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reality was that if someone chose to target the Games, they’d find a way to do it.
    To try and combat an attack, an enormous security operation was being put in place. Police Scotland, as the lead security agency, had the support of the British Transport Police, prison officers, hired-in security guards, as well as venue stewards. All in all there were around 4,500 people involved. That included more than 2000 Armed Forces personnel who had been put on standby to ‘neutralise the terror threat’. Still it could go wrong, and on my watch.
    The Games started in two days. Donald’s DCI, Rosalind Ying, was back from her jaunt to Spain. She’d been stressed out, needed the break. He wanted her fresh for the Games. He wanted her full-stop, but she didn’t seem interested. There’s always the Christmas Party. But away from the festivities he had another problem, one where he could have done with additional support. Someone like Ian Davidson would have been perfect, but he was going to be out of the game for months.
    The issue was something from the past. The press had tried to dig up old rumours when he’d been appointed last year; tired old tales about his reputation from his days in Belfast. He’d managed to keep a lid on it, applied the right pressure; but he knew the past had a habit of catching up with you and that’s what was happening now, at just the wrong time.
     
    ***
     
    Niall Murphy arrived in Glasgow at the start of June. He’d been following Graeme Donald’s career with interest. He knew Donald was as bent as they came, but he was being treated as a celebrity cop in Scotland – seemed as though his way of dealing with terrorists had been the key factor in catching the George Square bomber. But Donald didn’t have a knack for tackling terror, he just knew the right people. In Belfast he’d enjoyed a reputation for brutality. Niall had worked in protection. He was muscle, working from Crumlin Road – not an easy gig, but never dull. But he was getting on now, nearly 40. Donald offered hope for an easier life. They’d done business in Belfast and would do again.
    Donald had agreed to meet him, but he’d been cagey about running the risk of being seen in public. He had profile now and needed to be careful who he spoke to. So he said anyway. Murphy was picked up on Great Western Road. The two drove for about an hour. Donald didn’t seem to want to stop. He demanded an explanation.
    Murphy was unimpressed with the bluster, “I don’t think you’re really in the position to be making demands.”
    “We’re not in Northern Ireland anymore, Niall. This is a different situation, and there’s too much going on right now for me to want to deal with a wee nyaff like you.”
    “Insults, is it? Listen, you had time enough for me in Belfast. When you needed some muscle work done I did it, without question. We had a good thing going there. I’m just looking for more of the same.”
    “Can’t happen; it’s not the same here. I’m legit.”
    “Bullshit. You trying to tell me you’ve changed? You’ll never change.”
    “Don’t pretend you know me. You knew something way back when, but it’s just a part of the whole.”
    Niall Murphy was laughing hard, “You crack me up, man. Part of the whole? That’s rich. Remember that lad, what was his name – Colm McNally.”
    “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”
    “You remember Colm. They started calling him Pliers after you’d finished with him.”
    Graeme Donald veered left off the road and into a bus lane. He stopped, leaning over he grabbed Niall’s jacket.
    “What is this; are you carrying a fucking wire? Trying to set me up; I’ve nothing to say.”
    Niall raised his arms above his head in a gesture of mock surrender, “I’m disappointed, Chief Constable. I would have thought you knew me better than that.”
    “Look, what’s this about?” Donald hissed, “We can’t work together; not now – not ever again.”
    “You’ll need to