The House_Dark Urban Scottish Crime Story by John Mayer

Author:John Mayer [Mayer, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-07-26T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 35

McLane had argued against an electronic lock, positing that it hadn’t been electronics which had kept marauders out of castles and city walls for thousands of years, but iron barricades and stout oak. So why in the third basement of Parliament House was the government installing an electronic entry system to the room now reserved for the National Security Council? Why not an old fashioned barricade and a big lock? There were plenty of those around Parliament House; another one would make no difference.

But the government men had their way, and when a revolving code was being set, McLane had been consulted as to who might have access to those codes. He’d written back saying, no, his answer wasn’t a mistake. He really did want only the Deputy National Security Commissioner - Advocate Miss Maisie Rodgers - and the Queen’s Macer, old Jimmy Robertson to have access. The suits in the government had agreed, subject only to a corresponding code being operated by an ‘official’ who would log each time the room was used.

At the bottom of the narrow spiral stone stairs, if one looked straight up, the little hole of light three levels above and the high vaulted ceiling beyond that, gave the impression that one was directly connected to God on Most High.

McLane turned over his shoulder and apologised: ‘Bloody ridiculous thing. Sorry about the wait everyone. The government wheels turn very slowly, even during epidemics.’

In more dangerous centuries long past, the old octagonal stone floored room had been the Lord Justice General’s Chambers. In the enormous fireplace which now, half way up, had an iron grid deeply set into the stones that zig-zagged up to roof height, there was a good going blaze of heavy logs. Also, coffee and shortbread had been provided; a sign that old Jimmy Robertson had been in before them.

Flashing her eyes sideways at McLane, Maisie took a deep breath and prepared to be secretary to McLane’s tenth Chairing of the National Security Council. Around the table, she noted McLane in the chair, flanked to his right by the Chief Medical Officer for Scotland, then acting as Police/NSC liaison, McLane’s old friend Police Commander Imrie, followed by Professor Sir Isaac Neuberger who was specially co-opted for this project and lastly, herself.

With everyone settled, McLane leaned forward and rolled his pen between his fingers: ‘Well, Nadia. Where are we on the medical front?’

In her old job as Regius Professor of Forensic Pathology in the University of Edinburgh, Nadia and McLane had crossed professional swords in court a few times, but he’d always be grateful for the fair way she acted when he’d been set up for the murder of that piece of scum, Lord Aldounhill. She’d never said so, but she liked McLane - very much - and was glad to see him rise even against the pressure of those in the Lochie Society in Parliament House who would stab him in the back at any opportunity:

‘Mr Chairman, we …’

‘Oh Nadia please, there’s no need for titles.

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