Skinner's festival

9

Detective Inspector Brian Mackie had found that getting out of a football ground just after kick-off can be more difficult than gaming entry. Having been forced earlier to park his car a mile from Tynecastle Stadium, he found himself the last to join the team in the Special Branch suite. As he arrived, apologetically, the clock on the wall was just approaching 4:00 pm.

Nevertheless, Skinner greeted him with a smile. 'Hello, Brian.

We were beginning to think you'd hung on there for the pies and the Bovril. Hearts were 3-1 up at half-time, in case you hadn't heard.'

'I always had faith in them, boss.'

'God knows why. OK, grab a seat and let's get on with it.'

Skinner walked over to a pinboard fixed to the wall. 'Most of you will know each other, I think. But, Maggie, Mario, have you met Barry Macgregor here?' The two sergeants nodded towards the detective constable who, at twenty-four, was the youngest of the group by several years. Maggie Rose gave him a friendly smile.

'Mind you, even if you hadn't met him, you'd have marked him out, nae bother, as Crime Squad just by the hairdo.' Macgregor's mousy-blond hair was shoulder-length. It was pulled back into a pony-tail, and some of it was braided and ringed with white beads.

The young man grinned, shaking his head vigorously from side to side to make the beads rattle.

'All of you know Dr Sarah Grace, from various crime scenes and elsewhere. Be in no doubt that, although she's my wife, Sarah's here now as Dr Grace, police surgeon, criminal psychologist and fully fledged member of the team. If she slips up, she'll get bollocked just like any of the rest of you. For me,' he said with a sudden broad grin, 'the downside is that if I slip up myself, she'll let me know – in her own special way.'

Then the smile left Skinner's face. 'That's the last laugh you'll get from me for a while. We've been brought together here – and it's a reunion for all of us but you, Barry – by a very nasty incident which took place this morning. For those of you who've only heard the news reports, I'll tell you now what we're dealing with – as far as we know. An explosion took place in a hospitality marquee on top of Waverley Market at around midday today. It could be that it was meant to go off at 12:00 noon exactly. There was one fatality, an unfortunate lad named Danny Baker, who was too close to the seat of the blast to have stood a chance. His next-of-kin have been told. Apart from the boy Baker, there were no serious casualties, although around twenty people wound up in the Royal with shock or minor injuries. I've just told the Press Office to issue a statement that we are investigating the possibility that the explosion was caused by a faulty gas bottle.'

He paused for a moment. "This may shock you good people, but that is an out-and-out lie. "Gammy" Legge, the bomb expert, has just confirmed that it was caused by approximately one pound of Semtex. He believes that the explosive was hidden in a metal tool-box, on account of some bits of scorched shrapnel dug out of the poor lad Baker and three other casualties. That fact makes it very clear that we must take very seriously the contents of this letter which was delivered to the Secretary of State at St Andrews House shortly after the explosion.'

He went from person to person, handing each a photocopied sheet. 'Read it, note the details, then each of you make sure you shred your copy before you leave this room. No copies other than mine must be taken out of this building. The original is currently at the forensics lab. Although the lads there will take until this time tomorrow to prove it, I am quite certain that it, and the envelope in which it was delivered, will yield no fingerprints other than those of a couple of security guards, the Secretary of State, DCI Martin and me. They will also tell us that it was originated on a word-processor using a common software package – WordPerfect or some such – and printed on a laser or bubble-jet job with no distinguishing features. In other words, the sort of kit that thousands of punters buy across the counter at Dixons every year.

'However, I could be wrong. You never know, the scientists might find a set of dabs that'll let us wrap this business up by tomorrow night. If that happens, I will personally treat you all to a fine steak dinner – but don't set your taste buds going in anticipation! Mr Martin has made sure that neither the existence nor the content of that letter will be mentioned in the press, radio or television, for the meantime at least. That will piss off our friends no end, but I don't expect any further action from them within the next twenty-four hours.'

Mackie raised a hand. 'You said "our friends", sir. Couldn't it be just one bloke? Couldn't this letter be a con?'

'It could be – but it isn't. First, it'd be a very resourceful individual who could lay hands on a pound of Semtex unaided.

Second, at least one person, and maybe two, had the Secretary of State's residence under observation after that letter was delivered, reporting on arrivals and departures to someone on the other end of a mobile telephone. This is clearly a terrorist group and, to my mind, a very determined one.'

Martin, at the back of the group, opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it tight as Skinner froze him with a warning look. Only Sarah noticed this silent exchange.

Skinner continued with barely a pause. 'Because of that, I want every one of you – except Dr Grace, of course – to be armed at all times during this investigation. You'll have SB arms and ammo, issued under Mr Martin's authority. You won't need to hand them in at the end of each shift. Each of you draw them from Brian Mackie at the end of this briefing.'

Martin had already taken his own gun, under Skinner's authorising signature. He carried it slung in a shoulder-holster inside his baggy leather jacket. Skinner had not drawn a weapon, for reasons which he had kept to himself.

