Merle Gower, on Skinner's left, leaned across him. 'On our side, we only found out when Secretary Massey arrived on Thursday afternoon that he intended to fly up with Mr Davey. We had a seat for him on a military jet but he said that he wanted a chance to talk to Davey away from the Generals.'
`Who knew?' asked Skinner.
The Ambassador told me,' she said, 'but as far as I know, no one else. I called the airline to book three tickets on the Embassy account. My name was on all three reservations.'
`So how, I wonder, did McGrath and wee Mark get into the front row?' Skinner mused.
'Two of Secretary Massey's staff should have been in those seats, and another in the seat that Miss Cunningham occupied. I think we have to assume that he told them to swap when Minister McGrath and his party turned up.'
I guess so. Anyway, that answers your question, Sammy. If it Was Yahic, then Massey being on board the plane was a bonus for him.' He turned to the American once more.
'Now, Merle, do you have any other information for us?'
The woman nodded her dark head. 'First off, I can corroborate Captain Arrow's Intelligence about the Yahic group. The CIA had an infiltrator on his personal staff — until recently, that is.'
`What happened to him?' asked Andy Martin.
`His name appeared in a list of fatalities a month ago, after the group was involved in a shoot-out with the International Force. Generals' aides don't normally come under fire, so the Company thinking is that he was compromised and executed.
`We know about the Australasian group also, but I can update your Intelligence on that, Captain. There was an Iranian connection, it's true, but it has now been terminated.'
`What,' said Arrow, 'like With Extreme Prejudice?'
Merle Gower smiled. 'Not that extreme! No, let's just say that certain economic pressure was brought to bear by our client states within the Islamic community. As a result, the funds on offer to the group have now been withdrawn.
I agree with Captain Arrow's assessment of the threat posed by General Yahic. However, I have another contender to throw into the discussion. You will not be surprised to learn that the Iraqis are our Number One Intelligence target these days. A couple of weeks ago, one of our sources in Baghdad came up with a dossier on deep-cover agents whom the regime has in position in various Western countries, including Britain, France and the US.
`We don't have names or faces to put to them, but we do know their code names and their occupations. For example, the sleeper in the US was known as Eagle, and he was a freelance computer software engineer. We nailed him yesterday, and we believe that we can tie him into the Oklahoma bombing.
`The French plant is called Mouse. She is a bank clerk.
`The London agent is code-named Robin, and he or she is a civil servant.'
Skinner whistled, and threw a glance at Arrow. 'Do we know which Department?'
Gower shook her head.
`What's the purpose of these people? Are they spies?'
`Some of them are. Others are assassins. The Iraqis are lousy when it comes to Intelligence gathering. That's why they got it so badly wrong over Kuwait; they miscalculated completely the extent to which Bush was prepared to go to protect the Saudis. But they keep on trying. Eagle, Mouse, Robin and all the rest are trained in either sabotage, espionage or assassination. They're in place to do damage or to gather information, whatever their specialty. But they're not used indiscriminately, and they're not all currently active. We believe that Mouse was involved in the Paris bombings last year, but that she's been put back to sleep. Robin, we are told, has just been activated.'
Skinner, upright in his seat, looked down at her. 'Who else in the UK has this information?'
`No one as yet, to my knowledge. Langley has only just finished evaluating it. However, a full report is on its way over, by courier. And that's the last thing I have to tell you.
Washington has decided that I'm too raw to be representing the US in the investigation of the murder of the President's best buddy. So they're sending someone else. He's bringing the report.'
Skinner grinned at Martin, across the table. 'So who's the Seagull going to be?'
She looked at him, puzzled, until she guessed his meaning. It's the Deputy Chair of the National Security Council, no less. My predecessor, Mr Doherty.'
`Joe! Well, thank you, God, for that. They're sending us a professional. Let me know when he's due to arrive, and ill arrange to meet him.'
Skinner picked up his folder from the table and glanced at his watch. It was 9.40 a.m.
