Skinner's Ordeal

by Quintin Jardine

  Her daughter jumped to her feet and went to meet her. `Thank you, Mother, I'll take these.

  Leave us, please.'

  The older woman looked doubtful, but Ariadne grabbed the tray and shoo-ed her back through the door from which she had emerged. As it closed, she laid the tray on the reproduction mahogany dining table and stormed back to confront Arrow.

  `What the hell right have you got to ask such a question?'

  Àll the right I need. I'll ask you again. Were you being unfaithful to Maurice?'

  `You can't jump to that conclusion simply because of our civilised sleeping arrangements.'

  Ìt's not our conclusion, and that isn't the only reason for the question. We have information that Maurice thought you were seeing someone else.'

  She stood glaring down at Arrow, her hands on her hips. `Where did you get that from?

  Not the Mirzana girl. Maurice was basically frightened of women; he'd never have confided in her. It could only have come from Joseph Webber, the office sponge. You accuse me on the basis of his gossip?'

  `No one's accusing, Ms Tucker,' said Neil Mcllhenney, his head pounding with the tension and the fading effects of the ale. `We're simply asking.'

  The big bluff Scot seemed to mollify her. 'Look,' she said. , Maurice had a history of clinical depression. The job put pressures on him that he didn't anticipate when he took it, and that so-and-so Davey was responsible for them. He didn't care a scrap about his staff; he didn't allow for one second that they might have demands on their time other than his.

  He was a thoroughly selfish bastard and he was doing Maurice's head in.

  The trouble was that my poor husband wouldn't admit it, and the result was that his depression was coming back, with a touch of paranoia thrown in. I tried to put my foot down and make him ask for a transfer back to Division, but he wouldn't have it. That's the full story about Maurice.

  She slumped back into her chair. The cat jumped up in her lap again. This time she allowed it to remain.

  `So when did you see your husband last?' asked Donaldson.

  `Very briefly, late on Thursday evening. I was working in my study, when I heard him come in just after ten. He pottered about for a while downstairs. I'd left him some supper and some orange juice.'

  `He didn't drink alcohol?'

  `Never.'

  `Not at all?'

  Èmphatically not! Anyway, once he had finished his supper and whatever else he was doing, he came upstairs. He looked in to say that he was off to Scotland next morning and that he was going to turn in. I said okay, I kissed him good night, he went off, and that was the last time I ever saw him.' She steepled her hands and stared glumly at her thumbs.

  Arrow thought he might have detected the faintest trembling in her chin.

  `You mentioned earlier that he left by taxi,' he said. 'Where was he heading? Not to the airport, surely.'

  `No, he was going to Dolphin Square, where the Secretary of State has a flat. A pool car was collecting them from there.' Ì see.'

  He looked across at Donaldson, and gave the faintest nod toward the door. The policeman took his cue. 'Fine, er, Ms Tucker. We won't put you through any more. Come on gentlemen.' The three men stood up. She made to follow them but Arrow motioned her to stay seated. 'It's okay. Don't disturb the cat, we'll see ourselves out. We'll let you know when there's something to report.'

  `Thank you,' she murmured. 'But don't hurry back.'

  The policemen and the soldier filed back out into the street. No one spoke until they had almost reached their pool car where the grey-uniformed driver sat waiting patiently.

  `What did you think of her then?' asked Neil Mcllhenney finally.

  À big Momma for Baby Roo,' said Donaldson. 'Too big for most guys, I'd say.'

  `That was some line about dynamite and lunchboxes,' said McIlhenney. 'She can't know about the Red Box, can she?'

  `Not unless she booby-trapped it,' muttered Adam Arrow grimly. 'But if she had, I doubt she'd have come out with a line like that. Still, we should close our minds to nothing.

  `There was one thing that really stood out, though,' he said. `She's a Queen's Counsel, and Queen's Counsel aren't supposed to lie, or so they say. But that lady never did give us a straight answer to the key question: Did she have someone on the side?

  Ì think we should take a longer look at Ms Ariadne Tucker.'

