Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller (4 page)

‘You think he’s going to get on a train?’

Shepherd could feel the wind on his face. There was a train heading his way.

‘I don’t know. What’s happening up top?’

‘All quiet here.’

‘Whisky Three, still no eyeball.’

‘Whisky One, no eyeball.’

‘If the station was the target he’d have started by now,’ said Shepherd.

A young man with a backpack was eyeing up a pretty blonde girl in torn jeans. She seemed to be deliberately avoiding eye contact with him.

Shepherd’s heart was racing. The target had to be on one of the platforms, there was nowhere else for him to be. He reached the end of the platform. There was an old man in a heavy overcoat, mumbling to himself, and a woman sitting on a bench eating a sandwich. Shepherd turned and started to jog back down the platform. He could hear the train now, roaring through the tunnel behind him.

‘The train’s coming,’ he said. ‘Can you stop it, Jamie? Get them to say there’s a mechanical fault.’

‘I’ll try.’

The train burst out of the tunnel and the brakes screeched as it drew up at the platform. The doors opened and passengers poured out.

‘What’s happening, Jamie?’

‘Negative on the stopping,’ said Brewer. ‘They’ve got me on hold.’

‘I’m going to have to get on the train,’ said Shepherd. ‘Whisky One, Whisky Three, give me a sit-rep, over.’

‘Whisky One, no sign of target. Train’s just pulling in. Over.’

Shepherd cursed under his breath. Three followers. Two trains. One target.

‘Stick with your train, stay in touch with Jamie as best you can. Over.’ The transceivers were functioning just fine in the station but he had no idea how they would perform in the tunnels.

The flood of exiting passengers was over and the passengers on the platform were now making their way on to the train. Shepherd reached the halfway point of the train. ‘Jamie, I’m getting on the northbound train. See if you get backup at the next station. Same with the southbound train. Over.’

‘I’m on it. Over.’

The doors began to close and Shepherd jumped on board. He quickly scanned the passengers. There were four Asian males but two had long beards, one was wearing a long frock coat and the remaining one was with a pretty Indian girl. He moved down the carriage towards the front of the train, weaving between passengers who either ignored him or glared at him for invading what they saw as their personal space.

The train lurched forward and within seconds had rattled into the tunnel.

Shepherd continued to scan faces. Another Asian male, but this one bearded and engrossed in his smartphone. Two Japanese tourists squinting up at a Tube map on the carriage wall. Two girls in school uniform, sitting with their heads together, sharing a pair of earphones.

Shepherd reached the end of the carriage. He looked through the windows of the connecting doors into the next carriage. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the target, standing by the door halfway down.

He turned away and held the microphone close to his lips. ‘I have eyeball on Tango One, over,’ he said. There was no answer. ‘Jamie, can you hear me?’ There was nothing in his earpiece, not even static. Shepherd turned back to look through the window again. Khalaf was looking at his watch and shifting his weight from foot to foot. He was gearing up for something, Shepherd could tell.

Moving from one carriage to the other involved opening the two heavy connecting doors and stepping across the gap between the two carriages. It would be noisy and attract a lot of attention. It would be better to wait until they reached the next station and then change carriages.

Khalaf had turned his back to the door and was now looking down his carriage, towards the front of the train. Shepherd realised he was looking at another Asian man. He could have been Khalaf’s brother. Tall and thin, wearing baggy jeans and a grey hoodie with the hood up, his eyes hidden behind impenetrable sunglasses. On his back was a North Face backpack, the same style as Khalaf’s but his was red. Like Khalaf he was agitated, swaying from side to side. The two men looked at each other and Khalaf nodded. The other man flashed Khalaf a tight smile and Shepherd’s stomach lurched as he realised there wouldn’t be time to switch carriages. His mind raced. There had been no intel that Khalaf’s cell had access to bombmaking equipment but the backpacks were a worry. If there were bombs in the backpacks then a double explosion in a confined space would be deadly. He ran through his options, but truth be told there weren’t many. He could pull the emergency switch and stop the train, but he didn’t see how that would help. He could shout a warning but that would only serve to start a panic. If he’d been armed then he could pull out his gun and try to take them out before they commenced their attack but that was pure wishful thinking because he didn’t have a weapon. He could wait until the train reached the next station but from the way the two men were behaving it was clear they were getting ready to act. Or were they? Nothing they had seen during their surveillance had suggested that they were going to attack a Tube train. And the choice of target made little sense. If they were suicide bombers then a carriage was the perfect target as the confined space meant guaranteed casualties. But if it was a knife attack then a carriage would serve to limit casualties, and block off any means of escape. Was he reading it wrong? Were they getting ready to attack now or were they just tense?

