which for all its grand theatrical title, it was for most of the year.
The air was heavy, the heat stifling. Skinner glanced up. Thete was a hint of purple about the sky. i 'It's going to break, Andy.' E 'You can set your watch by it, boss. Whatever else the weather does in Edinburgh, you can be sure it'll piss down on the Fireworks concert!'
Skinner laughed. 'Aye, that and don't forget the Queen'sjGarden party in July!' But their moment of light relief was a short f. one. 'Have we covered everything, d'you think?' he asked, deadly serious once more. '
'Yes, I think so,' said Martin. 'Princes Street gets blocked off to vehicles at nine o'clock, but the crowd barriers will be installed along the north pavement this afternoon, and we'll close the pavement looking into the Gardens at eight, as soon as the last of the shops close.'
'Right,' said Skinner. 'And as soon as you see to that, you're off to Number 6 to meet up with Ballantyne and the Prime Minister. Although we've doubled the guard on him, like all the Scottish ministers, I want you and Brian to be as close to him and the PM as their underarm deodorant, until tonight's well and truly over. The PM's protection men are happy for us to run this one, not that they were given a choice. You and Brian will be in the Jag with our two VIPs when they leave Number 6. You'll have armed officers in cars in front and back, and four motorcycle outriders, one on each corner. Mind you, you should be all right in that Jag anyway. There's a ton- and-a-half of armour plating in it, and all its glass is proof against any sort of bullet. So listen, if the shit does start to fly down there tonight, the first thing you do is get Ballantyne and the PM inside that bloody motor. It'll be the safest place in Edinburgh.'
He turned to Arrow. 'Adam, you and your men will be stationed inside the theatre area, agreed?'
'Mm. That's right. We'U guard the perimeter, and keep watch on the seats, in case some looker's planted himself in the audience.
One lookin' out, one lookin' in, alternately, all the way round, using night glasses. I'd be happier with another couple of men, though.'
'You've got them. I'll give you McGuire and Mcllhenney. In fact, why don't we kit them out in bulletproof vests and helmets and ask them take up position behind Ballantyne and the PM.
They're both big wide buggers. They'll make good blockers.
They'd have to volunteer, but I know them – they will. That'll 'ee up all of your guys for what they're best at.' 'Thanks, Bob.'
'What about Maggie Rose?' said Martin. 'We mustn't forget about her. She'd be pissed off if she was left out of the action.' 'That's OK. Maggie will be with me, up here, watching for whatever happens. For believe me, boys, there will be something to be seen, and it won't be just fireworks. I've never felt as certain o' anything in my life.'
67
Everything that evening happened on cue – even the weather. Thef storm broke, finally, at 8:45 pm, just as Skinner and Maggie rosch were driving up the deserted Castle esplanade between the high-H tiered temporary grandstands, which on another night would have been filling with spectators gathering for the Military Tattoo in the3 wide parade ground which they Hanked. But fireworks and orchestra had taken precedence over marching bands and military gymnastics, and for that. Skinner guessed, as the first flash of. lightning lit up the gloaming, six thousand potential ticket-holdersg should feel truly grateful.
Heavy raindrops pounded on the roof of the car as he swung if into the tunnel which takes vehicles into Edinburgh Castle, resuming their bombardment as he drove back into the open, anc up to the parking area between Butts Battery and the Castl Hospital, which had once been, ironically, its powder magazine.
He felt glad of the long Burberry waterproof coat and hat whic he had thrown on to the back seat as he had left home.
Maggie Rose was clad for wet weather, too. In knee-lengti boots, jeans and a hooded Barbour jacket, she looked for all th world like a countrywoman on a week-end walk, not a detective engaged on life-or-death duty.
Skinner opened the boot of the car and produced from it two pairs of odd-looking, heavy binoculars.
'Here, take these,' he said, handing one set to Maggie Rose.
'They're light-intensifying, infra-red or some such. However, they work; they'll help you see in the dark. You're going to need them before much longer.
'Are you armed?' he asked casually as they walked up to their vantage point on the Mills Mount Battery.
'No, sir. I didn't see the need for it up here.'
The neither. This is an army garrison, after all. There's guns enough all around us.' i The adjutant of the Castle garrison regiment, the Royal Scots, was waiting for them on the Battery. He held a large blue umbrella over his head. Soldier's bravado, thought Skinner, as lightning cracked across the sky, searching for a route to earth.
'Taking a chance. Major Ancram, aren't you?' he said, pointing at the umbrella.
The big, middle-aged officer laughed. 'Rubber soles, old boy!
Anyway, if the bloody Argies couldn't hit me, what hope is there for this lot!'
Skinner shook his head and smiled. Daft as a brush, he thought.
He introduced Major Ancram to Detective Sergeant Rose.
Then, moving forward to the edge of the Battery, he raised the night-glasses and swept his gaze along Princes Street, from the Mound to Lothian Road. Without its street lighting, the famous street, with its shops on one side, Gardens and Castle on the other, was beginning to resemble an island of darkness in the midst of the dramatic illuminations which show off historic Edinburgh by night.
In the deepening gloom, the north pavement was already well filled with people, braving the rain for the sounds and spectacle of this unique evening. Above the pedestrians was a second tier of spectators, those privileged ones with access to upper-floor windows, or to the wide galleried fronting of some of the buildings – memorials to an architectural eccentricity decades earlier which had envisaged the eventual creation of a first-floor walkway running the length of Princes Street.
The lights of the New Club, of which Skinner was a member, caught his eye. Through its high windows he could see clearly that the Fireworks drinks party was gathering momentum. He was suddenly glad that he had persuaded the Chief to make the Club his vantage point, out of harm's way yet able to observe the crowd. Further along, others, with glasses in hand, peered out of the upper apartments of the Royal Overseas League. Business was good, he noted, in the two-storey Burger King, bright on its corner in contrast to the gap site on the opposite side of Castle Street, where the Palace Hotel had once stood, and where rebuilding work was still far from completion.
'Past food's selling well,' he muttered to no one in particular, as he registered that McDonald's too was packed.
From Princes Street, Skinner swung the glasses down into the Gardens, to the Ross Theatre itself. He checked his watch. It was still only 9:15, too early for ticket-holders, especially on a night like this. But already Arrow and his black-suited men were deployed there in waiting, hooded and with bulky automatic weapons in their hands.
The stage was hidden from his view, but twenty feet away from it, behind two seats in the centre, he saw two bulky figures, grotesque in their helmets, with rain tunics over their flak-jackets, but standing there solidly as human shields. Skinner was suddenly very touched by the loyalty of his team, and very proud of them.
His moment of reverie was broken by Major Ancram •Everything OK, Mr Skinner?' •Yes, Major, so far. So far.'
'What do we do now?'
'We wait and we watch. And, if you're into it, you might like to do a wee bit of praying for those boys down there, and for the two clowns they're looking after.'
