‘You can forget that, Robbie. I don’t know where he is. The name came up in an enquiry into events past, that’s all. And if I did know where he was the Israelis would be the last people I would tell. I’m here to stop murders, not to set them up.’
‘You’re not wrong there, Bob. If the Israelis find this guy, he’s dead. And probably if other people find him too.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the CIA. They’d love to take out the big guy in Iraq. If they could pot his right-hand man, it’d be the next best thing. Remember the supergun. Your pal Ali was right in the middle of that business. He’s supposed to have signed the purchase orders for the parts, using different names, but the same pen and ink.
‘Maybe the project is still active. Maybe he’s away trying to buy more steel pipes!’
‘If he’s trying to buy steel tubes, he’s not in Scotland! Look, thanks Robbie; your pals have been very helpful. Tell them that if I find Rashoun Ali Tarfaz Hadid, I’ll kick his arse and send him home!’
64
Superintendent David McKinstery was twenty-five years older than Andrew Martin. Many officers of his age and stage are sticklers for form, but he was one of the exceptions. His years in Strathclyde Special Branch work had taught him that dividends can be earned from cooperation. If a brother from another force called him with an odd request, he would never ask why.
‘Hello, young Andy. Good New Year to you.’ The voice on the telephone was soft and friendly. ‘How are you getting on in the job?’
‘It’s hectic, Mr McKinstery, but I’m enjoying it. You’ll be busy yourself, with these bloody student occupations. How many targets have you got on your patch?’
‘Six, I reckon. The two universities, Glasgow Poly, Queen’s College, Notre Dame and Paisley Tech. They’ve all made arrangements. Of course if it leaks back to the Trots they may switch their attack to the FE colleges, and there aren’t enough security guys to cover all of them. We’ll just have to see how it goes. What can I do for you anyway, young man? You havena’ just called to compare notes on Bolsheviks.’
‘No, you’re right,’ said Martin. ‘I wonder if you could check your back files, say between 1979 and 1984, and see if you have anything on a girl called Joy Granger, Strathclyde University. Associates, politics, anything odd.’
‘No problem, I’ll get a DC to look her up. That’s G-R-A-N-G-E-R is it?’
‘Yes, there’s probably nothing there. We’re doing a vetting job on her husband and we just want to cross-check her.’
‘I’ll call you back within an hour.’ Martin thanked him, hung up, and called Skinner’s secretary to see if the ACC was free.
‘Yes, Mr Martin. He’s waiting for you, in fact. Come right along.’
Two mugs of coffee stood on coasters on Skinner’s desk.
‘Sit down, Andy. How was the other New Town?’
‘Interesting, sir. For a start the Great Joiner Harvey is a boring wee fart. He knows about maths and computers and bugger all else. Or at least that’s the impression he tries to give. His wife, on the other hand, is a power lady. She runs his company and his life. I’ve asked Strathclyde to check out her background. She was a student at the same time as Harvey, at Strathclyde, though. They say they met after university.’
‘Any possible connection?’
‘Could be. I claimed to have been bonking Marjorie Porteous, Rachel’s pal, at university, and I threw some names of people at him. He denied knowing Marjorie Porteous, but I got a strong reaction when I mentioned an Arab bloke, without putting a name to him. He and his wife both seemed to be on the edge of their seats. But as soon as I mentioned the name Ali Tarfaz they both relaxed.’
‘Did they, by Christ! He’s not a man to relax people.’ Skinner recounted obbie’s legend.
Martin stared at him. ‘So what have we got here?’
‘Two Middle Eastern students of different nationalities, each in Rachel Jameson’s university circle; each one goes on to become an intelligence operative. One of them, it seems, makes payments to our two dead advocates then vanishes, the other one just vanishes.
‘We’ve got to believe that Fuzzy is involved in some way in the murders, or he’s joined the head count himself. The coincidence factor says that Ali Tarfaz could be somewhere involved too.
‘Boss, how long can we keep this thing to ourselves?’
‘I don’t know, Andy. But let’s try, for as long as we can. I want a tail on Harvey, and his wife, since you thought that they were sensitive to the mention of an Arab. Although it’s off our patch, you can handle it from your own resources. I’ll tell Strathclyde what we’re doing, not why. And I’ll go and see someone else.’
‘Who’s that, boss?’
‘A man in New St Andrews House. You’ll have heard of him.’ Martin nodded, his face serious.
‘By the way, Andy, I’ve got some more stirring news for you. Remember our friend the Syrian President? He’s said “yes”, and so has the Foreign Office.’
‘Magic, just bloody magic. When?’
‘January the eighteenth. Apparently it’s a special debate, sponsored by the Palestinian lobby, on international brotherhood! Allingham’s coming up tomorrow with a Lebanese, at least that’s what they say he is. I want the two of you to agree all the security arrangements. The “Lebanese” will report back to Syria.’
There was a knock on the door. ‘Yes.’
Skinner’s secretary appeared. ‘Mr Martin, your office buzzed to say that Superintendent McKinstery called on your private line.’
Skinner pointed to his secure telephone. ‘Call him back.’
Martin punched in the Strathclyde number. ‘Mr McKinstery? Andy Martin.’
‘I’ve found your lassie, Joy Granger. I don’t know what she’s like now, but she was a busy wee girl at the Uni. She was in the Socialist Workers’ Party, that’s how we’ve got her on record. She didna’ half get around. Saw more pricks than Jocky Wilson’s dartboard, according to this file. She was chairperson of a pro-Palestinian, anti-Israeli outfit, and linked up with like-minded idiots in other universities. Some of her listed contacts were in Edinburgh, others in Aberdeen.’
‘Can you read me the Edinburgh names please?’
‘Sure. There’s three of them. Andrew Harvey, Fazal Mahmoud, that’s spelled F-A-Z-A-L. M-A-H-M-O-U-D, and Rachel Jameson. Is one of them your target?’
‘Yes,’ said Martin, ending the call with thanks.
‘So what have they got?’ Skinner asked.
‘They lied to me today. Told me that they didn’t meet till after they left university. According to Davie McKinstery’s files, Joy helped to run an inter-university pro-Palestinian league of some sort. Fuzzy Mahmoud and Rachel are both listed among her contacts.’
‘Then get that tail in place, now, Andy. From the sound of things they didn’t suss you, but don’t take any chances.’
‘Okay, boss, I’m on my way. Will you square it with Strathclyde for me?’ Skinner nodded as Martin left the room.
65
There is a small anonymous room in New St Andrews House, a monstrous office block perched on top of a seventies shopping mall.
Skinner entered the grey concrete building through its inadequate revolving door. His warrant card took him past the security guards. ‘Know where you’re going, sir?’ one enquired. Skinner nodded.
Hugh Fulton’s door bore no number. It was not listed in any office directory, nor was its occupant. Officially, neither existed. The real Hugh Fulton was a tall, broad man in his mid-fifties. Streaks of ginger still mixed strongly with the white of his hair. There was no sign of thinning on top. As he stepped from behind his desk and extended his hand, Skinner recognised the questioning gaze in the big, brown eyes.