The Bone Yard (35 page)

“We call an emergency Council meeting and divest the senior guardian of his powers forthwith,” Hamilton said. He'd been overjoyed when we found papers in the lab linking the top level of the Science and Energy Directorate – i.e. the chief boyscout – to the drug production. But he was letting himself get a bit carried away.

“That might not be too clever,” I said. “If we give the senior guardian the chance to defend himself, he might manage to turn this against us. The rest of the guardians think he walks on air as well as water. He did give most of them their jobs, remember.”

“But we've got all this evidence,” Davie said.

“We have now,” I said. “But how long for? We're going to need as many copies of the photos as we can get.”

“I'll see to that,” the guardian said.

“And I've got to be sure I can make the bastard see reason,” I said.

Hamilton looked at me quizzically. “Meaning?”

“Meaning that if he starts using staff loyal to him to locate our evidence, we have to stop him in his tracks.” I had a thought. “Davie, give your mate Harry a call. Tell him we need his crews for a bit of shore-based headbanging.”

Hamilton looked like he was lost at sea. I just hoped we weren't all going to end up as food for the fishes like the fat man in that gangster movie half a century ago.

“Lewis, I need you to find out where the senior guardian is.” Katharine and I were with Hamilton in his Land-Rover on the way back to the city.

“Simple. He's required by Council regulations to advise the guard command centre of his whereabouts at all times.” The guardian made the call. “He's been in meetings with a Chinese trade delegation all day and he's expected back in his private accommodation at four o'clock.”

That was good news. If he'd been busy negotiating, he wouldn't have had much chance to wonder about what we were up to.

“Right, I'll land on him unannounced there. Somehow I think he'll find the time to see me.”

“Dalrymple, surely you don't think the senior guardian's the killer,” Hamilton said haltingly. “I mean, he's over-zealous and autocratic but he does have the city's best interests at heart. Even I have always been convinced of that.”

I couldn't suppress a laugh. Over-zealous was a major understatement. The chief boyscout was so zealous he could have walked into a senior position with the Spanish Inquisition when he was at primary school. But Lewis had a point.

“No, I'm pretty sure he's not the murderer,” I said. “At least not the one who killed Roddie Aitken and the female auxiliary. But considering he was responsible for everything that's been going on in the Bone Yard, I'm taking every precaution I can.”

The sun was already low in the sky to the west. All around us sodden brown fields dotted with patches of half-frozen water stretched away into the distance, lined by bare trees with scarecrow branches. I shivered in the blast of cold air that was coming in the holes in the Land-Rover's bodywork. I found myself wishing I could put my arm round Katharine and feel the warmth of her. But she was sitting bolt upright in her long coat, her eyes fixed on the rutted road ahead. The Enlightenment wanted to get rid of the cult of the individual which had supposedly destroyed the United Kingdom's social fabric in the years around the millennium. All it achieved was to make us into even more self-reliant, emotionally illiterate citizens – and I speak from a position of considerable authority on emotional illiteracy.

“Right, Davie.” We were round the corner from the checkpoint in front of the guardians' accommodation in Moray Place. I was leaning in the window of the pick-up which he'd driven in from the track where Katharine and I left it. “Have you got everything clear?”

“Do you mind?” he asked sardonically. “I'm a trained auxiliary.”

“That's very reassuring, guardsman. Are Harry and his guys in the picture?”

“Aye. They're up at the castle waiting to be given copies of the photos and documents. Katharine and the guardian are handling that.” He grinned. “Should be interesting to see if she ends up in the dungeons.”

I gave him a frosty glare.

“Then Harry's people will take up positions near the six embassies you specified.”

“And you've told them that if they don't hear anything by six p.m. they're to make the deliveries?”

“I have, Quint. Calm down, will you?”

“Calm down? That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who's got to squeeze the senior guardian's nuts.”

He laughed. “You're having more fun than a guardsman in the barracks bar who's just come off border duty.”

