50
Sir James Proud was the last man he had expected to see that morning. Or so Skinner told himself at first. But when he thoughtfl about it later, he realised that he had not been in the least surprised when his door burst open to reveal the Chief Constable's ample frame. Proud Jimmy, as he was known throughout his force, looked as imposing as ever in full uniform.
Chief What the hell are you doing here?'
You know bloody fine,' said Sir James Proud. 'I couldn't settle for a moment out there, knowing all this nonsense was going on back home. Eventually it all got too much for her ladyship.
Yesterday morning she said to me, "Jimmy. That's it. I'm packing and we're going to the airport. Get your Gold CardjI ready." So here I am.';
Skinner smiled at him. He realised at that moment just how much he had missed the solid support and advice of Sir James Proud.
Well, I'm sorry it had to happen that way, but by God I'm glad you're back.'
'So what's been happening?'
Quickly Skinner updated him on the crisis. He showed him the MI6 file on Jesus Giminez, and the FBI sheet on Mary Little Horse.
'I am impressed,' said the Chief. 'You seem to draw these people. Bob, like a flame attracts moths. So now I'm back, what can I do? How can I help?'
'You can chair tomorrow morning's press conference for a start. I'll be busy, doing something else. I'll have a Member of Parliament to arrest!'
51
Neil Mcllhenney was impressed by Macdainnid's choice of meeting-place. Edinburgh born and bred, he had never heard of the Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum, far less visited it. So when he ambled up the red sandstone steps and into the cathedrallike central hall, with its massive pipe organ at the far end, he was taken by surprise by its elegance and its scale. Neil had always liked organ music, and the fact that he had arrived in the middle of the Friday afternoon recital made the job the highlight of his week in Glasgow.
The tap had picked up Grant Macdairmid on the pub telephone as he set up his assignation at Kelvingrove. His call had been brief and to the point. 'Cassie? Grant here. Look I need you to run another message for me. Meet me this afternoon. Four-thirty, Kelvingrove Art Gallery.'
Haggerty had instructed Barry Macgregor to tail the MP from his office to the meeting-place, while Mcllhenney had been sent on ahead.
Wooden seats were set out in rows across the hall. Those near the front were well filled, but in the row second from the back a girl sat alone, round-shouldered but relaxed in a pale blue T-shirt.
Mcllhenney looked at the back other head and wondered. Rather than take a seat he wandered across to one of the display cases in an area off the hall. It was filled with an assortment of Cromwellian armour, out-of-place somehow in a Glasgow setting.
He could observe the main door from the far side of the glass case, and so Macdairmid did not see him as he glanced all around the hall on his arrival. Satisfied, the MP moved swiftly down the hall and made his way calmly between the seats towards the girl.
Mcllhenney noticed that he was carrying a black briefcase.
Macgregor entered a few seconds later, and sat down in the back row, a comfortable distance away from the couple. He had untied his pony-tail, and his long hair, with its white-beaded Plaits, fell around his shoulders. He wore a crew-necked, short191 sleeved shirt over faded jeans, split at the knee. Mcllhenney looked at him and smiled. 'Crime Squad throws up some sights, right enough,' he whispered to himself.
The meeting lasted only a few minutes. Neither detective dared edge close enough to hear the conversation, but from what they could see it was one-sided, Macdairmid doing all the talking. Less than five minutes after he had entered, the MP stood up and made his way out of the Gallery – without the black briefcase. Neither detective made a move to follow him. They knew that Glasgow officers were waiting outside at each exit from the Gallery, ready to pick up Macdairmid's trail. Instead they stayed, as ordered, with the girl.
She had little taste either, it seemed, for the fine organ music, for three minutes later she too rose to go. The briefcase looked heavy in her right hand. Outside, she made quickly for the car park, where she unlocked the door of a battered green Metro. She heaved the case on to the passenger seat, before jumping in and driving off.
Braided hair flying behind him, Macgregor sprinted over to Mcllhenney's Astra and jumped in, as the older man revved the engine and set off after the girl.
'Registration D436 QQS,' barked Mcllhenney. 'Call it in.'
Using the car telephone rather than radio, Macgregor waited on the line while the number was checked. Eventually he said, 'Got that,' and put the phone back in its magnetic cradle. 'It's his sister, Neil. The bugger's using his own sister on a pick-up. The Metro's registered to Cassandra Macdairmid, date of birth 29 June 1969, listed address 124 Dundonald Road, Partickhill.' " 'In that case, she's going home,' said Mcllhenney, turning the Astra into Dundonald Road. a
52
Adam Arrow, Mario McGuire and Maggie Rose were all in position in the Chapter One Coffee Shop on the first floor of James Thin, in George Street, well before Cassie Macdairmid climbed the staircase at 11:25 am.
They were seated several tables apart. Wearing a light cotton jacket. Arrow looked for all the world like a tourist, as he sat reading the Saturday Telegraph. His view extended from the top of the stairs and into the second room of the cafeteria. He could see McGuire and Rose at their table through the open doorway which connected the cafe's two rooms. They looked for all the world like a thirty-something Edinburgh couple – which in fact they were – out on a morning's shopping expedition. Maggie's Marks Spencer carrier bag, containing a few purchases made earlier that day, added authenticity.
They recognised Cassie Macdairmid as soon as she entered, not only from the description given by Mcllhenney and Macgregor, but from the heavy black briefcase which she carried in her right aand. It tugged her shoulder down slightly as she moved.
Arrow's eyes were fixed on her back as she passed through the doorway, past McGuire and Rose, who seemed to take no notice of her. She made her way to the service counter, where she bought a Cappuccino and a slab of thick brown cake. With difficulty she carried them, and the briefcase, in the direction of a table, somewhere to the left of McGuire and Rose, but out of Arrow's line of sight.
If being inconspicuous was part of the other messenger's brief, then, thought Arrow, he was inept at it. He wore the loudest black-and-white check woollen jacket that Arrow had ever seen on a man, with bright yellow polyester trousers. His lank jet-black hair, which emphasised his sallow complexion, looked as if it had been cut by a blind man. Apart from the fact that he looked so out of place, it was his briefcase which marked him out immediately as their second target. It was identical to that which Cassie Macdairmid had brought with her from Glasgow.
Arrow studied his Telegraph intently as the man looked quickly round the room, and, clearly having seen nothing to alarm him, moved through towards the service counter. He purchased a Coke, and, holding the bottle, looked round once more. At last, his eyebrows rose briefly in recognition as – Arrow guessed – he caught sight of Cassie Macdairmid. The messenger moved towards her table.
'May I join you?' he heard him asking in a Hispanic accent, just as he disappeared from view. Arrow switched his gaze to McGuire and Rose, ready to take his cue from them.
Five minutes had passed before he saw Maggie Rose make at sudden slight movement in his direction with her left hand. The little soldier stood up and moved towards the wide doorway, just as the man appeared in it. Arrow noticed at once that this time he was holding his briefcase in his left hand, while the other was plunged deep in the voluminous pocket of his jacket. As the two men's eyes met the right hand started to move.