The fact is…
'Bob, as you know, I was brought up as a Catholic. As I've grown older, I've come to differ with my Church on a number of issues.
For example, no bloody celibate is going to dictate to me about contraception or about interpersonal relationships. However the one thing that's ingrained in me is my belief in the sanctity of life.'
Skinner's eyebrows rose. 'Even after all these years, you surprise me, Andy,' he said, quietly. 'Especially given the things that you've had to do in this job. I don't have to remind you of them.'
'How could I forget? That once I had the choice between killing someone or letting you die. Afterwards, when I had done it, I discussed it with my confessor and I was absolved. The priest agreed with my choice. But that wasn't enough for me. I went to confession in four more churches, and in three of those I was absolved again. The fourth priest, an Irishman and old by the sound of him, told me that what had been about to happen was God's will and that I had committed a mortal sin. He refused me absolution.
'Right there in the box, through the grille, I told him to go and fuck himself. I haven't been to Church from that day; I suppose I have to recognise that I've withdrawn from it. And yet its teachings still will not allow me to accept that life is something that we can switch off as a matter of course. Look at it this way. If a state will not take the life of a murderer, how can it sanction the killing of the innocent?'
'I take that point,' Skinner conceded, 'and I'll think hard on it. But to come back to you. Given your belief, how can you bring yourself to carry a firearm on duty?'
'Because I accept that there are circumstances when a gun can be used to preserve life — yours, for example. But I can never be dispassionate about it, like you and Brian, say.'
The big DCC grunted. 'Huh. I can't speak for Mackie, but there's nothing dispassionate about me, Andy. When I've had to shoot people they've bloody deserved it, and I've been positive about it.
'Take this Hawkins man, for example. When he's traced, he'll be arrested if he doesn't offer resistance. Depending on who catches him, he might be delivered to the CIA, but somewhere along the line, someone will put a bullet behind his ear and the South African press will be told that a well-known local businessman has been killed in a car crash or whatever. That's the way this one will be played out, make no mistake. If that troubles your conscience, maybe you'd better have no more to do with the search for the man. If you'd prefer it I'll take you out of the chain of command altogether.'
Martin shifted in his seat once more and grunted. 'No, don't do that. This man's a fucking head-hunter, for God's sake, and he could be after our Head of Government. My responsibility is to the innocent, and I'll fulfil it. I've already made that choice, remember, even if that old Irish bastard did damn me to Hell for it! 'So what's the latest on the Hawkins front?' he asked.
Skinner glanced at his watch. 'Mcllhenney should be ready to report by now. Let's call him in.' He reached across to the console on his desk and pressed a button. Less than a minute later the side door of the office opened and the bulky sergeant stepped into the room, carrying a thick folder. To Martin, he seemed tired and drawn. There was none of the usual joviality in his eyes; in its place, the chief superintendent saw a steely determination.
'Sit down, big fella,' said the DCC. 'Want a coffee?'
Mcllhenney laid his folder on the low table. 'No thanks, boss. I've decided to cut that out. I went to the doctor on Saturday morning and had myself checked out. The last thing we need right now is for anything to be wrong with me.'
'There isn't, though?'
'Naw. He just told me to give up coffee and lose a few pounds. I've to get more exercise, he said, but the fact is I've lost five pounds in the last week without doing a bloody thing.'
'How's Olive doing?' asked Skinner.
'She's fantastic. She told the kids last night that she had a wee problem, and she'd be off work for a while, but that it was nothing to worry about. Incidentally, boss, I talked to her about your offer to look after Lauren and Spencer next weekend. It's very kind of you and Sarah, and we'd like to take you up on it.'
'That's good. When does the treatment begin?'
'She goes in on Wednesday afternoon for assessment, then they begin on Thursday. She gets out about five on Friday.'
Skinner nodded. 'Okay, Sarah'11 collect the children after school on Friday afternoon.
'Right,' he continued. 'Hawkins: what's to report?'
'Absolutely nothing, I'm afraid. Since that bloody fiasco caused by the man from Dumfries'
'whose hide is even now drying on his office door.' Skinner interrupted with a growl.
'… there hasn't been a sniff of him in Scotland, not a single scent.
There's been nothing else across Europe either. You know, boss, it's been a while since the original tip came out of South Africa; I'm beginning to wonder whether he's slipped the net altogether.'
'So am I,' said the DCC, heavily. 'But we maintain surveillance regardless, though. The preparations for the economic conference are going ahead too. ACC Elder's working on the general policing arrangements, and on traffic management, following the blueprint that was drawn up when we had the Commonwealth Heads of Government. We may make the vehicle restrictions even tighter than they were then.
'That's all background stuff, though. As far as our force is concerned, McGuire and Neville, and the rest of the SB people, are our front line.'
27
'How much longer will this operation run, Mario?' asked Karen Neville.
'Until the last head of government's plane takes off for home,' the inspector replied. 'Or until Mr Hawkins resurfaces in South Africa fresh from a winter holiday in Europe. Or until we catch the bugger.'
'You don't think there's a chance he really is on holiday do you?'
'Sure, there's a chance of that. He could be sliding down mountains in Switzerland while every secret policeman in Europe is combing the airports, the ferry terminals, aye, even the bloody streets, looking for him.
'This search is based on information from the spooks, you see, Karen: the MI6 crowd. They're all too clever by half, and most of them are panic merchants; the sort to have the world chasing its tail on the back of the faintest hint. I remember once, not so long ago, they started a panic hunt for a terrorist suspect who, as it turned out, was in fact in the south of Spain on holiday with his best friend's wife.'
He grimaced. 'However, there always is that five per cent chance that their information is accurate, so it has to be checked out. In this case, the boss seems convinced that it's a lot stronger than the usual twenty to one shot.
'So tell me, sergeant, what have you got planned for today?'
'Checking more male landing cards, Inspector, looking for a limping guy with a false beard and moustache.'
'Funny,' chuckled McGuire, 'that's exactly what I'm going to be doing. We've got a fair few to work our way through this week, though.' He picked up a pile of cards from a tray at the side of his desk. 'There's a conference of international economists up at the conference centre this week, sponsored by Edinburgh University.
'How about this for a title? "The development of sub-national economies within supra-national structures". The opening session is this afternoon; there's an address by Bruce Anderson.'
'The Secretary of State?'
'That's the boy.'
'Aren't you involved in the security?' asked Neville.
'Not on this one. I've been kept informed, and I've allocated our two SB colleagues to assist, but the Protection Squad are in charge.
Anderson isn't regarded as a prime target, so the view is that you and I are better employed on Hawkins surveillance.' He tapped the pile of cards. 'This is where we're involved. This is an attractive event for economists; it's attracted over two hundred and forty delegates, two thirds of them from outside the European Union. They've been pouring into Edinburgh all weekend.