  FORTY

  Fortified by the unforgettable experience of one of Sarah's American-style Sunday breakfasts, Skinner felt more or less human when he strode into the almost empty headquarters building at twenty-five minutes past noon.

  He had welcomed the message that a delay on the trans-Atlantic flight meant that his American guest would not be catching the 11 a.m. shuttle. Still, he knew that his condition was fragile, and so, even before taking off his jacket he filled his coffee filter with the stronger of the two blends which he kept in his cupboard, topped up the water reservoir and set the machine to work.

  The jug had only just filled when Merle Gower appeared in the doorway, her dark business suit contrasting with Skinner's denims and sweatshirt.

  `Sir?' she said. The officer at the desk said we should come op. Mr Doherty is here.'

  Skinner laughed. 'Jesus Christ, Joe,' he shouted. 'Are you so bloody important now that you have to be announced? Come on in,'

  The Deputy Chair of the American National Security Council was still very new in post.

  While Doherty's sudden leap to stardom had surprised Skinner, and by reports, most of Washington, it had not astounded him. The policeman had held him in high regard during his spell as the FBI representative in the London Embassy, the Bureau's senior overseas posting, and had admired the powers of intellect, analysis and tenacity which had led his Director to nominate him for the crucial NSC post.

  He strode into Skinner's office with hand outstretched in greeting. 'Hi there, Big Bob. I didn't expect that we'd meet again so soon. But trouble seems to attach itself to you like filings to a magnet, don't it.' He spoke with a soft mid-Western drawl which, added to his lack of height and slimness of build, made him a very unstereotypical law enforcer.

  `Stop it, mate. The same thought's been occurring to me.' He poured three mugs of the strong coffee, added milk to his own, and stood back to allow Doherty and Gower to adjust theirs to their taste. As always Doherty took his black with half a spoon of sugar, barely stirred.

  `So, wee man,' said Skinner, as they settled into the low chairs around his coffee table,

  'how's the new job, then? I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to wish you luck before you went.'

  The thin sallow face relaxed in a grin. 'No one did. One day I was in my hutch in the Square, and the next I was in DC. The job is daunting. I should think there's some comparison with your own role as Security Adviser in Scotland, but . .

  The DCC nodded, and took a swig from his mug. 'Sure, multiplied by a factor of around two hundred, I should think. What ground do you cover?'

  `Shit, you name it, the President's liable to throw it at us. Anything that can loosely be called a threat to America's security lands on our desks.'

  `So how come you're involved in this thing? I can tell you now that your national security is not an issue here.'

  Doherty grinned mischievously. 'Don't you believe it. Our Chief Executive takes the view that his re-election is a matter of national security. So he's ordered the NSC to conduct a high profile international investigation of the murder of Secretary Massey. He's been on the hot line to your Prime Minister asking for his co-operation. So here I am.

  `Have you got a note from Teacher?'

  `Believe it or not, I have.' Doherty delved into his briefcase and produced a white envelope, of about A4 size. He handed it across to Skinner, who opened it, full of curiosity, and drew out its contents. As he looked at it, Doherty and Gower saw his eyes widen.

  The White House crest caught his attention at once. His eyes swept to the foot of the page and saw the clear signature of the P
resident of the United States. Only then did he read the letter. It was short and succinct, advising the reader that Mr Doherty was on a personal mission from the White House, and requiring, not seeking co-operation with him.

  The policeman handed it back, with a smile. 'Can I have a photocopy?' he asked. ‘for my memoirs.'

  The American smiled. 'Sure you can. Is that gorgeous, leggy secretary of yours about?'

  Ìt's Sunday, Joe remember? I can work a photocopier, though. Have you got anything else in that bag of any relevance to the investigation?'

  Doherty nodded. 'Merle told you, I think, about the Iraqi network which the CIA tapped into. I have a report on it, and on the UK end.'

  Does it give any clue as to who Agent Robin is?'

  `Nope, not even what gender. The file copy which came to us says only that he or she is a civil servant, and was recruited on campus as a student, by an Iraqi Intelligence Agent.'

  `How old is the information?'

  `Pretty fresh.'

