Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller (3 page)

The two men sat together for more than an hour on a bench close to the Gothic church in the centre of the cemetery. Three watchers walked by during the time they were together but none was able to hear even a fragment of their conversation.

There was no doubt that the men were planning a major terrorist atrocity and Shepherd had recommended that they be arrested and charged. His boss Charlotte Button had agreed with him but they had been overruled – the surveillance was to continue until the third man was identified. That had been three weeks ago and they were no closer to finding out who he was.

The surveillance had turned up another cell, however; this one in Bradford. Khalaf had gone to a second email address draft folder and began communicating with another potential ISIS soldier, a British-born Pakistani who was about to fly out to Syria. Through him they managed to trace and identify another four would-be jihadists.

Meanwhile Khalaf was also using Google Earth to look at the roads around several shopping centres and railway stations in London, and visiting websites for large shopping malls, including the giant Westfield malls in White City and Stratford. Mahmud was just as active on the Ealing library’s computers, spending hours looking at websites that detailed the construction of IEDs.

As the two men continued to research and plot, the surveillance teams increased their hunt for the third jihadist, but his habit of only using a pay-as-you-go phone and constantly changing his SIM card meant he was impossible to pin down. The teams drew up more than a dozen possible suspects from the people that Khalaf and Mahmud met, but they couldn’t get any concrete proof of who the elusive third man was.

Shepherd had joined the surveillance team at eight o’clock in the morning, just as they had taken over from the night shift. Outside the vehicle were three watchers, codenames Whisky One, Whisky Two and Whisky Three. Whisky One and Whisky Two were on the pavement and Whisky Three was kitted out as a bicycle courier. All were in position outside Khalaf’s building. He wasn’t expected out before ten o’clock.

It wasn’t until after eleven that Khalaf appeared. He was wearing a black Puffa jacket with the hood up and he had a grey North Face backpack slung over his shoulder.

‘That’s new,’ said Brewer, nodding at the screen showing the view from the CCTV camera mounted under the van’s rear-view mirror. It could be moved using a small joystick on a panel in front of Brewer.

‘He’s had a backpack before, right?’

‘Smaller than that. Adidas.’

‘Tango is on the move,’ said Shepherd. He was wearing a Bluetooth earpiece connected to the transceiver on his waist.

‘Whisky Three, I have eyeball. He’s going back behind the house.’

Shepherd and Brewer watched on the screen as Khalaf disappeared behind the house. There were a dozen occupants, each with their own room, though they shared two bathrooms and a kitchen. The rubbish bins were at the rear but Khalaf hadn’t been carrying any rubbish.

‘What’s he playing at?’ said Brewer.

The mystery was solved soon enough when Khalaf reappeared pushing a bicycle, an old-fashioned type with a wicker basket fastened to the handlebars.

Brewer cursed. ‘Where did that come from?’

‘Whisky Three, you need to stay on him,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at Brewer. ‘Get the driver moving.’

‘He’s never done this before,’ said Brewer.

‘It’ll be okay,’ said Shepherd. He looked back at the screen. Khalaf was pedalling down the street. ‘Whisky Two, Whisky One, you need to get mobile and head south. Taxi or bus. Over.’

‘Whisky One, roger that.’

‘Whisky Two, roger.’

Shepherd picked up his mobile and called the supervisor of the second surveillance team, over in Ealing. Her name was Lisa Elphick and like Shepherd she was sitting in the back of a van. ‘Dan, hey, we’re a bit busy here,’ she said.

‘Us too. Our Tango’s on a bike. Heading south. He’s never done that before.’

‘Ours is running what looks like counter surveillance, and he’s never done that before. I’m down to one eyeball at the moment.’

‘You’ve got a guy on a motorbike, right? I’m looking to borrow him for a while.’

‘That’s not going to happen. He had a car stop for him, turns out it’s an Uber cab. Normally he takes the bus so we were on foot. The bike is the only eyeball I have at the moment.’ She swore vehemently. ‘He’s just got out of the cab on The Broadway. Bravo Two stay close. If necessary, dump the bike. Bravo One, Bravo Three, where the hell are you? Dan, sorry, we’ve lost him, I’ll have to call you back.’ She cut the connection.

Shepherd brought Brewer up to speed.

‘You think they’re up to something?’ asked Brewer.

‘Could be a coincidence.’

‘Both out of character at the same time? That sets alarm bells ringing.’

‘Do you want to call for backup?’

