Quintin Jardine - Lethal Intent

'I'd have got you with the Glock,' Skinner murmured. 'Why did you choose to try it here?' he asked. 'Why St Andrews, with all these people around?'

'Logical. It was easier to attack than anywhere else, plus we could get him out by sea.'

'And the leak from NATO intelligence? That couldn't have been part of your plan.'

'That was unfortunate. Nobody would have been any the wiser but for that, until it was all over. The good thing was that the tip came to me, so we were able to manage it. We couldn't ignore it, but Rudy tried to put a lid on it, keep the search in-house. He let Amanda think they were drug-dealers and sent her chasing wild geese around the clubs in Edinburgh, but your people tripped over it' Arrow gave another violent shudder, and his face twisted with pain. 'Told him he should have kept off your patch,' he gasped. 'We still held all the cards, though, with Amanda, in all innocence, keeping us informed.'

'Why should I believe that she's not a part of it? She might be one of you; Rudy Sewell might be the innocent one.'

Arrow laughed again, another bizarre, croaking chuckle. 'No chance: she'd never have sacrificed her toy boy.'

'Sean? Him and Amanda?'

'Worst kept secret in MI5.'

The DCC felt his knees growing stiff in the cold: he pushed himself to his feet. 'So what happens now?' the gravely injured soldier whispered.

'You might live,' said Skinner. 'People have survived worse head wounds than that.'

'I know. That's why I asked.'

'I don't want to know. I can't see you standing trial, though. That would be a huge scandal; like you say, very bad for the Queen and country you thought you were protecting.' The policeman scowled, gazing into the night. 'Maybe they'll send you to Cuba, like those other poor bastards.'

'Or somewhere worse, getting names out of us, even when there are no other names to give. I don't want that: I've done it myself, so I know how it'll be.' Arrow looked up at him, into his eyes. 'But that's not what I meant. Bob, there's nobody around. If I could move I'd find my gun, and finish it. You wouldn't do me a favour, would you?'

He gazed back down at the man who had been his friend, the man he had once trusted with his own life, without a moment's doubt or hesitation. 'And why should I do that?' he asked, then turned and headed back towards the college.

'Goodbye, Bob,' the weak voice called after him.

'Oh, shit.' Skinner turned, raised the rifle and shot him dead.

He stood there for a while, not noticing the ground around him darken as the moon retreated behind the cloud cover. He was grief-stricken, not for the traitor but for times past, for unswerving loyalty turned to betrayal. Finally he shook himself into action, and walked through the crisp, icy night towards the Martyrs Monument. He heard sirens in the town, as the Fife police contingent, headed, he supposed, by Chief Constable Clarence Tallent, arrived to take control, and as the emergency services began to remove the wounded. Then, rising over all the din, came the roar of a helicopter taking off; he sighed with relief.

He stopped at the great obelisk, numb not just with cold but with everything that had happened that night, took out his cell-phone and switched it on. He found his stored numbers; selected the first on the alphabetical list, and called it. 'Aileen,' he said, when she answered. 'Where are you?'

'I'm at the flat. I've just got in from the office.'

He had lost track of time; he checked his watch and saw to his surprise that it was only seven twenty. The night seemed to have been endless. 'Is your nice new Fiat there?' he asked, making an effort to sound calm and collected.

'Yes.'

'Then, if you would, I'd like you to do something for me. I'm in St Andrews, I've got no transport, I'm freezing and I'm in a slight state of shock. I wonder if you'd come and get me, for right now there's nobody in the world I need to see as badly as I need to see you.'

'Bob, of course I'll come, but you're scaring me.'

'Don't be afraid: the panic's over. When you get here, I'll be with the chief constable, in St Salvator's College. We'll probably have TV crews here by then so comb your hair before you get out of the car. It'll look good, you being here, I promise you.'

'What's been happening?'

'A small war, but we won. It's safe; I wouldn't have you here otherwise. However, before you leave, there's something you have to do, and it's very important. You're the Justice Minister, so I guess you're able to call the Home Secretary in person, about something really urgent.'

'Yes, I suppose so, although I never have.'

'Well, I want you to do so, although by now you might find he's not surprised to hear from you. When you contact him, tell him to contact the Commissioner of the Met and have him arrest a man called Rudolph Sewell. He's an assistant director of MI5. Tell him that it's very important and that he has to do this tonight.'

'And if he asks me why?'

'You could tell him he's upset your boyfriend. If he doesn't buy that, tell him it involves a plot against the state; that should get his attention.'

Danielle Martin was cutting teeth; she had given her mother a difficult day, and so when Andy had arrived home, he had found himself concentrating on her and her vocally expressed needs.

Finally, the infant had settled down to sleep, and her parents had settled down to supper. Karen could see that he was distracted; as an ex-police officer, she knew the signs. 'CID, is it?' she asked, eventually. 'Have you got a stalled investigation?'

He blinked, fork in hand and looked at her. 'Uh?'

'You were back in Dundee, Andy.'

'I'm sorry, love,' he said. 'I don't like bringing it home with me. But this is a thing I've been working on for Bob, and I'm keen to talk to him about it.'

'I see. That's what these hush-hush meetings have been about, is it? Your forces have a cross-territory job on and you two are sticking your noses in. Honest to God, the one of you's as bad as the other. You're both deputy chief constables, you have perfectly competent criminal investigation departments, but can you leave them to get on with their work? Can you hell.'

Andy smiled at her lecture. 'No, Kar, you're wrong, honestly. This has nothing to do with either of our forces… not directly at any rate. We have a political problem, one that needs careful handling or it could affect all of us.'

She shrugged as she poured him more wine. 'If it's that important, what are you waiting for? Call him.'

'I tried earlier on, but I couldn't get hold of him anywhere. He even had his mobile switched off and that's a rarity.'

'Maybe Sarah's come home and they're having a passionate reunion. That'd be nice.'

'You may wish, but don't hold your breath. Anyway, what makes you think he'd turn his phone off for that?'

She laughed, then reached across to the sideboard from her seat at the table, picked the cordless telephone from its socket, and handed it to him. 'Go on,' she urged him. 'Try again, and then maybe you can appreciate the dinner that I went to some trouble to cook for you.'

He took it from her and dialled Skinner's cell-phone; this time it rang out.

'Yes?'

There was a weariness about his closest friend's voice that set him on edge at once; he had known him in many moods, but he had never heard him sound like that. 'Bob, it's Andy. Are you okay?'

'Yeah, sorry, mate. I'm on the move, that's all.'

Martin could hear background noise: people calling out, their voices filled with urgency. 'What's up?' he asked.

'The proverbial balloon,' Skinner sighed, 'but I can't talk about it. Switch on the telly, and I reckon you'll find out soon. What do you want?'

'It's this Murtagh thing: I'm almost certain that Brindsley Groves is his father. The official version's a load of crap: his mother never married, so she was never widowed by any tragic works accident. Groves did his MBA at York, where she lived; Tommy was born around the time he went back to Dundee and joined the family firm.'