Skinner's festival

94

Glasgow reflected yellow in the night sky ahead. Closer at hand they saw below them the lights of the Harthill Service Area, as the helicopter continued to track the Vauxhall westward along the M8. They matched its speed, keeping a mile behind it.

Occasionally, Skinner fancied he glimpsed tail-lights in the distance. The car was travelling fast, at just over 80 mph, but not so fast as to attract the attention of the motorway patrols.

Skinner checked his watch. The time was 11:23 pm, yet it seemed like an age since the Senator had raced into the Gyle Centre. He hated to be bottled up; it made him feel claustrophobic. Eventually he could stand the tension inside him no longer. He dug his mobile telephone from the top right pocket of his black leather jacket.

'Pilot, if I use this thing, will it work?'

'Shouldn't have a problem this close to the ground. We're right on top of a cell here too. You might find it a bit patchy, but go ahead.'

Skinner peered at the keyboard in the dim cabin light, and keyed in the stored number of Brian Mackie's direct line. He was answered after a few seconds.

'Brian, it's me. You made good time getting back. You'll know by now that we were right about that plane at Edinburgh. We're heading for Glasgow. I want you to call Willie Haggerty, give him the number of the Senator.' He dictated the number which he had memorised. 'Tell Willie I want people at all docks, and I want as many men as he can get under cover at Glasgow Airport.'

The line went faint for a second, then strengthened again. 'You think they'll go for another plane?'

'Has to be. Could be they're just going to drive in and hijack one, using Alex as bargaining power. But the way this thing's been planned, I reckon they've got a back-up ready. Needn't be very big. An 800-mile range will get you to a hell of a lot of places from Glasgow. Especially overnight. Whatever it is, wherever it is, I can't let them take off with Alex on board. Now give Haggerty the message, and tell him to make sure that nobody moves in without me there to give the orders. I don't want any of those Glasgow lads playing cowboys with my daughter's life on the line.'