Skinner's Rules (37 page)

The two men stared at Skinner, reading his deadly serious expression, and they nodded.

At that moment they were joined by their reporters. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked one, a tiny blonde girl.

‘Nothing at all,’ replied Ray.

‘Bob!’ Sarah’s voice carried to him across the Hall. Skinner turned and they moved towards each other. When they met, she clasped him tight.

‘Thank God you’re okay. All they would tell me was that there’d been shooting, and to get here fast. And when they call me, that usually means a body. I was scared to death. You’re all right, aren’t you?’

He smiled and hugged her close. ‘Yes, love, I’m still in one piece. But there are four people lying around here who ain’t, and who won’t be ever again. So you’d better take a look at them. The man we were hunting was the one over in the doorway.’

‘I’ll get to it. But where’s Andy?’ The anxiety was still in her voice.

‘He’s at the Royal.’ She started in alarm. ‘No, he’s all right, but Mario McGuire’s been shot. Andy’s gone with him — and with two other casualties.’

‘Are they bad?’

‘The other two are superficial, but Mario was hit twice. They think he’ll make it, though. Now, love, I must go. Did you see Brian Mackie on your way in?’

‘Yes, near the entrance. There was another man with him looking terrified.’

Skinner smiled again, grimly. ‘Good. Off you go and look at those four poor bastards.’

‘Which is the President? Oh, he’d be the one in uniform. And who’s the young man?’

‘David McKnight, the footballer. He was hit first. The other two are our hits.’

As he said the words, he shuddered. He was talking about death with the woman he loved, and about a man he had just killed. He was talking about the part of the job which put his life in danger. The shudder turned into trembling.

Sarah read the signs. ‘Bob, sit down.’ He obeyed. ‘Did you kill one of those men?’

He nodded.

‘This isn’t exactly the South Bronx. Have you ever shot anyone before.’ This time he shook his head.

‘How do you feel about it? Think, and tell me. Say it out loud. Admit it to me. Don’t keep it inside.’

Skinner sat in silent thought for several seconds. Then he looked up, and into her face. ‘I feel a lot of things at the moment. I’m glad that when it finally came down to it, I was able to react in the right way, and that my men and I were brave enough, and well enough trained, to stand up there, and do what we had to do.

‘I’ve killed a man. But he had a gun, and he was going to use it, so he killed himself in a way. What worries me is that I’m looking into myself for remorse, but as yet I don’t see any. What sort of a man are you marry-. ing, eh, Doctor?

‘Where I do feel remorse, it’s because I’ve failed. It was my job to keep that Syrian brute alive, and now he’s dead. The world might be a better place for it, but right now, that’s immaterial as far as I’m concerned. He was in my hands and I lost him.

‘How the Christ did my people let a man with a fucking Uzi just walk in through the front door? That was the only way in. Everything else is sealed.’

By now, Skinner was speaking to the night, but Sarah answered him.

‘Maybe your people were helping the girl.’

‘What girl?’

‘One of the men — the one over there with the silver on his hat — was telling me that it’d been a hell of a night. “First some girl is attacked and cut up by a maniac, right outside, then all this happens.” That’s what he said.’

‘The
ba
...
astard.’
The word hissed through Skinner’s teeth, its first syllable dragged out. Abruptly he stood up. All the shock and self-recrimination had gone, and fury came back to the surface. Sarah, better than anyone, could sense it.

‘What is it, Bob? You think that your Arab over there attacked the girl just to draw the police away from the door?’

‘Don’t ask me any questions, love. Not now. I have to keep this to myself.’

She was suddenly afraid. ‘Be careful, my darling.’

He kissed her softly and left the Hall.

He found Mackie and Allingham standing near the entrance. Sarah had been right: the man looked frightened.

‘I’ve done what you asked, Mr Skinner. By now the MOD will have put all forces in the Mid-East on the alert. Next, the Foreign Office will inform the Syrians. It’s always difficult to predict how these people will react.

‘Now I’d like to get away from this place!’

‘Shut up. You’re going nowhere till I say so.’

He turned towards Mackie, and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Brian, tell me how friend Fuzzy got in here with a fucking Uzi. What’s this story about a girl?’

