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.'
10
'Andy,' said Skinner, and nodded for Martin to follow as he headed for the door.
They left the room, Sarah following on their heels and waving goodbye to the rest of the team as she closed the door behind her.
Bob paused in the corridor and turned towards her. 'Sorry, love, Andy and I have a few things to do. No need for you to hang around here any longer. What you could do for me when you get home, though, is look at your copy of their letter – which I see you did not shred before you left the room.'
'Uh-oh, my first blooper.' Sarah turned a shade of pink. •And hopefully, your last. Still, let's put it to advantage. Read it carefully, study the language, the style, anything in particular that strikes you, and see if you can come up with some sort of a psychological profile of the author.'
'Yes, boss!'
'And, once you've done that, burn it!'
She nodded. 'Yes, sir, will do. See you later. We will get to Alex's play, won't we?'
'No problem. I'll rest easier if I've taken a bloody good look at that venue myself, anyway. I'll be home for 7:30, latest. We can eat after the show, so book us a table somewhere, eh?'
He started off towards Martin, who stood waiting at the end of the corridor, but she held him back with a gentle tug at his sleeve.
'Bob. In there, earlier on, I had the impression that Andy was going to say something important, but you shut him up. Was it something that you didn't want the whole team to hear – or just me?'
He looked at her wide-eyed. 'Don't know what you're on about, love. When did I ever chop Andy off in public – and before you lower ranks, too?'
The unmasked doubt in her expression countered the wide-eyed innocence in his. 'Skinner, you are being evasive. We h'' discuss this later.' Her tone left no room for doubt.
"Nothing to discuss. But I'll see you.' He strode off to join Martin.
As soon as they were out of sight, the big ACC cuffed the Head of Special Branch lightly around the ear. 'Dropped me in it there, mate, haven't you. Don't tell me you weren't on the point of chipping into my briefing with a homily about gun-toting motorcycle messengers in Charlotte Square. Christ, if I hadn't been looking at you at the time! There are things you need to break to the wife in private – if you choose to break them at all.
Now I've got no choice!'
Martin wore a guilty look that was rarely seen. 'Sorry, boss. I just didn't think.'
Skinner considered his point made. 'It's OK, son. I chose to bring Sarah into the team, so it's half my fault for putting you in the situation, anyway. There's another side to it, though, and a good reason not to tell the team about my wee bit of excitation.
These Apache Couriers are all over town. I'd hate to think of what might happen if next week one of them even looked sideways at one of our team while reaching into his jacket. Bang, bang. Dead courier. "Oh, you were only getting a hankie out were you. Sorry about that. Just a wee mistake." No, thank you very much! Not even Proud Jimmy would see the funny side of that one.'
They had reached Skinner's office in the Command Suite.
'Come on in, Andy, and I'll let you halfway in on a state secret. I told you I've already accessed available files on the MI5 computer from my other office, and come up blank?'
Martin nodded. •Well, not all the stuffs on computer. With all these hackers and folk like that, and viruses and so on, the plain fact is that information technology doesn't have the security you need at the very top level – or at the bottom level, depending on how you see these things. There are files still kept on paper, in London, behind a very thick door with a very long combination and a very loud alarm. I'm going to use my secure phone to brief the MIS analysts to look at them all, and prepare me a list of people to be considered. It probably won't be a long list, but I'll bet they'll "ave some entries for us. This will all be stuff I probably haven't n myself. I'll have picked up bits of it now and then, just wee scraps of information, but the total picture is gathered together by ion teams in Head Office.'
He sat down in a chair at the side of his desk and pulled his scrambled telephone to him.
'While I do this, Andy, could you access your SB stuff through my terminal, and run another list for me. Journalists – anyone you've got on file, either here or in branches in the rest of the country. Look at their special interests and their known associates. I fancy we'll want to talk to one or two of them, too, when the moment comes.'