terminal building and made his way along to the taxi rank. He hadn’t quite reached it when a black Ford Scorpio pulled up at the kerb beside him and the passenger window slid down under smooth electric control.
‘Dr Dewar?’ inquired a male voice, competing with the sound of the wind.
Dewar bent down to look across to the driver. He didn’t recognise him.
‘Jump in. I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Who are you?’ Dewar asked flatly.
The driver smiled and brought out an ID card from an inside pocket. He undid his seat belt to lean over and hold it up. ‘Name’s Barron, Simon Barron.’
At least it isn’t Bond, thought Dewar, reading the Military Intelligence accreditation on the card. He opened a back door and put his travel bag on the seat before getting in the front to sit with his computer on his knee. He had to confess he was glad to be in out of the wind. He shook hands with Barron saying, ‘Is this part of a government strategy to save on taxi fares?’
‘Not exactly,’ smiled Barron. ‘But it’s an interesting idea. They told me you were coming in on this flight so I thought I’d meet you. Wretched day. We should talk, exchange business cards as it were.’
‘Makes sense,’ agreed Dewar. ‘We don’t want to be getting in each other’s way. Are you on your own here?’
‘No,’ replied Barron without volunteering how many there were. ‘Not that w’re exactly being overtaxed. Siddiqui doesn’t go anywhere apart from round the corner to visit a local coffee-come-bookshop, the Bookstop Cafe. Just stays put in the Iraqi student centre.’
‘How about the other one, the policeman, Abbas?’
‘Much the same. A few visits to the local shops, that sort of thing. As far as we can determine he doesn’t meet with anyone or go anywhere special and there’s no timetable or regular pattern attached to his movements. That tells us something in itself, I think.’
‘What?’ asked Dewar.
‘That they’re just putting off time. They’re waiting for something, something to happen.’
‘That’s my fear,’ said Dewar. ‘If they didn’t have a reason to stay, they would have left the city before now ’
‘And that something could be a virus, I understand,’ said Barron.
‘You’re well informed. That’s the worst case scenario.’
‘I’m also told you’re in a position to give us a list of those who might be capable of supplying them with it?’ said Barron.
‘Not exactly,’ corrected Dewar. ‘I think it possible I can come up with a list of people who have the necessary expertise but I can’t point you at anyone who would actually be liable to consider doing it.’
‘The possibles will be fine,’ said Barron. ‘We’ll take it from there, see what we can come up with.’
‘I hope that doesn’t mean staff harassment at the institute,’ said Dewar. ‘We’re talking about an outside possibility here.’
‘We’re very discrete.’
Dewar glanced at Barron out of the corner of his eye. He was in his mid thirties, tall, dark-haired, fit looking, well dressed, like himself, in an establishment sort of way. He exuded an air of confidence which extended to his driving. He moved in and out of gaps in the traffic quickly and surely. At the big roundabouts on the western outskirts of the city he accelerated quickly into the first available space without hesitation, seemingly knowing at all times what was inside of him, outside of him and coming up behind.
‘I expected Special Branch to be doing the surveillance work,’ said Dewar.
‘That might still be true,’ agreed Barron with just a hint of a smile..
‘Are you saying you two don’t talk to each other?’ said Dewar, the surprise showing in his voice.
‘You know how these things are,’ said Barron. ‘Professional jealousies and all that. The issues in this case aren’t clearly defined. Some aspects say it’s ours, others say theirs. It’s all a bit awkward. I take it you’re staying at the same hotel as last time?’
Dewar glanced at him, wondering how he knew but simply confirmed that he was.
They had reached the centre of the city. The words ‘all a bit awkward’ were going round in Dewar’s head, and he didn’t feel at all encouraged. This was a
‘Don’t bother. I’ll get in touch with you,’ said Barron. ‘When d’you think you’ll have it?’
Dewar shrugged. ‘Tomorrow some time.’
He got out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve his travel bag. ‘Thanks for the lift.’
The Scorpio moved off with a slight squeal of protest from the tyres, leaving Dewar standing on the pavement looking after its disappearing rear. ‘Good bye, Simon Barron, man of mystery,’ he murmured. It was like watching the Lone Ranger gallop off at the end of every old TV show. If the job was finished, just where the hell was he going at that speed and why? If the Iraqis weren’t doing anything, why the rush to keep station outside the student centre in Forest Road?
Dewar contacted Grant at police headquarters as soon as he’d unpacked and settled into his room. He swung his legs up on the bed and sat propped up against the headboard.
‘Can’t stay away, huh?’ said Grant. ‘Must be the Scottish air.’
‘Something like that,’ agreed Dewar. ‘And there’s plenty of it today. I was blown off my feet at the airport. It looks like I’m going to be here for the next week or so. Will you let me know of anything that happens at your end that looks like it might be relevant?’
‘What sort of things?’
‘I’ll leave that to your judgement.’
‘I’ll keep you in mind.’
Next, Dewar phoned Steven Malloy at the Institute of Molecular Sciences.
‘Didn’t we just say good-bye?’
‘I thought so too,’ said Dewar. ‘But my masters have decided not to take any chances with this one. They sent me back. It’s a case of bolting the stable door
‘You could come out to my place if you like?’ suggested Malloy. ‘Or I could meet you somewhere in town?’
‘Your place will be fine. 8 o’clock this evening?’
‘I’ll expect you.’
Dewar called the Reception desk and asked about renting a car now that he was staying for a while. A dark green Rover 600 was delivered in under twenty minutes. The interior was spotlessly clean but the previous driver had been a smoker, he could still smell the lingering stale legacy of tobacco smoke. He opened the sunroof. and turned on the fan.
He drove up the Mound then circled round past the Iraqi student centre in Forest Road trying to spot the surveillance. He couldn’t. That pleased him, he’d been harbouring notions of rival surveillance teams squabbling outside the entrance after hearing what Barron had said about ‘professional rivalry’. Maybe his fears had been groundless.
He drove slowly down the Royal Mile in the shadow of the old tenements, eventually turning right to pass in front of Holyrood Palace and enter the Queen’s Park, a large green area open to the public with an extinct volcano, Arthur’s Seat, as its centrepiece. He followed the road running through the park then turned off to the right to drive up round the hill and pull into a lay-by on the south side.He got out to take in the view and stood with his right foot resting on the first bar of the railings separating the road from a sheer drop. To the east he could see the sea. In the distance an oil tanker was making its way out of the Firth of Forth into the North Sea. To the south he could just make out the white tower block of the Institute of Molecular Sciences. He shivered slightly as a cool breeze caught his cheek.
It was a couple of minutes after eight when he drew up outside Malloy’s church home. It had been daylight the last time he’d been here so this time he stopped at the gate to take in the atmosphere of the place in the dark. Yellow light was spilling out from the windows where the stainglass had been replaced with ordinary clear glass. He
