Dead Line (30 page)

‘It must be a nightmare,’ Liz said, trying to show a sympathy she didn’t feel. ‘Now let me make sure that you are fully briefed about this particular problem.’

She described Kollek as a Mossad renegade, highly intelligent and trained in covert techniques. She explained his background and the fear that in some sort of revenge for his grandfather’s death, he was going to try to sabotage the conference, possibly focusing particularly on the Syrian delegation. In case Jamieson was not up to date, which seemed only too likely, she told him that a brief and photographs had been circulated on intelligence channels. She gave him his own copy of the photographs, suspecting that whatever information loops were operating in the room, he was not necessarily a part of any of them.

Liz said, ‘I’d like the photographs circulated very widely among all the security on the ground at the hotel, please, and also on the perimeter. It would be very helpful if the local police in the neighbouring towns could have them, too. This man Kollek has been here before, so he knows the layout well. I’ll be talking with the hotel managers myself, so you can leave the staff side of things to me. I can’t stress too highly that this is a real danger. We don’t know where this man is, but we and the Israelis believe he has serious intent.’

Jamieson nodded tensely. He looked pale and was rubbing the palms of his hands together nervously. A picture of stress, thought Liz. This was obviously the biggest responsibility Jamieson had ever had; sadly, he seemed to be drowning rather than rising to it.

She went on: ‘If Kollek’s seen, I want him detained and put under guard. If he’s stopped, he’s certain to have a plausible cover story and all the proper credentials, but on no account should he be allowed to go on his way. He may well be armed, so people should be careful. Kollek’s very smooth, but he’s also lethal - we think he killed one of his own agents in London just a few weeks ago, so he won’t hesitate to kill again.’

She was glad to see that she had Jamieson’s full attention now. By the time she left the ballroom, she was satisfied that not only did he now take the Kollek threat seriously but he was unlikely to think of much else. His initially patronising manner had infuriated her, but at least he was on board now, and that was the important thing.

The hotel manager, Ian Ryerson, occupied a small windowless office behind the arcade of shops on the ground floor of the hotel, just round the corner from the ballroom command post. He was a dapper man in his forties, with a bland smile and an affable manner that could have been pressed into service in resorts anywhere from the south of Spain to the golf-laden stretch of coast between Fort Lauderdale and Miami.

In welcome contrast to the chief constable, he was eager to help, though it soon transpired there were limits to the assistance he could provide. Yes, Kollek had been up to Gleneagles, he confirmed, and he had toured the facilities with two others from the Israeli embassy.

‘Can you tell me exactly what they asked to see?’

Ryerson looked embarrassed. ‘I’m afraid I can’t. You see, I didn’t give them the tour. I was rather taken up with the Americans.’

‘Secret Service?’

He nodded dolefully. Liz gave an understanding laugh. ‘Could I speak to whoever did show them around?’

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘It was young Dougal; he’s only been here a year. But he’s very good,’ he insisted, lest she think he had fobbed off the Israelis on an incompetent junior.

Summoned by phone, Dougal joined them, looking like a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s study. He was a gangly youth, with a mop of ginger hair and a serious expression that made his youthful face look oddly middle-aged. Ryerson explained vaguely that Liz was involved with security arrangements.

‘We’re just checking up on a few things,’ Liz said casually. ‘No big deal. I gather you escorted an advance party of Israelis. Can you tell me about them?’

‘That’s right,’ said Dougal, starting to relax, since the headmaster’s cane was nowhere in sight. He described Naomi and Oskar, then, more hesitantly, the third member of the party, a man they called Danny.

Liz picked up on this. ‘Tell me about this Danny. Was there anything in particular you noticed about him?’

Dougal thought for a moment. ‘Nothing I could put my finger on. Except that… he seemed more… detached. I kept thinking he was looking for something. As though he had some idea in his head that he wasn’t letting anyone else in on.’

‘What sort of idea?’

Dougal shrugged helplessly.

‘Was it about the dinner the Israelis are giving the Syrians? The night before the conference.’

‘I haven’t been involved with the dinner. Sorry.’

‘If it wasn’t the dinner, was there anything else he might have been concerned about?’

‘Not really. Other than the entertainment, I mean.’

‘There’s entertainment?’ said Liz, trying to stay calm. Naomi at the Israeli Embassy hadn’t said anything about entertainment.

