The man stood just over six feet tall. He might have been around thirty years old. He was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was close-cropped. His eyes were blue, as clear as a bell, and he wore the fading tan of someone recently returned from a spell in a seriously hot place. He wore a well-tailored, double-breasted suit of navy-blue worsted, with a thin vertical stripe.
He did not give the impression of physical power, but when the two policemen shook his hand they found a grip like a vice. His carriage was his most impressive feature. He walked out of the terminal building, between Skinner and Martin, with lightness, grace and perfect balance, as if his feet were hardly touching the ground.
Maitland had introduced himself in a confidential fax to Skinner as the commander of the Special Air Services detachment which had been assigned to provide cover for the Syrian President during his visit. He had not mentioned his rank, but Skinner knew that in the SAS, that was not important.
Martin drove to the Norton House, where the three were met by the manager, an immaculate man named Adrian Doyle. Skinner described Maitland as ‘a security adviser who will be here during the visit’. Doyle, who had previous experience of VIPs, asked no questions.
He guided them round the hotel. In the first-floor suite which had been set aside for the Syrian President, Maitland made a careful check of the angles of view through the double window as they related to the position of the main items of furniture. He opened a window and checked for drainpipes or other climbing aids, and found nothing. Leaning further out, he surveyed the roof above. He confirmed that there were no points of access to the
Eventually he turned to the expectant Doyle. ‘It looks secure, but I’d like you to move the bed to that wall. We legislate for everything, even the sort of fanatic who will empty a magazine through a curtained window if he can’t find a better opportunity. At the moment the bed is in the line of fire from those trees over there.’
Doyle smiled. ‘There will be no difficulty about that.’ He took them back to the entrance hall and left them to explore the hotel grounds alone.
The grass and trees were wet from the previous night’s rain, but Maitland was prepared. He produced a nylon coverall from his bag in Skinner’s car, discarding his jacket before slipping it on. His black leather shoes were replaced by trainers.
‘No need to come with me, gentlemen. All I’ll be doing is checking the terrain, and identifying all the possible firing points.’ the disappeared into the woods.
When he emerged silently behind Skinner and Martin fifteen minutes later, the coverall was dripping wet.
‘You’ve made a very good choice,’ he said, as he stepped out of the garment. ‘I will have twenty men here. With that number, I could keep a fly out of this place.
‘When are the technical people installing the listening devices and cameras?’
‘Thursday,’ Martin replied.
‘Good. I’ll advise them on siting the video cameras. My men arrive on Thursday too. I’d like to do a rehearsal of the whole operation that evening, including the Hall. Can we check that out now?’
Their visit to the MacEwan Hall was quickly concluded. Henry Wills was there to greet Maitland, but he left as soon as the welcome was over, with what Martin read as a tiny shudder of distaste for the man and his business.
The SAS leader checked the outside of the building for entry points. Then he inspected all the doorways leading into the Hall itself.
‘Piece of cake. You clear the building a few hours in advance and the specialists do the bomb search. No admission until an hour before the kick-off. Everyone entering is frisked, and all bags are searched. But no metal detectors.’
Martin was surprised. ‘Why not?’
‘This is a student audience. They’ll be wearing all sorts of odds and ends. Big belt buckles, bracelets, all sorts of stuff that would set the alarms ringing. We’d never get them all in in time.
‘You put four good people here doing thorough body and bag searches. If anyone tries to smuggle a gun in they’ll find it.
‘My unit will cover this place easily. We’ll cover all entrances to the building, and doorways to the Hall itself. None of the students will know we’re there. Even you won’t notice us.’
They drove Maitland to Redford Barracks, on Edinburgh’s southern outskirts, where he and his men were to be billeted. As Maitland jogged the few yards from the car into the long imposing building, Skinner looked after him for several seconds.
‘That, Andy, is probably one of the most dangerous men you will ever meet.’
Suddenly Martin was aware of his own lack of experience. He began to understand the reason for Henry Wills’s quick exit.
85
Skinner was packing his briefcase when his door opened. He looked up, surprised, as the bulky figure of Hugh Fulton came into the room.
‘Well, Bob, having a good week?’ The big man’s voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Skinner was needled into responding in kind. ‘I didn’t think you could find your way into a police office any more. What can I do for you?’
Fulton’s tone softened. ‘You can listen to me. I’m worried about you. Look, man, there are times when singlemindedness and dedication can be bad for you. You certainly didn’t do the Harveys a lot of good, did you?’
Skinner’s face was impassive.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean. Andrew and Joy Harvey, the couple who were shot dead in Fife on Sunday. You had them under observation. Your people were spotted and the Harveys were popped. Fife CID are, as they say in the tabloids, baffled. But we’re not, are we?
‘Bob, when I asked you to drop it, I had my reasons. You ignored me. Now two more people are dead. I’m asking you again. Let it go. Please.’
Skinner looked the man in the eye. ‘You know a hell of a lot about this case, don’t you? The name Fuzzy doesn’t mean anything to you by any chance?’ Fulton looked puzzled, until he added, ‘I’ll bet that Fazal Mahmoud strikes a chord, though.’
Colour flooded into the other man’s face.
Skinner continued: ‘Is this guy radio-active or something? I have reason to believe that he might be responsible for eight murders, and you tell me to lay off him. I don’t believe what I’m hearing.’
Fulton’s voice was soft. ‘Fazal Mahmoud didn’t kill anyone, Bob, until your people in Fife got too close.’
Skinner walked around his desk to stand in Fulton’s face, setting him on his heels with the power in his eyes and the anger in his voice. ‘Are you telling me you know who did kill those people?’
‘No, man, I’m not saying that.’
‘Well, Hughie boy, you seem to know everything else. If you don’t know who, you know why. And you know why Fuzzy’s running around out there, ready to kill to avoid being traced. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t hold you here until you tell me.’
Fulton laughed. ‘Don’t be daft. You can’t touch me. All the same, I will give you a reason. Fife CID have five sets of prints, one in the laundry room, the other four all through the house. They’re looking for three people, not one — no Bill Howey didn’t tell you that, did he — and you and I know that two of them are members of your force.
‘Of course they don’t know that. They think they’re looking for a couple who left behind a set of crumpled sheets in Room 211 of the local hotel, paid cash and checked out next morning, just before the Harveys were killed. He signed the register as Mr Robert Martin, by the way. Very inventive.
‘Your halo isn’t shiny any more, Bob. Skinner’s Rules are being bent all over the place. You’re even concealing information about a murder from a fellow officer. Give this one up before you ruin your career, and more.’
Skinner’s anger had abated, but his eyes, and his voice were still rock hard. ‘Hughie, I’m not interested in
