Andy shrugged his broad shoulders. He knew he’d have to keep his opinions to himself for these two weeks. If it was up to him, Glasgow would never have hosted this climate conference. It wasn’t that he didn’t think climate change was going on. Of course he did; he, Cathy and Amy were lazing on the beach at Largs in nearly 30 degree heat that summer. It was just the hypocrisy he couldn’t stomach; the lines of gas guzzling diesels dropping off the troops of delegates, the private school educated grungies gluing themselves to the types of transport the First Minister was always telling them was eco-friendly. Andy was old enough to remember the proud steelworkers and shipbuilding industry that flourished along the Clyde, now vilified as a symbol of a shameful, fossil-fuel centred past.

  DC Tait nudged Andy’s arm. The van had stopped and his team were jumping out of the rear doors into the welcome cold but fresh air of the north bank of the Clyde.

  The protestors were immediately visible. They had picketed the road and were maybe a couple of hundred in number. They had dressed in green smocks and held placards with slogans cheerfully predicting the climate apocalypse in bright daubs of paint. One eye-catching banner was held by several hands in fingerless, knitted gloves, spread across the frontline of the protest, just metres away from them. It was professionally printed and stated, “Keep To The Limit of 1.5 Degrees!” In a bright green against a red background.

  Alice knew this was a message for the COP26 delegates, delivered to them via the media. The very minimum that the climate action groups had recommended ahead of this conference was a target to limit global warming emissions to 1.5 degrees above pre-industrial levels. These protesters were here to ensure the leaders from the developed world didn’t backtrack on this pledge. Unlike Andy, the DI had sympathy for their view. She had Charlie now and wanted the world to be protected for his sake. Governments had to act decisively now to stop the crisis getting worse.

  The TV crews and newspaper hacks were already congregating on the banks of the quay. Alice knew it would make their day to be able to capture trouble breaking out between the protestors and the police. Conflict was meat and drink to them. It was the DI’s job to make sure there was nothing of interest to report on BBC Scotland at 6pm.

  Her team had already formed their protective line along the riverbank pavement just to the side of the protestors, showing their presence, but without appearing confrontational. It was a formation they’d modelled many times.

  Alice fell in beside Andy. “It seems peaceful. They aren’t looking ready to move anytime soon. There’s a group over there cracking open flasks of tea.”

  Andy managed a smile. “Not the most intimidating villains we’ve ever faced.”

  “Although, both you and I know how quickly these situations can turn nasty if a militant element show up.”

  He nodded his agreement, gazing over at the rag-tag group of protestors. Most were in homemade looking green smocks, carrying placards with slogans like; ‘the Earth is dying,’ slapped on with paint. But others were carrying tall wooden crosses which had the appearance of two strips of plywood nailed together. Andy pointed at the symbols. “Is there a religious element to this group?”

  It was DS Sharon Moffett who answered, “they call themselves, ‘Earth’s Saviours’, when of course, in Christianity, the saviour of man was Jesus Christ. They are a secular group that see themselves as saviours of the planet instead, but they use the symbol of the cross as it represents both sacrifice and re-birth.”

  Andy cast her a querying glance.

  “I actually did my homework DS Calder,” she replied cheerfully.

  “I must have missed that assignment,” he replied grumpily.

  “Actually, I asked Sharon specifically to look into ‘Earth’s Saviours’ and their aims. She did an extremely thorough job,” Alice explained.

  Andy watched the strange procession of tall crosses bobbing up and down within the crowd, an odd contrast against the industrial frontages of the old wharf. “They must piss off the religious types then, even though they’re eco-warriors and all that?”

  “Yes, they definitely do,” Sharon explained. “The use of the crucifixion cross has been condemned by the Scottish church, who sympathise with the cause, but want the symbol dropped. They had a lively discussion about it on ‘Debate Night’ last week. The Moderator of the Church of Scotland took part.”