'I hardly need to say that this is only a precautionary measure. I don't want any Cowboys and Indians out on our streets. But in the unlikely event, and all that, I want you able to respond in any way you need to. Whether they meant it this time or not, these characters have shown that they're prepared to kill. That means you have to be ready to drop them, if it comes to it. Anyone got a problem with that?'

He glanced in the direction of Barry Macgregor. The young man understood the reason. Unsmiling this time, he shook his head so slightly that his beads made not a sound.

'OK. We may not expect further immediate action, but we have things to do now. We've had a direct threat to the whole Festival, and we have to privately warn all the personnel involved. There's no way that we can cover all the venues. Mr Martin's been pulling some figures together. They should give you an idea of the scale of our task. Andy?'

The detective chief inspector, powerfully built and blondhaired, took Skinner's place at the front of the room. His green eyes were made even more vivid by his tinted contact lenses as he fixed a piercing gaze on each member of the team in turn.

'Those of you who ain't culture vultures – and I have to admit I'm not myself – will probably be surprised by just how big this Festival is. I should really say "Festivals", because this year there are six different ones all running at the same time. The Festival proper – that's the Official job, the one the City backs – it's relatively small. Over the next three weeks, starting tonight, it will put on about one hundred and fifty events, concerts, opera, coots football – sorry, ballet – and plays, in more than a dozen different venues. On the other hand, the Festival Fringe, despite its name, is the biggest event of the lot. This year it'll put on several thousand individual performances of all shapes and sizes, in over a hundred venues. They range from church halls to circus tents, and they're all over Edinburgh. Two of them are even staged out of town, in Musselburgh.

'Then we've got the Film Festival. Very prestigious. Not Cannes, or anything like it, but it still attracts some high-quality film premieres, and some big names. That what's-her-name, the one with the big voice-box – you know who I mean, Neil – she's due in for it next week, and she'll have to be looked after. Put your hand down Macgregor, Sergeant Rose will draw that job.

The Film Festival takes place mostly in the Filmhouse, and in that other cinema up Tollcross. This year there are about a hundred screenings, and five will involve personal appearances by directors and stars. The best thing about the Film Festival is that it only lasts for a couple of weeks, not the full three.

"The Jazz Festival has an even shorter run: nine days, to be exact. It's been scaled down a bit over the last couple of years, but it still puts on eighty shows – or is that "gigs"? – in nine halls.

The Jazz Festival, so a friend tells me, tends to attract fewer tourists than the rest. It's for real aficionados, and it's the big week of the year for all the local jazzers. There is also a strong correlation between the Jazz Festival and the consumption of strong ales and lagers, which won't make our security job any easier.

'The Book Festival is different entirely. It only happens every other year, and it's an exhibition as much as anything. This year. they've stuck ii in the new Conference Centre in Lothian Road.

That makes it easy for us, 'cause there's all sorts of security built in there.

'As well as all that lot, we also have a Television Festival. That only lasts for a few days, and it's more of a talking shop really, but it still pulls in some very high rollers. Scottish Television puts a lot of money and effort into it, and all the big UK names – from the BBC, the Commercial network and now from satellite – turn up. There's an international contingent, too. Guess who's coming this year, boss? Your mate Al Neidermeyer of Television News International.'

The rest of the team looked puzzled. Skinner laughed.

'If we should happen to meet, Andy, I'm sure the pleasure'll be all his!'

Martin grinned and continued. 'When I'd tallied that lot up, I thought that all we needed to make up the set was an international gathering of arms dealers. Then I realised that, in a sense, we have. Because on top of it all, although it isn't part of any Festival, there's the biggest event of them all, the Military Tattoo.

Three weeks of night-time performances on the Castle Esplanade, six thousand seats for every performance, and every one of them sold in advance.

'Taking it all together, the Festival involves thousands of live performances at a couple of hundred different venues. No one knows for sure how many people will be taking part, but it'll be in the tens of thousands for sure. As for spectators, working it out on a bums-on-seats basis, it's reckoned to be around a million.'

Barry Macgregor let out a soft whistle.

'Remember,' Martin went on, 'these are the performance events. I haven't mentioned the various sorts of art exhibition that'll be running. There are about a dozen regular galleries in Edinburgh, and quite a few other places are pressed into service.

So that's what's happening in our city over the next three weeks.

And we've just had a threat to it of a lethal nature.

'The idea of calling it all off is a non-starter. The Government can't be seen to give in to terrorism, and neither, for that matter can the police service. And, anyway, it's too late. So our job is to protect it, the whole event, as best we can, and the best way to do that is to catch the people behind the threat. On that front, as the boss has said, there are no leads so far. On the security side, I have only two bits of good news. The first is that we can forget the exhibitions, during the day at least, and also the Book Festival. All of those have high-calibre private guards as a condition of their insurance cover. There's a very big exhibition in the National Gallery – Rembrandt's greatest hits or something. We'll give that special attention at night. The second bonus is that we can forget the Tattoo. It's a military event, and the military will look after it.

