throat. Eventually he looked back across the desk. Their Sunday confrontation had not been mentioned, but a coldness hung between them, one which each man knew would never dissipate completely.
'This MI5 woman's theory, what do you make of it?'
'Mary Little Horse showing up makes it the best one we've got.
You can count on the fingers of two hands the people in Scotland who could afford to fund this thing, and still have three fingers left over. I know; I have counted. Then you can rule out all of them as being too old, too straight, too boring, too law-abiding.
None of the radical groups have the dough either. Yes, Alan, it all fits.'
'So what do you do now?'
'Well, I'm holding my morning briefing in an hour. I've got Crown Office permission to issue photographs of Mary Little Horse, and to put out a 'Do not approach' warning.' As he spoke, Skinner opened the folder on his lap and handed across the desk a copy of the computer-generated print which Joe Doherty had faxed to him. Ballantyne looked at it and saw an attractive blonde girl, expressionless in the standard prison mugshot.
'I'll leave out the HIV bit,' Skinner went on. 'Stow's only a wee place, and I'm sure the story of Adams and the Yankee dolly-bird will be all over town already. The press coverage will produce a ton of calls, all of them rubbish no doubt, but if the heat makes her run for it, it'll have served its purpose. If I can't catch her here, I'd rather she was somewhere else.'
He paused and looked Ballantyne in the eye. 'But even if we do get rid of this girl, that doesn't solve our problem. She's a mercenary, and someone's brought her here to do a job. There may well be others, and we have got to expect other attacks. With that Semtex stuff used up, I'm less worried about more bomb attacks, but there are other things they can get up to. Like picking out more big-name assassination targets, for example. There are two events that really worry me. One is Fringe Sunday, and the other's the Fireworks Concert in Princes Street Gardens on the last Thursday of the Festival. One's held in a park, the other takes place after dark, and they're both too big for us to give them total protection. So I want to cancel them both.'
Ballantyne sat bolt upright in his chair. 'Absolutely not! I've made my position, and the Government's position, quite clear on that. We will do nothing that concedes an inch to these people.
They cannot be allowed to claim a single victory through the threat of more violence. These events will go on as scheduled, and it's the job of your team and of your force to police them. Better still, it's your own job to catch these perpetrators. You've shown me some progress, but now I expect more concrete successes.
Protection and detection, that's what I want to hear from you, Bob – not retreat and vacillation.'
It was Skinner's turn to jerk upright in his chair. An angry retort formed on his lips, but was stilled as he realised that something else was troubling Ballantyne. By now he knew the man well enough to read like a book the ups and downs of his personality, and he sensed clearly a second layer of concern, beyond the Festival crisis.
'Alan, is there anything else that you want to tell me?' he probed.'
The Secretary of State sighed, and slammed his right fist into hi! left palm.
'Oh damn it! Yes, Bob. Look, I'm sorry I was so sharp there.You're right, I have another problem. You heard about my trip to London yesterday?'
Skinner nodded in silence.
'My wife has been absolutely devastated by the death of her, shall we say, friend. She regards it as some sort of punishment upon her. The upshot is she announced to me last night that she intends to resume our marriage. To make a fresh start.'
'Mm,' said Skinner, 'I can see that might be a problem. I had a talk with Carlie, Alan – for security purposes, you understand. I know the situation.'
Yes, but you don't know about this.'
He produced a brown manila envelope from his desk drawer and pushed it across to Skinner, who picked it up and shook out a letter.
The salutation was the same as the earlier communications, but the message was different. Skinner read it quickly.
Attached is a photograph of the lady with whom you have been carrying on a liaison. We have others of you both which are more explicit, and in which the press will be interested.
Accede to our demands, Ballantyne, or the people of Scotland will learn what a dishonourable man you are.
Clipped to the letter was a photograph of Carlie leaving Number 6 Charlotte Square by the back door.
'What do they mean, other pictures, Alan?' 'Haven't a clue, Bob. Why would they do that, anyway?'
'Keeping up the pressure, Alan. On you, on me, on us all. They know we're unlikely to ask for media help on this one. I'm afraid you're just going to have to take it on the chin when they show us what they've got.'
Is there nothing I can do?'
'Yes. You have a choice. Announce that your marriage is over and that Carlie is the next Mrs Ballantyne, or – get her out of the country!'
47
The Mary Little Horse story caused a sensation at the Thursday morning briefing, even without the intimate details of her relationship with Frank Adams. Skinner's carefully worded statement, warning the public to be on the look-out for the woman, together with her photograph, caught the media corps off guard.
'So where does that put your investigation?' With some of his belligerence recovered, Al Neidermeyer put the first question.
'It puts a new slant on it, that's for sure. Inevitably you have to be a bit sceptical about the real nature of a so-called patriotic organisation that gets itself involved with a foreign criminal like Typhoid Mary.'
Skinner saw the eyes of the Sun reporter, seated in the front row, light up at his use of her nickname.
'I regard this as significant progress. For legal reasons, I can't go into much detail, but we need to talk with this woman urgently in connection with the death of Hilary Guillaum and the Waltzing Matilda bombing. She's a striking girl: the sort who stands out in a crowd. She is also very, very dangerous, I am assured by theFBI. So any member of the public who thinks they've spotted her should give us a call at once, but otherwise leave her well alone.'
48
Reported sightings of Typhoid Mary began to flood the Fettes switchboard, from the moment the first reports were broadcast.
Indeed the earliest claims were made even before the first edition of the Evening News had hit the streets, giving her photograph page-one prominence.
As Skinner had surmised, all the calls were fruitless. Members of the public from as far afield as Barra and Lerwick called in to declare that they had seen the native American fugitive, but although these sightings were all followed up, none was even close to the mark. The only action that the police saw was when a young lady with a pronounced Sloane Ranger accent was detained in Shetland, before being identified as the daughter of a minor peer, on a back-packing tour of the Scottish Islands.
As Thursday stretched into Friday with no sign of further action by the Fighters, Skinner was able to report an incident-free twenty-four hours at the next morning's briefing.
49
