Slightly guiltily, a grin gleamed through her tears. 'Yeah. from what I've seen of little Arrow, with a point-fcur-five round in the ear!'
The tension between them eased. Bob chuckled quietly. He lifted up her chin and made her look,iim in the eye.
That's better. You're smiling again. That's how you can help me most, love.'
She hugged him close, and very tigtit.
'Oh, but, my darling, I'll be so worried about you. About you both. About you all.'
'I know, honey, but we'll be all riglit.'
He was struck by a sudden thought.
'Listen. Wee Julia'11 be in the sam" boat as you, in her ca… worrying about Andy. I'll have him britg her up here, and the two of you can hold each other's hands like the astronauts' wives did in Alex's play, when their men were in orbit.'
She brightened up again. 'Yeah. We can watch videos. Woody Alien rather than Kevin Costner, though.'
'What, not even The Bodyguard?'
'Especially not that!'
'What about Batman? That'd be quite appropriate really for you and Julia?';
She looked at him, puzzled. 'Why?'
'Well, what with Andy's nickname among the old-timer uniform PCs…'
What's that?'
'Robin the Boy Wonder… I'
Her eyes widened. 'So that means yours must be…'
'Exactly! That's why I gave up wearing the black leather coat.
Folk thought I was trying to live up to my nickname!'
They laughed together again in the midst of their troubles, and Bob kissed her once more.
'Right I'll fix that up with Andy. Now I must be off to Fettes.
It's eight o'clock. All my plans are nude. It's time to brief the troops. Brian's picking me up and he'll be outside by now. Next time you see me, Alex will be with me. Believe me.'
As the door closed behind him, the smile on her face dissolved.
She leaned back against the larder door once more, tears flowing freely.
'Yes, my love, I do believe you,' she whispered. 'But will you both still be alive?'
89
Brian Mackie hefted the sniper's rifle, with its telescopic sight, to his shoulder, and settled it against him like a new lover, adjusting himself to its shape, making himself comfortable with its feel, and with the lines of its long body.
Skinner looked at the two of them, man and mistress, silhouettes in the little light which invaded the dark of the office.
He took in the slender shape of the hand-built gun, and was struck by the contrast with the ugliness of the long silencer which extended its barrel.
Mackie nuzzled his cheek against the walnut stock and waited.
It was 10:58 pm. Outside, the Gyle Centre car park, cleared completely of vehicles as instructed, was illuminated brightly by its floodlights on their pillars, in contrast with the bulky darkness of the two superstores and the other, smaller shops which bounded it on two sides.
'It's nearly time, Brian,' said Skinner. 'Any second now.
Remember, our car is a white Mondeo. Theirs might be a Vauxhall Senator.'
He felt the rush of adrenaline pumping him up, readying him for action. Though he was still fearful for Alex, he was glad that the moment had almost come. The last thirty, sleepless hours had been the longest of his life.
The rest of the farmhouse had offered them few new leads.
They had found Mary Little Horse's things, in a rucksack in the wardrobe in the bedroom. The only other signs of the house's occupants had been their refuse – the tins and discarded food wrappers which someone had thrown into a green wheelie-bin outside the back door – and the coffee pot and stained mugs which had been left on the kitchen table.
Eventually Skinner had returned to look again, more professionally and dispassionately this time, at the body of Mary Little Horse.
'Alex wasn't kidding about Mr Ingo, Andy. The man must be good. Our Mary here was a pro herself.'
'Yes,' said Martin, 'and she was strong as well, according to poor old Frank Adams. Ingo must have taken her completely by surprise. Pillow-case over her head and bang, before she had time to react. Poetic justice, I suppose.'
'Or dog eat bitch!'
Beside the Vitara in the yard, they found, and photographed a second set of tyre tracks in the setting mud. A tyre-centre manager, called out in the early hours of the morning, had identified them as belonging to the type normally fitted to a 24valve Vauxhall Senator, the flagship saloon of the range.,; 'Vauxhall,' Skinner had grunted. 'Not exactly a rare model.
Still, put the word out to all of our traffic cars, and to all traffic wardens, to look out for Senators. Anybody who sees one carrying a group of two men and two women is to call it in right away. But no one is to approach it. I don't want them getting nervy while Alex is still in that car. I want these bastards out in the open.'
The memory of his own instructions snapped him back to the present, just as the white Mondeo swept into the deserted car park, heading towards the centre of the pool of light. He had time to spot Maggie Rose in the driver's seat, before she swung the car around so that its near-side faced the office where Skinner and Mackie were hidden.
As soon as it had drawn to a halt, Neil Mcllhenney jumped from the front passenger seat, and raced round to the boot. He pushed the release button and, as the lid swung up, reached inside and withdrew the two hold-alls, one long, the other squarish, which Skinner had seen before in another place. He wonder whether anyone had bothered to clean off the blood streaks, then found himself hoping that they had not.
Without even glancing around, Mcllhenney – obeying to tin? letter Skinner's orders at his briefing earlier that evening – put the hold-alls down close together on the ground, right in the centre of the car park. He took three long strides back to the passenj door and jumped in. The door had barely closed behind h before Maggie Rose slammed the car into gear and raced off ir the night, heading out of the Centre and turning in the direction the city.
Skinner peered at his watch, holding it up towards the little li that crept in through the open window. It showed almost 11:00 pm. He looked at the second hand as it swept up towards the hour, and waited, hardly daring to breathe.
The Senator was forty-three seconds late.
They heard it just before they saw it roaring through the car park entrance and into view. The high floodlights reflected strongly from its brilliant white bodywork, and gave the heavily smoked glass of its windows a mirror-like sheen.
Skinner, in his hide, read the number-plate from afar through powerful field-glasses. He struggled to catch a glimpse of the occupants, but the glass was impenetrable under the floodlights, and he was unable even to make out their shadows.
Driven very fast and very smoothly, the car zigzagged for a second or two as it entered the park, before straightening up and making directly for the two hold-alls sitting in the centre. Just as it drew close, the driver slammed on the brakes hard, and swung it round and to a halt, tail-first. At it spun. Skinner thought that he could just make out four heads inside, but it was the most fleeting of glimpses, and he could not be certain.
'Ok, Brian. Stay ready.' In the dark, renewed tension, almost overwhelming, gripped Skinner.
'Sir.' Mackie's reply was whispered, but certain.
The Vauxhall was positioned now between their office stakeout and the hold-alls. A few seconds passed with no sign of movement. Skinner guessed that the Senator's occupants were looking around for any sign of an ambush. Involuntarily he pressed himself back into the shadows.