“Is that right? Make sure you come and join me if I'm not back in half an hour.” I started to walk away.

“Quint? You don't want to forget this.”

I turned back and took the object he was holding out. True enough, I needed to be properly equipped before I could contemplate facing the city's top dog.

Security around the guardians' quarters has never been exactly minimalist, but now Moray Place resembled the Red Square on May Day in the time before Moscow turned into an eastern version of Tombstone. It took me a lot of shoving to get through the serried ranks of guard personnel to the senior guardian's residence. It looked like someone was seriously worried about his personal safety.

The young female auxiliary at the door took an instant dislike to me. I managed to get my authorisation out before she could practise her unarmed combat skills on me.

“Where is he?” I asked, pushing past her.

“In his study.” The auxiliary was already on the internal phone.

I headed up the ornate staircase, thinking of the times I'd come here to see my mother as I pulled on Katharine's coat. This meeting promised to be even more life-threatening than those ones. I slowed down outside the high door, took a deep breath, pulled up the hood and walked in with my head bent forward.

There was a sudden intake of breath then a long silence.

“Why are you wearing that coat, citizen?” The senior guardian's voice possessed almost its normal level of control, but there was enough wavering at the edges to make me sure my choice of apparel was having an effect.

“I thought it might set the mood for our meeting,” I said, taking the coat off and moving towards the large mahogany desk. On my way I noticed the painting that the chief boyscout had hung above the Adam fireplace. Each guardian is entitled to borrow one work from the city's galleries and – surprise, surprise – his was the exquisite, sombre-toned El Greco entitled
The Saviour of the World
. Some world. Some saviour.

“Am I to understand that you have at last made progress in your investigation, citizen?” The guardian remained seated at the desk, his head resting on the high back of his chair like a king receiving a tedious courtier.

I spread my hands on the desktop and leaned towards him. “I spent the morning at the Bone Yard.” I leaned closer, my eyes locked on to his. “It's time for the truth, you lying bastard.” Spots of my saliva landed on his beard. I didn't offer an apology.

The chief boyscout was pale but still in command, at least of himself. “The truth? That's a notoriously slippery concept, citizen.”

I slipped my hand round his beard and pulled his head across the desk. “The truth, you callous fucker, or you won't have to wait for the real hooded man to catch up with you.”

His body had gone slack but his eyes were still hard. “Very well, citizen. If you would let me go  . . .”

I pulled my hand away and watched as he rearranged himself in his chair.

“The truth,” he said, his voice a lot less composed than he'd have liked. “If you've been to the special facility—”

“The Bone Yard,” I shouted.

“The Bone Yard.” He pronounced the words with a curious movement of his lips as if they were ones he should never have been forced to utter. “If you've been there, surely you know the truth, citizen.”

“What I know is that you imprisoned the people who were exposed to radiation at Torness and directed all the city's muck, like BSE-infected cattle, at them.” I felt my shoulders shaking. “And what I also know is that you set up production of the Electric Blues there. You realise that the drug's potentially lethal for people with weak hearts, don't you?”

The guardian shrugged then looked at me imperiously. “I see that my actions have failed to win your approval, citizen.”

“Failed to win my approval? Jesus, don't you people ever speak plain English? What you did was criminal. Don't you get it? You forced those people to break through the sarcophagus, then you locked them up and used them as slave labour. Without bothering to mention any of that to the Council.”

His eyes flashed. “The original decision to return to Torness was taken by my predecessors, Dalrymple. One of whom was your mother.”

“Don't think I won't be carrying that with me for the rest of my life.” A vision of the couple in the Bone Yard, their ravaged faces and crippled frames, had jumped up before me. “But that doesn't get you off the hook.”

The guardian gave me a tight, totally humourless smile. “You're missing the point. As a demoted auxiliary, you obviously can't be relied upon to maintain your familiarity with the works of Plato so—”

“What is this bollocks?” I yelled, slamming my hand down on the desktop. This was exactly the kind of line my mother used to take when she had to explain herself and it pissed me off even more than queuing for food vouchers on a Friday afternoon. “Don't tell me the Enlightenment's favourite philosopher wrote something that justifies the bullshit you've been coming out with for the last two years.”

