Protection and detection, that's what I want to hear from you, Bob – not retreat and vacillation.'
It was Skinner's turn to jerk upright in his chair. An angry retort formed on his lips, but was stilled as he realised that something else was troubling Ballantyne. By now he knew the man well enough to read like a book the ups and downs of his personality, and he sensed clearly a second layer of concern, beyond the Festival crisis.
'Alan, is there anything else that you want to tell me?' he probed.'
The Secretary of State sighed, and slammed his right fist into hi! left palm.
'Oh damn it! Yes, Bob. Look, I'm sorry I was so sharp there.You're right, I have another problem. You heard about my trip to London yesterday?'
Skinner nodded in silence.
'My wife has been absolutely devastated by the death of her, shall we say, friend. She regards it as some sort of punishment upon her. The upshot is she announced to me last night that she intends to resume our marriage. To make a fresh start.'
'Mm,' said Skinner, 'I can see that might be a problem. I had a talk with Carlie, Alan – for security purposes, you understand. I know the situation.'
Yes, but you don't know about this.'
He produced a brown manila envelope from his desk drawer and pushed it across to Skinner, who picked it up and shook out a letter.
The salutation was the same as the earlier communications, but the message was different. Skinner read it quickly.
Attached is a photograph of the lady with whom you have been carrying on a liaison. We have others of you both which are more explicit, and in which the press will be interested.
Accede to our demands, Ballantyne, or the people of Scotland will learn what a dishonourable man you are.
Clipped to the letter was a photograph of Carlie leaving Number 6 Charlotte Square by the back door.
'What do they mean, other pictures, Alan?' 'Haven't a clue, Bob. Why would they do that, anyway?'
'Keeping up the pressure, Alan. On you, on me, on us all. They know we're unlikely to ask for media help on this one. I'm afraid you're just going to have to take it on the chin when they show us what they've got.'
Is there nothing I can do?'
'Yes. You have a choice. Announce that your marriage is over and that Carlie is the next Mrs Ballantyne, or – get her out of the country!'
47
The Mary Little Horse story caused a sensation at the Thursday morning briefing, even without the intimate details of her relationship with Frank Adams. Skinner's carefully worded statement, warning the public to be on the look-out for the woman, together with her photograph, caught the media corps off guard.
'So where does that put your investigation?' With some of his belligerence recovered, Al Neidermeyer put the first question.
'It puts a new slant on it, that's for sure. Inevitably you have to be a bit sceptical about the real nature of a so-called patriotic organisation that gets itself involved with a foreign criminal like Typhoid Mary.'
Skinner saw the eyes of the Sun reporter, seated in the front row, light up at his use of her nickname.
'I regard this as significant progress. For legal reasons, I can't go into much detail, but we need to talk with this woman urgently in connection with the death of Hilary Guillaum and the Waltzing Matilda bombing. She's a striking girclass="underline" the sort who stands out in a crowd. She is also very, very dangerous, I am assured by theFBI. So any member of the public who thinks they've spotted her should give us a call at once, but otherwise leave her well alone.'
48
Reported sightings of Typhoid Mary began to flood the Fettes switchboard, from the moment the first reports were broadcast.
Indeed the earliest claims were made even before the first edition of the Evening News had hit the streets, giving her photograph page-one prominence.
As Skinner had surmised, all the calls were fruitless. Members of the public from as far afield as Barra and Lerwick called in to declare that they had seen the native American fugitive, but although these sightings were all followed up, none was even close to the mark. The only action that the police saw was when a young lady with a pronounced Sloane Ranger accent was detained in Shetland, before being identified as the daughter of a minor peer, on a back-packing tour of the Scottish Islands.
As Thursday stretched into Friday with no sign of further action by the Fighters, Skinner was able to report an incident-free twenty-four hours at the next morning's briefing.
49
When Skinner returned from the Friday press conference, he found Alex waiting in his office. As he entered the room, she jumped up and rushed across to him. s 'Hi, Pops.' i He took her into his arms and hugged her. I 'Pops, I'm sorry. You're under all this pressure and I behave like a selfish, love-sick cow. I am really, really sorry.
'Am I forgiven?'
His face lit up as he smiled at her. Suddenly the world was a better place. 'Yeah, just this once I'll let you off with a caution.
How are you and the boy getting on?'
'Fine. Ingo's great. He's so bright, and I just love him to bits.
Don't worry, though. I'm not going to do anything daft like rushing off to Sweden with him. I've got a degree to finish first, and a diploma to get after that. He's got his course to finish, too.
Once he's done that, he says he'll find a job in Britain, in the theatre if nothing else, and we can be together for good.'
In spite of his misgivings about the Swede, Bob grinned.
'Sounds like you've got his life thoroughly organised for him, just like you organised mine for twenty years.'
'Exactly. But you've got someone else to do that for you now.
Even Andy, I hear from Sarah, may have found the love of his life. I have to have someone to look after.'
'Well, babe, all I ask is that you look after yourself as well. In fact put yourself first for a while.' He decided it was time to change the subject. 'How's your play then? We must pay it another visit.' •We're doing great. It won't be announced in the Scotsman till tomorrow, but we've won a Fringe Award. Why don't you come to the Sunday show. It's being presented then.'
Sunday? Bob referred to his memory for a second. 'Sorry, can't do that. Sarah's got tickets for Le Cirque Mobile, or something, down on Leith Links. Tonight we're doing a movie with Andy and Julia, his new girlfriend, and tomorrow…' He paused for a second. 'Tomorrow I might be busy. So we'll come some time next week.'
Alex did not notice his momentary preoccupation. 'Le Cirque?
I've heard of them. They're all bikers or something like that, aren't they. They're supposed to be terrific.'
'We'll see,' he said, although his tone implied doubt. 'All that carbon monoxide inside a tent doesn't sound too great to me. I'd rather be at your show, darling, believe me, but Sarah's dead keen on it.'
Alex laughed. 'It'U be all right. Sarah can pick 'em, you know.
'Well, look. Pops. If I don't see you at the theatre, I'll look out for you at Fringe Sunday.' •No!'
His sudden vehemence stopped her in her tracks.
'Look, babe. Do just one thing for your old man. Steer well clear of Fringe Sunday.'
'But why? All the gang are going.'
'Just for me, give it a miss.'
She looked hard at him. 'You think something bad might happen? Do you know something?'
'Let's just say I'll feel happier if I know I don't have to look out for you there.' •Well, my old Dad, if it makes you feel happier, I'll give it a miss. Promise.'
She stood on tiptoe, kissed him on the forehead and flitted out of the room, waving goodbye.