‘Well, yes,’ said Dougal. He looked worried, as if he’d suddenly realised he’d done something wrong. ‘Falconry and gun dogs.’

When Liz looked puzzled, Dougal explained how demonstrations of each were going to be given for the guests before the dinner began.

When he’d finished, Liz said crisply, ‘This afternoon I’d like to visit both the schools.’

‘Of course,’ said Ryerson. ‘I’ll ring ahead so they’ll know you’re coming.’

‘And I wonder if you could spare Dougal to come with me. That way, we could retrace their steps precisely, and speak to the same people Kollek talked to.’

Ryerson agreed. Then Liz took a copy of the photograph of Kollek from her briefcase. ‘There’s another thing. I’d like this circulated among all the staff here at the hotel. If any of them had contact with Kollek while he was here I’d like to know right away. Anyone from the cleaners of his house to a barman - if they remember seeing him, or talking with the man, please ask them to report it immediately. I’ll give you my mobile number so you can pass on any reports you get.’

‘There’s a large number of staff, Ms Carlyle, so it may take a little while—’ he said, then stopped speaking as he stared at the photograph Liz had put on his desk. He looked up at her with thoughtful eyes. ‘He looks familiar,’ he said.

‘You may have seen him when Dougal was showing him around.’

‘I was busy with the Americans then. I didn’t meet any of the Israelis - I didn’t have time.’

‘Still, you might have crossed paths during his stay.’

But Ryerson was shaking his head. ‘No, it wasn’t then. I think he was here once before. I remember the face - he was alone, though, I’m sure of it. Here in the hotel. It wasn’t that long ago, either. Within the last couple of months.’

‘Is it possible to check the register of guests? See if you can spot him.’

‘I was just thinking that. We don’t get that many single men staying - though if he was borrowing one of the timeshares, from a friend say, we wouldn’t necessarily have any record of him.’

Ryerson was obviously pummelling his memory, trying hard to remember when he’d seen Kollek. Liz waited hopefully, but he shook his head. ‘No, it’s gone. But let me go through the register and get back to you.’

FIFTY

Liz met up with Peggy at the golf clubhouse, which was in use until the dinner the following day as a sort of officers’ mess for the security contingents. They ordered lunch from the bar menu - Liz a sandwich, Peggy a small side salad. ‘Is that going to be enough to get you through the afternoon?’ asked Liz.

Peggy nodded. ‘I’ve put on a few pounds lately, thanks to Tim. He bought a pasta machine, and it’s been fatal. If I never saw hand-made ravioli again, it wouldn’t be too soon.’

They sat in a conservatory-like annexe that overlooked the last undulating hole of the famed King’s Course. The eighteenth green sat like an emerald oval amidst the yellowed grass of the fairways, bleached by the long hot summer.

Peggy plonked a stack of papers on the table. ‘These are the itineraries for all the delegations,’ she announced with a sigh. ‘I’m not sure where to begin.’

Liz put her hand on the stack of pages. ‘I think we should get Dave’s team to put those onto one big spreadsheet so that we know where everyone is at any given time. You may find they’ve done it already. In general, there’s no point trying to duplicate what the security people have already done. For the moment, I think we should concentrate on the Syrians’ schedule. After all, they are the only specific target that we know Kollek might have. Anything strike you there?’

‘Just the dinner here in this restaurant tomorrow.’

‘That, certainly. But there’s to be some sort of entertainment before it. It’s being planned by the Israelis to amuse the Syrians. Something to do with birds and dogs, I gather. It seems Kollek was interesting himself in it. I can’t think why that Naomi woman didn’t tell me. I’m going over to the falconry school and the gun dogs after this and find out exactly what they’re going to be doing tomorrow. If Kollek’s planning something to happen while their demonstration is on, then maybe we can work out what it might be.’

‘Do you think he’ll try to do something himself? He must know now that we’ll all be looking for him.’

‘I just don’t know. It would be very difficult for him; the outer security cordon’s going up today. I’ve made sure his photo is being circulated to everyone - provided old Jamieson doesn’t sit on it.’

‘How did you get on with the chief constable?’ asked Peggy. ‘Was he as bad as Dave said?’

‘I’ll tell you all about him tonight. But I think I sorted him out.’

Peggy grinned. ‘I’ll bet you did.’ She added, ‘What if Kollek’s hidden himself somewhere?’