He twitched his head at me impatiently. “Indeed he did. Don't you remember the noble lie, citizen?”

“Sounds like a major contradiction in terms,” I replied, but something was stirring in the depths of my memory.

The chief boyscout rose to his feet like a preacher about to address his congregation, which made the prospect of listening even worse.

“There was a myth that human beings were formed from earth. Those destined to rule had gold mixed in with them, while warriors had silver, and farmers and artisans iron.”

It came back to me, despite the fact that I always tried to steer the discussion in philosophy debates towards more mundane matters like how to eradicate the drugs gangs. “One of the many myths that indoctrinate people into believing their roles in life are predetermined, so they buckle down to their daily toil,” I said. “I can see why it would appeal to the Council.”

The guardian ignored my irony. “The Enlightenment has always given citizens the chance to better themselves.”

“Oh, aye? Apart from selling their souls and becoming auxiliaries, what opportunities are there in the city now?” I suddenly found myself thinking of Roddie Aitken. All the Council's precious system gave him was an early cremation. “Anyway, what's the myth got to do with your noble lie?”

He smiled harshly at me again. Never mind gold or silver, he had enough iron in his soul to rebuild the Forth Bridge. “During the discussion it is suggested that rulers are entitled to lie in order to protect the interests of the state. Would you like the page reference to
The Republic?
”

“No, I fucking wouldn't.” I leaned across the desk and grabbed his beard again. “You've got absolutely no chance of convincing me that the lies you've been telling are noble, pal.” I pulled his face right up to mine. “In my book you're personally responsible for four murders. I don't give a shit about the two auxiliaries, but I care more about Roddie Aitken and William McEwan than you can even begin to imagine.”

The chief boyscout didn't try to protest his innocence or deny that William had been murdered on his orders. For the first time he was looking frightened. Not an attractive emotion in a golden ruler but an emotion all the same. Maybe I was beginning to get to him.

“Listen to me,” I said, loosening my grip. “When this is over there'll be nowhere for you to hide in Edinburgh, I promise you that. But there's still a lunatic out there and catching him is a fuck sight more important than what used to be your career.” There was a flash of what I took to be resistance in his eyes. “And don't even think about arranging any accidents for me. I've got people ready to turn over photos of the Bone Yard and papers about the Electric Blues written in your own fair hand to a selection of embassies.”

He nodded his head slowly in acquiescence and I let go of his beard.

“Right, I want to finish this investigation and I want to finish it fast. You've got some Electric Blues here, haven't you?”

He nodded, keeping his eyes away from mine.

“They're the ones the killer's been looking for all over the city, which is why three people have been cut apart and why you've turned Moray Place into Fort Knox. The killer was blackmailing you about Torness, threatening to tell the rest of the world what you've been covering up. He passed you the drugs formula and told you to set up production. Then what happened?”

“Whatever you may think, I am not a common criminal,” the guardian said indignantly. “I had no intention of allowing that character to traffic drugs in the city. I enlisted the help of Raeburn 03 in the Public Order Directorate.”

“And he thought it would be a bright idea to double-cross the hooded man? He got that wrong, didn't he? The killer reckoned Machiavelli had the Electric Blues. When he found he didn't, it was off with his head.”

He didn't make any comment about the auxiliary's nickname. Perhaps he'd known about it all along. “That was unfortunate. The hooded man, as you've been calling him, wanted a woman when the deal was agreed. We gave him one of the Three Graces; she passed him a small sample of the drug as well as keeping an eye on him. The foolish woman also kept some of the pills for herself. We decided to lead him astray by making out that the delivery man Aitken was stealing the drugs on behalf of a rival dealer. The female auxiliary kept Aitken under surveillance too.”