dog safely on the lead, he mused. But then it barked once more, the sound turning this time into something approaching a howl. He looked round, and saw the animal at once. Even by German Shepherd standards, this was a powerful dog. It was pulling its puzzled handler along gradually, inexorably, in the direction of the blue van and the trailer.
'Oh shit!' Martin cried aloud this time. 'It's a sniffer!'
As he watched, the handler loosed his grip on the leash, allowing the dog to follow its nose. It pulled him at a trot across the last few yards, straight to the twin outboard engines, canted up at the back of the boat, jumping up as it reached them and pawing at the engine casing.
Martin could not see inside the van, but he knew inevitably what would happen. He did not have to wait long. The passenger door of the Transit slid open, and Serge Lucan jumped out, running full-tilt away from the dog.
'Oh shit!' Martin roared once more, as he threw open the door of the Peugeot and sprinted towards the Frenchman. Lucan recognised this new threat almost at once, and veered away from his approach. But he was too late. Martin was already too close, and had an edge in speed which enabled him to run the man down in only a few strides. He launched himself in a rugby tackle, taking the man around the knees and bringing him down, heavily. Lucan kicked out fiercely, in his grip, and made to rise. He swung a punch at his pursuer's blond head, but his arm was trapped expertly and twisted up behind his back. Swiftly, brutally, Martin kicked his legs out from under him slamming him once more into the tarmac, face-down and helpless.
He looked over his shoulder, and saw Mcllhenney returning with a look of pure bewilderment on his face.
`Neil!' he shouted. 'Monklands is in the building. some shy;where! Nail him!' He glared across at the dog- handler, who was approaching uncertainly. 'Police! Drugs Squad. Don't ask, just give my sergeant assistance!' The helmeted constable, who recognised authority when he heard it, obeyed at once.
The bulky Mcllhenney was halfway across the car park when Monklands appeared in the wide doorway. Panic flooded his features as he saw Lucan on the ground with Martin on top of him, his knee driven into his back. Then he, too, took to his heels. Mcllhenney, who was built for endurance rather than speed, began to give chase, but stopped in almost palpable relief as the dog, unleashed, shot past him. It caught Monklands in eight strides. Launching itself, it seized the man's forearm and knocked him to the ground. The man screamed. 'Get it off me, for Christ's sake!' Detective and handler arrived together. As the dog obeyed a command to release and come to heel, Mcllhenney took his prisoner by the collar and belt, hauled him to his feet and marched him off to join Martin and Lucan.
As the two pursuers stood beside the Transit, their captives restrained firmly, a uniformed inspector marched across, bristling with indignation.
`What are you people? What is this? 'Why wasn't I told?'
Piercing green eyes fixed upon him and silenced his outburst. 'Superintendent Martin and Sergeant Mcllhenney, Edinburgh Drugs Squad. We'd show you our warrant cards, but we've sort of got our hands full.'
The uniformed man stiffened with respect for rank. 'Yes, sir.'
Martin gave him a resigned smile. 'It's not your fault, Inspector, but I've got some bad news for you — then some worse news. The bad news is that RinTinTin here has just fucked up the biggest drugs round-up in the history of British policing. The worse news is that, until I can calm him down, there's a certain Assistant Chief Constable who's going to want to tear your heart out with his bare hands, and probably the dog's too!'
Seventy-seven
I'd like to tear their fucking hearts out, Andy — with my bare hands!'
On the other end of the line, Martin winced. 'Aye, sir, I know. But it wasn't their fault. These guys had their own operation on, and our target just landed in the middle of it. We briefed all the traffic departments to keep out of our road, but we couldn't warn every copper in Britain. It was luck, sir. Rank bad luck.'
There was a long silence. Eventually Skinner sighed. 'Yes, I suppose so. Where did you say you were now?'
`Back in Leicester, boss. The Transit and the boat have been brought here, and the local drugs boys are about to take the engines apart. Monklands and Lucan have been cautioned and detained. We've got no claim on them either.'
`No,' said Skinner, 'we won't have. They never made it north of the Border, so it'll be an English prosecution. What a bastard! There's no way now we'll lay a finger on Gilhooley and his two mates: probably not on Cocozza either. We can only hope to lean on Monklands and Lucan, and get them to incriminate Ainscow and Vaudan. That'll still be quite a score, but when I think of what we might have done. . Bugger!'
Silence returned to the line until it was broken by Martin. `There is one bright spot. Since I told them what they'd blown, the boys down here are being very co-operative. While you're right about this being an English prosecution, they've said that, if it helps tie in Ainscow to a conspiracy charge in England, we can borrow Monklands and Lucan for questioning if we like. What d'you think?'
`No!' Skinner's response was swift and vehement. 'Don't do that. If we're going to salvage anything from this, Ainscow and Vaudan have got to think that this has been a pure accident. On the face of it, that shipment could have been going anywhere. They don't know we were tailing it, but as soon as I take those guys over the Border, then, in effect, we've told them. Surprise is the only small advantage we have left, so let's keep it if we can. I want to interrogate Monklands, sure, but I'll come down there to do it. And, one other thing, when they go public on the seizure, I want no mention made of you and Mcllhenney, or your parts in it.'
`Okay, that's how it'll be. When'll you be down?'
`I'll get a flight to Birmingham or East Midlands tomorrow morning. You wait for me there — even if it does screw up your love life. I tell you, Andy. Once this lot's over, suppose I never see another aeroplane..
Seventy-eight
‘Aye, so what if I know Paul Ainscow? Paul's got fuck all tae do with this. He just gave me an intro tae Vaudan. Towin' boats is what I do for a livin', and that's what the job was — towing a fuckin' boat.'
Police interview rooms have the same uniform drabness wherever they are, thought Skinner, recalling Pujol's hospitality suite in L'Escala, with its single chair bolted to the floor. The Leicester model had movable furniture, but the paint on the walls had a depressing similarity.
Local officers had begun the interview with Monklands, who had received their insistent questions with a stoic silence. After half an hour, Skinner, frustrated beyond endurance by the man's lack of response, had driven his rank through the formalities of territorial jurisdiction and had taken over.
`Look, pal. This is the scene. Paul Ainscow's your golf pal. He has a drug deal with Vaudan in France. He sends you down with a piece of paper to unlock the funds, and a trailer for smuggling back the stuff that it buys. I know that, as sure as you've got a hole in your arse. Now you make a statement confirming it, and it'll save you a right few years in Parkhurst, or Dartmoor, or some other nice hotel down here.'
Monklands' reply was accompanied by a defiant stare. At once, Skinner knew in his heart that the man would not be broken.
`Interview suspended.' He glanced down at his watch. `Eleven twenty-two.' He reached over and switched off the tape-recorder, then leaned across the table. 'Okay, Norrie, we've nailed you fair and square with the narcotics equivalent of Santa's sledge on Christmas Eve. Not even the stupidest jury in England is going to let you off. You're going down for fifteen years, yet you won't give us Ainscow and Vaudan even though it would take ten years off that stretch, maybe more. I'm not going to lose my voice or bloody my knuckles trying to make you, 'cause I know I can't. So, tell me off the record. Satisfy my inquisitive mind. Is it money, or is it fear?'
Monklands glanced across at the tape-recorder, as if to verify that it really was switched off. He looked up at Skinner. `If I did what you ask, how long d'you think I'd last. See that man in Glasgow? Any jail you like to name, he's got someone in it that would do me in for five hundred quid tae his wife on the outside. So you're right, mister.
