him because he hasn’t called her since he left. They’ve sent him three text messages telling him to phone her and get her off their backs, but he still hasn’t. They ask if we can make sure he does . . . please.’
Skinner whistled. ‘I think she’s going to have a long wait on her hands, Ruthie. Thanks.’ He switched off the phone.
‘He’s a phoney,’ he said to McGurk, ‘and I can see the tie-up.’ He recalled his secretary. ‘Get me Lieutenant Colonel Winters in Brussels back. You’ll find his number on Jack’s desk. On this line, I’ve got no more time for fannying about.’
‘The bus driver, sir,’ the sergeant murmured, once he had Skinner’s attention. ‘He and three of the musketeers were billeted there with Malou and Lebeau.’
The silence between them as they waited was the kind that seemed to magnify every other noise in the room. The quiet hiss of the coffee filter sounded like a steam whistle. The background buzz of the traffic outside became a military convoy passing beneath the window. When McGurk sucked his teeth, Skinner glared at him. And then the phone rang like a klaxon.
‘Sir,’ Winters’s voice was as icy as his name, ‘I am growing tired.’
‘Listen to me, please,’ said the Scot. ‘I don’t care what great state secret Malou’s mixed up in that you can’t let slip. I don’t think this has anything to do with that. I need your co-operation or two very famous lives could be at risk. I want you to get me some answers, more or less instantly. First, what are Malou’s present family circumstances?’
‘I can tell you that myself. When you asked about him I had his file updated. He is widowed, and he has a daughter. She is divorced, and has two daughters. They live with him in a suburb of Brussels.’
‘What age are the kids?’
‘Six and nine.’
‘Oh, shit! Right, find this out, at once. Have the children been at school since the Drummers left for Scotland? If the answer is no, then pick half a dozen of your best undercover police or special troops and get them to his house as fast as you can. You will have to be very careful about what you do there, though. The strongest man’s weakest point is his family, and it could be that Malou’s is under threat.’
‘Under threat from whom?’
‘Al Qaeda, or a linked organisation. There are two of them on the loose here, after the Pope and our prime minister.’
‘Then say no more,’ the soldier told him, ‘but stay by your telephone. I will check on the children and take it from there.’
‘There’s one other thing I need to know. Did the band of the First Guides Regiment provide replacements for Hanno and Lebeau?’
‘Okay, I’ll find that out.’
‘Thanks, Colonel. I have to go to deal with this, but my assistant, Jack McGurk, will wait by the phone. You can tell him everything. He has my complete trust.’
As he ended the call, he rose to his feet. ‘What if the kids are okay, boss?’ asked the sergeant.
‘In that case I assume that Malou’s a terrorist, and he goes the same way as the rest. But they won’t be okay.’
‘Then what if they’ve been taken somewhere else?’
‘That could be tragic, but they’ll be at home, held prisoner. Why take the risk of moving them and having someone see it?’
‘But what are they planning to do? We still don’t know that.’
Bob Skinner laughed; he actually laughed. ‘I do. It’s fucking obvious, when you weave all the threads together. We’re a couple of days off the date, Jack, but . . . remember, remember, the fifth of November.’ He headed for the door. ‘Get me on my mobile when Winters calls back, and ask him to contact me direct with any news about Malou’s family.’
‘I’ll do all that. Anything else?’
‘Keep your fingers crossed. I’m still short of one piece of inspiration.’
He rushed downstairs to his car, turned on the engine and slotted his cell phone into the hands-free holder. As he moved off he dialled McIlhenney. ‘What’s happening there, Neil?’ he asked.
‘The crowd are all in place, but there’s no sign of our two.’
‘Where are the Belgians?’
‘In the entertainers’ marquee, as far as I know.’
‘Make sure. Count them. Then find their bus driver, wherever he is. He’s a plant.’
‘What do I do with him when I spot him?’
‘Who have you got there you can trust?’
‘Stevie’s here, like you asked, and Maggie, as the two of our people who’ve actually seen the woman.’
‘Keep them looking out for her, then. Ask Adam to lend you one of his plain-clothes soldiers. Are you armed?’
‘Yup.’
‘Then arrest the bus driver as soon as you locate him, but without letting Malou see you, or any of the band for that matter. And, most important, don’t let him communicate with anyone.’
‘If he’s a plant, why not let him run and hope he leads us to them?’
‘Too risky. I want him out of the way. When’s the papal convoy due there?’
‘Fifteen minutes, maybe a bit more; they’ve just left the infirmary. The VIPs take the stand in ten and the bands march in as soon as the Pope’s in the arena.’
‘If I’m not there in time, stop the Belgians. In the meantime, I know the army has a bomb team there just in case. Have them gather outside the tent.’
‘Repeat?’
‘Don’t let the Belgians out of the marquee. Bomb squad to wait outside.’
Skinner hit the red button on the phone and put his foot down; he roared up towards Queensferry Road, swung into it on an orange light and headed past Stewart’s-Melville College. He had just turned left at the roundabout when a call came in. ‘Sir?’ McGurk’s raised voice filled the car.
‘Speak, Jack.’
‘Colonel Malou’s daughter phoned their school the day after the band left for Scotland. She said that both girls had chicken-pox. No other kids have it. As for the bandsmen, neither the First Guides band nor any other military unit sent replacements for Hanno and Lebeau.’
A smile crossed Skinner’s face. ‘Thank you, son. Has Winters got my number?’
‘Yes. He said to tell you that an anti-terrorist squad will be at Malou’s apartment block within ten minutes. They’ll be dressed as firemen and the cover story will be that there’s a gas leak. It’s a ploy they’ve rehearsed but never used.’
‘Let’s hope they get it right first time.’ He turned right at a set of traffic lights and raced along Ravelston Dykes Road. Suddenly the traffic was heavy; the diversions put in place for the rally were taking their toll. He overtook a line of traffic, blind, and swept down Murrayfield Terrace, waving his warrant card as he approached the barrier at the foot. The officers on duty recognised him instantly and waved him through.
He drove as fast as he dared along the approach road to the stadium until he drew to a halt on the grass, in front of a big tent that had been set up behind the north grandstand. At its entrance, he saw Neil McIlhenney waiting, beside two soldiers in uniform. One was an officer; Skinner recognised him as Major ‘Gammy’ Legge, a bomb-disposal veteran of Ireland, the Gulf and other less famous conflicts.
‘Bob,’ the soldier exclaimed, as he approached, ‘what’s the panic?’
‘No panic. Just stick around and you’ll see.’ He turned to McIlhenney. ‘Have you got the driver?’
‘No problem. We went to his bus, and found him taking a knapsack out of the boot. He was getting ready to run.’
‘Did he give you any trouble?’
‘Nothing that having a Glock pointed at him didn’t sort out fast. There’s a secure room at the back of the west stand, not far from the shop. It’s a cell, really, but the SRU doesn’t like the word. The soldier who helped me lift him is standing guard at the door.’
‘Does Adam Arrow know he’s there?’
