, waving placards and screaming for justice. Riot police got themselves between the angry people and the car, but she could hear them shouting and see them waving their fists, and she could feel their frustrations burning all around her. But she could not really help them, or offer them much hope that anything would be agreed with the British in the near future. Bill Bateman's intervention had not been helpful, not for the majority of countries, and that was her job whether the man in the street liked it or not, helping every member of the United Nations to get their fair share of any reparations. Bateman had arrived back in Washington trumpeting his success in securing Hycanil for the world going forwards, with the important addition of gaining the ability to adapt the vaccine for variants. And that was a positive, it took one threat off the table, or at least it appeared to. But when you looked at the detail, it would be an SHR facility, British-owned and exclusively staffed by Christian Reformists, and although it was not clear what the capacity would be, it seemed doubtful that it could produce enough Hycanil for the entire world, so they would still be reliant on the British and the Chinese. Bateman was busily bigging himself up as the man who finally broke the deadlock and got the serious talks underway, but the truth was that other nations would have to have similar deals to make it a true solution, and that was not happening because they were still arguing about where and when to meet, let alone the details of the negotiations.

"This would not happen in Moscow," Dmitri Zolotov suggested to Delacorte as he gallantly handed her a coffee to calm her nerves. Running the gauntlet of the demonstrators was rather unsettling and the Russian President had noticed that the Secretary-General needed a moment to regain her composure.

"They seem to be getting more organised...they are targeting the UN now, not just empty British embassies?" Delacorte sighed, sipping at the coffee.

"I am told that things are a little calmer here overall? Bateman's intervention seems to have deflected some of the anger?" Zolotov commented, sitting down beside her at the board room table, waiting for the other guests to arrive. "Fear about the vaccine going forwards was a big part of the reaction, it seems?"

"But that is a three card trick? The Americans will own nothing...if the British wanted to renege on their agreement, they could torch the facility and put all the scientists on a plane in an hour?" Delacorte moaned, and the Russian patted her arm, recognising that she was at a low ebb. She had been banging away at the British for months and she clearly felt that she was getting nowhere.

"I have a suggestion for you...a way to move things forwards?"

"Am I going to like it, Dmitri?" She sighed and he grinned, patting her arm again.

"The British want you to go to London...which you can't do because you will not wear a gown and be led around like a poodle for all the world to see...but they won't come here because they understandably believe their people would be at risk...is that right?"

"That is the problem in a nutshell...we have suggested other locations and other negotiators but the security council do not want to send in another Bateman to do a deal that glorifies them rather than helping everyone?"

"So...you need someone who is not going to act independently, with enough seniority to have the respect of both sides...and ideally some knowledge of the situation?" Zolotov said in an effort to describe the sort of person required, and Delacorte nodded, but still not getting his drift, because his suggestion was a little left-field, and his suitability could and probably would be questioned by some. "You need to appoint a special envoy...and I think President Sean Fletcher should be your man...he would certainly get Russia's vote, Madame."