Whitlow nodded again. He coughed. 'Yes, Bob, I hear what you say. I should have come to you first, and I will in future.' He stood up. 'Now, if you will excuse me, Sir James.'
`Of course, Chris. Glad we've cleared the air.'
Skinner was still fuming quietly as the door closed. Proud Jimmy smiled at him. 'Thought it was better to handle things that way than simply come across the corridor and tell you about it. I know you. You'd have kicked his bloody door in! Anyway, that's him calmed down now. Wish I could sort people out the way you can.'
`Aye, maybe,' growled Skinner. 'We'd still better tell Ruth and Mary to keep a running tally of the paper-clips, though.'
Proud laughed. 'That's the future, Bob. It'll all be yours when you're behind my desk.'
`You're forgetting the regulation, Jimmy. No promotion to Chief without experience of command rank in another force.'
Proud's smile grew even wider. 'Didn't I tell you? I've fixed that with ACPO and the Scottish Office. That other job of yours — Secretary of State's security adviser? That'll be counted as outside experience when the time comes. I've told you before, even if you're kicking and screaming, Bob, I'm going to make certain that you succeed me.'
The surprise was still on Skinner's face when the phone rang.
Proud moved to his desk and picked it up. 'Yes. Put him through.' He held out the receiver. ‘For you. Mackie.'
Skinner took one long step across to take the call. 'Brian, yes.'
`They're on the move sir. Two of them. Norman Monklands and Lucan. They've just pulled out of the yard. My first car's gone with them, and I'm off next. There's a speedboat on the trailer. Quite a big thing, it is, with two heavy outboard engines on the back.'
'So Lucan's gone as well. Not surprised. If they're carrying what we think, Vaudan'll want his man there all the way. There's neither honour nor trust among criminals, is there, Brian? Okay, you get on your way, and let me know progress as you can. Meantime I'll start to set things up this end.'
He hung up. 'That's it, Chief. Our courier's on the move. With a minder, and, though he doesn't know it, a police escort.'
`What do you do now? Sit and wait?'
`More or less, once I've briefed the Customs, to make sure that those people are waved through, wherever they land. I want them filmed, too. I want to be able to show the court a video of every stop that consignment makes in the UK, from the docks to the dealers. If you'll excuse me, I'll go and take care of that. Then I think I'll check on the surveillance of Ainscow and Cocozza.'
Seventy-one
Skinner opened the door of Andy Martin's office, and collided heavily with the detective superintendent as he stepped into the room. Martin was zipping up his brown leather jacket.
`You off, Andy?'
`Yes, boss. We've got action from our targets. I've got Neil Mcllhenney tailing Cocozza, and McGuire watching Ainscow. Mario called in nearly an hour ago to say that Ainscow had left his office in Stirling. He followed, and phoned in to say that he's heading for Glasgow. Meantime, Neil called in to say that Cocozza seems to be on a pub crawl. He's been to three of the Manson places so far. Stopped for about twenty minutes at each one. That's unusual behaviour for him. He checks up on them, sure, but we've never found him making a round of visits like this before. At one stop, a bloke arrived at the same time as him. They started talking on the street and went inside. Neil thought he recognised the guy as someone known to us. He took a couple of photos of the two of them together. I'm off out now to meet up with him. Neil's last call put him at the top of Leith Walk, probably heading for that pub near the foot, where big Lennie used to work.'
What's your guess about what he's doing?' asked Skinner.
`Same as yours, I reckon. That he could be putting word around the network that there's a ship coming in. Fucking idiot if he is, getting personally involved in it like that.'
`Aye, you're right there. In Manson's day, if you saw signs on the street that there was a new supply around, you could bet that Tony would be on holiday at the time, somewhere far away. He was brilliant at distancing himself. He ran his show on the basis of one word to one person, and letting his orders filter out from there. Wee Cocozza doesn't have that authority, y'see. A message from Tony, even at third or fourth hand, and it was as if it had come from the Burning Bush. This wee chap, he'll be having to say "Please". Out of his depth. What about Ainscow, then Andy? What's your guess there?'
Martin shrugged his shoulders. 'He could be going to Ralph Slater's for a new suit. But given what Cocozza's doing, I wouldn't be surprised if he's off to Glasgow to see Eddie Gilhooley, then to Manchester and Newcastle, and the other two Wise Men, to let them all know that the buy's made, and the stuff's on the way.'
Skinner nodded. 'Yes. Ainscow didn't strike me as the Ralph Slater type. Hope big McGuire's got plenty of petrol and film in his camera. I think he's in for a long day. Make sure he keeps me informed as it goes on.'
Skinner paused. 'As for you, don't bother teaming up with Mcllhenney. Get on the line and tell him to get back in here. I want you two to draw a diesel-engined vehicle with a big fuel tank — the sort that'll let you go at least five hundred miles without having to fill up — and head off down south. Make for somewhere on the M25 south of London, from where you can reach any port or terminal within two hours, and wait for further instructions. Wherever Monklands and Lucan make landfall, they're going to have a reception committee: you, big
Neil and me. Then, once the Customs boys have closed their eyes and waved them through, you and Mcllhenney are going to stick to them like glue all the way home. Okay?'
`Yes, boss.' As Martin nodded in response, Skinner caught a pensive gleam in his eye.
`Am I buggering up your social diary, Andy? You got a new lady?'
Martin smiled softly. He opened his mouth as if to reply, then changed his mind. He shook his head. 'That's okay Bob. She understands all about the job.' The distant look came back into his green eyes.
Seventy-two
This time, Skinner was wide awake when the bedside phone rang, ten minutes before eleven p.m.
He was propped up on his pillows, holding Jazz as the baby settled to sleep. He smiled and winced simultaneously as tiny but strong fingers wound round his chest hairs and tugged. The muted ringing of the phone did not disturb the child, nor did Skinner's whispered 'Hello'.
`Boss, sorry again, but this is the first chance I've had. Our targets have been sharing the driving, and making good time, sticking to autoroutes all the way. These French police drivers are very good. They've been doing a team job, keeping in touch by radio. The Transit's pulled into a service area for now. It looks as if they might be bedding down for the night.'
`Where are you bound? D'you know yet?'
`All I can tell for now is that we're headed for Paris. We just passed the fork in the road that leads to Reims and directly to Calais, but they took the other option. That means we still could be heading for any port in France. There is one clue, though. Monkland's van has a Brittany Ferries sticker on the back. That doesn't tell you much either. They have four terminals in France and three in Britain.
The line was silent for a moment. When Mackie spoke again it was with a question. 'Which route would you choose boss, in their shoes?'
Skinner paused as the baby sighed and moved on his chest.
`I've been thinking about that,' he said quietly. 'I'd avoid Calais, Dunkerque, or the Channel Tunnel. The Customs there are always on the look-out for vans with big quantities of booze. They tail some too, to see if they can catch the owners selling their cargo. Other than that, getting on board a vessel is no problem. The danger is at the other end. Plymouth, Poole, Newhaven are all small. You'd be more obvious there, with a higher percentage change of a random pull-over. On balance, I'd go for Portsmouth or Southampton. With a bit of luck, you'll be having supper in Cherbourg tomorrow.'