Gallery Whispers

  22

  their people, a woman who they had infiltrated into Hawkins' close

  circle ... that's their description; you work out what it means. This

  was quite a gesture on their part, since they've had to pull that agent

  out of South Africa altogether, now that she's been exposed.

  'She gave them one clue, that was all. The only thing Hawkins said

  when she asked him where he was going.

  'He told her "I'm flying north for the winter".' Skinner paused.

  'For the winter, he said. That could be significant.'

  'I appreciate, lady and gentlemen, that it could also mean anything,

  and as I speak the search for Hawkins is going on all over Europe, and

  in the US. However there is a strong possibility that he might be

  coming here. I'll explain that later. For now .. .' He turned to

  Mcllhenney. 'Neil, if you would.'

  The big sergeant stood and walked to the far end of the table, where

  a slide projector stood. 'Old-fashioned technology,' Skinner apologised, as his assistant flicked off the conference room lights and

  switched on the projector. On the portable screen opposite a face

  appeared; a young man, in his early twenties, with reddish blond hair,

  staring seriously at the camera.

  'This is Hencke van Roost,' said the DCC, 'as he looked when he

  enlisted in the South African Army at the age of twenty-three. Before

  he signed on he completed an engineering degree at Massachusetts

  Institute of Technology. He comes from a wealthy family, does our

  man. His father, who died a few years back, was a rancher and wine

  producer.'

  Mcllhenney pressed the button of the remote changer and the

  carousel turned, revealing a second photograph. 'He's still van Roost

  in this one,' Skinner continued, 'four years into his army service. By

  now he's a captain in Special Forces. This was taken on an operation

  in Namibia. The CIA agent copied it.' The man was bare chested, wearing only green shorts, socks, and heavy boots. His hair was

  bleached even more fair than it had been in the earlier image and he

  was smiling. A sub-machine gun was slung over his shoulder and

  three black men lay, sprawled awkwardly in death, at his feet.

  He nodded to his assistant, who moved on to the next slide. 'She

  copied this one too,' he said, as the watchers gasped. The South

  African's grin was even wider. Again he was bare-chested, his muscles

  standing out impressively in the sunlight as he stood, flanked by his

  fellow soldiers. There was a machete stuck in his belt, and in each

  hand he held, by the hair, a glassy-eyed, mouth agape, severed white

  human head.

  'The CIA managed to identify those two, believe it or not. They

  were Americans, hired by the Namibian insurgents. Every time van

  23

  Roost's unit captured a mercenary, that was how they dealt with them.

  They were known in every southern African battle zone as the Headhunters.'

  Skinner paused. 'The platoon didn't only work abroad. The

  Government used them to foment tribal violence in the townships. It

  was even suggested that van Roost invented the necklace.' Lorraine

  Morrison shot him a puzzled look.

  'You don't know about that fashion accessory. Inspector? It involves

  filling a car tyre with petrol, hanging it round some poor bugger's

  neck and setting it alight. It was common practice in the townships for

  a while, and some say our man Hencke came up with the idea.'

  He nodded to Mcllhenney once more, and a fourth photograph

  appeared on the screen. It could have been a different person. This

  time the smile was gentle, perfectly civilised and framed by a thin

  moustache, while the well-groomed hair was darker, more noticeably

  red. The man wore an expensively cut blazer, and his gold-rimmed

  glasses made him look studious.

  'During his eventful army career,' continued Skinner, 'van Roost,

  not unnaturally, made many enemies. So, after five years, when his

  tour was almost completed, the top brass did him a favour. They

  reported him killed in action in Namibia, brought back an unrecognisable

  body, and had a funeral. A few months later, Mr Michael

  Hawkins, whom you see there, returned from an extensive spell in the

  US, and set up in practice in Cape Town as a consultant civil engineer.

  'His firm has done pretty well in the twelve years since then.

  Initially it was given a leg-up with a few Government contracts, but it

  built up pretty quickly a list of significant private sector clients, in

  South Africa and abroad. Today it has a staff of twenty . . . although

  there's a vacancy since the CIA pulled their woman out.'

  The DCC paused as Mcllhenney turned off the projector, switched

  on the lights and resumed his seat. 'He did other things for the former

  South African regime too,' he went on. 'Ten years ago he paid a

  business visit to the US, to advise the government on an office

  purchase in Chicago. While he was there, Samuel Tshabala, the leader

  in exile of a radical black faction, was killed; shot by a sniper as he

  got into his car in San Francisco.

  'This was very embarrassing for the Americans; the guy had been

  under their protection, and more than a few people in Africa accused

  them of setting him up. So the FBI and the CIA, in a rare show of cooperation,

  threw everything at it. Eventually, the Bureau discovered

  that Mr Michael Hawkins had entered the country ten days before the

  hit, but had never left. They also discovered that one Peter Veivers,

  South African national, had left the country through Los Angeles

  24

  Airport on the day after, although when they checked, they found no

  record of his ever having entered.

