handy.’
‘More police?’
‘No, military. I have a contact in the Ministry of Defence who can arrange for a special forces platoon to be in place. We’ll distribute them round all the entrances.’
‘What will they do?’
‘Their job will be to look out for known terrorists. We’ve already agreed that we can’t put forty thousand kids and their teachers through metal detectors, or we’d wind up frisking everyone with a belt buckle or a brooch. Only those people who will be close to the Pope will have to go through them. We’ll have enough people inside the ground, watching the crowd constantly for any wrong moves, and we’ll have close personal protection. We’ve also got our escape plan. But if I can stick guys in black suits at every entrance, each with a mental file of all the faces from the FBI and MI5 wanted lists, it’ll give us a bit of added insurance.’
‘Will they be armed?’ asked Gainer. ‘The Pope wouldn’t like that.’
‘They won’t be obviously armed, Jim. It’s best if we don’t discuss who’s armed and who isn’t.’
‘The Pope won’t like anyone being armed in any way.’
‘Except his potential attackers? Is that what you’re saying? I’m sorry, but I’m not putting my officers at avoidable risk. Look, I really do think it would be best if we don’t discuss this subject, Your Grace, and if you accept that such decisions are mine alone. You can trust my discretion.’
‘Fair enough. If the Holy Father asks me, I’ll tell him to talk to you.’
‘Tell him to talk to Proud Jimmy. The chief’s more of a diplomat than me.’
The Archbishop smiled. ‘I’ll bear that in mind.’ He picked up the document. ‘Do we need to amend this, then, before it’s circulated to the need-to-knows?’
‘Only to add in the new VIP names and to relegate Aileen de Marco. Jack’ll take care of that, and we’ll handle the distribution.’
‘That’s it, then,’ exclaimed the Archbishop, briskly. He stood, and the rest followed his lead. Rossi and McGurk went ahead as Skinner showed them to the door. He held it open but Gainer took his elbow and whispered, ‘A word in private, please, Bob.’
‘Of course, Your Grace. Jack, please look after Signor Rossi till we’re done.’
He closed the door once they were gone, and went back to his desk. ‘What can I do for you, Jim?’ he asked.
‘Maybe it’s more a case of what I can do for you, Bob.’
‘What do you mean?’
The churchman flexed his big shoulders and settled into a chair facing the DCC’s own. ‘Is anything troubling you?’ he asked.
Skinner blinked. ‘Why do you ask that, man?’
‘I’m prompted by over twenty years’ experience as a priest. I didn’t actually need to ask: I can bloody well tell that something’s bothering you. The way you spoke to your assistant shocked me, even though you had the grace to apologise. We were joking about confessions earlier. Would you like me to hear yours? Informally, as a friend, if nothing else.’
The big policeman leaned back in his chair, then swivelled round until he was looking out of the window into the fog. ‘Is that stuff never going to clear?’ he murmured.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Gainer. ‘I was being presumptuous. Stop me, for my own sake, next time I start talking to you like a priest.’
Skinner swung back round at once to face him. ‘No. Not at all, Jim; that’s not the case at all. Even though I’m not an adherent of your church, I appreciate your concern as a friend.’ He sighed. ‘Ah shit, do you fancy another beer?’
The Archbishop smiled. ‘This time I wasn’t praying for it, but okay. I’ll tell Giovanni to get a taxi back to the residence on his own.’ He stood and walked to the door, as Skinner bent in his seat for another Becks and more bottled water.
‘Are you off the lager, then?’ his guest asked, when he returned. ‘You’ve always liked a pint in all the time I’ve known you.’
‘It doesn’t improve my temper.’
His Grace laughed. ‘Could it make it worse?’
‘Jack McGurk would probably say “no” to that.’
‘Would he now? And your family, what would they say?’
Without a word, Skinner replaced the water in the fridge, and took a beer instead. ‘I hope they would say nothing,’ he replied. ‘My children’s nursery is where I go to get away from everything else in the world. There is nothing in this life that I love as much as spending time with Seonaid, Mark and James Andrew.’ He smiled. ‘My younger daughter’s a handful, I’ll tell you. Now that she’s fully mobile, she’s developed a new hobby: hiding things. It’s a game with her, but the trouble is that sometimes she forgets where she’s hidden them. We spent an hour the other night looking for a silver bracelet. Eventually we found it in an old tea caddy of my mother’s that she fancied as her jewel box. As for Mark, he’s showing signs of real excellence in maths. It’s always been his hobby, but now he’s about five years ahead of his contemporaries, and picking up pace. We tried getting him special tuition, but he made his teacher feel inadequate.’ He looked across at Gainer. ‘You know, I was genuinely determined that all my kids would be educated at the local schools, like Alex, my daughter from my first marriage, was, but Mark’s a specially gifted child. So he’s starting at Fettes College prep school, just up the hill there . . .’ He pointed out of the window. ‘. . . after Christmas; they have the flexibility to let him develop at his own pace in his area of excellence, and work alongside the other kids at the rest. And if he goes there, so will Jazz and Seonaid; they’ll have to; it’s only right.’ He grinned, and suddenly he seemed twenty miles away, in a house by the seaside. ‘You know, Jim,’ he continued, ‘one of the things I admire about you and about men like you, is the strength of your vocation, in that it denies you the pleasure and the fulfilment of family life.’
‘Ah,’ said the Archbishop, ‘but I am a member of many families. They don’t call priests “Father” for nothing. You and I are around the same age, give or take a few years, and we’ve been in our professions for around the same time. I’ll bet you that I’ve married more people, baptised more kids, and seen more folk on their way at the end of the first part of the journey than you’ve locked up villains in your career. I’m welcome in the homes of all my flock. Can you say that?’
Skinner laughed. ‘I’d need to go armed into the homes of many of my flock; that’s all I can say with certainty.’
‘Ah, but I do too. I go armed with the word of the Lord Jesus Christ.’
‘How big a magazine does He have? I’ve been using a compensated Glock Twenty-two pistol on the range, with a seventeen-shot capacity.’
‘Jesus couldn’t hit a barn door, I’m afraid. Nor, I doubt, would He approve of such weapons being used in His name.’
‘We’re allowed ethical choices,’ Skinner pointed out. ‘No police officer is compelled to do firearms training.’
‘I know, and for that at least I’m thankful.’ Gainer paused. ‘You mentioned your mother back then, Bob. You may not be aware, but in the years I’ve known you, that’s the first time I can recall hearing you speak of your parents.’
‘That may well be so, Jim. I’ve always kept my private life very much to myself . . . as someone made me realise last night, in fact. I’ve never talked family around the office . . . or at least that part of my family . . . and I suppose that as the years have gone on, I’ve stopped talking about them anywhere.’ He held up a hand, in a gesture that could have been unconscious self-defence. ‘That doesn’t mean that I’m not proud of them; of my parents, that is. My dad was a quiet, self-deprecating man. He was a war hero, but he never talked about it, nor did he encourage me to ask him. I didn’t learn the whole story until after his death. If I’m a private man, as I’ve acknowledged I can be, I suspect it’s a tendency I’ve inherited from him.’
‘And your mother,’ the Archbishop asked, ‘what of her?’
‘She was the life and soul of our house when I was a kid. My father was quiet, but she was always singing about the place; she was a great one for television-ad jingles . . . hands that do dishes being as soft as your face, that sort of stuff. She had a big circle of friends, too; they were bridge players and they used to take our front room over every six weeks or so. You could hardly see through the smoke when they were in there.’
