your threats, or your plots. As far as I’m concerned, you can play spy-versus-spy for the rest of your fucking life.
‘I’ll give up when you give me the man who cut off Mike Mortimer’s head — no, Hughie, don’t cringe; that’s what he did — and shoved Rachel Jameson under a train. The guy who was prepared to kill three people at random, just to put us off the trail. You may or may not know who he is, but I’m damn sure you know what he is, and where his orders come from. Give him to me!’
Desperation shone from Fulton’s eyes. And to his surprise, Skinner saw real fear there too. ‘I can’t do that Bob. There’s a big game going on here, and you can’t imagine the stakes.’
‘Then get the fuck out of my office. And don’t you ever threaten me again, Hughie. Not if you like being able to walk upright!’
86
Maitland’s SAS detachment arrived at Redford Barracks in two closed army trucks just after the Thursday morning rush hour from Colinton had subsided, and the last of the Mercedes, Rovers and BMWs had left for the city centre.
They unloaded their equipment, showered, and changed into civilian clothes before assembling in a briefing room where Maitland, Allingham, Skinner, Martin and the four members of their team were waiting. Allingham told them, for the first time, the reason for their sudden posting to Edinburgh.
Maitland pulled across a Sasco flip chart and threw back its covering sheet to display a diagram showing the area surrounding the Norton House Hotel. He explained the lay-out and identified key points on which the detail would be concentrating. A second diagram showed a floor-plan of the area where the President’s suite was located. He described the locations represented by each of the plans.
Next, he displayed a vertical section of the MacEwan Hall. The points of access to the building and to the debating hall itself were all labelled.
‘This is the easy part,’ said Maitland. ‘We will be in civilian clothes on this one, gentlemen. Each of the external entry points will be guarded by one man. There will be four of you inside the Hall, each with a clear line of fire covering the whole room. Mr Skinner, Chief Inspector Martin, and their colleagues Inspector Mackie and Detective Constable McGuire will be around the President, and they will be armed. You will take action only if you are convinced that they are unaware of a potentially lethal threat, or if they are not in a position to prevent an attack. Each of you will wear a gold lion badge when you enter the Hall. The police officers on search duty will recognise this and will neglect to frisk you ...
‘I will deal with any questions after we have recced the sites.’
They travelled in a white-liveried Lothian Charter bus. They might have been taken for a visiting football side, an appropriate comparison, since teamwork was the essential factor in both occupations.
The Norton House was empty of visitors. All other bookings had been diverted to the Royal Scot, just over a mile away. Maitland briefed those men involved in securing the hotel.
‘This is the more difficult job, given the dark and those woods. The assignment at the hall will be handled by twelve men. The eight men handling perimeter security here will be in place from midday, under the command of Mr Hoskins.’ Maitland nodded towards a small ginger-haired man seated on a couch near to Skinner and Martin.
‘Sergeant Rose and Detective Constable McIlhenney will be here throughout the afternoon, and until the President eventually departs.’
The two, unsmiling, nodded acknowledgement.
‘The visit will not be announced in advance. The media will be told at 4.00 p.m. on the day and special lapel badges will be issued to selected journalists by the Scottish Office Information Directorate. This is a sample.’ He held up a buff-coloured tag with a short purple cord attached. ‘The three press officers will wear green tags, like this.’ He held up another sample.
‘We will travel to Redford by coach, to arrive no more than thirty minutes before the President. As soon as his plane is given landing clearance, we leave the barracks in a chartered bus. Comments from anyone?’
He looked towards Skinner and Martin, who raised a hand.
‘Aren’t you cutting your arrival at the Hall just a bit fine?’
‘If we arrive any earlier, we will be obtrusive. I don’t want the students to twig us. Most of them will be little Lefties, and if they spot an SAS presence at a university event there could be trouble.
‘They might even mob us, and that would be unfortunate.’ He smiled at Martin, fixing him with his gaze.
87
When Skinner returned to his office, he found a note from his secretary on his desk.
Skinner called to check that Proud was still there, then walked the short distance to his office.
‘Hello, Bob. Come along in. Coffee?’ Skinner nodded. ‘Sandwich?’ Proud jerked a thumb towards a plate on his desk. Skinner helped himself to a BLT as the Chief handed him a steaming mug.
‘How did your recce go? Do you see any problems?’
‘Just like you’d expect with the SAS boys — like clockwork. There’s no way that anyone will get near our guest without being spotted. No one will have a go at this man and walk away from it. But of course, political assassins don’t care about walking away. If there’s a fanatic out there, he’ll have a chance.’
‘And is that what you’re after in this investigation of yours, Bob — a fanatic?’
‘No, Chief. I’m after a cold, calculating devious bastard who kills for purpose.’
‘And this Arab chap? Does he fit into that category?’
A slight smile flicked the corners of Skinner’s mouth. Had Proud Jimmy been nobbled? ‘Fuzzy? No, I don’t think so. Yes, Fuzzy’s a killer but he’s not the one I’m looking for. He’s a loose cannon. Somebody’s wound him up and let him go.’
Almost dreamily, he continued in a soft voice, ‘No, there’s someone else, someone much more heavy duty than him.’ Abruptly he looked Proud traight in the eye. ‘What did Fulton tell you?’
The Chief looked slightly furtive. ‘He told me that this man Mahmoud was on the run from his own people because of some political thing, and that Fulton’s outfit was keeping out of it.
‘He said that you had picked up a false trail linking the man with Rachel Jameson, that by chance you had got too close to him, and that he had panicked. He said that Mahmoud murdered the people who were hiding him, that pair that were shot in Earlsferry on Sunday. And he said that you’re still after him. That’s what he said.
‘And he asked me — no that’s the wrong word — he told me, to nail you and Martin to your desks for a while.’
‘And will you?’
‘Should I?’
‘That depends upon whether you like the idea of people in your town, one of your men among them, being killed for politics.’
‘That’s what you think?’
‘That’s what I know, Chief. There’s a wee bit of what Fulton told you that’s true. Fuzzy Mahmoud is on the move, and I want him. But not because he killed our five people. He didn’t. There’s a hell of a lot that I know that Fulton didn’t tell you. I think I even know some things that he doesn’t. Unless you order me otherwise, I’m going to keep it all to myself, to protect your position if nothing else. I’m a loose cannon in this thing too, Chief. Let me stay that way!’
Proud looked at Skinner long and hard. ‘Bob, if something goes wrong here, like as not I’ll be in the firing line along with you.’
Skinner sighed. ‘I know that, Jimmy. And I’ve no right to expect it of you.’
The Chief’s solemn face broke into a sudden, sunny smile. ‘I’ve never liked that big Aberdonian bastard Fulton. The man keeps saying that he doesn’t exist. Well, if that’s the case, then he couldn’t have been in my office this morning. And if he wasn’t, then you’re not here now either, and this conversation hasn’t happened. So away