  As the officers contemplated this, a woman broke free of the crowd and headed towards them. She was dressed in corduroy dungarees with a green tabard covering her thin frame. Her hair was styled in long dread-locks but her face was as pale as the cloudy sky. “I’m Macy McAdams, the leader of Earth’s Saviours in Glasgow. I thought I’d introduce myself.”

  Alice stepped forward. “DI Mann, the officer in charge. We hope this afternoon can remain peaceful.”

  The woman’s expression was steely. “We are a peaceful group, but when the Earth is under attack, we will not hesitate to defend it.”

  Not quite sure what this meant, Alice was determined to remain diplomatic. “Are you planning to move anywhere else today?”

  “Yes, at 4.30pm we are going to cross the Kingston Bridge. We know most of the delegates will be transported to the south of the river, as the conference centre is located there, so we want to get as close as possible, so our message reaches the right people.”

  Alice cursed under her breath, she had to pick Charlie up from nursery at 5pm. “If you give us some prior notice and a provisional route we can alert our officers down there as to your arrival time.”

  “Co-operating with the police?” Her scrubbed, un-made up face broke into a mocking smile. “We couldn’t have that now, could we?” The woman turned and marched back to the protest, where she was quickly absorbed into the crowd.

  “I’ve got a feeling these people are going to seriously piss me off after a while,” Andy muttered into the collar of his jacket.

  For once, Alice completely agreed with her second in command.

  “I think that’s the point, Andy,” Sharon retorted, giving her colleague a friendly shove.

  Andy didn’t reply, but strengthened his stance, scanning the crowd for even the slightest sign of trouble.

  Chapter 3

  Scraps of paper were beginning to overload Dani’s usually tidy desk. Complaints were flooding into the switchboard and it was only day two of the conference. Most of them were about road closures and diversions around the city centre. People had been encouraged to avoid the area as much as possible, but Dani knew there was always a significant group who would insist on ploughing on as usual.

  She pushed the pile to the side and approached the smartboard, examining the itinerary for the day. Elon Musk was due to address the conference at 2pm. Dani knew he had his own private protection team and that the security at the centre was rock solid. Her concern were the roads and bridges that surrounded it.

  Dani dragged a hand through her shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair. The concern for her wasn’t really the protests. Alice and Andy had reported no issues from their assignment the previous day. Disruption she was expecting. The cause of the niggling sense of dread that had settled in her stomach since the conference began, was the ever-present fear of a terrorist attack. The threat could potentially come from any unassuming vehicle in the vicinity of the SEC; a work van or taxi, or even an anonymous, nondescript member of the public. The anti-terrorist squad had reported no particular spike of activity amongst the networks they observed, but these were still the worries that kept her up at night.

  There was a knock at the door. DCS Ronnie Douglas entered, handing her a take-out cup of black coffee.

  “Thank you sir.” She noted his face was drawn with concern and his mouth turned down at the corners. “Is there a problem?”

  “Have you been receiving complaints from the public?”

  Dani dipped her head towards the messy pile on her desk. “Dozens, mostly from disgruntled motorists, and a good number from those angered at their appointments at the Infirmary being cancelled or postponed.”

  Douglas nodded. “My secretary has had plenty of those too. But we received an email this morning which is of even greater concern. The Women’s Association of Scotland have lodged an official complaint against Police Scotland.”

  Dani took a gulp of her bitter drink, dreading what was coming, sensing it was going to be out of leftfield.

  “Apparently, a number of their members have been in touch with them. Due to our road closures, many local woman are having to find different routes to walk home through.”

  Dani took a deep breath, her brain quickly joining the dots. “We’ve closed off all the main, well-lit highways, leaving the locals to find their way home from work and school along dark, lonely routes, across parks maybe, when the sun is setting at 4.30pm. Shit. How did I miss this?”