‘I’d be happier,’ said Brewer.

‘Whisky One, I’m in a cab.’

‘Good man. Stay on him.’

‘Whisky Three, I have eyeball.’

Shepherd looked at the screen showing the positions of the watchers. They were all moving. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said. Then he called up the Head of Mobile Surveillance and got through to his number two. Shepherd quickly explained what he needed and the officer agreed to get two surveillance bikes in his area as soon as possible. Shepherd asked for a time frame and was told five minutes, possibly ten. It was better than nothing. Shepherd ended the call. ‘Help’s on the way,’ he said.

The van lurched to a halt. ‘Sorry,’ came the driver’s voice over the intercom. ‘Red light.’

‘Whisky Three, we’re held at lights. Do you still have eyeball?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Whisky Three, affirmative. He’s heading south on Essex Road. I’m about a hundred yards behind him. He’s taking it easy and isn’t looking back. Over.’

‘Whisky One, are you still in the cab? Over.’

‘Whisky One, passed him about fifty yards back. Over.’

Shepherd looked at the map. ‘See if you can get the cab to wait at City Road. Over.’

Shepherd looked at the screen showing the forward video feed but Khalaf was too far ahead to be seen. ‘Has he ever done anything like this before?’ Shepherd asked Brewer.

Brewer shook his head. ‘Never. He always goes to the same place. The mosque. The shops. The library. The cemetery.’

‘There was no indication that they were getting ready to go,’ said Shepherd. ‘That new backpack is a worry.’

His phone rang and he looked at the screen. It was Lisa. ‘We lost him,’ she said. ‘He was on foot and we couldn’t get to him on time.’

‘Could he have got to a Tube station?’

‘Ealing Broadway? Possibly.’

‘What are you doing now?’

‘Canvassing the area. If he did go down the Tube then we really have lost him. Sorry.’

‘Any chance of you sending your bike my way? Our target is on a bicycle and we’re having trouble keeping up with him.’

‘You think something’s up?’

‘Maybe. There was no chatter, though. I could do with your bike, Lisa.’

‘It’d mean I have one less pair of eyes on the ground.’

‘I get that, but a bird in the hand and all that.’

‘Your call. I’ll send him over.’

‘Our target is heading south down Essex Road to City Road. Brown coat, bicycle with a wicker basket on the front.’

Shepherd ended the call just as the van started moving again.

The van sped south. Shepherd watched the progress of the watchers on the screen. Whisky One had stopped close to the junction of City Road and Essex Road. Whisky Two was still in Stoke Newington. Whisky Three was moving slowly down Essex Road.

‘Whisky Two, what’s your situation, over?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Whisky Two, still on foot, sorry. No bloody cabs for love nor money. I might grab a bus. Over.’

‘We need you on City Road, Whisky Two. Do what you can. Over.’ He looked up at the video feed. The traffic was moving slowly and there was still no sign of Khalaf.

Shepherd scowled at the digital map. Whisky Three was getting close to City Road. At the junction Khalaf could turn west or east or continue south on the A1. ‘Whisky Three, stay with him, over,’ he said.

‘Whisky Three, I’m about fifty yards behind him. I have eyeball. Over.’

Shepherd looked over at Brewer. ‘He’s never gone this way before?’

Brewer shook his head.

Shepherd called up Lisa on the phone again. ‘Any joy?’ he asked.

‘No sign of him, sorry,’ said Lisa. Her professional pride was obviously hurt. Losing a target was the worst thing that could happen to a watcher. ‘The bike is heading your way. What do you think? Do we have a problem?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did your guy have a backpack?’

‘Yes. But that’s not unusual. More often than not he has a bag of some kind.’

‘Our target has a different bag to his usual one. And he’s never used a bicycle before.’

‘Shit. I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t sweat it. Just keep sweeping the area, he still might turn up.’ He ended the call. ‘Mahmud’s gone,’ he said to Brewer. ‘And he had a backpack. Might not be significant …’

‘… or it might be,’ said Brewer. They looked at the video feed. In the distance they could see Whisky Three, weaving in and out of the slow-moving traffic.

‘Whisky Two, I’m in a black cab and heading south on Essex Road, but the traffic’s bad. Over.’

Shepherd looked at the digital map and pointed at the flashing light that signified Whisky Two’s position, well back from where the van was.

‘Whisky Two, be prepared to head west or east on my word. A rat run might save you some time. Over.’

