Skinner's Rules (34 page)

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.

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.’

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.

She spoke with a soft Dublin accent. ‘I’m pleased that you could come, Mr President. I am only sorry that your Israeli counterpart has declined to join us.’

‘That is of no matter to me. What I have to say is for the ears of the world, not for him alone. Shall we go in?’

The party turned into a small procession, led by Deirdre O’Farrell, with Al-Saddi, McKnight and the Lord Provost following in that order. They threaded their way into the hall, where the other speakers were waiting.

As they did so, they were followed by a sudden press of students. Several of them by-passed the search in the few moments it took to regain control. Among them was a small swarthy man, older than the rest, with a three-day stubble emphasising the grimness of his marred face.

A place of honour had been reserved for Al-Saddi at the head of the ‘Government’ benches on the Speaker’s right hand. Mackie and Martin sat at the Clerk’s table. McGuire took up position at the main entrance door. Skinner faced the Speaker, beside a television camera. He looked around, trying to peer into the far reaches of the panelled Hall, but was dazzled by the television lights.

The debate opened in fine formality. The motion was proposed by Bernard Holland, a left-wing Labour Member of Parliament, whose fame leaned towards notoriety because of his support for a number of organisations, including the PLO, which, either openly or by reputation, were involved in terrorism. Holland knew the niceties of Parliamentary debate and his speech, powerful in its delivery, brought a sense of reality to the mock event.

He set out his stall from the start, declaring his support for the Palestinians, and challenging the Israelis. ‘They of all people, Madam Speaker, a nation landless for two thousand years, should understand the plight of the people of the State of Palestine, who for too long have been in the wilderness. There is room for all. Let them live together!’

Holland sat down to applause that was warm, but which stopped short of being thunderous. He was followed by another Parliamentarian, Sir Sidney Legge, MP, a veteran of thirty years at Westminster, and a leading member of the Board of Jewish Deputies. He was a small grey man, but he spoke with surprising power.

‘Madam Speaker, I regret most sincerely that I must urge this House to reject the motion. For once, the gentleman opposite is correct. We Jews appreciate more than any other the plight of the Palestinian people, and we wish them well in their efforts to find a permanent home. But the State of Israel will not be that home. Nor will we allow its security to be put at risk. For that is the real issue here tonight, Madam Speaker, and that is why that gentleman is among us.’

Dramatically, he thrust out his hand, pointing directly at Al-Saddi.

‘He is a sworn enemy of Israel. He comes here tonight not to argue the case for Palestine, but to sow, if he can, the seeds of the destruction of the Jewish State.’

The little man thundered on. ‘Since the nations of the world recognised Israel’s claim to its homeland over forty years ago, we Jews have been attacked on four occasions by people like him. Four times they have sought to take what is ours, and four times they have been taught painful lessons. It may be that, being bad students, our neighbours have forgotten the lesson yet once more. Let us hope not. But with people like that gentleman opposite,’ he glowered again at Al-Saddi, ‘in places of power in the Middle East, I fear that it is the case. Let us hope that tonight, he has come to listen, not to threaten. It would be as well for him.’

As Sir Sidney sat down, the audience, ringed around the participants in the debate rose in applause. Skinner looked across at Al-Saddi. He was impassive; only in the tightness of the mouth was there a hint of anger.

The exchanges boomed back and forth across the Chamber, not sustaining the weight of the opening salvos, but nevertheless holding the audience and maintaining a fine air of tension.

The case against the motion was summed up by Herbie Clay, a Los Angeles Jew who was one of the world’s leading comedians. He performed out of type. For once, no one rolled in the aisles when he spoke.

‘Madam Speaker, my parents left Europe for America because they had a simple choice. It was either to leave their homeland or be murdered by a regime which is not dissimilar in outlook to that of the gentleman opposite. Madam, I am sorry that I cannot keep to your Parliamentary tradition by using the word ’honourable’ to describe him.

‘Millions of my cousins, my brethren, did not have the chance which my parents had. They did not escape. They died. The State of Israel was founded by the survivors of the genocide. Others returning to lands from which they had been expelled by force, determined not to be driven out again.

‘Like my Right Honourable Friend, I sympathise with the people of Palestine. I hope they find a home, and soon. But not in my back yard. What about Syria, Mr President? At the rate at which your people have been disappearing since you came to power, you must have room for them Or what about Lebanon? If you don’t actually own it, at least you hold the lease, and at a peppercorn rent too. Why not sub-let a piece to the Palestinians?

‘Madam Speaker, as my Right Honourable Friend has said, the Palestinian homeland is not the real issue here. What we are discussing tonight is, as it always is, the existence of the State of Israel. And when the gentleman opposite rises to speak, I am sure that will become all too clear. Well, Madam Speaker, let those who threaten us never forget their mistakes of 1948, of 1967, of 1973, and of 1991, when the world stood by us. Next time the cost of such a foolish misjudgement might be much higher.’

For a second after Clay resumed his seat the audience sat silent, stunned by his unexpected grim eloquence. Then they burst into an ovation which continued until Deirdre O’Farrell called for order.

Finally, President Hassan Al-Saddi was invited to sum up for the motion. He stood up, bowed stiffly to the Chair, and at once his presence filled the room.

‘Madam Speaker, I am a blunt man. I do not have the glib tongue of these ladies and gentlemen opposite, who have dismissed the plight of my Palestinian brothers with their fine words. But I have come here tonight to listen to the bluster and threats of these Jews, and to face their insults, as a sign to the world that we people of the front line Arab states, whatever difficulties might arise between our individual nations, are no longer afraid, and that we have recovered our pride.

‘For too long, my predecessors in office have paid lip service to the plight of the brave Palestinian people. We have given them our support and little else. When they have become a nuisance in one place, like Lebanon, like Jordan, they have been moved on, like a herd of cattle. We have always put our own interests over theirs. I say that of Syria, my own nation. And, as I say it, I am ashamed of the rulers who went before me.

‘But now I say to the people of Palestine, have hope, for Al-Saddi is with you, and Syria is with you, to the death. And my brother in Iraq, whose cause I recognise tonight and to whom I pledge myself in Holy Alliance, although beset and under siege by the world, he joins me in this promise. Together we will win back for the Palestinian people that which was theirs. We have the right on our side. We know this, and we will defend our cause in any court in the world. Morally it is just. Legally it is sound. The finest lawyers have told us that this is so.’

Suddenly Al-Saddi brandished in the air a thick sheaf of papers, bound together at the top with an India tag. The hair at the back of Skinner’s neck began to tingle. Opposite, he saw Martin stiffen in his seat. Neither had to be told what those papers were.

‘Tonight, with the law at my back and in my hand, I put the Israelis on notice. This is the last chance that they will be given to return to the people of Palestine the land that was stolen from them.

‘Once President Kennedy told the people of Berlin, “I am a Berliner”. Today they are all free. Tonight, I say to the people of Palestine, “I am a Palestinian”. Soon, not tomorrow but soon, they too will be free.