  'They placed Veivers in a hotel in San Francisco, where he had

  stayed for seven days, checking out on the morning of the shooting.

  By sheer chance, the Drug Enforcement Agency had been staking out

  the same hotel during Veivers' time there, waiting for a crowd of

  Colombians, and were able to give the Bureau a piece of good quality

  video footage of their man, far better than they had taken from the

  house security cameras.

  'They handed over to the CIA at that point. Now as it happened, the

  Agency had been very interested in the late Hencke van Roost. He

  had killed a couple of their people in Namibia . . . the very two you

  saw a few minutes ago, in fact ... so they were very pleased when

  they heard he was dead. They had his picture on file from his MIT

  days, and from South African press coverage of his alleged death, so

  they made the connection quickly. Then they had a look at Mr Michael

  Hawkins, back at work in Cape Town, and put the whole story together.

  'There was some talk of terminating him, there and then, but in the

  end they did something much more sensible. They recruited him.

  Michael Hawkins was blackmailed into handling sticky jobs for the

  Agency, and that really was the start of it.'

  Skinner leaned back. 'Okay,' he said, 'I've been talking for long

  enough. Any questions so far?'

  DI Morrison raised a hand. 'If he worked for the CIA, why did they

  have to plant someone in his of
fice?'

  'Because he doesn't work for them alone; he works for virtually

  anyone, and he doesn't ask Agency approval before he takes on a job.'

  The DCC grinned. 'They might think they do, but the CIA don't

  actually run the'world. The Tshabala affair left them with egg on their

  faces, and so did the Asian assassination I mentioned earlier; that man

  was a client too. So they put their spy in Hawkins' camp as a sort of

  early warning system.'

  Mario McGuire raised a hand. 'How many aliases does the guy

  use, sir?'

  'Every time he goes under,' Skinner replied, 'he does it under a

  new name, and he switches to another after the job's done.'

  Mcllhenney shifted his massive frame in his seat. 'Can I ask a

  question, boss?'

  'Of course. You're not just here to work the projector.'

  'Why does the present South African government tolerate someone

  like this?

  'Because chances are he's worked for them too, in the past. No one

  knows for sure who set up Tshabala, but the CIA were fairly certain

  25

  that the ANC were involved. That suspicion, was more or less

  confirmed when the murder was taken off the agenda of the Truth and

  Reconciliation Commission.

  'The awful truth is that people like Hawkins are useful, very useful,

  for a time at least. They're very good at what they do, and they don't

  have links to anyone.'

  'So what are we to do with this guy if we catch him? Stick him on

  a plane to South Africa and let him carry on in business?'

  Skinner glanced at Andy Martin, looked around the room, then

  back at Mcllhenney. 'Not this time, Neil. No one ties my hands, not in

  my own country or anywhere else. If Mr Hawkins is coming here on

  a project, then if we can, we will stop him . . . with whatever force is

  appropriate. If, by ill luck, he succeeds in his objective, we'll do our

  damnedest to make sure he doesn't leave Scotland. But if he does,

  he'll be hunted down.

  'I have a free hand in this. As I said, people like Hawkins are

  useful, for a time. This man's time is up. Wherever else he goes after

  this, it won't be back to Cape Town.'

  'The big question, though, Mr Skinner,' said Superintendent Harry

  McGuigan. 'Why would he come to Scotland?'

  'If we knew that for sure, we could plan very specifically. But we

  can make some pretty decent guesses, and one that's really informed.'

  'Political?' asked McGuigan.

  'Almost certainly. This guy only works for governments and their

  opponents.' The DCC leaned back in his chair, stretching his long

  lean body. 'What political target in Scotland would be important

  enough to justify the hiring of a very expensive international assassin

  to take him out?

  'Let's begin with the obvious: there are currently five members of

  the British Cabinet from Scottish constituencies. As of now they're

  all on round-the-clock protection, but realistically, only two stand

  out as potential targets ... the Defence Secretary and the Foreign

  Secretary.

  'Ministry of Defence security have been given overall responsibility

  for protecting those two. That makes me happy, since my friend Adam

  Arrow will be in command of that end, and he's a bit special. I'm

  pretty confident that if either of those two men is Hawkins' target, his

  chances of success are poor.

  'Other possibilities? A member of the Royal Family?' He shook his

  head. 'I don't believe that one for a minute. Okay, maybe a splinter

  Irish nationalist group might like to kill a British Royal; but those

  boys would want to do the job themselves. I can't see them hiring in

  outside talent. Nevertheless, that angle isn't being ruled out. All Royal

  26

  visits in Scotland have been quietly cancelled, until the threat is

  eliminated.

