Colinton Road ends at a complicated junction, known popularly as Holy Corner because of the three churches which seem to glare at each other across the roadway. The white bus was about three hundred yards from the traffic lights, with the driver easing his foot slightly on the throttle, when there was a roar from the left. Just as it passed Napier University, a big modern college building, incongruous among the grey tenements, terraces and villas of staid, conservative Morningside, an old, battered Land-Rover came roaring out of its car park.
The heavy green vehicle skidded and smashed full tilt into the front nearside comer of the bus, which spun out of control, crashing, as the driver jammed on the brakes in vain, into a grey Montego parked on the other side of the street. The engine roared in neutral for a few seconds, then spluttered and died.
‘Bastard,’ shouted the bus driver. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead where it had slammed into the window. Several of the soldiers had been thrown into the aisle, and one looked slightly dazed. All but he had drawn their weapons in an instinctive reaction. The man next to the passenger door forced it open and looked out. The Land-Rover was slewed across the road, empty, as its driver, a slim youth in jeans and a dark sweatshirt, sprinted away into the night. The soldier was about to jump from the bus in pursuit of the escaping man when Maitland stopped him.
‘No, Jones. Leave it. It’s police business. A drunken bloody student, I imagine. Dismount, boys, and haul this damn thing out of the roadway.’
Already the traffic was beginning to tail back in both directions from the accident.
‘I’ll go into the college and call for a replacement vehicle.’ Maitland disappeared into the cloistered entry to the Polytechnic.
When he reappeared five minutes later, the squad had manhandled the bus from the middle of the roadway to a position which allowed the traffic to pass. The build-up was clearing slowly.
‘Well done, gentlemen. Another bus is on its way. However, the delay means that the Hall will already be well filled. By the time we got there, the debate would be well under way. Our entry, in our baggy jackets would be rather conspicuous. Therefore we will have to trust to luck and the efficiency of the police security. You will divert to the hotel and take up position there. Jones, when the new bus arrives, re-direct it to the Norton House. I will contact the police and advise them of the change. See you at the hotel.’
He disappeared into the night.
90
The motorcycle outriders carved a path through the evening traffic for Skinner’s small motorcade, leading it through South Gyle towards the Western Approach Road. The cars were passing Murrayfield, the national rugby stadium, when the radio burst into life once more.
‘HQ to Blue One, Blue Two. Traffic reports a hit and run on Colinton Road, in which a bus carrying a group of men has been disabled. Over.
‘Blue One acknowledges. Blue One to Blue Two. That’s just magic. Are your uniforms deployed around the Hall? Over.’
‘Blue Two affirmative. Over.’
‘We’ll have to make do then. Blue One out.’
But within seconds HQ was back on air. ‘Message for Blue One. Caller advises that in view of accident delay his unit will divert to second site and take up position there. Over.’
‘Blue One acknowledges. Please advise Blue Three of change of plan.’
91
The motorcade pulled up in close order at the entrance to the MacEwan Hall. Skinner, McGuire and Allingham jumped out first and surveyed the area. Latecomers were still pressing into the Hall, each one being carefully frisked by uniformed police officers.
Mackie stood in the doorway. ‘Okay, Brian?’ Skinner called. When the inspector nodded, he opened the door of the Mercedes limousine. Martin stepped out first, and stood close to Skinner, looking around. Mackie and McGuire took up position just beyond them. Martin leaned back into the car and spoke quietly to the President. Al-Saddi climbed out immediately, followed by the tiny, trembling equerry; the four policemen formed a shield and rushed them up the few steps, towards the three people who stood waiting for them. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh stepped forward and introduced himself. Al-Saddi shook his hand.
‘May I present the Rector of the University, Mr David McKnight.’ The Rector of Edinburgh University is elected by the student population to chair the University Court, and David McKnight was an articulate and politically outspoken professional footballer, something of a folk hero. He was captain of Hibernian and Scotland. His suit was beautifully tailored. He shook Al-Saddi’s hand firmly, not in any way overawed.
‘Welcome to Edinburgh University, Mr President. Please allow me to introduce Ms Deirdre O’Farrell, the President of the Union and Speaker for this evening’s debate.’
Deirdre O’Farrell was a tall, fair-skinned, flame-haired girl. Even in the pseudo-Parliamentary robes of her office she retained an air of authority. Her expression indicated that she walked in no one’s shadow, not even that of a visiting head of state.
She spoke with a soft Dublin accent. ‘I’m pleased that you could come, Mr President. I am only sorry that your Israeli counterpart has declined to join us.’
‘That is of no matter to me. What I have to say is for the ears of the world, not for him alone. Shall we go in?’
The party turned into a small procession, led by Deirdre O’Farrell, with Al-Saddi, McKnight and the Lord Provost following in that order. They threaded their way into the hall, where the other speakers were waiting.
As they did so, they were followed by a sudden press of students. Several of them by-passed the search in the few moments it took to regain control. Among them was a small swarthy man, older than the rest, with a three-day stubble emphasising the grimness of his marred face.
92
A place of honour had been reserved for Al-Saddi at the head of the ‘Government’ benches on the Speaker’s right hand. Mackie and Martin sat at the Clerk’s table. McGuire took up position at the main entrance door. Skinner faced the Speaker, beside a television camera. He looked around, trying to peer into the far reaches of the panelled Hall, but was dazzled by the television lights.
The debate opened in fine formality. The motion was proposed by Bernard Holland, a left-wing Labour Member of Parliament, whose fame leaned towards notoriety because of his support for a number of organisations, including the PLO, which, either openly or by reputation, were involved in terrorism. Holland knew the niceties of Parliamentary debate and his speech, powerful in its delivery, brought a sense of reality to the mock event.
He set out his stall from the start, declaring his support for the Palestinians, and challenging the Israelis. ‘They of all people, Madam Speaker, a nation landless for two thousand years, should understand the plight of the people of the State of Palestine, who for too long have been in the wilderness. There is room for all. Let them live together!’
Holland sat down to applause that was warm, but which stopped short of being thunderous. He was followed by another Parliamentarian, Sir Sidney Legge, MP, a veteran of thirty years at Westminster, and a leading member of the Board of Jewish Deputies. He was a small grey man, but he spoke with surprising power.
‘Madam Speaker, I regret most sincerely that I must urge this House to reject the motion. For once, the gentleman opposite is correct. We Jews appreciate more than any other the plight of the Palestinian people, and we wish them well in their efforts to find a permanent home. But the State of Israel will not be that home. Nor will we allow its security to be put at risk. For that is the real issue here tonight, Madam Speaker, and that is why that gentleman is among us.’