Authors: Quintin Jardine
`Then there's the Enviro-terrorists.'
`Who?' said Maggie Rose.
À group of Australasian radicals who are still carrying a grudge over French nuclear testing in the Pacific, and our support for them. They made some public threats when the first tests were carried out, but after that they went quiet. Then, a couple of weeks ago, the New Zealand Special Branch dropped us a tip that they'd been funded by the Iranians to make some mischief, and that they had it in mind to stage a big stunt in Europe, probably an assassination. They wouldn't get near Chirac, or our PM, but the French and British Defence Ministers, and Army Chiefs of Staff are seen as likely targets.
`Finally, there's General Yahic.'
‘Who’s he? ‘asked Donaldson.
`Miroslav Yahic. He's the most fanatical Serb commander of them all, and he's still holed up in a little enclave in Bosnia. The leadership try to keep him quiet, but his men seem to be loyal to him rather than them, so short of shooting him they can't do a thing about him.
He's declared a personal war on all the NATO countries, and he means it.
`You may have read or seen telly reports a week or two back about the assassination of a Dutch General in his car in The Hague. Then, a few days later, an American fighter was blown up on the ground at a base in Germany. The Intelligence community is dead certain that Yahic was behind both of those attacks, and they've put the word out to expect more.'
He looked around the table. 'Those are the likeliest leads I can give you, but there may be others.'
`Which one do you fancy most?' asked Skinner.
Arrow considered the question for a few moments. `Personally, I'd rule out the Irish. We think we know who they are, and they're under pretty constant surveillance. I reckon that if they were planning something like this we'd 'ave found out about it, and neutralised 'em.
The Australasian? I'm not sure. They can't be ruled out, and we should check for links to them among the people we interview, but I don't see them having the bottle for something like this. Even if they had, I don't see them, or the Paddies for that matter, taking out a planeload of people just to get Davey.
`No. Out of all that lot, I'd bet on Yahic. He's a fanatic and he certainly wouldn't draw back from the thought of killing a couple of 'undred people. This guy's wiped out whole towns. Yesterday's casualty list would be just a village by his standards.
Èxcuse me, Captain.' Every head turned to stare at Sammy Pye. The young Constable, the only man at the table wearing a suit looked little more than a schoolboy as he stared eagerly at Arrow. 'I was wondering. Could Mr Massey have been a target as well? If this guy Yahic was behind it, wouldn't it have been a real coup for him to get both Davey and the American Defense Secretary at the same time?'
`That's a reasonable question, Sam,' said Skinner. 'And it's one that I've asked myself. But I think the answer is no, Secretary Massey wasn't a target. Adam?'
`That's right, Bob. Yank's Intelligence isn't that good . . . I hope! On the British side, only half a dozen of us knew that Massey would be on the plane: Davey himself, Maurice Noble, his assistants, Sir Stewart Morelli and me. And we didn't find out until Thursday evening, when the Ambassador called Morelli. The airline people were only told to block off the two front rows. I heard Maurice Noble make that call myself, and he didn't say who'd be in them.'
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.
Ì 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.'
Ì'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.
Ìt 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.
Ì 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?'
Ì 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?'
Òf 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—'