False Friends (8 page)

It was early September when Sam Hargrove cal ed. Shepherd had spent the weekend in Hereford and was on his way back to London when his mobile rang and he took the cal using his hands-free. ‘Can you talk?’ asked Hargrove. He spoke with no introduction because he had no way of knowing if Shepherd was alone.

‘I’m driving, but yes, go ahead,’ said Shepherd. ‘Charlie told me back in May that you might be cal ing.’

‘The operation I’m working on has taken longer than I expected,’ said Hargrove. ‘It’s just about coming together now. Are you in London? Be handy to have a chat.’

‘I’m here most of the time at the moment, so whenever works for you is fine,’ said Shepherd.

‘Sooner rather than later,’ said Hargrove. ‘I don’t suppose I could persuade you to swing by Broadway?’

Broadway was where New Scotland Yard was based, just down the road from St James’s Park tube station.

‘I’d rather not,’ said Shepherd. ‘The job I’m on is local and I’m keeping a low profile.’

‘Where’s your base?’

‘Hampstead.’

‘Anywhere near the King Wil iam? A col eague told me that’s a good place for a meet.’

‘No problem. It’s just round the corner from my flat.’

‘We can catch up over a drink,’ said Hargrove. ‘How’s an hour from now for you?’

‘Traffic’s not great,’ said Shepherd, ‘but yeah, I should be able to make it.’

Shepherd ended the cal . The traffic wasn’t as bad as he’d thought and he had more than enough time to find a resident’s parking space close to his flat and to grab a Jameson’s and soda and a corner table before Hargrove arrived.

Hargrove seemed a bit heavier since Shepherd had last seen him and his overcoat was a little tighter round his midriff. As he walked into the pub he undid the buttons of his coat and revealed a dark-blue pinstriped suit, a crisp white shirt and a tie with light and dark blue stripes. He looked around, saw Shepherd at the table and waved. He ran a hand through his greying hair as he walked over, and when they shook hands his cuff edged out of his jacket sleeve revealing a gold cufflink in the shape of a cricket bat.

‘You’re looking wel ,’ said Hargrove.

‘You too,’ said Shepherd. He grinned over at his former boss. ‘You know this is the oldest gay bar in London?’

‘I didn’t know that,’ said Hargrove, looking around. There were no women in the pub, although that wasn’t especial y unusual for London. But the clientele was mainly under thirty, wel groomed and with a fashion sense that was definitely a cut above that found in the average London hostelry.

Hargrove chuckled. ‘I see what you mean.’

‘It’s not cal ed the Wil ie for nothing,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s been an openly gay venue since the 1930s, back in the day when they sent you down for being gay. But they’re not prejudiced, they’l serve anyone. So what can I get you?’

Hargrove rubbed his stomach. ‘I’ve had to give up the beer,’ he said. ‘Cutting back on the calories. Gin and slimline tonic wil be fine. Ice and a slice.’

He took off his coat, draped it over the back of a chair and sat down. He was adjusting the creases of his trousers when Shepherd returned with his drink.

‘Stil running?’ asked Hargrove.

‘I’m on the Heath every day, pretty much.’

‘You stil doing that thing with a rucksack ful of bricks?’

‘Builds stamina,’ said Shepherd. He clinked his glass against Hargrove’s. ‘Anyway, good to see you.’

‘And you,’ said Hargrove. The two men drank. Hargrove smacked his lips and put down his glass. He patted his stomach again. ‘I’m going to have to start doing something.’

‘Running is good,’ said Shepherd. ‘With or without the bricks.’

‘It’s the wife that’s the problem,’ said Hargrove, stretching out his legs. ‘She’s been watching al those cooking shows. Loves Gordon Ramsay.

Anyway, she started cooking herself and went on a few courses and I have to say she’s bril iant. She was always a good cook but this last year she’s moved up to a whole new level. Can’t remember the last time I ate out. It’s like having my own Michelin-starred restaurant. But I hate to think what my cholesterol levels are like.’ He sipped his gin and tonic. ‘So how are things with the fragrant Charlotte Button?’

‘We have our ups and downs, but general y it’s good,’ said Shepherd. ‘The last year I’ve been hand-holding a couple of guys who are undercover.

They’re amateurs so I have to watch them every step of the way.’

‘That’l be a change for you, seeing life from the other side.’