'Right, ladies and gentlemen, class dismissed. Dave, Neil, go home and pick up enough gear for a few days, then get yourselves out to the airport, with Adam, as quick as you can.
Maggie's booked you on the eleven o'clock plane. Your tickets will be waiting at check-in, and the flight won't leave without you.'
As the meeting broke up, Skinner signalled to Superintendent Higgins to stay behind.
'Alison,' he said, once they were alone, 'you're not too disappointed, I hope, that I chose Andy to succeed Roy.'
She shook her blonde head, and her ruddy complexion seemed just a shade more red. 'No, sir. Andy's the right man for the job. I expected it, really.'
`How would you feel about taking his place in charge of Drugs and Vice?'
Higgins stared at him in surprise. 'Honestly, sir? I wouldn't want it. I'd prefer to stay where I am for a bit longer, then perhaps to be considered…' She faltered, and Skinner could see that she was wondering whether she had gone too far.
He grinned at her. ‘For a job back in uniform, were you about to say?' She nodded.
`Then keep this to yourself for now. Charlie Radcliffe told me last night that he's planning to retire in six months. The Chief Constable will appoint his successor personally, but I’ll recommend to him that he chooses you.'
The Superintendent flushed bright red. Thank you very much, sir.'
`Don't thank me till you've thought it through. I know that I wouldn't fancy putting on a uniform for what could be the rest of my career.'
Higgins looked at her feet, diffidently. 'Actually, I have some long-term career ambitions, sir, and that move fits in very well with them. Chief Super at age thirty-nine would keep me on course. I come from Dundee, you see, and my secret wish is that I might go back there one day as an ACC.'
`Don't sell yourself short now, Ali,' said Skinner, smiling. `There's no point in aiming for the second top rung on any ladder.'
I'll bear that in mind, boss. Meantime, can I make a suggestion? How about Dave Donaldson as Andy's replacement?'
'A good thought, and one that's crossed my mind, too. I'll discuss it with Andy. But let's get this crisis over with before we get round to making that decision.' He paused. 'How were things yesterday, with your friend?'
Higgins winced. 'As you would expect, really. Poor Leona! She was numb at first. But it helped when Mark came home. Honest to God, sir, what a miracle that was, that he should survive, out of them all.'
`Did his mother tell him? About his dad, I mean.' Suddenly, a picture of Roland McGrath, as Skinner had seen him last, burst into his mind extinguishing for a few seconds all other sights and thoughts. The Superintendent, looking at him, thought she saw him shudder, but she knew better than to comment.
Instead she shook her head. 'No, boss, Leona didn't tell him. I volunteered for that. I reckoned that it went with the job of godmother.'
`So how did the wee chap take it?'
`Just as you'd expect from Mark, with a stiff upper lip. I told him that his Daddy had been taken away by God, which was probably a mistake. Although I did my best to make it clear that he was gone for good, I'm sure that somewhere in here. she tapped her forehead.. he's clinging to the idea that it's a return ticket.'
`He's bound to. Kids that small can't really deal with the concept of death. I remember when Myra, my first wife, was killed. Alex was only four at the time. I didn't let her go to the funeral, and afterwards I wished I had
. She never called me a liar or anything, but I could see that she didn't believe me when I said that her mum wouldn't be back.
It didn't hit home until she was nearly eight. One evening she sat around without saying a word, which was unprecedented for her, till it was time to go to bed. Not long afterwards, I heard her crying her eyes out.
I went in to see her, and she said, "Daddy, what does 'dead' really mean?" So I told her again, and this time she understood. I thought that some kid had said something to her, but that wasn't it. I found out that her pal's cat had been killed on the road, and that Alex had seen it. That reality was what brought it home to her.
`So a word of advice, Fairy Godmother. Think seriously about persuading your friend to let Mark go to his father's funeral. It could be the right thing to do. And something else.
Make sure that he's given the best counselling available, now and for a long time to come.
Sooner or later he'll start to think about his own experience. Long term, that could be harder to handle than his father's death, so you have to make sure that he's as well prepared I for it as can be.'
