Capital Offence

Chapter 14

Saturday 1st June

25 days left

Jamieson Maclean didn’t normally carry a mobile phone. These days he was surrounded by an entourage whose job it was to vet all incoming communications and provide him with a mobile when he needed one. But on his way in through the office at Holyrood he helped himself to one of the phones which were kept for staff on a project by project basis. Today might be a Saturday, but Jamie’s job was usually seven days a week. As the morning sun lit up the city he made his way through to his inner office and hung up his jacket, slipping the slim phone into an inner pocket.

He sat back in his leather swivel chair and looked out of his large window across to the sheep grazing the slopes of Arthur’s Seat. He could see the ruins of St Anthony’s Chapel, reputedly where the sign of the Holy Rood had appeared between the antlers of a giant stag which was about to gore some historical king or something - God, must send someone across the road to the palace for a guidebook. Anyone standing by the chapel looking in the opposite direction would have seen only a golden reflection of Salisbury Crags from the 15mm bulletproof glass.

In the outer office, Cammy Russell and a PA were still sorting the first batch of the weekend mail. It would be another hour before any of the rest of the team started to appear. The security staff in a small room next door included the police driver and Special Branch officer who had accompanied him on the short run from home. Donald Murray would be across soon, once he’d discreetly accompanied Fiona to the advertising office where she was currently dabbling. Donald was assigned to the family’s personal protection, and was the one member of a rotating staff of bodyguards who had personal accommodation at the house.

He certainly was personally accommodated, the randy wee shite. Who the hell was meant to protect the family from the bodyguard? Perhaps if Jamie were to request a change to a rotund old fart with bad breath... Fiona consistently denied anything was going on. She said Donald was a nice boy, but he was stuck with being a plod. God. The joys of having a twenty something daughter at home. (When the hell was her birthday, anyway?)

Jamie stood up, crossed the room, and retrieved the mobile from his jacket pocket, together with a scrap of paper on which he’d written Vaila’s number. Ignoring the phones on his desk, he tapped out the number and pressed the green handset symbol to send the call. After a moment, he heard the ringing tone. It rang out repeatedly. Then, just at the point when he was sure it would be intercepted by an answering service or disconnected, he heard the sound of a receiver being picked up, then fumbled. “Mm hmm...” came a female voice.

“Hi Vaila. Sorry to call so early on a Saturday.”

There was a sound from the other end which sounded like a large cat stretching its limbs. There was a sensuous groan. “Hi gorgeous.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck thought Jamie. Oh shit. Don’t think about what she looks like.

“You’re still in bed, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am, you wanker. It’s only just turned eight o’clock.”

There was a pause, then Vaila continued. “Anyway... I’m honoured, your Prime Ministerialness. Something I’ve been wondering recently, watching TV. Are you putting on weight, or is there something wrong with my horizontal hold?”

“There’s never been anything wrong with your horizontal hold,” rejoined Jamie, quick as a flash, then immediately wished he hadn’t. Shit, shit, shit – behave, you moronic hormone slave.

“Jam-ie! You rogue...”

“Look, I’d better keep this brief - I’m calling from the office. I really can’t speak on the phone. We have to meet.”