‘Tel me about it. I hadn’t realised just how much ego-stroking had to be done.’

‘You never needed much,’ said Hargrove. ‘I nearly gave you a cal when I heard you were leaving SOCA but then you decided to go with her to Five and I figured it would be disrespectful to poke my nose in.’

‘I’m happy enough,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s a bigger canvas and a lot less PC.’ He grinned. ‘And not much in the way of paperwork.’

‘Yeah, that’s more than fifty per cent of the job these days,’ agreed Hargrove. ‘Ticking boxes and meeting targets. But I have more freedom than most.’

‘Stil undercover operations, right?’

‘I head up the Covert Operations Group,’ said Hargrove. ‘COG. We form part of the Covert Policing Command which is the old Criminal Intel igence Branch. Basical y my task is to control al undercover operations throughout the Met. Any of the boroughs can cal on us, though al requests are dealt with through SCD. Recently they’ve been subcontracting us out to other Forces and between you and me I think the long-term aim is to make the COG a national unit but control ed by the Met. Basical y to do the job that SOCA was supposed to do.’

‘SOCA was a total waste of time,’ said Shepherd. ‘I should never have joined.’

‘To be honest, you weren’t given much of a choice,’ said Hargrove, adjusting his immaculate cuffs. ‘Stil , what’s done is done. I hear you’re doing great things at Five. And Charlotte seems wel pleased with you.’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘They keep me busy,’ he said.

‘And they let you out of the country.’

Shepherd steepled his fingers under his chin as he studied Hargrove. He knew the policeman wel , trusted him without question, but working for MI5 brought with it a whole new degree of security. He didn’t know what Hargrove’s clearance was and until he did there was no way he could talk about any MI5 operations, past or present. ‘I’ve been getting around,’ he said.

‘How’s your boy? He must be – what, thirteen now?’

‘He’s fine. He wanted to go to boarding school so it’s al worked out wel .’ He sat back in his chair.

‘You stil living in Ealing?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘We moved to Hereford a few years ago.’

‘To be near the Regiment?’

Shepherd laughed. ‘No, that’s where Liam’s grandparents live. It made more sense to be closer to them.’

‘So you commute, back and forth?’

‘Depends on the job. Most of the work involves deep undercover roles and they usual y come with accommodation. Now that Liam’s boarding it’s less of an issue.’

‘Wel , you’l be glad to hear that the operation I need help with is a bit closer to home. Birmingham, in fact. That’s only fifty miles or so from Hereford.’

‘The job I’m on is in London. Did Charlie explain that if I need to get back at short notice I’l have to drop everything?’

‘She made that clear. I don’t see that as a problem, if al goes to plan you’l only have to put in a couple of appearances. A cameo, you might say.’

‘The problem I have is that I never know when it might kick off. It’s very much a long-term thing but when it does start to go it’l probably do so very quickly.’

‘We can work around that,’ said Hargrove. ‘What is it, terrorism?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Couple of guys in a London mosque were recruited into an al-Qaeda cel . I was drafted in early on because they are total virgins. They’ve been groomed and trained and done the Pakistan training camp bit but since then they’ve been put into cold storage. To be honest, I’m starting to wonder if they’ve been rumbled. But until we know either way we’re just watching and waiting.’ He smiled rueful y. ‘Truth be told, I’ve been on more exciting jobs so I’m more than happy to work with you. What’s the story?’

‘Simple enough,’ said Hargrove. ‘You’ve heard of the English Defence League, right? There’re a couple of guys in an EDL offshoot in Birmingham looking to buy guns. We’ve got an inside track and need someone to play the part of the arms dealer. It’s a role you’ve played before with some success.’

‘I remember,’ said Shepherd.

‘We don’t need much in the way of a legend,’ said Hargrove. ‘You’l be brought in as a London arms dealer through the contact we already have in place. I thought we might pul in your teammate Jimmy Sharpe.’

‘Razor? He’s working for you?’

‘Joined my team three months ago,’ said Hargrove. ‘Since he left SOCA he’s been rattling around the Met and no one real y knew what to do with him. They offered him a retirement package but he turned that down and then they sent him to me.’

‘He’s a good operator,’ said Shepherd.

‘One of the best. It’s just that he’s old school and the world has changed.’ He drained his glass.

