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AND SO WE WATCHEDas the Spanish chief prosecutor—all massive black hair and bright red lipstick； as glamorous as a film star in the silvery strobe of camera flashes—announced that she had that morning been granted the power to investigate the former British prime minister； Adam Peter Benet Lang； under Articles Seven and Eight of the 1998 Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court。
Or rather； the others all watched her； while I watched Lang。“AL—intense concentration；” I jotted in my notebook； pretending to take down the words of the chief prosecutor but really studying my client for any insights I could use later。“Reaches hand out for R： she doesn’t respond。 Glances at her。 Lonely； puzzled。 Withdraws hand。 Looks back at screen。 Shakes head。 CP says ‘was this just single incident or part of systematic pattern of criminal behavior？’ AL flinches。 Angry。 CP： ‘justice must be equal for rich & poor； powerful & weak alike。’ AL shouts at screen： ‘What about the terrorists？’”
I had never witnessed any of my authors at a real crisis in their lives before； and scrutinizing Lang； I gradually began to realize that my favorite catchall question—“How did it feel？”—was in truth a crude tool； vague to the point of uselessness。 In the course of those few minutes； as the legal procedure was explained； a rapid succession of emotions swept across Lang’s craggy face； as fleeting as cloud shadows passing over a hillside in spring—shock； fury； hurt； defiance； dismay； shame…How were these to be disentangled？ And if he didn’t know precisely what he felt now； even as he was feeling it； how could he be expected to know it in ten years’ time？ Even his reaction at this moment I would have to manufacture for him。 I would have to simplify it to make it plausible。 I would have to draw on my own imagination。 In a sense； I would have to lie。
The chief prosecutor finished her statement； briefly answered a couple of shouted questions； then left the podium。 Halfway out of the room； she stopped to pose for the cameras again； and there was another blizzard of phosphorus as she turned to give the world the benefit of her magnificent aquiline profile； and then she was gone。 The screen reverted to the aerial shot of Rhinehart’s house； in its setting of woods； pond； and ocean； as the world waited for Lang to appear。
Amelia muted the sound。 Downstairs； the phones started ringing。
“Well；” said Kroll； breaking the silence； “there was nothing inthat we weren’t expecting。”
“Yes；” said Ruth。“Well done。”
Kroll pretended not to notice。 “We should get you to Washington； Adam； right away。 My plane’s waiting at the airport。”
Lang was still staring at the screen。 “When Marty said I could use his vacation house； I never realized how cut off this place was。 We should never have come。 Now we look as though we’re hiding。”
“Exactly my feeling。 You can’t just hole up here； at least not today。 I’ve made some calls。 I can get you in to see the House majority leader at lunchtime and we can have a photo op with the secretary of state this afternoon。”
Lang finally dragged his eyes away from the television。 “I don’t know about doing all that。 It could look as though I’m panicking。”
“No； it won’t。 I’ve already spoken to them。 They send their best wishes； they want to do everything they can to help。 They’ll both say the meetings were fixed weeks ago； to discuss the Adam Lang Foundation。”
“But that sounds false； don’t you think？” Lang frowned。 “What are we supposed to be discussing？”
“Who cares？ AIDS。 Poverty。 Climate change。 Mideast peace。 Africa。 Whatever you like。 The point is to say： it’s business as usual； I have my agenda； it’s the big stuff； and I’m not going to be diverted
from it by these clowns pretending to be judges in The Hague。”
Amelia said； “What about security？”
“The Secret Service will take care of it。 We’ll fill in the blanks in the schedule as we go along。 The
whole town will turn out for you。 I’m waiting to hear back from the vice president； but that would be a private meeting。”
“And the media？” said Lang。 “We’ll need to respond soon。”
“On the way to the airport； we’ll pull over and say a few words。 I can make a statement； if you like。 All you have to do is stand next to me。”
“No；” said Lang firmly。 “No。 Absolutely not。 That really will make me look guilty。 I’ll have to talk to them myself。 Ruth； what do you think about going to Washington？”
