He sat and stared, as frozen as the image on the screen, his gaze unmoving and unblinking. Even as a shadow picture, the grace of the man was unique. The perfect killing machine.

Michael Licorish, a decisive man by nature, did not know what to do. He gazed at Skinner as he sat there wide-eyed and suddenly white-faced. For a moment, the poetic thought came to him that the Assistant Chief Constable looked like a man who had seen something so horrible that it had turned him to stone.

Skinner stayed motionless until Licorish, his resolve regained, began to move round from behind the monitor. And then Skinner’s right hand shot up, palm outward, in a sudden clear command to halt. For one of the few times in his life Licorish was suddenly, and irrationally, afraid.

Skinner reached forward with his left hand and switched off the monitor. Then he stood up and looked at Ray, the cameraman. ‘I must have that tape.’

Something in his voice forbade argument. Without a word, Ray removed the Betacam cartridge and handed it over.

‘Yours too,’ said Skinner to the second cameraman. The second cassette was also handed over. The two men looked to Licorish, testing his willingness to intercede for them. But they found no response.

‘You will square it with our bosses, won’t you,’ said Ray. ‘And we’ll get them back sometime?’

Skinner looked him straight in the eye. ‘Forget that these ever existed. You’ve already sent film out of here tonight. And if your editors ask if you have film of the assassination, then blame Michael here. Tell them he wouldn’t let you move to follow the procession, so you didn’t have a view. But, from this moment, forget these tapes.’

The two men stared at Skinner, reading his deadly serious expression, and they nodded.

At that moment they were joined by their reporters. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked one, a tiny blonde girl.

‘Nothing at all,’ replied Ray.

‘Bob!’ Sarah’s voice carried to him across the Hall. Skinner turned and they moved towards each other. When they met, she clasped him tight.

‘Thank God you’re okay. All they would tell me was that there’d been shooting, and to get here fast. And when they call me, that usually means a body. I was scared to death. You’re all right, aren’t you?’

He smiled and hugged her close. ‘Yes, love, I’m still in one piece. But there are four people lying around here who ain’t, and who won’t be ever again. So you’d better take a look at them. The man we were hunting was the one over in the doorway.’

‘I’ll get to it. But where’s Andy?’ The anxiety was still in her voice.

‘He’s at the Royal.’ She started in alarm. ‘No, he’s all right, but Mario McGuire’s been shot. Andy’s gone with him — and with two other casualties.’

‘Are they bad?’

‘The other two are superficial, but Mario was hit twice. They think he’ll make it, though. Now, love, I must go. Did you see Brian Mackie on your way in?’

‘Yes, near the entrance. There was another man with him looking terrified.’

Skinner smiled again, grimly. ‘Good. Off you go and look at those four poor bastards.’

‘Which is the President? Oh, he’d be the one in uniform. And who’s the young man?’

‘David McKnight, the footballer. He was hit first. The other two are our hits.’

As he said the words, he shuddered. He was talking about death with the woman he loved, and about a man he had just killed. He was talking about the part of the job which put his life in danger. The shudder turned into trembling.

Sarah read the signs. ‘Bob, sit down.’ He obeyed. ‘Did you kill one of those men?’

He nodded.

‘This isn’t exactly the South Bronx. Have you ever shot anyone before.’ This time he shook his head.

‘How do you feel about it? Think, and tell me. Say it out loud. Admit it to me. Don’t keep it inside.’

Skinner sat in silent thought for several seconds. Then he looked up, and into her face. ‘I feel a lot of things at the moment. I’m glad that when it finally came down to it, I was able to react in the right way, and that my men and I were brave enough, and well enough trained, to stand up there, and do what we had to do.

‘I’ve killed a man. But he had a gun, and he was going to use it, so he killed himself in a way. What worries me is that I’m looking into myself for remorse, but as yet I don’t see any. What sort of a man are you marry-. ing, eh, Doctor?

‘Where I do feel remorse, it’s because I’ve failed. It was my job to keep that Syrian brute alive, and now he’s dead. The world might be a better place for it, but right now, that’s immaterial as far as I’m concerned. He was in my hands and I lost him.

‘How the Christ did my people let a man with a fucking Uzi just walk in through the front door? That was the only way in. Everything else is sealed.’

By now, Skinner was speaking to the night, but Sarah answered him.

‘Maybe your people were helping the girl.’

‘What girl?’

‘One of the men — the one over there with the silver on his hat — was telling me that it’d been a hell of a night. “First some girl is attacked and cut up by a maniac, right outside, then all this happens.” That’s what he said.’

‘The ba ... astard.’ The word hissed through Skinner’s teeth, its first syllable dragged out. Abruptly he stood up. All the shock and self-recrimination had gone, and fury came back to the surface. Sarah, better than anyone, could sense it.

‘What is it, Bob? You think that your Arab over there attacked the girl just to draw the police away from the door?’

‘Don’t ask me any questions, love. Not now. I have to keep this to myself.’

She was suddenly afraid. ‘Be careful, my darling.’

He kissed her softly and left the Hall.

He found Mackie and Allingham standing near the entrance. Sarah had been right: the man looked frightened.

‘I’ve done what you asked, Mr Skinner. By now the MOD will have put all forces in the Mid-East on the alert. Next, the Foreign Office will inform the Syrians. It’s always difficult to predict how these people will react.

‘Now I’d like to get away from this place!’

‘Shut up. You’re going nowhere till I say so.’

He turned towards Mackie, and gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘Brian, tell me how friend Fuzzy got in here with a fucking Uzi. What’s this story about a girl?’