  `Merle said that Robin had been activated just recently.'

  Doherty nodded. 'That's true. But there seems to be a pattern. They never have two agents running at once. The man we caught, Eagle, was active a couple of years back, Mouse in France last year, Hawk in Germany four years ago. Robin was the last of the sleepers and the pattern indicates that he will have been activated by now; our analysts believe that the Iraqis will have been keeping him until he had reached the right level in your civil service before switching him on. Unless of course your people have stumbled upon the Robin's nest and eliminated him without telling anyone.'

  `Come on, Joe, we wouldn't do that.'

  The little American laughed. 'Bob. You can put your hand on your heart and tell me that?

  And I took you for an honest man.'

  Skinner changed the subject. The banter was coming too close to home. 'What are you going to do with that file?'

  Ì'm going to feed it into the investigation. You're in charge, so that means it's all yours, for what it's worth.' He paused. 'So, what have you got? Merle filled me in on your briefing yesterday. Any developments since then?'

  Quickly, Skinner described the bomb team's findings, and explained the direction in which his investigation was heading. `These Red Boxes are pretty secure items. Yet somewhere along the line this one was booby-trapped. So the obvious conclusion is that this was an inside job, but possibly linked to an outside agency. This rogue Serbian General and Agent Robin both sound like likely candidates.

  Ì'm expecting a preliminary report from Chief Inspector Donaldson some time this afternoon. Maybe after that we'll be able to wrap it up quick, and your President can grab some credit in time for his election.

  `Don't hold your breath, though. In my experience, the obvious conclusion is usually wide of the mark!'

  FORTY-ONE

  Alison Higgins smiled down at her godson as he sat at the desk in his bedroom, staring intently at the monitor of his computer.

  Mark was a highly intelligent little boy, and with his gifts came a tendency to be more serious than his contemporaries. Where they would have been playing with the latest blood and thunder video game, he was exploring the marvellous world of Leonardo da Vinci on an interactive CD-ROM package which Alison had given him as a sixth birthday present.

  She noted with some concern that he had selected the section which described the great inventor's designs for flying machines, but he seemed unconcerned as he appraised an animation of a pedal-powered wing. 'It's like a hang-glider, Auntie Alison, isn't it?' he said.

  `That's right, Mark, it is, and Leonardo designed it five hundred years ago.'

  `What happened to it? Did it crash?'

  A tremor flicked at her stomach. She framed her reply carefully. 'It's only a design, Mark.

  There's no record of it ever being built, or ever flying. But if Leonardo had built it, I'm sure that it would have worked. He was a genius.'

  What's that? A genie, like in Aladdin?'

  She laughed. 'No, not quite. A genius is someone who's very, very clever.'

  `Like my dad is?'

  She winced inwardly at his use of the present tense, and at the awkwardness of his question. The late Roland McGrath had been called many things in his abbreviated lifetime, but genius was a description that had never been applied to him.

  'Your daddy was a very clever man, Mark, that's right, but in a different way from Leonardo. Your dad was very good at looking after people, the people who voted for him, and very good as a Minister.'

  The Ministry comes in Red Boxes, doesn't it?'

  Alison shook her head. 'No, not quite. The Ministry is a big organisation, like the police.

  It's run by people like Mr Hardy and your dad: all the papers that the different parts of the Ministry send to them are delivered in Red Boxes.'

  Mark looked up at her, with a faint pathetic light of hope shining in his eyes. 'Is my daddy at the Ministry just now?'

  She knelt beside him and took his hand. On the monitor screen the pilot of da Vinci's powered wing was pedalling rhythmically.

  `No, love,' she said. 'Like I told you, your daddy's gone to be with Jesus.'

  `But why did he go?'

  `He didn't have any choice in the matter. None of us do, when it's our time.'

  The child's chin trembled. 'But I want him. I want my daddy!' He gulped in a great breath of air. It emerged in a long, rending wail, which exploded into violent heaving sobs.

  Alison gathered him to her and hugged him, rocking him in her arms.