He looked up at the Tube map on the side of the carriage. The next stop was King’s Cross St Pancras. The mainline station and London home to the Eurostar. That had been one of the places Khalaf had visited on Google Earth.

The train began to slow as it approached King’s Cross. Shepherd glanced through the window. The two men were now ignoring each other and seemed more relaxed. Shepherd had come around to the view that there was no risk of an explosion on the Tube. It wouldn’t make sense to have two suicide bombers in the same carriage. That meant they were en route to the target, or it was a knife or gun attack. Guns were unlikely because there had been no chatter about firearms, but then the bicycle had caught them all by surprise.

The platform flashed by and the train stopped. Shepherd started moving towards the door but took a quick look over his shoulder and saw that Khalaf wasn’t moving. Passengers poured off but Khalaf stayed where he was. So did the other guy with the backpack who was now studiously avoiding Khalaf’s gaze.

‘Jamie, can you hear me?’ whispered Shepherd, covering his mouth with his hand.

‘Affirmative.’

‘Tango One is on the northbound train, now at King’s Cross. Over.’

‘Roger that. Over.’

‘I don’t think anything’s going to happen on the train. There is another Tango with him. Repeat, two Tangoes on board. Tango Two is an IC6 male, tall and thin, grey hoodie, baggy jeans, sunglasses and a red North Face backpack. Over.’

‘Roger that.’

Passengers were now getting on to the train. Khalaf moved further into the carriage to make room at the door. Shepherd tensed and took a step closer to his door just in case Khalaf made a last-minute dash for the platform.

‘Euston is the next mainline station, then it’s south to Charing Cross,’ whispered Shepherd. A middle-aged businessman with a briefcase was looking at him curiously but Shepherd couldn’t turn away because he had to keep Khalaf in sight. ‘Get Alpha Romeo Uniforms to both locations ASAP.’

‘Roger that,’ said Brewer.

Getting Armed Response Units to the station would take a few minutes at least, possibly longer depending on traffic. But it was the best way of dealing with any attack.

The doors to the train rattled shut. ‘We’re moving again, I’ll be losing my signal soon,’ said Shepherd. The train lurched forward and within seconds they were back in the tunnel.

Shepherd kept glancing at the next carriage, but the two men made no moves to open their backpacks. Khalaf kept looking at the Tube map by his head. Once he looked over at the other man and nodded. The other man smiled thinly and nodded back. Shepherd was tense, knowing that if at any point they began to mount an attack he would have only seconds to get into the next carriage.

As the train began to slow, signalling its approach to Euston, Khalaf turned to face the doors. So did the other man. They were preparing to get off. Shepherd moved to his door, his heart racing. The train burst out of the tunnel and the platform flashed by. Shepherd peered through the window, looking for the exit. He had to know whether he would be in front of Khalaf and the other man, or behind them.

The train stopped and the doors opened. Shepherd took a quick look across at the next carriage. Khalaf was getting off. The woman behind Shepherd decided he wasn’t moving quickly enough and nudged him in the back with her shopping bag. Shepherd stepped out on to the platform. The exit was to the left. Khalaf was striding towards it, the bag slung over his shoulder. The other man was about twenty feet ahead.

‘Jamie, can you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear,’ said Brewer.

‘They’ve exited at Euston,’ said Shepherd.

‘There’s an ARU on the way.’

‘How far?’

‘A few minutes. I’ll update you as soon as I know for sure.’

Khalaf turned into the pedestrian tunnel that led to the escalators. Shepherd hurried after him. ‘Heading for the escalators now,’ said Shepherd.

‘What do you think they’re up to?’