  'No, the intelligent guess has to be that if Hawkins is coming to

  Scotland on a contract, in line with his cryptic remark to his CIA

  girlfriend, then his target is a VIP visitor, rather than a Scot. And

  that's where this gets really worrying; because here's where I get

  round to the informed supposition I mentioned earlier.

  'It hasn't been announced yet, but in a couple of months' time, in

  December, there will be a special meeting of world Heads of

  Government and Finance Ministers, to consider the effect of the

  international response to the continuing global economic crisis. It's

  an initiative by our own Prime Minister, who as you'll have noticed,

  likes to cultivate his image on the international stage.

  'Where?' He looked around the table at eight frowning faces.

  'You've guessed it, people. Right here in Bonnie Scotland, in the

  Edinburgh International Conference Centre, to be precise. The USA,

  Germany, France, Russia, the People's Republic of China, Japan,

  Canada, Italy, Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, and many others, have

  been invited to attend.

  'Until now, the only people who have known about this meeting

  have been the people involved, and their immediate advisers. The

  main players agreed the timing and venue at the last G8 meeting.

  EICC don't even know yet that they're hosting it. So if Michael

  Hawkins' trip to Scotland is related to that, it points to someone on

  the invitation list having ordered a hit on someone else.

  'Now that might be a bad omen for international relations, but it's

  a secondary issue for me. I don't need to remind you that a few years

  back a visiting Head of State was assassinated right here in Edinburgh.

  The argument that he was better off dead cuts no ice with me: he was

  done on my patch. I swore then that such a thing would never happen

  again. It won't.

  'I've been told that we don't need to worry about protection in this

  case; that will be the job of the military, advised by Sir John Govan.

  I don't envy Jock his task. The army's security approach is usually

  based on deterrence. Hawkins won't be scared off by any number of

  soldiers. He's clever, he's resourceful and as far as anyone knows he

  has never failed. All he needs is one opening and the President of the

  United States, or Russia, or our Prime Minister . .. Christ, maybe

  more than one of them ... can kiss their arse goodbye.'

  The DCC smiled, calmly. 'Lady and gentlemen,' he said, 'we are

  going to prevent that. If Michael van Roost Hawkins is in Scotland,

  we are going to find him. If he has yet to arrive we are going to try to

  nab him at his port of entry. You and your officers all have no other

  27

  task but this. Each of you will report progress to me, through Detective

  Sergeant Mcllhenney, on a daily basis. Any instructions Neil may

  give you, will be with my full authority.

  'Watch the airports, of course, but let's proceed on the assumption

  that he's here already. Your starting point will be to check all landing

  cards completed by non-EU nationals on entry to the UK. You will

  receive full co-operation, if necessary, from your opposite numbers in

  police forces in England and Wales. Remember that they do not need

  to know what this is all about, n
or should they.

  'It's quite possible that Hawkins will be travelling on a false EU

  passport, and in that case there will be no landing card. So hotel

  checks are important too. He may have rented accommodation; speak

  to all the letting agencies in your areas. Of course, when you go to

  check the properties, indeed whenever there's a chance you could

  come face to face with this bloke, you will be armed. That's not a

  suggestion; it's an order.'

  Skinner picked up a number of sealed envelopes which he had

  brought with him into the room and handed them round. 'These are

  some photofit treatments of Hawkins prepared by the people in Ml 5.

  They're based on the last photograph you saw and they show how he

  might look in a variety of disguises.

  'One thing he can't hide though. Van Roost took a bullet in the

  right leg towards the end of his army days, and he's walked with a

  limp ever since.

  'As well as the prints you'll also find in those envelopes, DS

  Mcllhenney's office and home phone numbers, plus my own and Mr

  Martin's.'

  'Why would he come here so far ahead of the meeting, sir?' asked

  DI Burns, from Fife.

  'Planning, Inspector. Planning. This man is meticulous in everything

  he does. If someone attending this conference is his target then

  his track record says that he'll come here weeks in advance, to check

  out the cityscape, to work out the best positions for an attempt and to

  prepare his means of escape. This man is not a martyr; his aim will be

  to complete his contract and fade into the background.'

  'What do we do if we find him, boss?' McGuire spoke quietly, but

  his voice was loaded with meaning.

  'Keep him under observation if you can,' said Skinner, 'and send

  for me. Try not to confront him, but if you have to, and he as much as

  looks at you the wrong way, put a bullet in him.'

  'What, you mean in his good leg, sir?' said DI Impey, from

  Dumfries and Galloway, srriling along the table.

  Poker-faced, the DCC turned and looked at the man, freezing his

  28

  grin. 'No, Inspector.' He ground the words out, slowly. 'I mean right

  between the bloody eyes. If he has to, this man will kill you stone

  dead, then take your head as a trophy.' With a nod around the table,

  and a final glare at Impey, he stood up, bringing the briefing to a