Free Powerstone by Malcolm Archibald Page B

created a
personal space into which people were reluctant to intrude. Normally she paced
the lawns and bowers of Central
Park , but today Edinburgh would have to do.
    She headed downhill, following the
line of Edinburgh ’s historic Royal Mile to Holyrood Palace , past the Scottish Parliament building and into the green
oasis of Holyrood Park .
    ‘This is Edinburgh ’s answer to Central Park ,’ she said, looking up at the
impressively unadorned heights of Arthur’s Seat. Snakes of mist smeared the
summit. ‘According to the guide book, this used to be a Royal Hunting park, but
now anybody can walk in it.’
    Patrick grunted. He knew her well
enough not to break into her thoughts.
    ‘So let’s walk, then,’ Irene
commanded.
    She expected the images that came
unbidden, each one inspiring the next so they crowded her mind, jostling for
attention in an overlapping conglomeration of ideas. Some she accepted and
slotted into place, others she rejected without remorse. Very gradually, she formed
a comprehensive picture, chipping at the anomalies until it was as near
perfection as possible.
    With Patrick a silent shadow at
her side, Irene followed the line of the Radical Road , panting as she forced herself up the steep path that cut
under the Salisbury Crags, the great red cliff that overlooked the Royal Mile,
until she stopped at the top and waited for Patrick to catch up. The Edinburgh wind carried a chilling dampness,
so she pulled her coat tighter around her and wished that she had brought a
scarf.
    ‘This is a city of history and
views,’ Patrick said when he had recovered his breath.
    ‘And our springboard to success,’
Irene added. She stood on the edge of the path with the hundred-foot drop
beneath her and the spires and turrets of the Auld Town a jagged skyline in front.
‘There’s the castle up there, and Holyrood Palace down there,’ she indicated each
building with an expansive gesture from her right arm. ‘And there,’ she pointed
to a spreading collection of modern roofs, ‘is the Parliament building.’
    ‘So I see,’ Patrick shivered. He
also had not brought sufficient clothing for a Scottish winter.
    ‘So when the Honours of Scotland
are brought from the castle, they must pass down the Royal Mile, take a right
in front of the palace, and enter the Parliament.’ She turned to face him,
controlling the excitement that continued to grow inside her. ‘We’ll take the
Honours on the journey, Patrick, not in the Castle. The security there is
impossible, but when the Honours are on the road, they are far more
vulnerable.’
    ‘Limey bastards,’ Patrick agreed.
He shivered as a blast of cold air whistled through the nick in the Crags
behind him. ‘Come on; let’s get back to the hotel.’
    ‘Not yet.’ Irene looked over the
skyline, surveying the castle and the church spires, the steep rooftops and the
crow-stepped gables, the small windows and walls of solid stone. ‘Don’t you
find this all romantic? Knowing that kings and queens have passed over here?’
    Patrick shook his head. ‘No. It
was kings and queens that sucked the soul from Ireland .’
    Irene shook her head. ‘Can’t you
let up, for once? Mary Queen of Scots might have stood on this very spot, and
Robert the Bruce could have hunted just here.’ She stamped her foot on the
pebbled path. ‘Come on Patrick, do something romantic. Do something that we can
remember for ever.’
    ‘We’re not here for romantic,’
Patrick reminded her. ‘We’re here to steal the Crown Jewels. What happened to
that hard-assed New
York businesswoman?’
    Irene looked at him for a second,
the animation fading from her face. ‘You’re right of course; we don’t have
time.’ She remembered Ms Manning’s words; she had to travel alone if she was to
become a corporate success. Once they had stolen the Honours, she would lose
Patrick. He had just proved his expendability. ‘Now, you tell me about these
useful friends of