But the rest is up to us. Boss?'

'Thanks, Andy.' Skinner took the floor again. 'Right. First, I'll state the obvious: that which you're all thinking. We don't have anything like enough polismen and women to give proper protection to all those venues. And, in any event, the game plan is to keep this whole business from becoming public knowledge for the moment at least. But, within these four secure walls, I'll tell you frankly that I don't think we've a snowball's chance of doing that for too long. If this lot are as determined and resourceful as I think they are, they'll soon find a way to force us to go public on their threatening letter. In the meantime heavy police presence at all the Festival events, even if it were possible, would be counter productive, as it could only alarm and annoy the public.

'No, what we must do is plan on the assumption that any future incidents will involve high-profile targets. Therefore, we're going to concentrate on the biggest venues. The news blackout on that letter will buy us maybe a day or two, so let's put that time to good use. In an hour from now, Mr Martin and I are meeting allot the Festival directors, save one, in the George Hotel. We're going to tell them what's happening and what we're doing about it. Then we're going to swear them to secrecy for as long as we say so. I am operating – and, therefore, so are you lot on my team – with the benefit of certain extra powers afforded me by the Secretary of State. If anybody plays silly buggers with us, we can, as a very last resort, bang them inside. We've only had one problem so far with the guy Neidermeyer from TNI, that Mr Martin just mentioned. All our own people are toeing the line, and so will the Festival directors. The reason I'm going to brief them is because you'll need their co-operation. I want you lot, starting this evening, to recce all the major venues, and then check in here tomorrow morning with reports on how each one can be protected effectively with the minimum visible strength. I'm not using uniforms, if I can help it. If this crowd do start taking pot shots at Festival events, then our boys and girls would be sitting targets in their blue suits and funny hats.

'Brian, I want you to give everyone here a list of the venues.

Cover all the Official Festival venues: that's the Usher Hall, Lyceum, King's, Empire and Playhouse, at least. Cover Filmhouse, and the telly Festival venue, too. Cover all multiple centres, where they've got more than one theatre; that's places like the Assembly Rooms and the Pleasance. Oh, and cover the Traverse. Remember, that's part of Saltire Court, and our friends may decide that a building named after our Scottish national flag would make a prime target. I want your reports to include details of all entrances and exits at each place. By that I mean public, performers' and vehicle entrances. Produce for each hall and theatre a security plan. If you think we need to shut a few entrances and slow the normal flow in and out, don't be afraid to make that recommendation. As long as we can empty a place in a hurry, if we need to, it doesn't matter to me how long it takes to fill it. Bear in mind too that, by Tuesday at the latest, all performers and stagehands will have passes, and will need to show them on their way into the building.'

Sarah spoke for the first time. Skinner sensed her striving to appear as formal with him as she could, to stake out no special position within the team. 'Won't that involve thousands of people? And will the photo-booth machines be able to cope?'

He nodded. 'Sure, we'll have to issue thousands of passes. But I'm going to second the Scottish Office Information staff to do the processing. And the passes won't be photographic. They'll be credit-card style with a signature on the back. We'll make every applicant sign their pass in the presence of the issuing officer, and then we'll make them sign in and out of their venue every day. But come on, doctor, tell me. What's the real reason for the passes?'

Sarah felt as if everyone in the room was watching her. A frown-line appeared suddenly above her nose, emphasising her concentration on his question. Then, just as suddenly, her face lit up.

'It's all about the application forms. You want every performer or stagehand to fill in an application form.'

Skinner was pleased at her perception, but kept it to himself. 'Right, They fill in the application form. Then Mr Plod feeds the details into his great big computer, and if his great big computer is any bloody good at all, out pop all the nasty secrets. Unless we turn up a very nasty secret indeed, something like a convicted paedophile giving a one-man show for kids in the back of a Transit, we do nothing precipitate, but we keep a very close watch on all the odd-bods, to see where we get led.'

Skinner switched his gaze to Macgregor. 'What else do we do, Barry?'

The young detective beamed with pleasure. 'Hotels, sir.

Everyone checking into a hotel is asked to fill up a registration form. We just expand them a bit, if necessary. Then, every day, we collect copies of all the completed forms and stick them through the computer as well.'

That's the game, son. And what do we get out of all that?

Probably sweet FA, but we do it anyway. And, just like with all the other routine precautions we're taking, we hope that God's luck's on our side.'

He paused to look around the room, fixing his eyes on each member of the team in turn. When he spoke again, it was in a gentler tone.

'OK, my good people. Go out there and do your very best and, as usual, that'll be good enough for me. But, as you do it, keep this thought in your minds. I saw that poor boy today. I know in my heart that this one will get even nastier than today before it gets better. We've got other people's lives in our hands here. Let's not let them slip. While you're at it, look out for yourselves, too. I love you all, as friends as well as colleagues, and I don't want any mishaps. Go to it. This is a no-leave job, so I'll see you all tomorrow morning.'