theory, it's the Prime Minister, as Head of the Security Services, but in practice we're monitored by a committee of Permanent Secretaries; Home, Foreign Office, Defence and Cabinet Office.'
And how about them? Who oversees the committee? Is it the Prime Minister alone?'
In theory, again, yes it is. But in practice, he'll normally listen to the views of his most senior colleagues.
Mackie nodded. 'That's more or less what I assumed. So, when it comes to that final group, the core team of Ministers, who scrutinises them? By definition, they're in possession of the most sensitive information in the country, so whose task is it to ensure that none of them are security risks?'
Kercheval looked at him long and hard. 'Skinner did brief you well, didn't he? The answer is that the task devolves back upon the Security Service. Upon me, actually.'
Mackie was about to react to the admission when their waiter, and another wound through the throng, bearing their lunch order, plus the obligatory pot of Chinese tea. 'Let's enjoy lunch,' said the Londoner as the dishes were laid out on a warming tray. It rather deserves it.'
Mario McGuire looked at him gratefully. He had missed most of a night's sleep, and breakfast. He attacked the selection of dishes methodically, showing that his Italian descent was no constraint on his aptitude with chopsticks. Cyril Kercheval's confidence in the quality of the kitchen was well founded. They ate in virtual silence for almost fifteen minutes, until all the plates before them were cleared.
`Right,' said Kercheval at last. 'Back to business, and no more sparring. What do you want?'
Mackie leaned back in his chair, until his head touched the wall behind him. 'Do you have a file on Colin Davey?'
I might have. Was he the target?'
`He might have been. Might we see your file?'
I'll have to ask. I'll have to go to the DG, and I'm certain that the DG will have to consult the PM.'
`We understand. When he does that, could you make sure that he tells the Prime Minister that the request comes directly from Bob Skinner?'
`That'll help, will it?' There was a very slight edge of sarcasm in the question.
It should do,' snapped Mackie testily. 'Big Bob saved his life once.'
Kercheval blinked hard. 'Indeed. Then I'll make sure he knows who's asking.'
'How long will you need?'
'Give me till tomorrow. In which case, when shall we three meet again?'
'You name it'
If you say so. In that case, there's a splendid Italian place in Wardour Street..
FORTY-SEVEN
Arrow slipped into the Intensive Care Unit, and closed door quietly behind him.
`Sarah,' he whispered.
She looked over her shoulder. Seeing him, she beckoned him towards her with her left hand. The other lay on the bed cover, grasping tight to her husband, as if she were holding him with her. He lay on his back, with his eyes closed. A thick tube led from his mouth into a ventilator; its steady rhythmic pumping was the only sound to be heard.
There was an empty chair alongside Sarah. As Adam sat down, he looked around. There were three other beds in the Unit, each of them occupied by a single male patient, wired to a green-screened monitor, and everything and everyone was under the observation of a central nurses' station.
I didn't expect to see you,' she said in a dull, flat, exhausted voice.
I 'ad to come,' said Arrow. 'To see Andy, to brief him on what's been happening in London.'
Aren't DCI Donaldson and Neil down there? Couldn't they have done that?'
He smiled at her gently. 'Course they could, but I wanted to come anyway, didn't I. How's he doing?'
She glanced up at the monitor. 'He's still in shock, but pulse is beginning to stabilise. It was weak and reedy when the brought him out of surgery, after they'd done all they could in there. Lung and brain functions aren't a problem — so far, at least. It's the arterial damage that's the danger. If they've been able to repair it properly, and stop the bleeding, then his body will recover from the shock, his heart-rate will slow down and his condition will stabilise.
If they haven't, then… then he'll..
Arrow took her free hand and gave it a squeeze. 'Don't say that. This is the big fella, remember. The toughest guy I've ever met. He'll pull through.'
She looked at him, then leaned down, touching her forehead to his shoulder. 'The surgeon wasn't prepared to say that. Adam, you're SAS, you know the score as well as I do. With that wound most people would have died in the ambulance. Even the strongest can be brought down.'
`Yes,' he said. 'But some people just have that bit extra. Like 'im. And that bit don't show.
Surgeons can't spot it just by looking at your insides.' He glanced up at the screens. 'How long till he does stabilise?'
It'll be about forty-eight hours until we can start to relax. They'll keep him under for that long, and on the ventilator. After that, if everything's okay they can let him start to come round and allow his system to take over. But until then, that pulse-line up there is a single, weak thread, and he's hanging by it.'
He squeezed her hand again. 'He will hang on, though. And, hard as it is to find anything positive in all this, once he's over the worst, at least he'll be forced to take a rest. I might as well tell you I was worried about him. When I saw him after the accident, then when I spoke to him yesterday, there was something about him. He seemed strained.'
Sarah looked at the little man. 'He's barely slept since the accident, you know. When he has dropped off, he's been having nightmares.
Arrow nodded. 'That fits. I've seen those signs before; you find them in someone running on an empty tank. There's a name for it in the Army. We call it combat fatigue.' He paused And talking about fatigue, shouldn't you get some rest?'
She shook her head. 'How would I do that, Adam? I'm here for the duration, for as long as it takes. Alex, and Tracey, the nanny, will look after Jazz. When this big hoss comes round, the first thing he sees is going to be me, sat right here! And if I ain't wearing any make-up, and if I do have bags under my eyes, well that'll be just too damn bad!'
FORTY-EIGHT
‘Is Mr Bob coming today?'
Mark was wearing his Police Cadet cap, tilted back on his head at a rakish angle, balanced carefully but still precariously.
Alison Higgins shook her head. Not today, Mark, I'm afraid. Not for a wee while. Off you go and play now.' The child turned and began to climb the stairs slowly, one hand on his hat.
It's awful, isn't it?' said Leona McGrath, as Higgins slung her coat on the antique mirrored stand in the hall, fluffing her hair back into place. Will he be okay?'
The Superintendent looked at her and shrugged, as they walked into the living room where Marshall Elliot stood, with his back to the fire. She nodded him a quick 'Hello.'
`His poor wife,' said Leona. 'I feel so sorry for her. When they told me about Roly, it was a huge shock, certainly, but that was it. In that instant, my life had changed but at least I knew it. But there she is, poor Mrs Skinner, not knowing whether he'll live or not. I couldn't stand being in that sort of limbo.'
It's not Mrs: it's Dr Skinner.'
‘God makes it worst, means they won't be able to tell her anything but the plain truth’
