Quintin Jardine - Skinner's rules

‘Oh, and one more thing, can you ask the TV guys if they recorded all that? If they did, I’d like to review their footage as soon as possible.

Licorish nodded. ‘Sure, Bob. I’ll ask them. But you’ll get them clearance as soon as you can?’

‘As I said, give me an hour.’

Skinner turned back and bent over the body in the doorway. The man had been hit in the chest by several bullets. The face, which now wore the yellow pallor of death, looked young, peaceful and oddly beautiful. But a lake of blood had spread beneath the corpse, like a dark blanket.

‘So, Fuzzy — and it is you, isn’t it — you’ve shown yourself at last. But why in Allah’s name did you do it? And who gave you your orders — not to mention your Uzi?’

He rose and walked up three steps to inspect the man he had himself shot. The body was sprawled along the bench from which he had risen, He stared into the dead face: the eyes were cloudy, and the stubble on the chin was dark against the pallid skin. A long, ragged scar curved round the left cheek, ending at the corner of the mouth.

‘Well, Ali Tarfaz — and going by that scar, it’s you right enough — I wish you could tell me what the hell you were doing here, although I can have a good guess at it.’

Suddenly he remembered someone else, and he looked around the Hall, The Foreign Office man was sitting alone on a bench to the right of the Speaker’s chair. White-faced, he stared straight ahead. He looked stunned by the slaughter, but Skinner was in no mood to be gentle.

‘Allingham!’

The man took a few seconds to react, but eventually he rose and walked, trembling slightly, towards Skinner, who motioned him out of the chamber.

‘My friend, I have this feeling that you’re not as surprised by this business as the rest of us. I think you might know something about it. If you do, you’re going to tell me before this night is out. Believe that. For now, I want you to call your panic number in the Foreign Office and tell them that we’ve managed to lose the Syrian President … before they see the whole thing on telly!

‘Then, I want those two Arab stiffs in there positively identified. I believe that one is a Syrian named Fazal Mahmoud, registered as a Lebanese and working out of their Embassy. I’m nearly certain that the other one is, or was, a man known as Rashoun Hadid. He’s only the head of Iraqi Intelligence, that’s all. Just what the fuck he was doing here, I’m not certain He may have been sent to hunt Mahmoud, or just to mind Al-Saddi, or both. Whichever, he finished second.’

As he spoke, he watched Allingham intently, looking for any sort of a reaction. There was fear in the man’s eyes, and Skinner was sure he saw him flinch slightly at the mention of Fazal’s name.

He turned towards the entrance as Mackie reappeared with two uniformed constables.

‘Sir,’ the inspector called across, ‘there’s something funny outside.’

‘Tell me later, Brian. For now, leave those two lads to guard the door. Then take Mr Allingham here to a privatetelephone. Once he’s finished, bring him back to me. And don’t let him out of your sight.’

‘Yes, boss.’ Mackie escorted Allingham away.

An ambulance crew appeared at the top of the steps, and Skinner led them into the chamber, pointing to the fallen McGuire, who was being tended by the young man in the white coat. ‘There, boys. Be quick.’

The detective constable was still conscious. Martin crouched beside him, speaking quietly, keeping up his confidence. Skinner called out to the other two casualties.

‘Mr Clay. Miss. Can you walk? If so, would you please get yourselve into the ambulance outside.’

Both Herbie Clay and the girl began to move slowly towards the door each escorted by one of the nurses who had come forward earlier. Clay was clasping his arm tightly, as if afraid it would fall off. The girl pressed something white to her head. As they neared the door, a second ambulance crew appeared to help them away.

McGuire was lifted up carefully and placed gently on a stretcher. Just before they carried him out to the ambulance, he grabbed Martin’s jacket with one bloody hand. He spoke weakly, his voice whistling occasionally. ‘Tell Maggie I’m going to be all right. I’m glad you sent her to the other place.’

Skinner stopped the man in the white coat. ‘Will he make it?’

‘He should do. He’s been shot through the lung, but the bullet seems to have exited. There’s another one in his upper chest somewhere. It smashed his collarbone and must have lodged in muscle. But the guy’s as strong as a bull. He’ll pull through.’

‘Good man. Go on after him, then. Andy, you go, too. Look after all three. Make sure that Clay and the girl get everything they want.’

‘Right, boss. Do me one favour, will you. Break it to Maggie Rose, but as gently as you can.’

‘Sure.’

More police had begun to arrive. The senior man present was a uniformed superintendent from the St Leonards station. Skinner called him over.

‘Hello, Jack. Good to see you. I want you to run this. CID people will be arriving from all over the place. I want everyone in the Hall interviewed and released as quickly as possible. No one gets in at all — and no media get out until I say so.

‘Will you also please let the Press Bureau know that if they have any calls about this, they should say that an incident has occurred in the MacEwan Hall and that details will be released as soon as possible. Clear?’ The Superintendent nodded. ‘Good, get under way.’

Skinner took his slim two-way radio from his pocket and pulled out the aerial. ‘Blue One to HQ. Patch through to Blue Three please.’

The line clicked. Maggie Rose’s confident voice sounded through the small speaker. ‘Blue Three acknowledges. Over.’

‘Blue Three, listen closely. Your package has been damaged and will not now be delivered. Your companions are ordered to return to their digs, their leader to join me here. Understood? Over.’

There was a short pause. ‘That is understood. Companions will be so ordered. But be advised, Blue One, their leader is not here, only his deputy. Over.’

Where is the bastard, then? Skinner thought to himself. To Maggie Rose he said, ‘Message received and acknowledged. Please ask local group leader to organise his own transport.’

Skinner then dropped the code. ‘You should be aware that Mario has had an accident. He is badly hurt but he’ll be okay. You are authorised to go to ERI. Leave your oppo to supervise shut-down of your location, and to advise its management. Over.’

There was a longer pause this time. ‘Blue Three acknowledges. You confirm that this location is no longer relevant, yes? Over.’

‘That is correct. Brief your colleague and get along there. Blue One over and out.’

Skinner flicked the transmitter off, then had second thoughts.

He called Headquarters again. ‘Blue One. Please raise the Chief by telephone and patch me through. Over.’

A minute later the connection was made. Proud came on line. ‘Chief, just listen, no questions. I’m on site at our main event. We have a worst case scenario. Please get here fast.’

‘I’m on my way.’ The line went dead. Skinner put away his radio and looked around the auditorium. The uniformed superintendent had taken control efficiently. The crowd had calmed down considerably, and were seated in small groups. Detectives had begun to gather statements. Police stood around the four corpses.

Skinner summoned over the Scottish Office information man. ‘Michael, once a few more CID boys arrive, I’ll detail a couple to clear your people and get them out of here. But I still don’t want the news released until the Foreign Office has had a chance to act on it.’ He checked his watch It was three minutes past ten. The Press Association man can be processed first and let go, if he guarantees not to file copy before 10.45.’