Free Sun Dance by Iain R. Thomson Page A

P.M. returned to his swivel chair. The strong light from behind him left his face in shadow and focused on Goldberg. A longish, narrow room without windows, blanching and airless, one of a complex of nuclear proof bunkers below Downing Street, it served for strictly private conversations, un-minuted, totally un- recorded. An extractor fan whirred softy from the low oppressive ceiling.
    “Geneva, mm, that’s interesting,” a non-committal remark, yet it evoked a thoughtful look. “Anyway,” the P.M. continued, “we’ve had all the fall out.” He checked himself with a boyish grin, “I’ll re-phrase that. We’ve had to deal with all the complications from that hellish tube bombing. This is the first chance I’ve had to talk to you about the nuclear issue. You remember we discussed it after that bloody ignorant scientist had to be more or less thrown out.”
    His face reddened and smacking a fist on the desk, “How the hell he had the cheek to mouth all that stuff at me, right in my face! I’ve never had that kind of impudence before. Don’t worry, Josh, I’ll see his project clipped,” ..adding in a grinding tone, “maybe his wings too.”
    Steadying himself with a deep breath, “More to the point, I’m sure you’ll know the U.S. manufacturers are already tooling up for these mini nuclear power plants. I was furious that the bugger seemed to know about that as well. We can’t risk any hitch which might frighten the financiers. Is there any truth in what he said about the storage of nuclear waste?”
    The Chief Advisor studied his finger nails aware he’d been responsible for the debacle of their meeting the scientist. “That was the purpose of my little Euro trip and yes, there will need to be certain modifications, but deep burial is definitely on, given, as I say, a bit of attention to some of the details MacKenzie raised. However,” he looked up, “I’m in close contact with the Japanese and U.S. designers and operators. The matter can be handled but,” his eyes flickered slightly, “it would be extremely unfortunate if the points he raised were to be passed, for example to the green press.”
    “I know that too damn well, leave that bit to me, I have a bully boy who can bring that shower to heel,” came the P.M.’s impatient reply, and then more carefully, “The political side is difficult, but with care we’ll get a nuclear debate through the Commons on a quiet day. The economy will be is such shit state, thanks to Mr. Prudence and his banking pals, they’ll be screaming for Government spending and what better way than building nuclear plants to cut this f-ing CO2 millstone and more importantly, the punters’ power bills. Well, maybe. Anyway the bloody ‘Greens’ will scream blue murder but they’re no more effective than a fart in a blanket. The Tories will lap it up, behind the scenes shareholders and all that stuff. Three years from now and three million unemployed! Just wait for it, Josh, the students, the lefties- they’ll only be howling about their jobs and student fees.”
    The pause was deliberate, before he remarked slowly, “Yes, it can be handled,” and then with a laugh, “Of course, Josh, I may not be in office. There’s a man who’s just beside himself to take over the reins,” his eyes hooded slightly, “I don’t need to mention its not meat for those yapping media hounds, they have their uses when required but certainly not on that issue.”
    “Oh no, no, they’re the last people we need in on such topics,” Sir Joshua spoke smoothly. “Like yourself, Prime Minister, I may not be in this post much longer. I would like to resign, if you find that to be in order. Quietly please, very quietly, on a day when there’s plenty of news; nothing beats bad news as a smoke screen. As it happens, I’ve been approached to advise an American consortium, rather attractive, a place on the board, so I’d be able to concentrate a little more on my business activities. I