‘That’s how, sir. A girl was attacked just along the road there. She’s been taken to hospital, slashed on the face and body. Superficial though. She was walking home when she was grabbed from behind and pulled into a dark corner. The guy pulled a knife, but she said she got loose, and he cut her. She started screaming, and all the uniforms just ran over at the same time, even the sergeant in charge. You can’t blame them really.’

‘Who
can’t! Where’s that sergeant? Brian, this was a fucking kid-on. Someone gets the soldiers sidetracked on their way here, then pulls this stunt so that the front door leading right in to Al-Saddi himself is left lying wide open. This is our man from the Royal Mile. Exactly his style. This guy kills and maims without a second thought, but there’s always a purpose.’

‘And that wee dead bastard Fuzzy did all that?’

‘That’s what us simple coppers are meant to think. But you and I know better, Allingham, don’t we? This is another fucking stitch-up!’

For a second, Allingham’s face was illuminated with pure terror, and in that instant Skinner knew with absolute certainty that he was right about it all.

Allingham fought for self-control. He blustered. ‘You’re crackers, Skinner! You’ve botched this whole affair. Last time you arrested an innocent Japanese diplomat. Now you’ve allowed the President of Syria to be shot, and you’re peddling some ridiculous conspiracy theory to divert attention from your own incompetence.’

Skinner smiled at him: it was a strange smile, a savage smile. ‘You knew, Allingham, didn’t you. “An innocent Japanese”, you just said. But when you and I first met, after Yobatu was arrested, I was convinced he was guilty and you couldn’t get him out of the way fast enough. Now I can prove he was innocent, but only a handful of people close to me know that. So how come you do, too? You knew all along, my son, didn’t you. And Hughie Fulton had me believing that you were too low down on the food chain to be let into secrets like that.’

Allingham was chalk white. ‘You’re mad.’

‘You’d better hope I’m not, mister. You and I are going somewher very quiet for a chat. No one else is coming. It’s going to be just you and me. And you’re going to tell me the whole story. I’ve got most of the bits of the jigsaw in my head, and I think I can fit them together. You’re going to help me with the last few pieces. Most of all you’re going to tell me about Maitland.’

‘You can’t make me go with you.’ The man turned despairingly to Mackie.

The Inspector shook his balding head. ‘I wouldn’t bet the house on that, Mr Allingham.

‘You’ll need a car, boss. Why don’t you take the one that Mario and I came in. It’s unmarked. I think the Merc would be a wee bit conspic uous.’

‘Fine, Brian. When I’m gone, nip along to the Royal and find Andy. Tell him that Mr Allingham and I have gone down to the coast to sort things out. And tell him this, too. If either one of you sees that man Maitland, disarm him and lock him up. Be very, very careful. Give him no opportunities. Just lock him up. And if he as much as looks at you the wrong way, don’t hesitate. Shoot him.’

He turned again to Allingham, who had backed away into a corner For a moment, Skinner thought the man was going to shout for help.

‘Let’s go. You’ve got some talking to do. The rules on your side of the street are new to me, but I’m learning fast. Move!’

He hustled the man outside, into the cold January night. The three cars were still parked in front of the Hall. Their drivers, two policemen and one civilian, stood talking together. The policemen stood to attention as Skinner approached.

‘Keys please, John.’ He held out a hand to the driver of Mackie’s car, a blue Sierra.

‘Sir!’ The constable handed over the keys without another word.

‘Get in, Allingham. Front seat.’ The man obeyed, his shoulders drooping in submission and a look of hopelessness on his face.

Skinner started the engine. But, before pulling away, he looked into the face of the man on his left.

‘I’ll tell you what I think, my friend. I think that you’re scared shit-less. You’re involved in something that’s just too big for you to cope with.

‘You leave the Met for what you think will be a nice cushy job as a sort of diplomats’ baby-sitter and general bum-wiper. Then all of a sudden it starts to get more than that. You’re involved in the dark side of international relations. People start getting killed. It’s all part of a serious Intelligence operation, and a state secret, but those nosy coppers up in Scotland won’t cooperate. You see, they’ve got this aversion to their people being chopped up and shoved under trains and stuff like that. And now the whole thing’s a mess. It’s out of control, and you find yourself up to your arse in hedgehogs. You know the truth and, as recent events tell you, that could be fatal.