Higgins stood in silence for a while. 'I hadn't even begun to think of all that,' she said at last. 'But you're right. I'll talk to Leona about the funeral. And the other thing — do you have any idea who could help us?'
I know a psychiatrist, Kevin O'Malley. I'll ask him to recommend someone. And Sarah will make some enquiries up at the University. There are people who specialise in handling traumatised children. Okay, so this one doesn't even know yet that he's been traumatised: that'll just be an extra challenge.'
`Thank you, boss. As I said, I'll discuss it with Leona.' She paused. 'I don't suppose you'd like to call on her with me? I know that she'd like to thank you personally for rescuing Mark from the plane. And he'd like to see you again, too. Can you spare the time?'
Of course. I want to speak to Brian Mackie, but if you wait inmy office, I'll be with you in a few minutes.'
TWENTY-EIGHT
The Special Branch suite was on the same level as the Fettes Command Suite, in another section of the unattractive building,
Detective Chief Inspector Brian Mackie was in the midst of briefing Mario McGuire, his new recruit, on current activity when Skinner swept into his office.
`Good,' he said. 'You're still here. I've got a task for you guys.'
McGuire smiled. 'That's good, boss. I hate quiet Saturdays, and the DCI here's a Hearts supporter, so we both need something to occupy us!'
`You'll like this, then.' He jerked a thumb casually over his shoulder. 'What you heard back there from Adam and the American woman was classic MI6/CIA stuff. International intrigue, terrorist plots and all that. Sure, it happens-'
I know,' McGuire interrupted. 'I've got a bullet-hole in me to prove it!'
`You and-' Skinner began, cutting himself off short when he remembered that neither Mackie nor McGuire knew the story of his own wounding. They had been told at the time that his leg injury had been sustained in a domestic accident… a story neither man had believed for one second.
As I was about to say,' he went on, glowering at McGuire, international intrigue is one thing, but it shouldn't blind us to other possibilities, or deflect us from doing our job in the normal way, identifying all the options and investigating them all.
Special Branch can leave Arrow, the Americans and me to make the running in investigating the external candidates. I've got another job for you guys.
'I want you to run an entirely separate investigation into the late Colin Davey MP. I want you to find out everything there is to know about him. Who were his friends, who were his school- chums, was he popular or unpopular, did he drink, did he smoke, did he go with tarts? I want a complete background report on the man, not on the Minister. Most of all I want to know whether there is anyone in his private life who might have thought that the world would be a better place without him.'
`Don't you buy the General Yahic theory, sir?' asked Brian Mackie. 'Or the idea of an Iraqi agent in Whitehall?'
Oh no, Brian, I wouldn't rule them out. Yahic sounds like a prime suspect, and as for the Iraqis, they're complete effing nutters.'
McGuire smiled at the modification in the DCC's customary squad-room language, and Skinner caught his meaning.
`Sarah's warned me about swearing in front of the baby,' he muttered diffidently, 'but I can't change a career habit overnight.'
He went on: 'As I said earlier, investigating Yahic and Agent Robin is down to the Intelligence people. It'll be taken seriously, for sure. Apart from our own interest, the Americans will not allow Massey's death to go unpunished, whether or not he was a target. They'll want someone's head on a pole, and they'll give us all the help we need. My problem may be holding them back.
`But digging up the dirt on a member of our own Government is another matter entirely. I won't be sharing information with Joe Doherty on that side of things. If there is a home grown candidate, we have to investigate him discreetly and keep the knowledge away from the Yanks. I want a trial at the end of this investigation, not someone dead in a ditch with a bullet in his ear.'
Mackie's eyebrows seemed to rise halfway up his domed head. That's not Mr Doherty's style, sir, surely?'
Not personally, but Joe will be reporting back on this one and some of his zealot colleagues don't play by the same moral code as the rest of us! So, you two. Get yourselves off down to London.' He handed Mackie a sheet of paper bearing two handwritten telephone numbers, and a sealed envelope.