‘I don’t know, it could just be they’re here to catch a train. Maybe off on a training day. Tell the ARU to approach softly, softly. If they’re just passing through the station we don’t want them to know they’ve been spotted. The second Tango is on CCTV here so make sure you get the feeds.’

‘I’m on it.’

Shepherd turned into the tunnel leading to the escalators. Khalaf was already on one. He was walking slowly and steadily up. Shepherd followed him. Khalaf was showing no signs of checking for a tail, but then he had never performed any counter-surveillance techniques all the time that he’d been followed.

‘Heading up the escalator now,’ said Shepherd.

‘ARU is two minutes away,’ said Brewer.

Khalaf reached the top of the escalator. He seemed sure of where he was heading and strode purposefully towards the mainline station. Shepherd carried on walking up the stairs. He put his hand over his mouth as he walked past a woman in a fur coat with a Louis Vuitton wheeled bag. ‘Tango One is heading into the main station. Over.’

‘Roger that,’ said Brewer.

Shepherd stepped off the escalator and hurried after Khalaf.

The station concourse was busy. Dozens of travellers were standing around staring up at the electronic screens waiting for their platform numbers to be announced. Those lucky enough to know where their trains were hurried towards their platforms. Two British Transport Police officers were standing outside a coffee shop, deep in conversation.

Shepherd looked around but couldn’t see the man who had been in the carriage with Khalaf. ‘I’ve got eyeball on Tango One but I’ve lost eyeball on Tango Two,’ said Shepherd.

‘Whisky One and Whisky Three are on the Tube heading north,’ said Brewer. ‘Whisky Two is coming your way in his taxi.’

‘I’m sticking with Tango One,’ said Shepherd.

Khalaf was heading towards the podium in the middle of the station above which was the massive four-sided sign indicating the exits, platforms and toilets. When he reached it, Khalaf stopped and began to remove his backpack.

‘Jamie, he’s taking his bag off. I think it’s about to kick off.’

‘ARU is one minute away, and there’s another en route,’ said Brewer.

‘I can’t wait,’ said Shepherd, breaking into a run.

‘Be careful, Spider,’ said Brewer.

Khalaf bent down and placed his bag on the floor and unzipped it.

Shepherd ran behind a woman in a dark suit and realised too late that she was towing a wheeled cabin bag behind her. He swerved, clipped it with his left leg and stumbled, arms flailing, He managed to recover his balance but narrowly missed colliding with a pensioner with a walking stick who glared at him aggressively, even though he was in his eighties.

Khalaf was tying something around his head. Shepherd sprinted again, his arms pumping like pistons.

Khalaf straightened up. He’d tied a strip of white cloth around his head on which was Arabic writing in black. His eyes were wide and staring and he was muttering to himself. He looked as if he was high on something, amphetamines maybe, taken to give him the energy to do what he was about to do. In his right hand he was holding a machete, at least two feet long with a wooden handle and a strap that he’d wrapped around his wrist so that it wouldn’t slip from his grasp. In his left hand he had a combat knife, almost a foot long with a serrated edge on one side.

Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion as the adrenaline surge kicked through Shepherd’s system. Khalaf stood up and held his weapons high. No one was paying him any attention. Passengers were either concentrating on the announcement boards, fiddling with their smartphones or were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to be aware of what was going on right under their noses. Two businessmen in suits were so engrossed in their conversation that they walked within feet of Khalaf without noticing him.

Shepherd was about fifty feet away from Khalaf when he threw back his head and screamed, ‘Allahu Akbar!’ at the top of his voice. There was an echo from the far left of the station, but Shepherd realised immediately it wasn’t an echo, it was Tango Two. And half a second later there was a third yell, then a fourth, and a fifth.

The passengers nearest Khalaf began to scream and run like sheep suddenly startled by a snapping dog. He raised his machete and sliced at a man in a green anorak holding a tennis bag, catching him on the arm. Blood spurted and the man screamed. He tried to run but seemed to have lost all his coordination and his left leg collapsed and he fell. A woman let go of her suitcase and screamed. Her hands flew up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide and staring. Khalaf turned to look at her and raised his machete again. The man on the ground was screaming in pain and clutching at his injured arm.