Skinner's festival

91

McGuire was inside the Jetstream parked on the runway at Edinburgh Airport. Alongside him were three of Adam Arrow's SAS contingent, fully armed and ready for action. The remainder were disguised as airport ground crew, with sidearms tucked inside their work tunics. Mario McGuire carried an H K carbine rather than a pistol, for its extra accuracy even at close quarters, and its instant stopping power. He had once stood up against an automatic weapon when armed only with a handgun, and had good reason to be aware of the difference.

The small turbo-prop aeroplane stood on the tarmac in front of the main terminal building, just beyond the Loganair stand. A hundred yards away, twin gates lay open to allow the getaway vehicle access to the aircraft.

Skinner had asked for radio silence on the operation in the assumption that Mr Black's group would be covering all open frequencies. However, McGuire was linked by a short-range twoway radio to Sir James Proud, who was perched high in the airport control tower. He checked his watch, and spoke into the handset. 'It's 11:04, sir. See anything from up there?'

Up in the tower, the Chief Constable surveyed the wide carriageway which led from the landscaped A8 airport slip-road up to the terminal building. The last shuttle had long since landed, and no tourist flights were allowed to depart from Edinburgh that late in the evening. The road was empty. Proud Jimmy clicked the transmit button on his radio.

'Nothing yet, McGuire. Looks like Mr Skinner's right. This whole thing was a feint. They're going somewhere else. Give it to 11:15, then – hold on!'

Even as the Chief spoke, he saw in the distance a car shoot off the roundabout at speed and enter the approach road. Its headlights were full on, and badly adjusted. Even at that distance, he was blinded for a second.

'There's a car now. Can't make out colour or anything else, but it's travelling. It could be the target. Ready for action on m command. Officer at the terminal approach: route that ca straight on to the tarmac. It'll be with you in no more than thin seconds. Acknowledge.'

The uniformed constable on the road at the British Midland terminal raised a hand above his head to indicate that he had heard.

Proud had underestimated the car's speed. Less than twenty seconds later, it took the corner into the terminal straight, headlights still ablaze. The constable stepped into the roadway and flagged the car vigorously towards the open gates, and on to the tarmac. The driver slammed on the brakes and swung the vehicle round and through the opening. The policeman had no time to identify the make of the vehicle. He saw only a white flash as it sped past him.

Above, Proud watched the car as it slowed down to crawl. Even from his high vantage point it was half obscured by the first buildings of the terminal complex. But, as he watched, it cruised slowly towards the Jetstream, which was parked in the open beyond a Loganair ATP.

'Ready, everyone. They may be confused about which plane to . take, but they're getting closer. They're stopping. OK, wait for it.!

Door's opening. Now go!'

Down on the tarmac, the driver's door of the white car swung open. A stocky, ginger-haired man got out – and reeled back in surprise as six handguns were trained on him by airport ground-crew. I "What the fuck!' he cried reaching so high above his head that for a second it looked as if he would take off.

'What the fuck!' said Sir James Proud, up in the control tower 'McGuire, get out and see what this is.'

Mario McGuire jumped from the Dash and ran over to the silent group surrounding the white car. The passenger doors had been torn open. There were no other occupants.

'Police,' snapped McGuire, as he reached the scene. 'Who are you and what the hell are you doing here?'

The red-haired man continued to reach for the sky. 'Harry Page. Ah'm Harry Page. Look, ah know ah wis speedin'. Ah'm sorry! Ma wife works as a stewardess fur Loganair. Ah'm here taste pick her up. Christ, mister, what is this? Ah'm late enough already. Ah should have been here at ten-fifteen. She'll bloody murder me, as it is!'