‘That’s how, sir. A girl was attacked just along the road there. She’s been taken to hospital, slashed on the face and body. Superficial though. She was walking home when she was grabbed from behind and pulled into a dark corner. The guy pulled a knife, but she said she got loose, and he cut her. She started screaming, and all the uniforms just ran over at the same time, even the sergeant in charge. You can’t blame them really.’

‘Who can’t! Where’s that sergeant? Brian, this was a fucking kid-on. Someone gets the soldiers sidetracked on their way here, then pulls this stunt so that the front door leading right in to Al-Saddi himself is left lying wide open. This is our man from the Royal Mile. Exactly his style. This guy kills and maims without a second thought, but there’s always a purpose.’

‘And that wee dead bastard Fuzzy did all that?’

‘That’s what us simple coppers are meant to think. But you and I know better, Allingham, don’t we? This is another fucking stitch-up!’

For a second, Allingham’s face was illuminated with pure terror, and in that instant Skinner knew with absolute certainty that he was right about it all.

Allingham fought for self-control. He blustered. ‘You’re crackers, Skinner! You’ve botched this whole affair. Last time you arrested an innocent Japanese diplomat. Now you’ve allowed the President of Syria to be shot, and you’re peddling some ridiculous conspiracy theory to divert attention from your own incompetence.’

Skinner smiled at him: it was a strange smile, a savage smile. ‘You knew, Allingham, didn’t you. “An innocent Japanese”, you just said. But when you and I first met, after Yobatu was arrested, I was convinced he was guilty and you couldn’t get him out of the way fast enough. Now I can prove he was innocent, but only a handful of people close to me know that. So how come you do, too? You knew all along, my son, didn’t you. And Hughie Fulton had me believing that you were too low down on the food chain to be let into secrets like that.’

Allingham was chalk white. ‘You’re mad.’

‘You’d better hope I’m not, mister. You and I are going somewher very quiet for a chat. No one else is coming. It’s going to be just you and me. And you’re going to tell me the whole story. I’ve got most of the bits of the jigsaw in my head, and I think I can fit them together. You’re going to help me with the last few pieces. Most of all you’re going to tell me about Maitland.’

‘You can’t make me go with you.’ The man turned despairingly to Mackie.

The Inspector shook his balding head. ‘I wouldn’t bet the house on that, Mr Allingham.

‘You’ll need a car, boss. Why don’t you take the one that Mario and I came in. It’s unmarked. I think the Merc would be a wee bit conspic uous.’

‘Fine, Brian. When I’m gone, nip along to the Royal and find Andy. Tell him that Mr Allingham and I have gone down to the coast to sort things out. And tell him this, too. If either one of you sees that man Maitland, disarm him and lock him up. Be very, very careful. Give him no opportunities. Just lock him up. And if he as much as looks at you the wrong way, don’t hesitate. Shoot him.’

He turned again to Allingham, who had backed away into a corner For a moment, Skinner thought the man was going to shout for help.

‘Let’s go. You’ve got some talking to do. The rules on your side of the street are new to me, but I’m learning fast. Move!’

He hustled the man outside, into the cold January night. The three cars were still parked in front of the Hall. Their drivers, two policemen and one civilian, stood talking together. The policemen stood to attention as Skinner approached.

‘Keys please, John.’ He held out a hand to the driver of Mackie’s car, a blue Sierra.

‘Sir!’ The constable handed over the keys without another word.

‘Get in, Allingham. Front seat.’ The man obeyed, his shoulders drooping in submission and a look of hopelessness on his face.

Skinner started the engine. But, before pulling away, he looked into the face of the man on his left.

‘I’ll tell you what I think, my friend. I think that you’re scared shit-less. You’re involved in something that’s just too big for you to cope with.

‘You leave the Met for what you think will be a nice cushy job as a sort of diplomats’ baby-sitter and general bum-wiper. Then all of a sudden it starts to get more than that. You’re involved in the dark side of international relations. People start getting killed. It’s all part of a serious Intelligence operation, and a state secret, but those nosy coppers up in Scotland won’t cooperate. You see, they’ve got this aversion to their people being chopped up and shoved under trains and stuff like that. And now the whole thing’s a mess. It’s out of control, and you find yourself up to your arse in hedgehogs. You know the truth and, as recent events tell you, that could be fatal.

‘ Well, chum, this is your way out. You’re going to point me at brother Maitland, and I’m going to see that he’s put away. I don’t care much whether it’s done in private or in public, but he’s got to be locked up.

‘We’re going for a drive to my place. It’ll take us about half an hour to get there. You’ve got that time to consider your position in all this. And you’ve got that time to make up your mind to tell me the whole story. You’re going to tell me anyway. I’m not pissing about here. There’s the easy way, and there’s the hard way. I don’t want to have to beat it out of you. That’s strictly against my rules. But as I said, I’m on your side of the street now, and if I have to, I will. Now I’ll shut up and let you think it over.’

He slipped the car into gear and moved off, out of Bristo Square, turning back towards George Square, past the open-air car-park, towards the main road. As the Sierra turned left into Potterow, a nondescript elderly Ford Escort, its locks worn smooth with age and easily picked, pulled gently out of the car-park.

It followed the Sierra’s turn into West Nicolson Street, past the Pear Tree pub, its customers overflowing into the beergarden as the Friday-night crescendo gathered momentum, and the student survivors of the MacEwan Hall massacre began to arrive.

It kept the Sierra’s tail lights in sight as it headed through Holyrood Park, towards Edinburgh’s eastern suburbs, and beyond, to East Lothian.