  “Because we had a thousand other remits we had to follow. Because the entire idea of hosting an international conference in a busy, compact city like Glasgow, with a history as a soft terrorist target was complete madness.” He managed a pained smile. “Because we are always being tasked with the impossible, and rather too often, you and your team deliver it.”

  Dani sank into one of her soft chairs. “But this is different. I pride myself on putting the vulnerable first, it’s been a hallmark of my career.” She waved a hand at her detailed, colour-co-ordinated smartboard. “I’ve been spending every waking hour making the city safe for men in suits, who sit in cars with armoured glass, surrounded by an entourage of bodyguards. Did I think enough about the ordinary citizens of Glasgow?”

  Douglas took the chair opposite. “We’ve been given a wake-up call, Dani. That email I received was a warning. Those women have complained, as well they might, but nobody has been attacked yet. We’ve got a chance to put things right, so we do it, and fast.”

  Dani felt the jolt of caffeine reaching her system, jumping to her feet. “You’re right. It’s Day 2 and there’s time to sort this out. I’ll re-deploy a team to create a system of safer routes for pedestrians around the city. We can make sure the information hits the media before dusk today. God knows, we won’t have this kind of budget to play with again.”

  The DCS rose more slowly from his seat. “Good. It will be something to tell the Women’s Association when I call the Chief Secretary. But I’ll have to inform the DCC of the complaint. I expect he’ll be required to make an apology on the six o’clock news.”

  Dani could see the strain in her superior’s face. For once, she didn’t envy him his position, not at all.

  Chapter 4

  The woman pulled her hood up to cover her neatly plaited hair and headed out into the rain. Her low heels clicked against the pavement as she fell into her usual rhythm, making her way home to her flat in Gallowgate.

  A crumpled sheet of paper was gripped in her hand. She lifted it up to check the directions printed on it. She’d downloaded it from the BBC website at work after receiving an email from the women’s group she was a member of which had recommended it.

  The previous evening, she had found the London Road completely closed. Instead, she had been required to walk an extra couple of miles to find a dark side street which ran along beside the old railway line and brought her out on the industrial estate. She reached home eventually, but her heart was pounding in her chest for the entire journey, her ears alert for the sounds of footsteps behind her.

  Now, she noted that a brightly lit pedestrian walkway had been created past Celtic Park. As she approached, it became clear that police officers had been stationed at regular intervals along it. She glanced back at the sheet in her hand, the ink becoming smudged by the relentless drizzle, thinking she’d laminate it in the office the next morning.

  The website had made reference to the officer who had devised the plan, one of the only female DCIs in Scotland. The name had stuck in her mind because it was like the man who had been in charge of the miners during the war. Her grandfather had been one of those. A Bevin Boy. But this name was spelt with an ‘a’. The reporter had even referred to these diversions as the ‘Bevan routes’. So it would be hard for her to forget that name.

  The woman lifted her head and smiled at one of the uniformed officers from beneath her hood. He smiled reassuringly back. She continued on her way, thankful that during the chaos of the climate conference which everyone in her office was moaning about, this Bevan woman had made her day so much easier.

  *

  The rich smell of pan-frying meat floated down the hallway as Dani leant against the wall to kick off her shoes. She shrugged out of her suit jacket and placed it on a hook.

  “I’m doing venison steaks, if that’s okay,” James called from the kitchen. “Apparently, it’s incredibly good for the environment to help keep the Scottish deer population down by eating their locally sourced meat.”

  Dani slid onto one of the chairs at her small kitchen table, stretching out her stockinged feet with a sigh. “Poor deer. Another victim of the latest climate-saving fad. Time to cull Bambi.”

  James laughed, pouring her a glass of red. “I know you don’t really mean that,” he added. “I take it running an international climate conference is taking its toll on your nerves, darling?”

  She reached out for the glass and took a generous mouthful. The wine was smooth with hints of nuttiness, she knew it would perfectly complement the venison. “Did you see the six o’clock news?”

