‘As soon as the result is declared, and before the Hall is emptied, the Chairman will lead you from the Chamber. From there you will be driven to the Norton House Hotel, where you will spend the night. Be assured that you will be under armed guard throughout your stay with us. Have you any questions?’
Al-Saddi shook his head, jerking the headdress into sudden motion. ‘No. I know the programme for the evening, and I have every faith in your security arrangements. Let us go.’
Skinner led on to the floodlit runway, which was guarded by men of the RAF Regiment, armed with automatic rifles. Three cars were lined up close to the aircraft. At the head of the small convoy, two motor-cycle policemen in day-glo tunics straddled powerful BMW bikes.
Martin held open the rear door of the second car, a black Mercedes. limousine. Al-Saddi stepped in, followed by his equerry, a tiny nervous man in a dark grey suit. Martin followed him into the long car and perched himself on a jump seat, his back to Al-Saddi. Skinner steered Allingham towards the lead car. As he climbed into the front passenger seat of the Granada, its blue light whirling on top, he shouted to the motorcyclists, ‘Okay, boys, move out. Lights and sirens all the way!’
He jumped into the car and slammed the door shut. With McGuire in the third vehicle, the convoy swung out through the airfield gates. As it did so Skinner picked up the hand-microphone which hung from the car’s radio transceiver. ‘Blue One to HQ. Patch me through to Blue Two.’
‘Understood Blue One. Blue Two on line.’
‘Blue One calling Blue Two. Package on the way. Over.’
‘Blue Two receiving.’ Brian Mackie’s eager voice seemed to fill the car. Skinner adjusted the volume. ‘The venue is filling up. Searches proceeding smoothly and without trouble. The crowd seems quiet, sober and responsible. The press are in position, with their escorts. There’s only one problem: there’s no sign of the bloody military!’
89
On the darkened square at Redford Barracks, Maitland assembled the twelve men who were to guard the MacEwan Hall. Their eight colleagues were, even then, positioned invisibly around the Norton House, each clad in a black tunic and carrying a rifle with a wide, round night-sight on top.
The soldiers wore a variety of civilian dress, some in denim jeans and bomber jackets, some in overcoats. Each man carried a Walther automatic in a shoulder holster.
A white mini-bus stood nearby, its passenger door open.
‘Gentlemen, let us go to work,’ said Maitland calmly, quietly, but with chilling purpose and authority.
One by one they climbed on board the vehicle. Maitland, in black slacks and a Daks sports jacket, brought up the rear. The bus, with a military driver at the wheel, pulled out of the Barracks and headed towards the centre of Edinburgh.
Colinton Road ends at a complicated junction, known popularly as Holy Corner because of the three churches which seem to glare at each other across the roadway. The white bus was about three hundred yards from the traffic lights, with the driver easing his foot slightly on the throttle, when there was a roar from the left. Just as it passed Napier University, a big modern college building, incongruous among the grey tenements, terraces and villas of staid, conservative Morningside, an old, battered Land-Rover came roaring out of its car park.
The heavy green vehicle skidded and smashed full tilt into the front nearside comer of the bus, which spun out of control, crashing, as the driver jammed on the brakes in vain, into a grey Montego parked on the other side of the street. The engine roared in neutral for a few seconds, then spluttered and died.
‘Bastard,’ shouted the bus driver. Blood streamed from a cut on his forehead where it had slammed into the window. Several of the soldiers had been thrown into the aisle, and one looked slightly dazed. All but he had drawn their weapons in an instinctive reaction. The man next to the passenger door forced it open and looked out. The Land-Rover was slewed across the road, empty, as its driver, a slim youth in jeans and a dark sweatshirt, sprinted away into the night. The soldier was about to jump from the bus in pursuit of the escaping man when Maitland stopped him.
‘No, Jones. Leave it. It’s police business. A drunken bloody student, I imagine. Dismount, boys, and haul this damn thing out of the roadway.’
Already the traffic was beginning to tail back in both directions from the accident.
‘I’ll go into the college and call for a replacement vehicle.’ Maitland disappeared into the cloistered entry to the Polytechnic.
When he reappeared five minutes later, the squad had manhandled the bus from the middle of the roadway to a position which allowed the traffic to pass. The build-up was clearing slowly.
‘Well done, gentlemen. Another bus is on its way. However, the delay means that the Hall will already be well filled. By the time we got there, the debate would be well under way. Our entry, in our baggy jackets would be rather conspicuous. Therefore we will have to trust to luck and the efficiency of the police security. You will divert to the hotel and take up position there. Jones, when the new bus arrives, re-direct it to the Norton House. I will contact the police and advise them of the change. See you at the hotel.’
He disappeared into the night.
90
The motorcycle outriders carved a path through the evening traffic for Skinner’s small motorcade, leading it through South Gyle towards the Western Approach Road. The cars were passing Murrayfield, the national rugby stadium, when the radio burst into life once more.
‘HQ to Blue One, Blue Two. Traffic reports a hit and run on Colinton Road, in which a bus carrying a group of men has been disabled. Over.
‘Blue One acknowledges. Blue One to Blue Two. That’s just magic. Are your uniforms deployed around the Hall? Over.’
‘Blue Two affirmative. Over.’
‘We’ll have to make do then. Blue One out.’
But within seconds HQ was back on air. ‘Message for Blue One. Caller advises that in view of accident delay his unit will divert to second site and take up position there. Over.’
‘Blue One acknowledges. Please advise Blue Three of change of plan.’
91
The motorcade pulled up in close order at the entrance to the MacEwan Hall. Skinner, McGuire and Allingham jumped out first and surveyed the area. Latecomers were still pressing into the Hall, each one being carefully frisked by uniformed police officers.
Mackie stood in the doorway. ‘Okay, Brian?’ Skinner called. When the inspector nodded, he opened the door of the Mercedes limousine. Martin stepped out first, and stood close to Skinner, looking around. Mackie and McGuire took up position just beyond them. Martin leaned back into the car and spoke quietly to the President. Al-Saddi climbed out immediately, followed by the tiny, trembling equerry; the four policemen formed a shield and rushed them up the few steps, towards the three people who stood waiting for them. The Lord Provost of Edinburgh stepped forward and introduced himself. Al-Saddi shook his hand.
‘May I present the Rector of the University, Mr David McKnight.’ The Rector of Edinburgh University is elected by the student population to chair the University Court, and David McKnight was an articulate and politically outspoken professional footballer, something of a folk hero. He was captain of Hibernian and Scotland. His suit was beautifully tailored. He shook Al-Saddi’s hand firmly, not in any way overawed.
‘Welcome to Edinburgh University, Mr President. Please allow me to introduce Ms Deirdre O’Farrell, the President of the Union and Speaker for this evening’s debate.’
Deirdre O’Farrell was a tall, fair-skinned, flame-haired girl. Even in the pseudo-Parliamentary robes of her office she retained an air of authority. Her expression indicated that she walked in no one’s shadow, not even that of a visiting head of state.