Quintin Jardine - Skinner's rules

‘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.

This time the anger stayed in Maitland’s eyes. ‘Enjoy it, Skinner. Laughs can turn into screams.

‘There’s one other thing I want to know. Tell me and I’ll kill you quick. Hold out, and I’ll shoot you in the balls and let you enjoy that feeling for a while. You shot another Arab in the Hall tonight. I saw you, through the doorway. Who was he, and why was he there with a gun?’

Skinner gave an unforced smile. He was amazed to find a glow of self-satisfaction spread over him.

‘Okay, I’ll tell you. Ever hear of a man called Rashoun Hadid?’

Maitland’s eyes widened in surprise.

‘Yes I thought you would have. Well, I’m guessing some of this from what Allingham told me. When Fazal disappeared, his section head in London told Damascus, and Damascus told Baghdad. They weren’t sure that they had a problem, but the stakes were so big that Hadid decides to play ultra-safe. He knows Mahmoud. They were students together in Edinburgh, when Hadid was called something else. So he slips out of Iraq and comes over here, ready to shadow Al-Saddi, just in case Fazal does have something spectacular in mind.

‘And tonight, when Fuzzy appears with your Uzi, there’s Hadid in the audience with his gun out, ready to pop him and get away, no doubt, in the general confusion. Only he was unlucky.

‘So, Maitland, it turns out that we have both been playing on the same team. You get Al-Saddi, and I zap the head of Iraqi intelligence, the big chief’s right-hand man.

‘There we have it. You’ve done your thing and I’ve done mine. We can bet that, even as we speak, the Stealth bombers will be overflying Baghdad, and the brown-trousered Syrian military will be aborting the Day of Deliverance. The world saved from another fascist threat, thanks to a fascist like you and a dupe like me. So that’s the full story.

‘Now let’s stop pissing about! Do you really think I’d have led you out here without lining up my back-up first? Martin and Mackie were both ordered to give you a fifteen-minute start, then to follow you out here. They have keys. Right now, Andy’s probably in the kitchen, and Brian in the hall, just waiting for my shout.

‘Shoot me, son, and you don’t leave this house alive. Drop it. We’ll give you a warm room and three square meals a day for the rest of your life. We’ll even let you tear the wings off the occasional pigeon.’

Now Maitland smiled again. The gun hung by his side now, ready to swing up in an instant. The name of the game was death, and they both knew it.

‘I’m sorry, but I’ve got to do you now, old boy. You’d be too danger-us if I took you out there into the dark. And you can’t bluff your way out of it. Your men are like brothers to you. You know the risks, and you wouldn’t expose them.’

‘Bollocks! I kept them out night after night in the Royal Mile, chasing your shadow. You’re a lone hand, Maitland. My lads and I are a team, we trust each other, we take risks for each other. You can’t comprehend that, can you?’

Somewhere, far back in the cool grey eyes, Skinner thought he saw an edge of uncertainty. He edged closer. Time to chance it all, he thought, for me, but most of all for Sarah; if I don’t stop this man now, we’ve both had it.

He only had one hope, and that was the oldest, the corniest trick in the book. He glanced suddenly towards the kitchen door. ‘Okay, boys, come in now!’

But Maitland was too good to take the bluff. His eyes never left Skinner. The gun started to come up, slowly. The cold, killing smile spread.

Bob Skinner had never believed in miracles. His personal creed encompassed only goodness and logic, and left no room for the concept of a higher power. So, when the crash of the loose shelf and its contents — falling off the wall after all those years — sounded from the kitchen, he was almost as surprised as Maitland.