Skinner's festival

40

Mcllhenney's motorcycle officer arrived with the promised tape cassette, five minutes ahead of schedule. Meanwhile Skinner had called Adam Arrow to his room to await its delivery. When Ruth brought the package in, she found the two seated in armchairs beside the low coffee table. Skinner accepted the clear plastic cassette and dropped it straight into a tape-recorder placed in the centre of the table. Once his secretary had closed the heavy door behind her, he pressed the 'play' button.

For a few seconds there was only the hiss of the tape. Then they heard seven coins drop, one by one, followed by the musical beeps of a thirteen-digit telephone number being keyed in on a modern instrument. Seconds later a ringing began in monotone. The call was answered on the sixth ring, in a tongue that sounded like Arabic. The voice was guttural, the accent heavy. Neither listener was able to identify the language.

Grant Macdairmid's response in English was strangely hushed, far removed from the bellowing rant for which he was locally famous. 'Hello, Glasgow here. How are our arrangements coming along?'

'Everything is progressing very well. We will be able to move on to the next stage on Saturday. The second delivery will be made then.'

'From the same French source?' •Yes.'

'That's good. My people have things well in hand, too. The police don't have a bloody clue. And they're stretched so tight just now, they're starting to come apart.'

'Yes, I see that your compatriots are keeping them very busy.

That worries me a little. Their approach is so high-profile and you are, shall we say, so well known, might it not mean that your security people will soon turn their attention to you?'

Macdairmid laughed softly. 'Look, we went over all that at the start. I'm a public figure, an MP. Yes, the SB plods keep an

occasional eye on me; it's son of like a ritual dance. I can always slip their gaze, like now. And they wouldn't really expect me to be involved in something like this. Grant Macdainnid, MP, windbag, demagogue and general nuisance, that's my reputation. But the real view of our friends in the cheap suits is Grant Macdairmid, MP, all fart, no shit.'

This time the other man laughed. 'Ah, my friend, if they only knew you as I do. Why, you're full of shit!'

There was a moment's silence as Macdairmid tried to work out whether he had been insulted. Then, deciding to make allowances for the other man's poor grasp of colloquial English, he ignored the remark and went on. 'So it's Saturday. Where do we take delivery?'

'I suggest that we do it in Edinburgh. The police there are fully occupied.' •Yeah. Why not?'

'So where do we meet?'

There was another silence. Then Macdairmid laughed softly.

'There's a bookseller's in George Street called James Thin. On the first floor there's a coffee shop. Most of the time it's full of old people and young mums and kids, but during the Festival there's all sorts in there. I'll have my person there by 11:30 am. Are you using the same courier as before?'

'Yes.'

'Fine. So identification will be no problem, then. It's all gone well so far, but they've seen nothing yet. Once I get my hands on your next consignment, we'll really make Scotland go off with a bang!'

There was a click as the receiver went down.

Skinner switched off the player. He and Arrow stared at each other in silence across the table.

'Fookin' hell!' said the little soldier, eventually.

'Yup, that just about sums it up,' said Skinner. 'He's right, you know, Adam. We do think of him as just a loud-mouthed wanker, capable of causing bother up to a point, but no further. I mean, I know the Five computer spat out his name, but I didn't think for a minute that he'd have the stones to be into this sort of thing. From the sound of it, I was wrong.'

'So what do we do. Bob? Pick him up?'

'On what grounds? One meeting in a pub in London, which he'd claim was a co-incidence? One funny telephone call? Even anti-terrorist squads need evidence, if they're going to go around arresting MPs.'

'I'm not a copper. Bob.' Arrow spoke slowly, as if weighing his words. Skinner noted that his accent had disappeared. 'Let me go underground for a couple of days, and you'd never hear of the man again.'

Skinner looked at him steadily and seriously. 'Adam, I know what can happen in Ireland, but it's not going to happen here. I'm a policeman, not a judge. Listen, chum, I knew a man once for whom that was the only way. You may have gone to the same school, but you're not like he was – so far. Be careful you never get that way, because if you do, sooner or later you'll come up against someone like me, who'll have to stop you.'

Arrow smiled at him, and when he spoke, the accent was back.

'Rather not come up against you. Bob. Don't worry, mate. That's not my choice. But these people are fookin' butchers, so I had to make the offer.'

'Ok. Enough said. Anyway, taking Macdairmid for a trip wouldn't necessarily stop anything. He may be mixed up in it, he may even be a leader, but no way is he doing the heavy stuff himself. No, we'll watch him like a hawk till Saturday, then we'll pick up his messenger, and the other one. Now, that's a job you can handle. My face is too well known.'

'Be glad to. Will you give me someone to work with?'

'Sure. It'll be McGuire and Rose. Mcllhenney and Macgregor are already watching Macdairmid, so it could be they'd know the messenger by sight, and he in turn might clock them. So you'd better have a different team. And if it comes to a bundle, McGuire's your man!'

'I can hardly wait.'

'Right, I'll brief them. Now what about the other voice on that tape. Any ideas?'

'Not a voice I know, put it that way. It sounded like a fookin'

Libyan, though.'

'Could have been, but I'm hardly an expert in Middle Eastern languages. I'll have copies of the tape made and get someone on a plane down to London. We'll let Five have a listen, and Six for that matter. Let's see if it strikes a chord with anyone down there.'