  Ì know you do, my love, but it just can't be any more. You've just got to be the best boy you can be for your mummy. She needs you to be strong for her. You can do that.' She felt his head nod against her chest.

  `Here's something you can do. I did it when my dad went to be with Jesus. At night, when you go to bed and Mummy puts out the light, close your eyes tight and think of your daddy. Make a picture of him in your mind.' She rubbed his head. 'He'll be real in there.

  You try it and see if he isn't. Will you do that?'

  `Yes,' said Mark softly.

  She kissed the top of his head, and ruffled his hair. 'There's my good boy. Now let's dry those eyes before Mummy sees you. That would upset her and we don't want that.'

  She released him from her hug. Picking a paper handkerchief from a box on the desk she wiped his face and nose. 'There you are. Good as new.' She stood up. 'Go on back to Leonardo. See if you can do the puzzle.'

  He looked at her, reproachfully. 'Auntie Alison! I did the puzzle weeks ago!'

  She laughed. 'Well, see if you can do it again, then. Maybe the gremlins have been in and changed it.'

  He looked at her with that special pity which bright children reserve for ignorance in adults. 'Auntie Alison, there are no gremlins. And once I've done something I always remember it.'

  It was true. Since the age of two, Mark's remarkable memory had been in evidence, and had been a talking point for all of his parents' friends.

  Leaving him to his educational play, she went downstairs to the living room where Leona McGrath was watching a political magazine programme on television. 'Come and see this,'

  she said. 'They're discussing the accident, and what it means for the Government. They're saying that if they lose Roly's seat, and Cohn Davey's it could be all up for them.'

  Is that likely?' asked Higgins.

  Her friend looked at her and hunched her shoulders in a ”who knows”?' gesture. 'Davey had a rural seat, with a majority of twenty-three thousand. Even we should hold that. But our seat's a different matter, with such a small majority. I know that Roly and Marsh were pessimistic about our prospects at the General Election.'

  Ah, but Mr Elliot told Bob Skinner that he thought that in the circumstances of the by-election, the right candidate would hold it.'

  Did he indeed,' said the little widow, intrigued. 'I wonder who he had in mind.'

  FORTY-TWO

  Skinner had just refilled the coffee mugs when
his scrambled direct line rang. He stepped across to the desk and picked it up. `Yes?'

  DCI Donaldson, sir. I'm calling from Captain Arrow's office in Whitehall.'

  `Hello, Dave. I've been expecting your report. Look, I've got company here, Mr Doherty and Ms Gower, so I'm going to switch to hands free.' He pushed a button on the receiver and replaced the handset. 'Right, how's it going down there?'

  Donaldson's voice boomed tinnily around the room. Ìnteresting, sir. We've satisfied ourselves that the Red Box was clean when Maurice Noble took it home with him.'

  `That doesn't really surprise me. Go on to the interesting bits.'

  `Right, for a start, Maurice Noble's colleagues say that he was showing signs of depression. This was related to the excessive hours that Mr Davey made his staff work, and to his belief that his wife was having an affair.'

  `Have you spoken to the wife?'

  `Just left her, sir.'

  `What did she have to say? You did put it to her, didn't you?'

  Òf course, boss. We asked her directly. She didn't admit anything.'

  `But you have room for doubt?'

  `Substantial.

  Òkay. Is Adam there?'

  `Yes, sir. I'll put him on.'

  Skinner picked up the receiver, cutting out the loudspeak. Àdam, I think maybe we should put a tail on Mrs Noble. Do y agree?'

  Too right. I've put a tap on her phone already.'

  Ìs that authorised?'

  Ì've fookin' authorised it.'

  `Fine, if you can do that. Now I want you to use Donaldson and McIlhenney for the tail.

  They're both good guys, and I trust them. While they're keeping the lady in their sights, I'd like you to do something else for me. It sounds as if we have to consider suicide by Noble as a possibility here. I want you to go back into his past and find out whether he had the skill to make an explosive device.'

  Òkay,' said Arrow. 'From memory, there was nothing to indicate that, but I'll take a look.

  Maybe he 'ad a Boys' Own Chemistry set when he was a lad. Anything else?'