Skinner's ghosts

56

It was the most tumultuous press conference that Martin had ever attended, let alone chaired. The murder of a cabinet minister's wife, and the kidnap of a second politician's child.

For the first time in his life, he had felt that the media were out to get him, and although he had been as careful as he could not to al ow words to be put into his mouth, he knew that he would be lucky if only a few newspapers questioned his competence and hinted that Skinner's suspension was compromising the investigation.

The DCC was gone when he returned to his office, en route for the airport to pick up Pam from her return flight. Martin sat with his head in his hands, feeling helpless, as the first radio news bulletins were already beginning to say, and very alone.

He was grateful for the sound of the telephone, even though he did not have the slightest expectation that it might be bringing him good news.

He snatched the hand-set out of its cradle. 'Martin,' he said, eagerly.

'Hi, Andy. I like it when someone's pleased to hear from me.'

Such was the clarity of his voice that the man on the line might have been in the next room, but the Chief Superintendent knew that he was calling from Washington. 'Hi Joe,' he responded. 'Yes it is good to hear from you. I feel like I'm running out of friends, and luck, just at the moment.'

'Jesus, kid,' drawled the American. 'What size of dog's crapped on your lawn?'

Quickly, Martin told him of the morning's atrocity, and of the earlier surprise in Skinner's morning mail. 'I see what you mean,' said Joe Doherty, tersely. 'I would say that you are dealing with a real Lulu there. Yes indeed, a real peach. I take it you've looked for a terrorist connection.'

'Joe, we've looked for every sort of connection, and come up blank.

Like Bob says, al we can do now is wait for the guy to make his next move, and hope that he makes a mistake. You never know, maybe we wil get something from Mark's message tape.'

'Yeah, you never know. But just don't hope for anything; then at least you won't be disappointed.'

There was a pause: as Doherty drew on a cigarette, Martin guessed.

'How's Bob bearing up?' he asked at last.

'He's like a grizzly with a hangover… and piles. After all that's happened in his life over the last year or so, he really did not need this nonsense from Spotlight. Did you appreciate that Pam, who cal ed you yesterday, is the new woman?'

'I put two and two together. Bob cal ed me, beginning of last week, and asked me to make sure that Sarah wasn't bothered. He told me then about his… domestic alterations, let's say.

'What's gone wrong with him, Andy?'

'I don't know, Joe. Truth is, I don't think he does either. Did you speak to Sarah?'

'Yeah, I cal ed her.'

'How did she sound?'

'Hurt and confused. Just like Bob, real y.'

'Ahh!' cried Martin, despairing. 'I just feel helpless. And for these corruption al egations to come on top of it al.'

'Yeah,' said Doherty. 'Ms Masters told me about that. What the tuck is that about?'

'Someone's set him up. He has people working on it, Alex among them. I hope she'll bring back some good news tonight. We sure as hell need some.'

He forced himself to sound more upbeat. 'Anyway, why this cal at the US Government's expense? Have you got anything for me on this miserable rag that's crucifying my friend?'

'I've got some. Spotlight is quite an institution over here you know.

It's making inroads in Great Britain too, as you have reason to know.

The story about Bob and Pam got it the sort of national attention it's been after.'

'So who owns it?'

'A straight question: not such a straight answer. In the first instance, Spotlight belongs to a corporation registered in Chicago. It owns just that one news magazine, but also a string of cracker radio stations, mostly though not al in the South.'

'Radio KKK, you mean?'

'Oh no, nothing so unsubtle. Radio Free America is more like it, the voice of the militants, those backwoods democrats who only like elected government when it does what they want.'

'Who owns the equity in the Chicago corporation?' asked Martin.

'Another corporation, registered in Houston. It's owned in turn by yet another corporation, registered in LA, which also holds a large chunk of the stock of a satellite television news network. Strip the whole thing away, though, and you wind up with a global holding company which pul s together a part of the corporate holdings of a very interesting guy. He's possibly the richest man in America.'

Doherty paused, as if for effect. 'Does the name Everard Balliol mean anything to you?'

' Somehow I feel it should.' Martin scratched his head, and searched his remarkable memory. 'Yes. I remember him. That Pro-Am golf tournament Bob wound up playing in a while back. The one there was bother with. Everard Balliol was one of the leading amateurs.

'As I recall, he didn't like losing.'

Doherty laughed. 'He wouldn't. Mr Balliol doesn't like losing at anything. It's a common trait with billionaires, they tell me.'

'What's his background?'

'His granddaddy was in oil. Everard diversified in a big way. He's still a major player in the oil business, but on top of that he's into computers, telecommunications, air transport, banking, insurance and a few other things.

'Politically, he's way out on the right wing. There was talk a few years back of him going after the Republican nomination, but when he talked about nuking the Colombian coca fields they decided that they didn't want another Goldwater. For a while, he thought of running as an independent, but he decided that he couldn't win under that flag, so he dropped it.

'Instead, he contents himself with backing right-wing causes. He funds but doesn't own one or two militant publications, and gives them air-time on his stations. Spotlight is a special toy. He uses it in the States to embarrass federal and state governments if he feels that they're backsliding… and he feels that way a lot.

'The international editions run the same way,' Doherty went on.

'Balliol hates every sort of liberalism, anywhere. When your election turned out the way it did, he went bal istic apparently.'

Martin realised that he was frowning, and that it was growing deeper by the second. 'Is this man dangerous, Joe?'

There was a pause, for thought. 'He's dangerous in that he has unlimited resources. He's dangerous in that his political attitudes are shared by a large number of very spooky people, and if he ever gave them serious financial backing, we'd have a real problem.

'But if you mean is he dangerous like homicidal? I doubt it. He's completely ruthless, but I reckon if he really took a dislike to someone he'd prefer to hurt him in a way he'd remember, rather than just by having him made dead. Spotlight is the perfect tool for him. Bob should have let him win that Pro-Am, I think.'

'You could see Bob doing that, could you?'

'Maybe not.' He chuckled at the thought. 'There is one other thing about Bal iol that should interest you. He's a real Scotophile.'

'Oh yes?'

'Yeah,' said the laconic Doherty. 'He claims Scottish descent. In fact he claims to be the descendant of kings. He owns a castle in 191 your fair land, with an estate. Bought it a year or two back. They tell me he's building a private golf course on the land.'

'It isn't Balmoral, is it?'

The American laughed out loud. 'No, but if that ever comes on the market you can bet Everard wil snap it up. His current pile is a place called Erran Mhor, north of somewhere called Fort William, apparently.'

'Does he use it much?'

'He never announces his arrival or departure,' said the American,

'but yes, he does. In fact, he's there right now.'