Quintin Jardine - Skinner's rules

‘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.