‘ Well, chum, this is your way out. You’re going to point me at brother Maitland, and I’m going to see that he’s put away. I don’t care much whether it’s done in private or in public, but he’s got to be locked up.

‘We’re going for a drive to my place. It’ll take us about half an hour to get there. You’ve got that time to consider your position in all this. And you’ve got that time to make up your mind to tell me the whole story. You’re going to tell me anyway. I’m not pissing about here. There’s the easy way, and there’s the hard way. I don’t want to have to beat it out of you. That’s strictly against my rules. But as I said, I’m on your side of the street now, and if I have to, I will. Now I’ll shut up and let you think it over.’

He slipped the car into gear and moved off, out of Bristo Square, turning back towards George Square, past the open-air car-park, towards the main road. As the Sierra turned left into Potterow, a nondescript elderly Ford Escort, its locks worn smooth with age and easily picked, pulled gently out of the car-park.

It followed the Sierra’s turn into West Nicolson Street, past the Pear Tree pub, its customers overflowing into the beergarden as the Friday-night crescendo gathered momentum, and the student survivors of the MacEwan Hall massacre began to arrive.

It kept the Sierra’s tail lights in sight as it headed through Holyrood Park, towards Edinburgh’s eastern suburbs, and beyond, to East Lothian.

Skinner was as good as his word on the drive to Gullane. He was silent all through the journey, throwing only the occasional glance at Allingham. Once or twice, in the headlights of on-coming vehicles, he could read the despair written on the man’s face.

The drive in the dark took the half hour that Skinner had forecast. There was no street light near the cottage. After drawing to a halt, he allowed the Sierra’s headlights to illuminate the front door, while he unlocked it with Chubb and Yale keys.

He stepped into the entrance hall, switched on the light, and deactivated the burglar alarm. Then, leaving the Yale off the latch, went back to the car, switched off the lights, and motioned to Allingham to preced him back to the cottage. Inside, he pointed him towards the living room. As the man obeyed, Skinner closed the front door behind them.

The house was chilly. Skinner turned on the gas fire at full power. He pulled the heavy, lined curtains across the windows and across the double patio doors, and stood for a minute in silence with his back to the heat, facing the door to the hall. Allingham had slumped on to the long green leather couch to his left; where he sat, staring at his knees.

‘Right, chum,’ Skinner said abruptly, rousing the man from his contemplation. ‘Your moment has arrived. I don’t really want to get blood and snot all over my upholstery, so save us both a lot of pointless grief and tell me the whole story.’

He walked over to his hi-fi stack, to his right on the wall facing Allingham, picked up a cassette and slipped it into the tape-deck. He pressed the RECORD button.

For a second or two, a last faint gleam of defiance showed in the Londoner’s eyes. Then it was gone. He sighed long and deep.

‘Okay, Skinner, okay. How much do you know?’

‘I know that Mortimer and Jameson were working together to develop a legal case to invalidate the Declaration which set up the State of Israel. I know that their paymaster was a man named Fazal Mahmoud, an old lover of Rachel Jameson from her student days. He was a Syrian then, but currently is — or was until tonight — trading as a Lebanese out of their Embassy in London.

‘He’s been missing for a while. Last weekend we tracked him down to a house in Fife, where he was being sheltered by two other old university chums. They were a couple named Harvey. We found the link and watched them. They led us right to him. My people were careful, but somehow Fazal discovered that the Harveys had been rumbled. When he did, he shot them dead on the spot and made a run for it. He’s been underground since then — until tonight.

‘He was the man with the Uzi. I believe that he was set up by your outfit as the assassin of Al-Saddi. The reason ties in somehow to the Mortimer-Jameson document. But I haven’t put that quite right. The real point is that he was set up to take the blame for the assassination. Poor old Fuzzy was your Lee Harvey Oswald, with us cast in the Jack Ruby role.

‘For Fuzzy had back-up - back-up from Maitland. Maitland wasn’t sent up here to protect Al-Saddi. He was sent up to make sure that he was killed; if necessary, to kill him. Just as he killed Mortimer and Jameson. Just as he killed three innocent people in Edinburgh to set us on the trail of a maniac. And just as, at the very start, he killed Shun Lee, a piece of advance planning to help us fit Yobatu into the frame when the time came.