At first he was unable to catch a clear view of the person who climbed out of the car. The only indication of any movement was a very slight drop in the suspension. Then, from his distant viewpoint, through the glasses he saw, under the Vauxhall's body, a shadow moving on the ground beyond, as the passenger door was opened. Left, then right; two feet in trainers appeared. He swung the field-glasses upward and caught the back of a blond head and broad shoulders, rising well above the level of the car roof.
'It's Ingo, I think,' he said to Mackie.
The powerful figure moved over swiftly to the hold-alls. For a second or two there was more of him in view, across the bonnet of the Senator – then none at all, as he crouched down, disappearing from Skinner's sight completely. Even his feet were hidden by the front wheels.
Some time passed.
'He must be giving those bags a good going over,' mutter Skinner. 'Just as well we didn't chance putting a tracking device i there.'
Mackie, who was concentrating all his attention on his vie through the telescopic sight, offered no reply.
Only the shadow on the ground told Skinner that the search was on the move. Then suddenly he was in his clear view again, l, he came round to the rear of the vehicle, still crouching, with aA hold-all in each hand – but in the right hand also, a small blacldtt object not much larger than a walkie-talkie radio handset. Without putting down his burden he pressed the boot release button with his left thumb. The lid swung up. He placed the bags and the black object carefully inside, and quickly slammed it shut.
As it closed, the man stood up straight, and Skinner caught his first clear sight of him. Even if the view was only in profile, and af a distance, the power of the field-glasses left him in no doubt.
'Ingo, right enough.'
His mind swept back to their last meeting, in his own home, with Ingo as his guest – as his daughter's guest; as her lover. He remembered the man's cool arrogance, and Skinner's own certain belief that he was being sized up by someone with much more to I him that met the eye.
As Skinner watched, Ingo swung round, scanning the surrounding buildings one more time, and he was able to look straight into his face. It was cold, intent, ruthless; a face he had seen before, yet never seen in this way. Even without the evidence of Mary Little Horse's corpse, he would have known at once why Alex had stressed this man's menace.
For a moment the Swede seemed to halt in the sweep of his gaze.
It was as if his and Skinner's eyes had met. Skinner thought for that second, his heart dropping, that Ingo had spotted him, even from that far away. Then, with relief, he remembered that he was looking through field-glasses.
The gaze of inspection continued on past their place of concealment, and round the rest of the adjoining buildings. Then he spun on his heel and ran back to the passenger door, disappearing from sight.
The car started to move. Skinner stared after it, numbed by hatred for the man who had abused his daughter and now threatening her life.
Beside him, Brian Mackie pulled the trigger without waiting for any order to be given. The soft thud of the silenced rifle broke Skinner's trance. He trained his binoculars on the Senator as it started to gather pace, and picked out, on the offside rear wing, something that had been not been there before. It was barely distinguishable against the white body-work, but there it was, a big whitish-grey stain, looking for all the world like a seagull dropping.
'Nailed it, Brian. Good shot, son.'
'No problem, sir.'
Mackie looked over at Skinner as he stood in the shadows, staring after the car as it disappeared into the night.
'So that was Ingo himself, boss.'
'That was Ingo all right. No one else. He didn't spot us there, but he's going to see me again before this night is over. Oh by Christ he is!'
90
There is no way that helicopters can fly quietly.
They heard the first whirr of the rotors barely twenty seconds after the Vauxhall Senator had cleared the car park. The Bell Jet Ranger which had taken them to Stocksmoor twenty-four hours earlier came in low, from the south, where it had been hovering out of sight and sound, waiting for the pick-up at a distance. The pilot swept in low across the car park, touching down as close as he dared to the building from which Skinner and Mackie were emerging.
Skinner sprinted up to the craft, ducking by reflex under the rotors. The door swung open as he reached it, and he saw Andy Martin and Adam Arrow seated inside behind the pilot.
Skinner jumped into the empty front seat, then turned w Mackie…
'Brian, did you bring regular ammo for ttiat gun?'
Mackie looked offended. 'Of course, bos?.' 1 'Let's have it, then. You never know, it might come in handyHe took the gun and ammunition from his aide and closed i door. Instantly, the Jet Ranger lifted off. Stinner turned to 1 at the two men in the seats behind him.
'Right, boys,' he said grimly, grasping the rifle by its stock i unscrewing the ugly silencer. 'Let's hunt sofie bears!'
91
McGuire was inside the Jetstream parked on the runway at Edinburgh Airport. Alongside him were three of Adam Arrow's SAS contingent, fully armed and ready for action. The remainder were disguised as airport ground crew, with sidearms tucked inside their work tunics. Mario McGuire carried an H K carbine rather than a pistol, for its extra accuracy even at close quarters, and its instant stopping power. He had once stood up against an automatic weapon when armed only with a handgun, and had good reason to be aware of the difference.
The small turbo-prop aeroplane stood on the tarmac in front of the main terminal building, just beyond the Loganair stand. A hundred yards away, twin gates lay open to allow the getaway vehicle access to the aircraft.
Skinner had asked for radio silence on the operation in the assumption that Mr Black's group would be covering all open frequencies. However, McGuire was linked by a short-range twoway radio to Sir James Proud, who was perched high in the airport control tower. He checked his watch, and spoke into the handset. 'It's 11:04, sir. See anything from up there?'
Up in the tower, the Chief Constable surveyed the wide carriageway which led from the landscaped A8 airport slip-road up to the terminal building. The last shuttle had long since landed, and no tourist flights were allowed to depart from Edinburgh that late in the evening. The road was empty. Proud Jimmy clicked the transmit button on his radio.
'Nothing yet, McGuire. Looks like Mr Skinner's right. This whole thing was a feint. They're going somewhere else. Give it to 11:15, then – hold on!'
Even as the Chief spoke, he saw in the distance a car shoot off the roundabout at speed and enter the approach road. Its headlights were full on, and badly adjusted. Even at that distance, he was blinded for a second.
'There's a car now. Can't make out colour or anything else, but it's travelling. It could be the target. Ready for action on m command. Officer at the terminal approach: route that ca straight on to the tarmac. It'll be with you in no more than thin seconds. Acknowledge.'
The uniformed constable on the road at the British Midland terminal raised a hand above his head to indicate that he had heard.
Proud had underestimated the car's speed. Less than twenty seconds later, it took the corner into the terminal straight, headlights still ablaze. The constable stepped into the roadway and flagged the car vigorously towards the open gates, and on to the tarmac. The driver slammed on the brakes and swung the vehicle round and through the opening. The policeman had no time to identify the make of the vehicle. He saw only a white flash as it sped past him.
Above, Proud watched the car as it slowed down to crawl. Even from his high vantage point it was half obscured by the first buildings of the terminal complex. But, as he watched, it cruised slowly towards the Jetstream, which was parked in the open beyond a Loganair ATP.