Skinner's Rules (39 page)

‘The whole plan was his, including the trail that led to Yobatu. We had files on Mortimer and Jameson from Day One. We knew, and so he knew, about the Chinese case. The very first thing he did was to kill Shun Lee, and cut his balls off. That was Maitland’s idea of forward planning. Then he set about silencing Mortimer and Jameson, and eliminating any trace of their work. You know the rest of that part of the story.

‘Then Maitland set out to nail Al-Saddi. We knew from the document Mahmoud showed me that the Syrians were looking for a platform somewhere in the West, just before the big day, so as to launch their propaganda campaign. We knew that Al-Saddi himself would take it up.

‘Maitland and I saw Mahmoud together. He wouldn’t talk to anyone without me there. Maitland scared the shit out of him; he told him that as a Syrian he had a sacred duty to put an end to the madman Al-Saddi. He also told him that if Mahmoud refused, then he Maitland would, with regret, have no option but to pick up the telephone and spill the whole story to a friend of his in MOSSAD. Goodbye Damascus, hell Armageddon.

‘You know, Maitland would really have done that. He told Mahmoud that he must activate the student network that he ran still in Edinburgh, and set up this debate. He told him to ensure that a personal invitation was sent to Al-Saddi. He said that with the Syrians still publicly on the side of the angels, against Iraq, it was quite natural that our Government would roll out the red carpet for him.

‘Finally, he told Mahmoud to go missing until the debate itself. He warned him that the Syrians, the Iraqis, our people, anyone might come after him. He gave him a gun, and told him to keep in touch and not to be caught. When we found out through Fulton that you were back on the trail, Maitland went up to Fife, while Fazal was holed up there alone, and gave him the name and photograph of everyone in your team, including you.

‘Maitland saw him again on Monday, to give him the Uzi. He was checked into a prearranged bolt-hole address in Perth. Fazal explained that he had shot the Harveys after they had let slip that they had been visited by your man Martin. He took a peep outside, saw two people on the beach, and that was that.

‘Mahmoud’s mission was to show up and kill Al-Saddi. Maitland told the poor bastard that the armed police guard would be briefed to miss him when they shot back. After he had killed the President, Fazal was to throw down his gun and be acclaimed as the saviour of the free world.

‘And he believed all that?’ said Skinner.

‘You saw for yourself tonight. He must have died a disillusioned man. He performed his sacred mission and was blown away for his trouble.

‘But in the end, Maitland had to do the business himself.’

‘That was always his intention. He couldn’t leave it to luck. He always knew that you would have a better than even chance of dropping the Ara before he hit Al-Saddi. He only wanted him there to get a few shots off and to carry the can — to be, as you said, Lee Harvey Oswald.

‘He had a back-up plan, you know. If tonight had fallen through for any reason, Al-Saddi’s plane would have exploded in mid-air tomorrow shortly after take-off from Edinburgh. But this one was so much neater. Beautiful in a dreadful way.’

Skinner held up a hand. ‘Didn’t the Syrians get worried when Mahmoud went to ground?’

‘Their section head in the Lebanese Embassy did, to be sure. We fed them some disinformation to the effect that Mahmoud had been gambling, badly, and was on the run from some rather nasty creditors. I don’t know if they bought it. The only thing I do know is that the section head passed a message, to Damascus, to be passed on to someone in Baghdad, telling him that Mahmoud had vanished. I can’t think why that was.

‘We had them all under close observation, of course, but there was no sign of the operation being aborted. The opposite in fact. Al-Saddi was enthusiastic about the debate. He had them all jumping through hoops. Biggest mistake of his life, eh.’

‘There’s one flaw in Maitland’s plan,’ said Skinner. ‘Al-Saddi was shot by a pistol, not an Uzi. That will show up at a postmortem, or we’ll find a strange bullet in the hall.’

‘He thought of that. Before he gave the Uzi to Mahmoud, he fired some rounds from it. If a bullet was dug out of Al-Saddi, and from what I saw, that’s unlikely, the plan was to swop one of those for it before they did the ballistics tests.’

‘Who in Christ’s name would arrange that?’

‘why, Fulton, old boy.’

Skinner was stunned. ‘Fulton! How much does that bastard know?’