`Those are the home and mobile numbers of Cyril Kercheval, your contact in MI5, and a letter of introduction and authorisation from me. Cyril is an Assistant Director with unspecified responsibilities. He may or may not choose to admit it to you, but these include keeping tabs on senior politicians and the like. He may give you direct help or he may send you to see other people, for example his contacts in Special Branch. You probably know some of them already, Brian.'
Okay, sir,' said the tall, slim DCI. 'Do we fly down this afternoon?'
`That depends,' said Skinner. 'Set up your meeting with Cyril, then book your travel accordingly. Stay down there as long as necessary, but report to me on a daily basis.
`Good luck, and remember — be discreet. Anything you turn up, keep it to yourself. Since all this public accountability crap came in, MI5 leaks like a sieve!'
TWENTY-NINE
‘Hello there, wee Mark. And how are you today? A bit drier than you were when we first met, I notice!'
Skinner picked up the child in both hands and held him high above his head. Mark shrieked with laughter, the sound echoing strangely around the silent Victorian house.
`Mr Skinner's brought you a present,' said Alison Higgins, holding out a brown paper bag as the DCC put the boy down in front of her.
`Thank you very much!' he said, grabbing the bag from his godmother and tearing it open eagerly. Wow!' he said as he uncovered the contents — a child-size uniform cap, crested and with the legend Police Cadet embroidered on its blue band. He put it on and the brim fell over his eyes.
`He's a remarkable wee chap,' said Higgins quietly to the, DCC. 'When he went to school they gave him an IQ test designed for his age group. He's away up there in the Mensa class, and he has a memory that's virtually photographic.' Indeed?' said Skinner. He knelt beside the five-year-old, tipping the cap back from his forehead. 'Our Sergeants and Constables give these to boys and girls when they go to speak in schools; he said. 'We don't have any that are quite your size. Still, that should last you for a few years; then, when you're big, you might decide that you want to wear a real one.' I think he might, at that,' said Leona McGrath, rising from her armchair as Skinner stood up. 'I can't begin to thank you for what you did yesterday.'
The DCC shrugged, embarrassed. 'I just happened to be there first.'
She shook her head. 'Andrew Hardy told me all about it. One of the soldiers had described it to him. He said that you simply smashed your way into that cabin. And th
e water was so deep. Mark isn't a natural swimmer like most youngsters; he just sinks like a stone. He couldn't have clung on above the surface for much longer, and if he had fallen in-' She stopped herself, just as her voice began to rise. 'If he had survived the crash, only to….
‘But he didn't, Leona,' said Alison Higgins. 'Just keep that good thought in your head, and don't let yourself indulge in might-have-beens.'
The widow McGrath straightened her back. She had a remarkable bearing, Skinner thought, and great dignity. She was a small woman, not much over five feet tall, but she seemed to exude vigour. She nodded her grey-flecked brown curls. 'Yes, Ali. You're quite right, as usual. I won't do that. I have to look forward, for him, and for Roly.'
`That's the spirit, girl.' The voice came from the doorway. Skinner turned and saw, framed there, a tall man. He looked to be around forty, and was dressed in a formal dark suit and white shirt, with a black tie. Dressed for the occasion, the policeman thought.
Leona McGrath turned at the sound of his voice. 'Marsh. How good of you to look in again.'
`Don't be silly. It's the least one could do.' As he stepped into the room, she went to greet him, hands outstretched, rose on her toes as he bent his head forward, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
‘You probably haven't met,' she said, turning, drawing him with her. 'Alison Higgins, Deputy Chief Constable Skinner: this is Marshall Elliot, Roland's constituency agent.'
Skinner shook the proffered hand. 'No, we haven't met,' said Elliot, 'but I know who you are — Edinburgh's most celebrated policeman. In my job, I meet your Special Branch people from time to time, when we have a VIP visitor. Your name is mentioned frequently.
`Miss Higgins,' he said, with a courtly nod that was almost a bow. 'I've heard a great deal about you also, from Leona. You're a Police Officer too, aren't you?'
Skinner's ordeal bs-5 Page 11