“I think it’s a terrible idea。 I’m sorry； Sid； I know you’re working hard for us； but we’ve got to consider how this will play in Britain。 If Adam goes to Washington； he’ll look like America’s whipping boy； running crying home to Daddy。”
“So what would you do？”
“Fly back to London。” Kroll began to object but Ruth talked over him。 “The British people may not like him much at the moment； but if there’s one thing they hate more than Adam； it’s interfering
foreigners telling them what to do。 The government will have to support him。”
Amelia said； “The British government are going to cooperate fully with the investigation。”
“Oh； really？” said Ruth； in a voice as sweet as cyanide。 “And what makes you think that？”
“I’m not thinking it； Ruth； I’m reading it。 It’s on the television。 Look。”
We looked。 The headline was running across the bottom of the screen： “BREAKING NEWS： BRITISH
GOVT ‘WILL COOPERATE FULLY’ WITH WAR CRIMES PROBE。”
“How dare they？” cried Ruth。 “After all we’ve done for them！”
Josh said； “With respect； ma’am； as signatory to the ICC； the British government has no choice。
It’s obliged under international law to ‘cooperate fully。’ Those are the precise words of Article Eighty…six。”
“And what if the ICC eventually decides to arrest me？” asked Lang quietly。 “Do the British government ‘cooperate fully’ with that as well？”
Josh had already found the relevant place on his laptop。 “That’s covered by Article Fifty…nine； sir。 ‘A State Party which has received a request for a provisional arrest or for arrest and surrender shall immediately take steps to arrest the person in question。’”
“Well； I think that settles it；” said Lang。 “Washington it is。”
Ruth folded her arms。 The gesture reminded me of Kate： a warning of storms to come。 “I still say
it will look bad；” she said。
“Not as bad as being led away in handcuffs from Heathrow。”
“At least it would show you had some guts。”
“Then why the hell don’t you just fly back without me？” snapped Lang。 Like his outburst of the previous afternoon； it wasn’t so much the display of temper that was startling as the way it suddenly erupted。 “If the British government want to hand me over to this kangaroo court； then fuck them！ I’ll go where people want me。 Amelia； tell the boys we’re leaving in five minutes。 Get one of the girls to pack me an overnight bag。 And you’d better pack one for yourself。”
“Oh； but why don’t you share a suitcase？” said Ruth。 “It will be so much more convenient。”
At that； the very air seemed to congeal。 Even Kroll’s little smile froze at the edges。 Amelia hesitated； then nervously smoothed down her skirt； picked up her notebook； and rose in a hiss of silk。 As she walked across the room toward the stairs； she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead。 Her throat was flushed a tasteful pink； her lips compressed。 Ruth waited until she had gone； then slowly uncoiled her feet from beneath her and carefully pulled on her flat； wooden…soled shoes。 She； too； left without a word。 Thirty seconds later； a door slammed downstairs。
Lang flinched and sighed。 He got up and collected his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugged it on。 That was the signal for us all to move。 The paralegals snapped their laptops shut。 Kroll stood and stretched； spreading his fingers wide： he reminded me of a cat； arching its back and briefly unsheathing its claws。 I put away my notebook。
“I’ll see you tomorrow；” said Lang； offering me his hand。 “Make yourself comfortable。 I’m sorry to abandon you。 At least all this coverage should improve sales。”
“That’s true；” I said。 I cast around for something to say that would lighten the atmosphere。 “Perhaps Rhinehart’s publicity department have arranged the whole thing。”
“Well； tell them to stop it； will you？” He smiled； but his eyes looked bruised and puffy。
“What are you going to say to the media？” asked Kroll； putting his arm across Lang’s shoulders。
“I don’t know。 Let’s talk about it in the car。”
As Lang turned to leave； Kroll gave me a wink。 “Happy ghosting；” he said。
NINE
What if they lie to you？ “Lie” is probably too strong a word。 Most of us tend to embroider our memories to suit the picture of ourselves that we would like the world to see。
Ghostwritin g
I COULD HAVE GONEdown to see them off。 Instead I watched them leave on television。 I always say you can’t beat sitting in front of a TV screen if you’re after that authentic； first