Ballantyne and I wish to make clear that if there iff any further publication of these photographs or these allegations, we will pursue libel actions against the perpetrators with the fuUf rigour of the law.' What do you think of that?'
'Jesus, that's our man all right. Where's Carlie now?'
'On a plane heading for theStates. S of S bought the ticket.'
'Isn't he just the ticket himself, eh? Cheers, Mike.' He hung up.
Sarah, reaching up to put two mugs away in a high cupboard, looked across at him. 'Well? Which is he then?'
'I was right enough. He's a fucking weasel.'
57
The full team – police and SAS back-up – gathered in the Fettes Hall at 11:00 am, long after the last journalists had left the regular morning briefing. For the newsmen, the highlight had been Skinner's brief and completely unexpected statement that Grant Macdairmid, MP and his sister Cassandra had been arrested, along with a third man, identity as yet unknown, and charged with possession of heroin with intent to supply.
Faced with a threat by Skinner of prosecution for attempted murder, Macdairmid, on the advice of his lawyer, had made a full formal statement at 2:00 am. He had said that his contacts in London had taken him to meet a man in a pub, a Libyan who had told him that he had a connection to some cheap, high-quality drugs. Macdairmid had also admitted that he had been dealing for some years.
The contact had given him a number in Colombia, and he had talked price with the man there. The supplier had explained that he routed the heroin in through France, and across the Channel, easy since the borders had been opened. Macdairmid had decided to take a trial shipment, and had done well out of it. He had agreed to take a second batch, bigger this time. He had been astonished at the man's low price.
The same thought had occurred to Skinner. Two hundred thousand for a case-load of heroin was bargain basement.
But now Skinner's full attention was turned to his briefing for the Fringe Sunday event. From the rows of theatre seating which had been set out for the press, twenty serious faces looked back at him. Among them was Sarah's. He had attempted to persuade her that she would not be needed, and that her presence would be a Personal distraction to him, but she had been adamant. 'You included me in this team. That means all the way.'
Now, he fixed his troubled gaze upon her as he stood up, behind his desk, to address the team.
'Well, ladies and gentlemen. Let me begin by giving it to you straight. This is going to be the devil's own job to police. Even in a normal year. Fringe Sunday gives your average pickpocket an orgasm just thinking about it. This time, well…
'For our army friends, who may be new to the Festival, let me explain what happens. Fringe Sunday is the one major gathering of all the Fringe performers, giving the public a chance to see them close-up and to sample their shows. You'll all by now have seen what happens at the foot of the Mound every lunchtime, and you'll have an idea of the crowds that gather there. Well, this event attracts about forty to fifty times that number. It takes place in Holyrood Park, it's open to the public, and it's absolutely free.
We've only been able to guess at the possible numbers, but the experienced boys in operations reckon that there could be as many as one hundred thousand there, given a fine day – and this will be as fine a day as you could ask for. I've checked the forecast, and there's no chance of the weather breaking for a few days yet.
'You might expect the crowd to be less today, with all that's happened. Let's hope that's right. But it's been nearly a week since the last major incident. The press are even beginning to suggest that the enemy has shot his bolt.'
Skinner paused to look around the hall.
'Don't you believe it! These people want something big.
They've had access to state-of-the-art equipment, and to people who know how to use it.'
Mario McGuire cut in. 'They're claiming they want an independent Scotland. Are you saying it might be something else they're after?'
'That's what I'm beginning to wonder, yes. How come we don't have a clue as to who they are. We led ourselves well and truly up; the garden path with Macdairmid. All our known agitators have checked out clean – even that daft hack, Frazer Pagett. There is something else, Mario. I feel it in my water! Maybe it's really us they're after.' I Us?'
'Yes. The police. Authority. Maybe that's what it's all about.'
He turned back to the group. 'But that's irrelevant for now.
Today we've got to be fully on guard against another terrorist attack. That's our job. Fringe Sunday presents a big target, and so far that's the pattern they've followed. Big, attention-grabbing events.
'There are four official entrances to Holyrood Park. We'll have uniformed officers guarding them all, and there will be plenty others among the crowds. The sight of all those flat hats might have a deterrent effect! But just in case it doesn't, I want you there, too, all of you armed and ready to react in whatever way seems necessary. You will all wear sunglasses, and one of these' he held up a small small lapel pin in the shape of a golden lion 'so that if there is trouble, the uniforms will be able to tell the difference between the terrorists and the good guys. If we have action, and you SAS people get involved, then please leave the scene as soon as it's over. We don't want any of you identified by anyone. I take that very seriously. The uniformed detachment, all ninety- five of them, arc being given their briefing separately for that very reason.
'By the way, people, the uniformed detachment is led by the Chief. The deputy and the other two ACCs will be there, too. I want you to know that the Command Suite is leading from the front on this one.' He looked around the room once more. 'Any questions?'
No one answered.
'Good. Let's go.' The group began to break up. 'And, heyl'
Twenty faces turned back towards him. He was grinning.
'Be careful out there!'
58
As Skinner was heading for the exit, he was stopped by the ChiefConstable's staff officer, a uniformed superintendent.
'Sorry, sir, but before you leave, could you please call Mr Doherty. He's in his office. He said you would know who he is.'
'Thanks, Malcolm.'
Skinner sprinted up the stairs to his office, and punched in Joe Doherty's number on the secure line.
'Joe? What can I do for you?'
'Just listen, that's all. I have a story to tell you, about Giminez and your friend Macdairmid, the patsy. I've found out who was I behind it all.'
Skinner sensed that Doherty was spinning out the suspense.
Joe, come on, for fuck's sake. I've got a crisis here.'
The FBI man laughed. 'So have some cousins of mine. OK, I'll get to the point. It's the CIA. They've been running Giminez.'
'What!'
'Yeah. To be exact it's one man. A crazy hawk at Langley called Goodman. It seems that at some point during the last administration, the President was being given an interdepartmental briefing on the drugs problem, and he made some sort of throwaway remark, along the lines of: 'If someone would just go away and come up with a miracle cure for all this, what a goddamned hero he'd be.' A bit like your Henry II wishing to berid of that