‘Whisky Two, roger that. Over.’

The van had slowed now. Shepherd glanced at the video feed. The traffic was heavier and Whisky Three had disappeared into the distance.

‘Whisky One, I have eyeball.’

‘Soon as you see which way he’s headed, let me know, Whisky One. Is your cab okay to follow?’

‘Whisky One, all good. Over.’

Shepherd looked at the digital map. Whisky Three was getting close to Whisky One which mean that Khalaf would be somewhere in between.

‘Everyone on full alert, he could go anywhere at the junction,’ said Shepherd. He looked at the map. The van was a couple of hundred yards away from City Road.

‘Whisky One, he’s off the road. He’s pushing the bike along the pavement and heading west.’

‘Out of the cab, Whisky One. Follow on foot.’

‘Whisky One, going on foot. Over.’

‘Whisky Three, what’s your situation?’

‘Whisky Three, I’m on the pavement.’

Shepherd looked at the digital map. Whisky Two was still stuck in traffic, a mile or so behind the van. The van came to a halt. Shepherd looked at the video feed. The traffic was bumper to bumper ahead of them. ‘I’m going on foot,’ he said. ‘They need help out there.’

‘No problem, I’ll mind the shop,’ said Brewer.

Shepherd pushed open the door and jumped out. He began jogging south along Essex Road, keeping at a reasonable pace so as not to attract too much attention.

‘Whisky Three, he’s left the bicycle by some railings.’

‘Stick with him, Whisky Three.’

‘I’m having trouble with the bike.’

‘Dump it,’ said Shepherd, increasing his pace. ‘Whisky One, do you have eyeball?’

‘Whisky One. Just lost him. Wait. Yes, I have eyeball. He’s outside the Tube station. He’s looking at his watch.’

‘Is he heading in?’

‘Not sure, he seems to be waiting.’

Shepherd ran faster, not caring now who was looking at him. His feet pounded on the pavement. Ahead of him he saw the junction with City Road. Angel Tube station was to the left. The traffic was barely moving so he ducked between two cars and crossed the road.

‘Whisky Three, he’s going inside. Over.’

‘Whisky One, I have eyeball. I’m following him inside. Over.’

‘Whisky Control, see if you can fix up a feed from the station’s CCTV,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m on it,’ said Brewer.

‘Whisky One, I’ve lost eyeball. Repeat. I’ve lost eyeball. Over.’

Shepherd cursed. ‘What’s happened, Whisky One?’

‘Loads of people just came through and then I didn’t see him on the escalator. He must have gone down the stairs.’

‘After him, quick as you can. Whisky Three, where are you? Over.’

‘Just at the entrance, I’m going in. Over.’

Shepherd ran as fast as he could, his arms pumping at his side, the transceiver banging against his hip under his jacket. He slowed as he reached the entrance to the station and had to weave through the exiting passengers. ‘Does anyone have eyeball?’ he asked.

‘Whisky Three, negative.’

‘Whisky One, negative.’

‘Don’t do this to me, guys. Find him.’

Shepherd didn’t have an Oyster card so he jumped up and over the ticket barrier. A uniformed Tube employee shouted for him to come back but made no effort to chase after him. As he hurtled down the escalator he pushed the earpiece of his transceiver into his ear and clipped the main unit to his belt. He reached the bottom of the escalator. ‘Whisky One, Whisky Three, where are you?’

‘Whisky Three, southbound platform.’

‘Whisky One, same. Southbound platform.’

‘Do you see him?’

‘Whisky Three, negative.’

‘Whisky One, no eyeball.’

Shepherd cursed and ran towards the northbound platform. The tunnel opened midway onto the platform. He looked right and left. There were several dozen people waiting for the train.

‘Jamie, what’s happening?’

‘Negative on the CCTV feed,’ said Brewer. ‘Where are you?’

‘Northbound platform,’ said Shepherd. He looked up at the electronic announcement board. ‘The next train is one minute away. Whisky One and Whisky Three are on the southbound platform.’

Shepherd turned left and walked down the platform, scanning faces. A middle-aged man with a briefcase. An Asian woman with two young children. A teenage schoolboy, his eyes glued to an iPhone.

‘What are you going to do, Dan?’ asked Brewer.

‘Play it by ear,’ said Shepherd.

Two black guys in long coats, one carrying a guitar case. An old Asian lady in a sari with a Harrods carrier bag. Two women in full burkhas, one of them with a toddler in a pushchair.