  “I certainly did. Sally was on the phone straight after. She’s hugely impressed. She wants to know if they can have some ‘Bevan routes’ in Edinburgh.”

  “I would have accepted her admiration gladly if I’d actually come up with the idea ahead of the conference, not when I was simply responding to the complaints of dozens of poor women forced to walk home along dark, lonely alleyways at night.”

  James flipped the steaks, a pan of new potatoes boiled on the adjacent hob, a simple salad stood in an earthenware bowl on the countertop. The sizzling sound made Dani’s mouth water and her stomach contract. She’d not eaten since breakfast, trying to sort out last-minute policing for her ‘safe pedestrian routes’ for the entire day.

  He turned back to face her. “That’s how new developments are made. Someone points out the flaws in your plan and you make the appropriate changes as quickly as possible. That’s exactly what you did. So stop beating yourself up. This whole conference seems to going rather smoothly if you ask me, according to the media reports, anyway.”

  Dani took another slug of wine. She knew her boyfriend meant well, but she wished he hadn’t tempted fate with those words he’d just spoken. “Let’s try those steaks then. I’m absolutely starving.”

  James’s face lit up and he gathered up a couple of plates. “Coming right up, madam. Just as you like it, medium rare?”

  “As long as Bambi isn’t going to suddenly jump up and start frolicking around the room, I’m easy.”

  Chapter 5

  The dark suit jacket strained over DI Dermot Muir’s Kevlar vest and communications equipment. It was nearly a year since he’d last had to wear it. He decided to stop accepting the packet of fresh doughnuts DS Moffett insisted on placing on his desk each morning. He was getting seriously out of shape.

  Dermot made sure his earpiece was firmly in place and scanned the vast conference room from his position by the entrance doors. The US president and UK Prime Minister had left Glasgow at 9am that morning. He had been in the close-ops team which accompanied the president to his car. For the first time in many months, he’d felt the weight of a government issue gun in a holster against his chest and the adrenaline rush of a top security assignment.

  It made the DI wonder for a while why he’d ever left this line of work. But now he was back in the conference hall, he remembered why he’d sought the transfer to the SCD under DCI Bevan. Most of the time, the work of the diplomatic corps was like that of a glorified club bouncer, but with better dressed clientele to protect.

  Whereas, since he’d been at Pitt Street, he had been able to properly exercise his detecting skills, using his brain for once. It had been remarkably refreshing.

  Dermot checked his Omega Speed Master watch, an overly extravagant gift from his ex-fiancé. It was nearly lunchtime. He and his colleagues would escort the delegates into the canteen shortly. Now that the world leaders were heading home, the real negotiations would begin in the smaller conference rooms which were dotted about the modern complex. Discussions would stretch into the early hours between the representatives of all the participating countries and various business leaders and scientists. The DI was reluctant to tempt fate, but this should have meant the threat level diminished from this point onwards, even though his hours spent on duty would remain long.

  The future pressure points were when major media figures such as Sir David Attenborough and Greta Thunberg arrived to give talks to the delegates. But without the world leaders present, it still felt as if a certain amount of weight had been lifted from Dermot’s shoulders, especially when he got confirmation in his earpiece that the president’s plane had taken off from Glasgow airport and was now somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

  Dermot’s security team were to take their lunch when the delegates had finished theirs and returned to the afternoon programme of debates. The DI placed his tray next to an old colleague of his called DS Ronan Quirke. They exchanged news over a plateful of chicken salad. If Ronan was surprised to hear Dermot was no longer engaged to be married, the officer didn’t show it. He was too pre-occupied with the strains of having a new baby in the house he shared with his wife alongside the unpredictable hours required by the diplomatic service.

  Dermot was about to suggest maybe his friend should consider a transfer himself when an officer from another team strode into the canteen and approached their table. Something about the man’s pinched expression made Dermot put down his fork without tasting the food balanced on it.

 

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