SCOTLAND DEFIANT AGAINST TERROR.
The banner headline of Monday morning's Scotsman blared up at Skinner from the table as he joined Sarah for breakfast in the conservatory. He picked it up and saw himself on the front page, seated beside a subdued Ballantyne at the press conference, and looking hard at Dave Bassett as he faced him down.
He scanned the accompanying stories, which took up the entire front page, then turned to the leader column. He snorted quietly as he read the editorial, which praised the Secretary of State for displaying a firm and resolute face to the terrorists, and for his good sense in handing over complete responsibility to his security adviser.
'Mr Skinner and his newly formed squad bear a heavy responsibility,' it read. 'We are confident that they are up to the challenge. Yet it must be noted that however distinguished they may be as police officers, they are inexperienced in facing the type of threat which now confronts them. While no blame can be attached to any individual for failing to prevent the two deaths which took place at the weekend, security precautions are now in place and the public have a right to expect them to be effective.'
He threw the paper on to a chair and glanced at Sarah. 'Did you see the leader?'
She nodded, unsmiling. 'Odd, isn't it. It seems to say that Ballantyne's done all he possibly can, and that from now on it's all down to you if anything else happens.'
Bob shrugged his shoulders. 'Joe Compton, the editor – he's an old chum of Ballantyne, and it bloody well shows there. That's politics for you.'
'What are the chances of some other calamity happening?'
'Depends what they want to do. It'll be dangerous for them to target individuals from now on, but unless they've run out of Semtex we can look for some more bangs. There's bugger-all we can do about someone leaving a Marks Spencer bag in the middle of Marks Spencer, for example. That's what I expect, anyway. My reading of these characters says that they won't expose themselves to direct danger – not the ringleaders at any rate. What d' you think? Got any sort of a profile for me yet?'
'No chance. I've only got three short letters to go on, and frankly there just isn't enough in them to tell me anything about the man who wrote them.'
'Man? Is that an assumption?'
'No it is not. That's one thing I am fairly sure of: it wasn't a woman who wrote them. There's something about – how do I say? – the posture of the language that is decidedly male. Very assertive. Confident. In fact certain. Let me put it this way. If the writer of those letters isn't a man, then we're looking for someone as forceful as Germaine Greer – or, and it's just a thought, for more than one person.'