Allingham smiled weakly, enjoying his discomfiture. ‘Everything, Skinner, everything. Maitland told him the whole story.’

‘And he went along with it?’

‘He didn’t have a choice! He isn’t bullet-proof. He was, or rather is, as scared as me. Once Maitland lets you in on one of his operations, you guard his secret with your life. Literally. If he ever finds out that I told you all this, he’ll kill me.

‘As for you, you’re not one of the magic circle. If he ever finds out that you know the whole story, you’re dead too.

‘I’d destroy that video tape if I were you, and fast. I promise you, the man has an amazing eye for detail, and he never leaves a loose end.’

A cold fearful thought formed in Skinner’s brain, sending an icy hand down to grip his stomach.

‘The doctor who examined McKnight and Al-Saddi is a scene-of-crime specialist. She knows all about the effect of different calibre weapons. She’ll have seen the back of Al-Saddi’s head blown off, and know that he wasn’t shot with an Uzi.’

Allingham looked at him. Something in Skinner’s voice brought the fear back into his eyes.

‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Maitland thought of that too. She’ll have an accident. Very soon. Within the next twenty-four hours, I’d guess.’

The rage exploded in Skinner. Awful images of Sarah flooded into his mind, wiping away all his restraint. He jumped from his seat and grabbed the man by the lapels, hauling him to his feet. In the same movement, he butted him between the eyes.

‘Where is he? Where will I find him? Tell me now or I’ll cause you more pain than you can ever imagine?’

Blood poured from Allingham’s broken nose, as Skinner held him upright. But his stunned gaze was focused over the big detective’s left shoulder. His eyes widened and the mouth dropped open.

‘Here I am, Skinner. Here I am.’

Even as the quiet voice spoke, there came a strange, firm thumping sound, like a baseball whacking into a catcher’s glove.

Allingham’s right eye, and the back of his head, exploded in a reddish-grey spray. The impact of the soft-nosed bullet jerked him out of Skinner’s already loosening grasp, and hurled him backwards on to the couch. His body convulsed for a few seconds and was still.

Slowly, Skinner turned to face Maitland, and the smoking gun, wondering all the time whether he himself would hear the sound of the shot that killed him.

The man stood framed in the doorway. Skinner looked for madness in the eyes, but found none. Instead he saw an expression which was a mixture of pleasure and icy control.

He saw the silenced pistol, held in two strong hands, and levelled at his head.

‘You knew I’d take the bait, didn’t you. You even left the door on the latch. It’s too bad that our late friend here made you forget yourself. But however did you think you’d
know
when I arrived?’

‘There’s a loose board in the hall. Squeaks like hell. Everyone hits it the first time they come here. Not you, though.’

‘Come on, Skinner, you didn’t think I’d just rush into the trap, did you?’

Maitland smiled at him. He lowered the gun slightly, pointing it at his heart, and moved past the two-seater couch into the middle of the room.

‘You’re a tenacious fellow, aren’t you. Tell me, when did you realise that I was your man?’

‘I had a twinge when your bus was involved in that accident. That was a bit sloppy. But I’d never have put it together if I hadn’t seen that television tape.’

Maitland’s eyebrows rose.

‘Ah, so you didn’t overhear that part. Yes, your biggest mistake. You’ve made four or five, but that was the clincher, underestimating the resolution of these new generation TV cameras. They can catch a mouse winking in the dark, or in this case a shadow framed in the flash of a single gunshot.’

Skinner looked Maitland straight in the eye and smiled. He forced his body to relax, ready for any half-chance.

‘Still, you timed it perfectly. Deserved to be on TV.’ He amazed himself by laughing.

‘But it will never be shown, will it. Not if that’s what I think it is, lying on the table.’

Maitland took his left hand from the gun and pointed at the cartridge

‘Thanks, Skinner. You’ve saved me a tricky job by bringing that along. Now do one more thing for me. Take your pistol from its holster, incredibly carefully, and put it on the table too.’

Skinner shrugged his shoulders — and regretted it as he saw Maitland’s eyes narrow and his finger tense on the trigger of his gun.

‘Why should I? You’ll kill me anyway.’

‘But not yet, old boy, not yet. And people will do anything, you know, for just one more minute of life.’ His voice hardened. ‘So, do that for me. Now.’

