‘The whole plan was his, including the trail that led to Yobatu. We had files on Mortimer and Jameson from Day One. We knew, and so he knew, about the Chinese case. The very first thing he did was to kill Shun Lee, and cut his balls off. That was Maitland’s idea of forward planning. Then he set about silencing Mortimer and Jameson, and eliminating any trace of their work. You know the rest of that part of the story.
‘Then Maitland set out to nail Al-Saddi. We knew from the document Mahmoud showed me that the Syrians were looking for a platform somewhere in the West, just before the big day, so as to launch their propaganda campaign. We knew that Al-Saddi himself would take it up.
‘Maitland and I saw Mahmoud together. He wouldn’t talk to anyone without me there. Maitland scared the shit out of him; he told him that as a Syrian he had a sacred duty to put an end to the madman Al-Saddi. He also told him that if Mahmoud refused, then he Maitland would, with regret, have no option but to pick up the telephone and spill the whole story to a friend of his in MOSSAD. Goodbye Damascus, hell Armageddon.
‘You know, Maitland would really have done that. He told Mahmoud that he must activate the student network that he ran still in Edinburgh, and set up this debate. He told him to ensure that a personal invitation was sent to Al-Saddi. He said that with the Syrians still publicly on the side of the angels, against Iraq, it was quite natural that our Government would roll out the red carpet for him.
‘Finally, he told Mahmoud to go missing until the debate itself. He warned him that the Syrians, the Iraqis, our people, anyone might come after him. He gave him a gun, and told him to keep in touch and not to be caught. When we found out through Fulton that you were back on the trail, Maitland went up to Fife, while Fazal was holed up there alone, and gave him the name and photograph of everyone in your team, including you.
‘Maitland saw him again on Monday, to give him the Uzi. He was checked into a prearranged bolt-hole address in Perth. Fazal explained that he had shot the Harveys after they had let slip that they had been visited by your man Martin. He took a peep outside, saw two people on the beach, and that was that.
‘Mahmoud’s mission was to show up and kill Al-Saddi. Maitland told the poor bastard that the armed police guard would be briefed to miss him when they shot back. After he had killed the President, Fazal was to throw down his gun and be acclaimed as the saviour of the free world.
‘And he believed all that?’ said Skinner.
‘You saw for yourself tonight. He must have died a disillusioned man. He performed his sacred mission and was blown away for his trouble.
‘But in the end, Maitland had to do the business himself.’
‘That was always his intention. He couldn’t leave it to luck. He always knew that you would have a better than even chance of dropping the Ara before he hit Al-Saddi. He only wanted him there to get a few shots off and to carry the can — to be, as you said, Lee Harvey Oswald.
‘He had a back-up plan, you know. If tonight had fallen through for any reason, Al-Saddi’s plane would have exploded in mid-air tomorrow shortly after take-off from Edinburgh. But this one was so much neater. Beautiful in a dreadful way.’
Skinner held up a hand. ‘Didn’t the Syrians get worried when Mahmoud went to ground?’
‘Their section head in the Lebanese Embassy did, to be sure. We fed them some disinformation to the effect that Mahmoud had been gambling, badly, and was on the run from some rather nasty creditors. I don’t know if they bought it. The only thing I do know is that the section head passed a message, to Damascus, to be passed on to someone in Baghdad, telling him that Mahmoud had vanished. I can’t think why that was.
‘We had them all under close observation, of course, but there was no sign of the operation being aborted. The opposite in fact. Al-Saddi was enthusiastic about the debate. He had them all jumping through hoops. Biggest mistake of his life, eh.’
‘There’s one flaw in Maitland’s plan,’ said Skinner. ‘Al-Saddi was shot by a pistol, not an Uzi. That will show up at a postmortem, or we’ll find a strange bullet in the hall.’
‘He thought of that. Before he gave the Uzi to Mahmoud, he fired some rounds from it. If a bullet was dug out of Al-Saddi, and from what I saw, that’s unlikely, the plan was to swop one of those for it before they did the ballistics tests.’
‘Who in Christ’s name would arrange that?’
‘why, Fulton, old boy.’
Skinner was stunned. ‘Fulton! How much does that bastard know?’
Allingham smiled weakly, enjoying his discomfiture. ‘Everything, Skinner, everything. Maitland told him the whole story.’
‘And he went along with it?’
‘He didn’t have a choice! He isn’t bullet-proof. He was, or rather is, as scared as me. Once Maitland lets you in on one of his operations, you guard his secret with your life. Literally. If he ever finds out that I told you all this, he’ll kill me.
‘As for you, you’re not one of the magic circle. If he ever finds out that you know the whole story, you’re dead too.
‘I’d destroy that video tape if I were you, and fast. I promise you, the man has an amazing eye for detail, and he never leaves a loose end.’
A cold fearful thought formed in Skinner’s brain, sending an icy hand down to grip his stomach.
‘The doctor who examined McKnight and Al-Saddi is a scene-of-crime specialist. She knows all about the effect of different calibre weapons. She’ll have seen the back of Al-Saddi’s head blown off, and know that he wasn’t shot with an Uzi.’
Allingham looked at him. Something in Skinner’s voice brought the fear back into his eyes.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘Maitland thought of that too. She’ll have an accident. Very soon. Within the next twenty-four hours, I’d guess.’
The rage exploded in Skinner. Awful images of Sarah flooded into his mind, wiping away all his restraint. He jumped from his seat and grabbed the man by the lapels, hauling him to his feet. In the same movement, he butted him between the eyes.
‘Where is he? Where will I find him? Tell me now or I’ll cause you more pain than you can ever imagine?’
Blood poured from Allingham’s broken nose, as Skinner held him upright. But his stunned gaze was focused over the big detective’s left shoulder. His eyes widened and the mouth dropped open.
‘Here I am, Skinner. Here I am.’
99
Even as the quiet voice spoke, there came a strange, firm thumping sound, like a baseball whacking into a catcher’s glove.
Allingham’s right eye, and the back of his head, exploded in a reddish-grey spray. The impact of the soft-nosed bullet jerked him out of Skinner’s already loosening grasp, and hurled him backwards on to the couch. His body convulsed for a few seconds and was still.
Slowly, Skinner turned to face Maitland, and the smoking gun, wondering all the time whether he himself would hear the sound of the shot that killed him.
The man stood framed in the doorway. Skinner looked for madness in the eyes, but found none. Instead he saw an expression which was a mixture of pleasure and icy control.
He saw the silenced pistol, held in two strong hands, and levelled at his head.
‘You knew I’d take the bait, didn’t you. You even left the door on the latch. It’s too bad that our late friend here made you forget yourself. But however did you think you’d know when I arrived?’
‘There’s a loose board in the hall. Squeaks like hell. Everyone hits it the first time they come here. Not you, though.’
‘Come on, Skinner, you didn’t think I’d just rush into the trap, did you?’
Maitland smiled at him. He lowered the gun slightly, pointing it at his heart, and moved past the two-seater couch into the middle of the room.