It wasn’t exactly an idle question. The diplomats and the civil servants had worked on the protocols for months. Even with modern telecommunications – an area that Menzies was determined Australia would move ahead very fast on – it had proven a daunting task. Still, it had been a worthwhile one; the final version suited everyone.
“I do wish to launch a dignified protest against the republican form of government,” Yadavindrah Singh said. The Chancellor of the Chamber of Indian Princes – which was taking on a role similar to the House of Lords, but with some curious traditions of its own – knew that the Indian Parliament had agreed to the protocols, but he had to protest. “It provides for any government to opt out of revering the King-Emperor.”
Menzies smiled. King Charles was an unimpressive figure. How could the hub of British government describe himself as a political dissident? He’d insisted on that clause for different reasons to Hanover, who didn’t seem to care for the King-Emperor, but Yadavindrah Singh had every right to be concerned. After all, the Indian government could disenfranchise the Princes with the stroke of a pen.
“We have to work together, not separately,” Hanover said. It was a non-answer, but Yadavindrah Singh accepted it. The Chamber of Indian Princes had decided – reluctantly – to accept the Protocols. Cynics pointed out that the British Indian Army, which could now be spared for other duties, had played a role in their decision.
Menzies nodded. “For one, Australia has no problems with contributing units towards the Commonwealth Army, and the Commonwealth Navy,” he said. “In fact, the agreement of joint action in any region will definitely pull us towards a united Navy, particularly with the planned super-carriers.”
There was a round of sage nodding. The massive carriers, nuclear powered and armed with Joint Strike Fighters, would give the Commonwealth a navy second to none. Britain, Canada and Australia were seriously in favour of them; no state really dissented.
“And the assurance that the former British states in Africa below the Congo go to South Africa has swayed many towards the Commonwealth,” Smuts said. Menzies wasn’t sure how he felt about that; Smuts was making a major land grab, one that would make South Africa very powerful within the Commonwealth. “With the additional immigrants, we will be able to develop Africa into a genuine assert to the world.”
Hanover paused for a long moment, waiting to see if anyone else would raise any points. “There have been a number of points covered,” he said finally. “For five years, the Republic of Arabia, Algeria, Libya and Egypt will remain under provisional governments, but hopefully they will be able to rise to the status of full states within that time. Also, Britain will supply a Governor-General to India; General Wavell has consented to remain in that post for five years.”
Yadavindrah Singh and Jawaharlal Nehru nodded together. India needed a mediator and Wavell – the bluff, no nonsense soldier – was respected by all sides. In five years, India would either be stable enough to survive, or it would have collapsed into civil war. Wavell’s control of the army might just be enough to prevent the latter from happening.
Menzies smiled to himself. The Raj had always been a confusing state. It was fitting; somehow, that it’s final years would be more confusing than ever. Any would-be insurrectionist would have to unravel the entire power structure first, and that would be tricky indeed.
“I believe that we can sign now,” Hanover said. The original copy of the Commonwealth Protocols would be preserved for history; they would each take a copy home. Hanover signed with a flourish, and then passed the document around the table. “For history, Gentlemen, and a stable world.”
Menzies allowed himself a moment to read the Protocols before signing. They were all there, from Australia’s control over its immigration – and its mandated territories – to a permanent military alliance and a combined navy. He signed quickly, neatly, and passed it around the table.
Hanover allowed himself a moment to bite down hard on the capsule that was supposed to deliver instant relief from heavy drinking, and then straightened up with an effort. The celebrations had gone on longer than he had intended; he’d left the room to attend to other business that could no longer be denied.
“Sir?” His secretary asked, as he re-entered his office. “The Professor and his wife are here to see you.”
“Send them in,” Hanover said, and waited for the two to enter. Horton looked far healthier than he had been when Hanover had seen him last; his wife was smiling broadly. “Good afternoon, Professor,” he said. “I trust that you had a pleasant reunion?”
“Yes, Prime Minister,” Horton said. They both carried the special glow that came with recent bedroom antics. “Thank you for the luxury hotel.”
Hanover grinned suddenly. RAF Lyneham was not a hotel. “You’re welcome,” he murmured. “As you know, we haven’t been certain what to do with you two; on one side, there are people… zealots, who would like to burn both of you at the stake, merely for doing what you had to do. Others… well, others would like to put you in front of the cameras; a marginally worse fate.”
Jasmine giggled; Horton smiled. “It has been decided that no criminal charges will be filed against you,” Hanover said. He’d made that decision himself; the cabinet had agreed with it. “While that does not necessarily rule out a private suit or a civil prosecution, under the circumstances we feel that it’s unlikely. And… we owe you something.
“The choice is simple, Professor,” he said. “You may return to your lives and your tenure at Edinburgh University; the university authorities have agreed to take you on. The second choice is darker; you may go through the witness protection program and take up a new life somewhere else, perhaps not within Britain itself.”
Jasmine frowned. “We get to choose?” Hanover nodded. “We choose to stay in our normal lives,” she said. Her husband nodded. “Thank you for your offer, sir, but we’ve done enough play-acting.”
Hanover nodded. “I wish you both the very best,” he said sincerely. “If you need any help, ever, don’t hesitate to call me.”
House of Commons
London, United Kingdom
10th September 1942
Travis Mortimer stared at his sister. “You’re leaving me?” He asked. It came out in a squeak. “You’re going to find someone else?”
Elspeth nodded harshly. “Yes,” she snapped. “You completely blew the chance you had, idiot!”
“How was I supposed to know that the Germans would begin using missiles?” Mortimer said plaintively. “How was I supposed… you were my manager, you should have told me…”
“Travis, you had a chance to reach the top,” Elspeth said. “You blew it, and your party wants you strung up by your unmentionables. We have no future together; the ghost of our brother is laughing at us.” She glared. “I’m going to leak that story; see how that bastard Hanover likes that!”
“Elspeth,” Mortimer began. It was too late; his sister stalked out of his private office, leaving the House of Commons for an unknown destination. Without her, Travis Mortimer knew that his career was over – even if the Labour Party didn’t evict him from the party, he had no career for no one would trust him.
Bracken Headquarters
Washington DC, USA
10th September 1942
Jim Oliver smiled down at the computer. The final high explosive bomb had detonated with its normal blast, terminating Nikolaus Ritter, the Abwehr agent, with extreme prejudice. Like Hoover before him, Ritter had known too much about Oliver’s life to be allowed to live; unlike Hoover, there was no need to ensure that everyone knew that he was dead. It had been risky, timing the attack on Hoover to ensure that his death was witnessed, but no one had put the clues together, not even Ambassador King.