Rebus followed: harder to lose them this time. As they passed the end of King's Stables Road, Rebus felt his stomach tighten at the prospect that they might end up at the car park, but they stayed on the main drag and turned into Princes Street, Charlotte Square and Queen Street.
When passing Young Street, Rebus glanced down it towards the Oxford Bar.
'Not tonight, my love,' he cooed, blowing it a kiss.
At the end of Queen Street, they forked left on to Leith Walk, passing Gayfield Square. Great Junction Street, North Junction Street and they were on the waterfront to the west of Leith itself.
More redevelopment was happening here, blocks of apartments rising from what had been dockland and industrial estates.
'Hardly the tourist trail, Sergei,' Rebus muttered as the cars pulled over again. There was another car already sitting there, hazard lights on. Rebus drove past – no way he could park, the streets were deserted. Instead, he took the first turning he came to, did another of the three-pointers he was becoming so expert in, and crawled back to the junction. He signalled right and passed the three cars. Same deal: Cafferty and Andropov standing on the pavement, Cafferty with his arms stretched wide as if to encompass everything. But this time with two new attendants: Stuart Janney and Nikolai Stahov. The consular official stood with his gloved hands behind his back, a Cossack hat on his head. Janney looked thoughtful, arms folded, nodding to himself.
'Gang's all here,' Rebus commented.
There was a petrol station with its lights still on, so he pulled into the forecourt and dribbled some unleaded into the tank. Bought chewing gum from the cashier when he paid, and stood beside the pump, unwrapping a piece slowly and making as if to check messages on his phone. The cashier kept staring out at him, and he knew this wasn't an act he could keep up for long. He looked back along the street, but couldn't make out much. Cafferty still seemed to be holding the floor. A car had pulled up at the pump behind him. Two men got out. One busied himself with the nozzle while the other gave a few stretches and started walking towards the kiosk, but then seemed to change his mind and headed towards Rebus instead.
'Evening,' he said. He was big, bigger than Rebus. His belt was on its last notch and looked ready to snap. His head was shaved, some grey showing through. Pudgy face like an overfed baby who still objected every time the breast was taken away. Rebus just nodded a reply, flicking the gum wrapper into a bin.
The new arrival was studying Rebus's car. 'Bit of a clunker,' he offered, 'even as Saabs go.'
Rebus looked back at the man's own car. Vauxhall Vectra with a black paint job.
'Least I own mine,' he said.
The man gave a smile and a nod, as if to admit that, yes indeed, his belonged to the company. 'He wants a word,' he said, giving a flick of the head in the Vectra's direction.
'Oh aye?' Rebus seemed more interested in the packet of gum.
'Maybe you should talk to him, DI Rebus,' the man continued, a gleam in his eye as he clocked the effect: an emergency stop on the gum-chewing.
'Who are you?' Rebus asked.
'He'll tell you. I've got to pay for the petrol.' The man moved off.
Rebus stood his ground a moment. The cashier was looking interested.
The man at the Vectra was concentrating on the pump's meter. Rebus decided to go see him.
'You wanted me,' he said.
'Believe me, Rebus, you're the last thing I want.' The man was neither tall nor short, fat nor thin. His hair was brown, eyes somewhere between brown and green and set in the blandest of faces. Always blending in, and instantly forgettable – perfect for surveillance work.
'I'm assuming you're CID,' Rebus went on. 'Don't know you, though, which means you're from out of town.'
The man released his grip on the pump as the meter hit thirty pounds dead. He seemed satisfied with this outcome and replaced the nozzle in its holster. Only then, as he replaced the cap and wiped his hands on his handkerchief, did he deign to focus his attention on the man standing before him.
Tou're Detective Inspector John Rebus,' he stated. 'Based at Gayfield Square police station, B Division, Edinburgh.'
'Let me write this down in case I forget.' Rebus made show of reaching into a pocket for his notebook.
Tou have a problem with authority,' the man went on, 'which is why everyone's so relieved you're about to retire. They've only just stopped short of putting up bunting at Fettes HQ.'
'Seems you know all there is to know about me,' Rebus conceded. 'And so far all I know about you is that you drive the sort of overpowered cock-mobile favoured by a certain type of cop… usually the kind who's happiest investigating other cops.'
“You think we're The Complaints?'
'Maybe not, but you seem to know who they are.'
'I've been on their receiving end a couple of times myself,' the jfman confided. “You're not a proper cop otherwise.'
'Makes me a proper cop, then,' Rebus added.
'I know,' the man said quietly. 'Now get in and let's do some proper talking.'
'My car's…' But as Rebus looked over his shoulder, he saw that the baby-faced giant had somehow squeezed in behind the Saab's steering wheel and was turning the ignition.
'Don't worry,' Rebus's new friend assured him, 'Andy knows a thing or two about cars.' He was getting back into the Vectra's driving seat. Rebus walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. The big man – Andy – had left a dent in the seat. Rebus looked around for clues as to the men's identity.
'I like your thinking,' the driver admitted. 'But when you're undercover, you try not to give the game away.'
'I can't be much good, then, seeing how you had no trouble spotting me.'
'Not much good, no.'
'While your pal Andy couldn't look more like a copper if he had the word tattooed on his forehead.'
'Some people think he looks like a bouncer.'
'Bouncers tend to have that bit more refinement.'
The man had lifted a mobile phone for Rebus to see. 'Want me to relay that to him while he's in charge of your vehicle?'
'Maybe later,' Rebus said. 'So who are you then?'
'We're SCD,' the stranger said. Short for SCDEA, the Scottish Crime and Drugs Enforcement Agency. 'I'm DI Stone.'
'And Andy?'
'DS Prosser.'
'What can I do to help you, DI Stone?'
Tou can start by calling me Calum, and I hope it's all right to call you John?'
'Nice and friendly, eh, Calum?'
'Let's just aim for civil and see how it goes.'
The Saab was already signalling to turn off the main road. They entered the car park of a casino, not far from Ocean Terminal, where the Saab pulled to a stop, Stone drawing up alongside.
'Andy seems to know his way around,' Rebus commented.
'Football routes only. Andy's a Dunfermline fan, comes through here to watch his team play Hibs and Hearts.'
'Not for much longer, the way the Pars are struggling.'
'A sore point.'
'I'll bear that in mind…'
Stone had turned in his seat, the better to meet Rebus face to face. 'I'm being straight with you, because I think any other
