‘You’re a tenacious fellow, aren’t you. Tell me, when did you realise that I was your man?’
‘I had a twinge when your bus was involved in that accident. That was a bit sloppy. But I’d never have put it together if I hadn’t seen that television tape.’
Maitland’s eyebrows rose.
‘Ah, so you didn’t overhear that part. Yes, your biggest mistake. You’ve made four or five, but that was the clincher, underestimating the resolution of these new generation TV cameras. They can catch a mouse winking in the dark, or in this case a shadow framed in the flash of a single gunshot.’
Skinner looked Maitland straight in the eye and smiled. He forced his body to relax, ready for any half-chance.
‘Still, you timed it perfectly. Deserved to be on TV.’ He amazed himself by laughing.
‘But it will never be shown, will it. Not if that’s what I think it is, lying on the table.’
Maitland took his left hand from the gun and pointed at the cartridge
‘Thanks, Skinner. You’ve saved me a tricky job by bringing that along. Now do one more thing for me. Take your pistol from its holster, incredibly carefully, and put it on the table too.’
Skinner shrugged his shoulders — and regretted it as he saw Maitland’s eyes narrow and his finger tense on the trigger of his gun.
‘Why should I? You’ll kill me anyway.’
‘But not yet, old boy, not yet. And people will do anything, you know, for just one more minute of life.’ His voice hardened. ‘So, do that for me. Now.’
Slowly and carefully, Skinner opened his jacket with his left hand. Using his right thumb and index finger, he withdrew the gun from the holster and placed it gently on the coffee table. As he did so, he kept direct eye-contact with Maitland and, with an imperceptible movement, flicked off the safety catch.
‘So what now? Do you shoot me or do I have an accident?’
‘I’ll shoot you if I have to. I suppose I will at some point; you’re that type of chap. But whatever happens, you and your lady doctor will have a terrible accident. In her car. I’ll make sure there’s plenty of petrol around. You’ll both be burned to cinders.’
Skinner knew that he must hold the man’s respect. He must put fear out of his own mind - in particular, fear for Sarah. That had let him down earlier. He searched in Maitland’s eyes for uncertainty, looking for any sign of weakness, but finding none.
‘You know, pal, you’re some act. Where the hell did they dig you up from?’
‘Thank you, Mr Skinner.’ Maitland bowed his head very slightly. ‘I accept your compliment. Since you’re going to die, I’ll even tell you.
‘I came from the Marines to the Special Forces. All my past records have been destroyed, of course. I did my thing in the Falklands, and after that I went on to become something of a cult figure in Ireland. Remember the shoot-to-kill policy? He laughed, lightly. Well, I was it. But I was too efficient, and the politicians took fright. Pity. Anyway, round about 1985, I left the SAS payroll and became a sort of freelance, working on very special projects only, at a very special rate of pay.
‘I only insist on a few things. It is understood that once I am given an assignment I will accept no recall orders. Any mess that I make is cleared up after me by other people, people like your chum Fulton. Also, it is written in stone that any colleague who betrays any detail of an operation will end up like silly old Allingham there. Instantly. No appeal. Bang.
‘Fulton told me about Skinner’s rules. But it’s amazing what you can achieve when you play to a set of rules like mine. You should try it sometime, my friend.’ He laughed. ‘I’m sorry, you should have tried it! You wouldn’t like to join me in my work, would you? You’d really be very good. Why not let me win you over to the dark side of the force? I work quite a bit on the international scene, you know. I have some very free-spending clients in Colombia, and if I had a partner I could take on more contracts. Of course, your ladyfriend would still have to go, but you and I would do well in business together.’
Skinner controlled himself with a great effort. He shook his head. ‘No, my son. It wouldn’t work. I was never made to be the sorcerer’s apprentice. I’d want to be the fucking sorcerer. Once I’d picked your brains and learned where your contacts were, you’d have to go.’
Maitland laughed again. ‘You really are a killer at heart, Skinner, aren’t you. If you hadn’t become a copper, if you’d taken my route, you’d be absolutely terrifying. I’ve got the gun, so I can tell you this. You even scare me a bit, and no one’s ever done that before.’
Skinner’s response was heavy with irony. ‘Sure, you look really fucking nervous. But tell me this. Why kill all those people? Why so brutal?’
‘That was your fault. I researched you, you see. I realised that my cover story for the elimination of Mortimer and Jameson would have to be very special to fool you. By the way, there was never any question but that Mortimer and Jameson had to go. Everyone linked to Mahmoud had to disappear before the assassination. If he hadn’t killed the Harveys, they’d have had a gas explosion.
‘Anyway, the Royal Mile Maniac was created in your honour. But I couldn’t just leave it at that. I knew that you would never give up, so I threw in a culprit. Yobatu san was perfect. A samurai freak who regarded it as an honour to be framed! His turning up at the McCann trial was an incredible bonus. When he headed for the same train as Rachel, I decided to take care of her there and then. It’s not that difficult, you know, at the end of a winter day on a crowded platform. No one ever sees anything. My original idea was that she would take an overdose, in her grief.
‘The Yobatu cover was perfect. It should have worked. But you’re a cynical fellow. You don’t believe in perfection! That was my only mistake.’
Skinner laughed out loud. ‘Oh no.’ He saw Maitland’s eyes crease with annoyance for a second. ‘That wasn’t your only mistake. Not by a long shot. You must learn about limbo files, for a start. You must learn to take your gloves off when you open briefcase locks. You must learn never to steal single pages from books.
‘You’re good, but you could improve your attention to detail.’ He laughed again.
This time the anger stayed in Maitland’s eyes. ‘Enjoy it, Skinner. Laughs can turn into screams.
‘There’s one other thing I want to know. Tell me and I’ll kill you quick. Hold out, and I’ll shoot you in the balls and let you enjoy that feeling for a while. You shot another Arab in the Hall tonight. I saw you, through the doorway. Who was he, and why was he there with a gun?’
Skinner gave an unforced smile. He was amazed to find a glow of self-satisfaction spread over him.
‘Okay, I’ll tell you. Ever hear of a man called Rashoun Hadid?’
Maitland’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘Yes I thought you would have. Well, I’m guessing some of this from what Allingham told me. When Fazal disappeared, his section head in London told Damascus, and Damascus told Baghdad. They weren’t sure that they had a problem, but the stakes were so big that Hadid decides to play ultra-safe. He knows Mahmoud. They were students together in Edinburgh, when Hadid was called something else. So he slips out of Iraq and comes over here, ready to shadow Al-Saddi, just in case Fazal does have something spectacular in mind.
‘And tonight, when Fuzzy appears with your Uzi, there’s Hadid in the audience with his gun out, ready to pop him and get away, no doubt, in the general confusion. Only he was unlucky.
‘So, Maitland, it turns out that we have both been playing on the same team. You get Al-Saddi, and I zap the head of Iraqi intelligence, the big chief’s right-hand man.