Skinner's festival

Everyone else is playing ball, but if this arsehole publishes it, they all will.'

Skinner's eyes glinted. A dangerous smile hung around the corners of his mouth. He held out his right hand towards Martin.

'Gimme. What's his name?'

'Albert Neidenneyer.'

Skinner took the receiver from Martin, earpiece first.

'Mr Neidermeyer? My name is Bob Skinner. I am in charge of this investigation, and the request made by Mr Martin comes directly from me. As you've just been told, we don't want to start a major public fuss over a letter which could well have been sent in by a crank. Every other news outlet in the country has agreed not to publish that letter for the time being so I'd be grateful if you would instruct your man in London to go along with-'

Neidermeyer cut in. 'Listen, mister. I'm in charge of the world's biggest news organisation. We didn't get that way by dropping our pants every time some guy like you comes by. We have viewers everywhere, and we don't keep news from them on the say-so of just any copper. What did you say your name was?'

'Skinner. Assistant Chief Constable Skinner. Edinburgh CID.'

'Skinner.' Across the Atlantic, there was a pause. 'Say, weren't you the guy who-'

This time Skinner cut in. 'Yes, I probably was. Look me up. If your information library is any good, I'll be there. While you're doing that, let me tell you what I'll be doing at this end. I'll be making one telephone call. About two minutes later, you'll find that every one of your satellite transponders has been shut down for repair. The more fuss you make, the longer that repair will take. I'm not just talking about Europe. I'm talking home base too. I'm talking everywhere.'

'Bull Shit!'

'Try me. You want to find out what's possible, then force me to make that phone call. I don't care how big a fish you are in your own pond. If you want still to be swimming there tomorrow, you'll do what we request. If the situation changes, we'll let you know. For now, please be sensible and co-operate with us.'

For a few seconds there was silence. Then Neidermeyer gave a loud sigh. 'OK, Skinner. Experience tells me that if anybody makes a threat that heavy, then he can probably make it good. So I'll do what you ask. But, pal, you'd better be right every step of the way. Otherwise you'll have the full resources of the world's biggest news organisation after your ass!'

Skinner gave a strange cold smile. 'Thank you, Mr Neidermeyer, for showing such good sense. I'll bear your promise in mind, but just be sure that you don't forget mine! He put the telephone back in its cradle. 'There, Andy. Like my old mother used to say, a problem shared is a problem halved. And in this case, solved.'

Martin looked at him curiously. 'I suppose you could have done that thing with the transponders.'

Skinner grinned back at him affably. 'Well, maybe it wouldn't have been just as easy as that. I might have had to make two phone calls.'

He took several steps across to the window table and poured coffee into two mugs. He added a little milk to his own and handed the other, plain black, to Martin. Then he took the folded envelope enclosing the letter from the back pocket of his jeans, and tossed it down on the desk.

'That's what the fuss is about. What d'you think?'

Martin extracted the letter and scanned it quickly. 'Where was this handed in?', 'St Andrews House. By motorbike courier. About half an hour after the bang.'

'Well, I suppose this could be from some idiot who saw the fuss over the explosion in the centre of town and decided to take the piss out of the polis. But he'd need to have moved very fast. From the look of this, too, he'd also have needed access to a computer and a bubble-let printer. Mind you, that doesn't mean much these days, given the size of some of the kit around.

'What about the courier?'

'I haven't checked that yet. But I think that when we ask the security men at St Andrew's House, we'll find he was wearing an Apache Couriers vest. And when we check Apache Couriers and we will – we'll find that they had no one working today, but also that either one of their new recruits has gone missing or one of their vests has been nicked.'

'What makes you think all that then, boss?' Martin asked warily.

Quickly, Skinner described the incident in Charlotte Square.

'Ripped my new Levis too. I'll take it out of the bastard's hide when I catch him, see if I don't. Not, of course, that there's a cat's chance that we will catch him. Nonetheless, we'll put a call out for a tall guy with a metallic blue brain-bucket, riding a silver grey bike. You never know. Anyway, that wee encounter removed my last doubt that this letter could be just kidology. Our man was on look-out duty, reporting all arrivals at Number 6 to someone else, our anonymous correspondent no doubt. We've got to assume that they were watching the back door as well, and they'll have seen me come and go. They probably wanted to see how Ballantyne would react to the letter. By now, since they've heard nothing on the radio, they'll be finding that out. I wonder what their next move will be.' He winced. 'Painful for someone, I have no doubt.'

He pulled up a chair and sat down, facing Martin across the desk. 'What we've got to do now is put a unit in place to deal with these characters. Ballantyne's given me all the power and authority I need… for now at any rate.'

Martin raised his eyebrows. 'You worried about him?' 'He's a politician, Andy. I always worry about them. Their judgement gets clouded by the ballot box – then, depending on what son they are, they either shit themselves or overreact. And our Secretary of State's just one man on the ladder. There are others with more clout than him. But, in any event, the ball's in our court, so let's run with it and set up our anti-terrorist unit. I want a team briefing in this office at 3:45. Then I want to meet all of the Festival directors in a hotel somewhere in the city centre.

You set that up, will you. Make it for five o'clock.'

'That's short notice, boss.'

'The fuckers who planted that bomb didn't give us any notice at all!' said Skinner, tersely.

He sat silent in thought for a few seconds, then went on. 'Our team has to be tight. I want people I know and can trust – not too many of them, but enough. They've all got to be able to take sector responsibility, if they need to, for running a part of what will be, in total, a very big security operation. Naturally, Andy, you're my second-in-command. As my personal assistant, Brian Mackie has to be in, too. And I'll have Maggie Rose and Mario McGuire. They've been over the course with us already. They're both tough and we know for sure they don't get rattled.'

'I thought you wanted them kept apart, because they're going together off-duty.'

'I've had second thoughts on that, but you'll figure out why in a minute. I'll call their divisional commanders and put them on temporary secondment. Then there's those two outside, Neil and Barry. They're in the know already, and they're good guys, so we'll have them too. You tell Jimmy Hodgson, the Crime Squad gaffer, that I'd like to borrow the boy Macgregor until further notice. Do it nicely, mind you. He's his own boss in this place. I need someone through in the West, too. Although these lunatics say that it's the Festival that's under threat, you never know when this could turn into a cross-border affair.'

'Who'll you want over there?' asked Martin. •Willie Haggerty. Who else?'

'Haggerty? What about McKinstery? He's Special Branch in Strathclyde.'

'Not any more he isn't. He's out, and Haggerty's in.'

Martin's eyebrows shot up. Skinner smiled at the surprise written on his face. 'You Special Branch guys aren't allowed to get together as a group – in case you form your own secret police force – so there's some excuse for you not to have noticed the changes that have been made lately.'