‘I can’t see it. Between the police and Special Branch and the Secret Service, there isn’t a room anywhere in the entire resort that hasn’t been checked, and checked again. The same goes for any explosive device he might have tried to put in place - every inch of interior space will have had sniffer dogs and detectors all over it.’

‘So what could he do then?’

‘I reckon there are only two options. One is that he somehow attacks the Syrians from outside.’

‘What, with a mortar?’ Peggy sounded horrified.

‘Too imprecise. He’d have to get within the perimeter cordon to be confident of a shell even landing in the grounds.’

‘Then a helicopter, or is that too far-fetched?’

Liz shook her head. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past Kollek, but I don’t think he’d have a chance of doing that. There’s a strict no-fly zone except for conference traffic - he’d get shot down before he even got within sight of this place.’

‘Hang glider, balloon, microlight?’

‘All those things are possible. I suspect he’s determined enough, and quite possibly mad enough, to try anything. But I’m pretty sure the protective cordon on the ground and in the air would pick any of that up. And he’ll know that.’

‘Well, that’s a relief at least.’ But Peggy still looked anxious. ‘What’s the other possibility?’

‘That he has someone inside to do something for him.’

‘An accomplice?’

‘Possibly, though I’d doubt it was a full-blown partner. Kollek’s too much of a lone wolf to take anyone into his confidence. But it might be someone helping him unwittingly.’

‘Someone in the Israeli delegation?’

‘I don’t think so. They’ve all been questioned about Kollek, and briefed in case he gets in contact. More likely someone here at Gleneagles. I’ve asked the manager to have all the staff interviewed, just in case Kollek struck up a friendship with one of them. The other possibility is Hannah Gold - he cultivated her and then got her invited here.’

‘Has she arrived?’

‘I don’t think so, and I’d like you to find out when she’s due, and where she’s staying - she mentioned a B and B in Auchterarder. While you do that, I’ll head off for the falconry school.’

As she got up from the table, she saw Dave Armstrong coming in to the restaurant. When she waved he came over. He was wearing jeans and trainers and an army-issue olive sweater.

‘Have you been on manoeuvres?’

He laughed. ‘It feels that way. I’ve been out there with the army.’ He pointed out of the window to the foothills in the middle distance. Cloud was rolling in now, and the bright sunshine of the morning had given way to grey.

‘How far is it to those hills?’ asked Liz.

‘I’d say two or three miles.’

‘Can a sniper operate at that distance?’

‘Funny you should ask. I was discussing that very issue with the brigadier this morning. He said that even five years ago, the answer would have been no. Now it’s not so clear cut - the usual terrifying advances in arms technology. You’d need to have been trained as a sniper and have the right rifle, of course, and there’d be an element of luck involved. But it’s doable. That’s why we’ve extended the perimeter to the crest of those hills. They’ll be patrolled.’

‘There’s a lot of ground to cover.’

‘I know. But we’ve got three platoons coming to cover it.’

‘This one’s name is Fatty,’ said McCash, the handler. ‘You can see why.’

Liz tried to look appreciatively at the eagle, which seemed about three times the size of the other birds of prey. It was brown and black with white stripes on its front shoulders, and had an evil-looking curved yellow beak. It perched like a small fat tank on McCash’s outstretched hand, which was encased in a leather gauntlet with a reinforced thumb.

Liz and McCash stood about thirty yards from the school, where birds sat in their individual cells, peering out through the barred windows, glaring enviously at Fatty’s freedom. Next to Liz was a flat wooden platform, about the size of a doormat, perched about five feet off the ground on top of a wooden upright. There was a twin as well, roughly fifty feet away. McCash gently extended his arm over the platform and put down a motionless Fatty.

‘Follow me,’ said McCash, and they moved towards the other platform. Liz glanced nervously behind her as they walked; she didn’t fancy being attacked from behind by that beak. But Fatty sat as immobile as Simeon Stylites on his pillar.

Using his ungloved hand, McCash reached into the pocket of his Barbour jacket and drew out a small piece of lean meat. He put it on the platform, explaining, ‘Grouse. It has to be raw - they can’t digest anything cooked. Or anything vegetable for that matter. If you feed them pigeon, and the pigeon’s been eating grain, they’ll regurgitate the grain.’