Slowly and carefully, Skinner opened his jacket with his left hand. Using his right thumb and index finger, he withdrew the gun from the holster and placed it gently on the coffee table. As he did so, he kept direct eye-contact with Maitland and, with an imperceptible movement, flicked off the safety catch.

‘So what now? Do you shoot me or do I have an accident?’

‘I’ll shoot you if I have to. I suppose I will at some point; you’re that type of chap. But whatever happens, you and your lady doctor will have a terrible accident. In her car. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of petrol around. You’ll both be burned to cinders.’

Skinner knew that he must hold the man’s respect. He must put fear out of his own mind - in particular, fear for Sarah. That had let him down earlier. He searched in Maitland’s eyes for uncertainty, looking for any sign of weakness, but finding none.

‘You know, pal, you’re some act. Where the hell did they dig you up from?’

‘Thank you, Mr Skinner.’ Maitland bowed his head very slightly. ‘I accept your compliment. Since you’re going to die, I’ll even tell you.

‘I came from the Marines to the Special Forces. All my past records have been destroyed, of course. I did my thing in the Falklands, and after that I went on to become something of a cult figure in Ireland. Remember the shoot-to-kill policy? He laughed, lightly. Well, I was it. But I was too efficient, and the politicians took fright. Pity. Anyway, round about 1985, I left the SAS payroll and became a sort of freelance, working on very special projects only, at a very special rate of pay.

‘I only insist on a few things. It is understood that once I am given an assignment I will accept no recall orders. Any mess that I make is cleared up after me by other people, people like your chum Fulton. Also, it is written in stone that any colleague who betrays any detail of an operation will end up like silly old Allingham there. Instantly. No appeal. Bang.

‘Fulton told me about Skinner’s rules. But it’s amazing what you can achieve when you play to a set of rules like mine. You should try it sometime, my friend.’ He laughed. ‘I’m sorry, you should have tried it! You wouldn’t like to join me in my work, would you? You’d really be very good. Why not let me win you over to the dark side of the force? I work quite a bit on the international scene, you know. I have some very free-spending clients in Colombia, and if I had a partner I could take on more contracts. Of course, your ladyfriend would still have to go, but you and I would do well in business together.’

Skinner controlled himself with a great effort. He shook his head. ‘No, my son. It wouldn’t work. I was never made to be the sorcerer’s apprentice. I’d want to be the fucking sorcerer. Once I’d picked your brains and learned where your contacts were, you’d have to go.’

Maitland laughed again. ‘You really are a killer at heart, Skinner, aren’t you. If you hadn’t become a copper, if you’d taken my route, you’d be absolutely terrifying. I’ve got the gun, so I can tell you this. You even scare me a bit, and no one’s ever done that before.’

Skinner’s response was heavy with irony. ‘Sure, you look really fucking nervous. But tell me this. Why kill all those people? Why so brutal?’

‘That was your fault. I researched you, you see. I realised that my cover story for the elimination of Mortimer and Jameson would have to be very special to fool you. By the way, there was never any question but that Mortimer and Jameson had to go. Everyone linked to Mahmoud had to disappear before the assassination. If he hadn’t killed the Harveys, they’d have had a gas explosion.

‘Anyway, the Royal Mile Maniac was created in your honour. But I couldn’t just leave it at that. I knew that you would never give up, so I threw in a culprit. Yobatu
san
was perfect. A samurai freak who regarded it as an honour to be framed! His turning up at the McCann trial was an incredible bonus. When he headed for the same train as Rachel, I decided to take care of her there and then. It’s not that difficult, you know, at the end of a winter day on a crowded platform. No one ever sees anything. My original idea was that she would take an overdose, in her grief.

‘The Yobatu cover was perfect. It should have worked. But you’re a cynical fellow. You don’t believe in perfection! That was my only mistake.’

Skinner laughed out loud. ‘Oh no.’ He saw Maitland’s eyes crease with annoyance for a second. ‘That wasn’t your only mistake. Not by a long shot. You must learn about limbo files, for a start. You must learn to take your gloves off when you open briefcase locks. You must learn never to steal single pages from books.

‘You’re good, but you could improve your attention to detail.’ He laughed again.