Slowly, Skinner eased forward to peer round the corner into Crown Square. At the edge of his vision he saw the corporal and his partner sprint into the square, away from the dangerous frame of the narrow entrance, bracing themselves, crouched, against the buildings.
There were two men stationed at the door of the Palace. They were dressed in black, and carried short, ugly guns which Skinner recognised at Uzis. They spotted the two soldiers as soon as they appeared at the far end of the square, and swung their weapons up to firing positions. But too slowly.
The corporal and his companion cut them down with bursts of sustained deadly accurate rifle fire. Skinner saw both men thrown back against the wall of the Jewel Chamber by the impact. Then as the firing stopped, they crumpled slowly, limp and dead, to the ground.
He shouted across the square. 'Corporal, is there any other way out of there?'
'No, sir,' the man called back. 'Whoever's in there must come through that door at the foot of the Flag Tower.'
'Right, we wait. Our back-up should be here any minute.'
As he spoke, he heard, from within the building, a sound like the smashing of heavy glass. An alarm bell began to ring, pointlessly.
Skinner left his soldier companion in the lee of the War Memorial, and ran across to the steps of its only entrance. He shielded himself behind its arch, and blessed his luck and foresight as a grenade exploded in the square. He heard shrapnel zing i against stone walls, and ricochet off into the night. Then he swung I himself out from behind the grey pillar and waited ready for what he knew would happen next.
There were two others, also dressed in black like their dead colleagues. Each carried a hold-all in his left hand, and a blazing Uzi in his right. As they burst through the door, they sprayed fire blindly at unseen targets, but this kept the soldiers at the far end of the square pinned down nonetheless.
They could not see where their greatest peril waited.
Skinner dropped the first intruder with two quick shots. The other swung round towards the side exit from Crown Square, and straight into the path of the waiting soldier, who roared a battlecry as he emptied his magazine in revenge for his fallen comrades.
In the silence that followed, amid the reek of the gunsmoke, Skinner found time to look inside himself. He was pleased that he had been able to fire without hesitation, pleased too that he had handled the job so unemotionally, without any thought of Barry Macgregor in his mind. Perhaps, he thought, the closet door was locked for good. Maybe he did not need that other guy after all.
He held the other men in position for three full minutes, lest there were other intruders still inside the Jewel Chamber. But the next man to enter the square was Captain Adam Arrow, leading his silent troops in full combat array.
Arrow appraised the scene in a second, and realised why Skinner and his trio of soldiers were waiting immobile. At his signal, two men sprinted across the open space and threw stun grenades through the open door of the Flag Tower, holding their ears against the percussion. Then they rushed inside the building and up the stairs, their guns held in front of them.
A few seconds later they emerged, and waved the all-clear to Arrow.
As Skinner and the soldiers gathered at the doorway, the corporal found a switch, and soon the square was ablaze with light. Weapons at the ready, they approached the four figures lying crumpled on the flagstones. Three of the raiders were as dead as they could be, but the fourth still showed signs of life.
Skinner radioed for an ambulance.
The two hold-alls lay on the ground nearby. The larger of them was streaked with blood. Skinner knelt down and unzipped it and from within he took a sword still sheathed in its bejewelled scabbard. Not just any old sword, this one, but that which had been ceremoniously borne in state before the kings of Scotland.
He held it up by its scabbard for a moment, feeling its weight and its fine balance. Then he handed it over to Arrow and bent to open
the other bag, knowing also what he would find there.
First, the golden sceptre, finely worked, heavier than it looked.
And then Scotland's ancient pride, the crown itself. It was almost indescribably beautiful. Even in the harsh artificial light its jewels glinted in the delicate gold circlet. Pearls, set in gold,' gleamed on the red velvet inner cap, and six more, with four sapphires, formed the cross at its apex.
Skinner held it up by its white ermine surround, for all to see 'There you have it, lads. This is what our Freedom Fighters were really after. Priceless, they call it, but for someone who wanted it badly enough, not beyond price, it seems.'
77
Skinner could scarcely believe that so many journalists would turn up sober for a 2:30 am press briefing. Extra seats had been brought in, filling the briefing hall completely. Yet they were all soon occupied, and the side aisles were also packed with correspondents, many standing, others crouching to allow the photographers and television cameramen a clear view of the table at the head of the room, and of the big dark-suited, steel-haired, stubble-chinned man who sat at it – his Chief Constable, in full uniform and clean-shaven, by his side.
Skinner waited as Alan Royston and his uniformed assistants distributed the printed statement which he and Proud Jimmy had dictated together within the last hour. They waited for some minutes more, to give every man and woman in the room an opportunity to read and understand it fully. When he judged the time was right, Skinner rapped the table with his knuckles to recapture the attention of his audience, and began, slightly hoarsely.
'I'd appreciate it if everyone here could take that statement as read. It'll save my voice. But I'll sum up now for television and radio.' He glanced down the room towards the camera platform.
'In relative terms we have been fortunate tonight. This is no comfort to the families of the nine victims killed by the ground-toground missile fired into the Ross Theatre. However, things could have been much worse. There were no other serious casualties, either in the Gardens or due to the other explosions at Filmhouse and at the Balmoral Hotel. The first of these, we know now, was caused by a satchel of explosives placed against a wall in the foyer.
It brought down the front of the building, but the rest stood firm.
Fortunately all the audience and staff were inside the cinemas at the time, so everyone was brought out safely.
'We believe that the Balmoral bomb, too, was left in a suitcase in the foyer. Again fortunately, the receptionist had gone into her office, and the doorman was outside watching the fireworks. So that area was completely empty when the device went off.
'We believe that the second missile at the Ross Theatre was aimed at the Prime Minister's car, but the vehicle moved out of the line of fire just in time, thanks to the speed with which DCI Andy Martin and DI Brian Mackie acted to get the two ministers clear of the scene.'
On impulse, Sir James Proud broke in, pointing towards a stocky, blond, green-eyed man leaning against the wall. 'I'd like to single out Andy Martin for special commendation, but also congratulate all the other members of the team: Brian Mackie, Mario McGuire and Neil Mcllhenney, who placed themselves without hesitation in the line of fire, and not forgetting DS Maggie Rose, but for whose keen eyes we could well have had a dead Prime Minister by now, not to mention her fellow officers and friends.'
As Al Neidermeyer raised a hand. Skinner eyed him without animosity. The American looked back with caution and new respect.