this information remained a mystery. Was he a government official of some kind?
Or – and this was a thought that had crossed Cameron’s mind more than once – a senior member of Police Scotland?
The Anti Terrorist Unit consisted of four officers, whose domain was a small office upstairs in Stewart Street, though at eight o’clock on this April evening there was only one person still at work. Police Sergeant Patsy Clark smoothed back a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her bun, her fingers searching for a kirby grip to fasten it back. As the date of the Commonwealth Games approached, there were daily memos from the Home Office. Some of them were routine stuff, but there were a few that made the police officer’s eyes gleam with anticipation.
That there were threats to the safety of the Games was not in any doubt. The security measures had been impressive, though, and Patsy’s team had given wholehearted approval to everything carried out since the building work in the East End had commenced. Occasional notes would pass through the office concerning disaffected groups known to government sources. The general public had little inkling of the undercurrents of wrath and madness that went on beneath the surface. TV programmes about spies and films about world domination tapped into only a tiny part of what really went on; stuff that the Official Secrets Act made certain would never come to the consciousness of ordinary people.
Now there was a new memo for the officer to read, a note from someone on high to alert her squad to the possibility of a new group working in the Strathclyde area. Patsy had been commanded to stay in the office until it arrived, and the mounting anticipation had not been rewarded by anything special as far as she could see.
‘Another lot of nutters,’ she murmured, though the wording of the email was rather more stiff and official in describing this particular threat.
It
has
come
to
our
notice
…
it began, making Patsy smile. Just how that had happened was something she longed to know. Being in this unit was the nearest she would probably come to the misty world of the Secret Services, yet that was a world she longed to be a part of, and she suspected that her fellow officers here in Glasgow no doubt nurtured similar dreams.
‘Right,’ she said aloud, though at this hour of the day there was no other officer in the room, ‘here’s one for you then, sir.’
She read the memo again, nodding in approval. Last year it was Detective Superintendent Lorimer who had been chosen to give a statement about the bomb near the West Highland Way out past Drymen. Now he had been suggested by someone further up the chain of command as the person to take charge of the Glasgow end of the investigation into what could prove to be a terrorist cell. Perhaps this time the team might be able to follow through on the information that came in these brief memos as though someone in the corridors of power were reluctant to let go of it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T he shopping mall was crowded with youngsters enjoying their last few days of freedom before the school term began again. Shereen steered the young black woman through the melee of chattering kids, pulling at her arm every time Asa stopped to stare at anything, which was often. She had tried to explain their destination as they had left the flat and got into the same car that had brought the girl to this part of the city, but Asa’s terrified face as they were pushed into the back seat showed that the Nigerian girl had understood none of it.
Now, heading towards the entrance of Primark, Shereen hoped that the girl would relax long enough for her to be able to buy the things she needed. Leaving the men back in the underground car park had been her idea.
‘Can’t you see she’s scared of you? It’s taken me days to build up her confidence and I’m not having you pair of idiots ruin it!’ Shereen had scolded them. She’d been aware of Asa
Or – and this was a thought that had crossed Cameron’s mind more than once – a senior member of Police Scotland?
The Anti Terrorist Unit consisted of four officers, whose domain was a small office upstairs in Stewart Street, though at eight o’clock on this April evening there was only one person still at work. Police Sergeant Patsy Clark smoothed back a loose strand of hair that had escaped from her bun, her fingers searching for a kirby grip to fasten it back. As the date of the Commonwealth Games approached, there were daily memos from the Home Office. Some of them were routine stuff, but there were a few that made the police officer’s eyes gleam with anticipation.
That there were threats to the safety of the Games was not in any doubt. The security measures had been impressive, though, and Patsy’s team had given wholehearted approval to everything carried out since the building work in the East End had commenced. Occasional notes would pass through the office concerning disaffected groups known to government sources. The general public had little inkling of the undercurrents of wrath and madness that went on beneath the surface. TV programmes about spies and films about world domination tapped into only a tiny part of what really went on; stuff that the Official Secrets Act made certain would never come to the consciousness of ordinary people.
Now there was a new memo for the officer to read, a note from someone on high to alert her squad to the possibility of a new group working in the Strathclyde area. Patsy had been commanded to stay in the office until it arrived, and the mounting anticipation had not been rewarded by anything special as far as she could see.
‘Another lot of nutters,’ she murmured, though the wording of the email was rather more stiff and official in describing this particular threat.
It
has
come
to
our
notice
…
it began, making Patsy smile. Just how that had happened was something she longed to know. Being in this unit was the nearest she would probably come to the misty world of the Secret Services, yet that was a world she longed to be a part of, and she suspected that her fellow officers here in Glasgow no doubt nurtured similar dreams.
‘Right,’ she said aloud, though at this hour of the day there was no other officer in the room, ‘here’s one for you then, sir.’
She read the memo again, nodding in approval. Last year it was Detective Superintendent Lorimer who had been chosen to give a statement about the bomb near the West Highland Way out past Drymen. Now he had been suggested by someone further up the chain of command as the person to take charge of the Glasgow end of the investigation into what could prove to be a terrorist cell. Perhaps this time the team might be able to follow through on the information that came in these brief memos as though someone in the corridors of power were reluctant to let go of it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
T he shopping mall was crowded with youngsters enjoying their last few days of freedom before the school term began again. Shereen steered the young black woman through the melee of chattering kids, pulling at her arm every time Asa stopped to stare at anything, which was often. She had tried to explain their destination as they had left the flat and got into the same car that had brought the girl to this part of the city, but Asa’s terrified face as they were pushed into the back seat showed that the Nigerian girl had understood none of it.
Now, heading towards the entrance of Primark, Shereen hoped that the girl would relax long enough for her to be able to buy the things she needed. Leaving the men back in the underground car park had been her idea.
‘Can’t you see she’s scared of you? It’s taken me days to build up her confidence and I’m not having you pair of idiots ruin it!’ Shereen had scolded them. She’d been aware of Asa
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