‘You’re prospering,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m management so it’s easier for me. I fol ow the rules, see which way the political wind is blowing and go with it, and I make sure that al my boxes are ticked. If I don’t screw up I could go up another rung before retirement, maybe two. That’l do me, Spider. I already have my cottage in Norfolk and my flat near Lords and a Cordon Bleu cook to wait on me hand and foot, so al ’s right with the world.’

‘It’l be good to work with Razor again.’

‘Wel , he’s the perfect fit for this job. The guy we have in place is young but experienced. He’s involved in the long-term penetration of right-wing groups. To be honest, he’s been undercover too long and wants out so he can probably appear in court to give evidence, which gives us a huge advantage.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’l put you together with Razor and we’l see what we can put together by way of samples. Then the inside man can fix up a meeting with the buyers and we’l take it from there.’ Hargrove grinned. ‘It’s good to be working with you again, Spider. The old team back in harness.’

Shepherd grinned back. ‘I was just thinking exactly the same thing,’ he said. He held up his empty glass. ‘One for the road?’

Hargrove looked at his watch. ‘Would love to but I have to get back. The wife is doing something special with duck tonight.’ He stood and picked up his coat. ‘I’l be heading up to Birmingham in a couple of days and it’d be handy if you could come with me. Bit of a briefing with the locals and it’l give you a chance to have a sit-down with Razor.’

A young man in a leather jacket smiled at Hargrove and raised his martini glass.

Hargrove smiled and nodded, then he patted Shepherd on the shoulder. ‘Next time I’l let you suggest the venue.’

‘I stil don’t see why Mohammed can’t come to the mountain,’ said Sharpe as he walked out of Starbucks and onto Hampstead High Street. It was Friday morning and the sky overhead was threatening rain.

‘Now what are you moaning about?’ said Shepherd.

They were both carrying coffees. Hargrove had sent Shepherd a text saying that he was on his way and Shepherd was holding two coffees, a regular for himself and a latte for the chief superintendent.

‘Why are we having to schlep up to Birmingham?’ said Sharpe. ‘There’re three of us; why can’t the undercover guy come down to London?’

‘To be honest, I don’t want to be going into New Scotland Yard unless I have to,’ said Shepherd. ‘And Hargrove said that the West Midland cops don’t want any of their intel leaving their office.’

‘That doesn’t make any sense,’ said Sharpe. He sipped his coffee and looked at his wristwatch, a cheap Casio. ‘What are they saying? They don’t trust the Met?’

‘It’s that whole right-wing thing,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s not unknown for cops to be supportive of organisations like the BNP and EDL. From what Hargrove was saying, it looks as if they’re not even putting their intel on to the computer.’

‘So have they checked us out, do you think? To make sure we haven’t got any right-wing sympathies.’

‘Clearly not,’ said Shepherd, ‘or they wouldn’t be letting you loose on their precious operation.’

‘I resent that remark,’ said Sharpe. He grinned. ‘Anyway, I’m a changed man, haven’t you heard? I’ve been on al the diversity courses going and passed with flying colours. I ful y understand the role that the police service of the twenty-first century has in maintaining productive and respectful relationships with the various ethnic components of the community.’ He laughed. ‘Load of bol ocks.’ He was about to say more when Hargrove’s black Vauxhal Vectra appeared at the end of the road.

‘Here we go,’ said Shepherd.

‘I thought he’d have a driver,’ said Sharpe.

‘I think the days of drivers for senior officers are long gone,’ said Shepherd.

The car pul ed up next to them. Shepherd climbed into the front while Sharpe got into the back. Hargrove was wearing a dark-blue suit and had put the jacket on a hanger on the hook at the rear passenger side. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said.

Shepherd gave Hargrove his coffee and he slotted it into a cup-holder before putting the car into gear and pul ing away from the kerb. The drive from London to Birmingham took just under two hours, during which time Hargrove briefed them on the West Midlands operation, which had been codenamed Excalibur. The Major Investigations Unit had targeted a dozen right-wing activists in Birmingham, most of whom were members of the English Defence League. The investigation had begun in 2010 and had initial y been little more than low-level intel igence gathering. But fol owing the countrywide riots and looting the activists had started talking about arming themselves. Several had already acquired handguns but at least two of the men under investigation were now looking to buy more serious weaponry. According to the undercover cop that Hargrove had in place, they wanted AK-47s.

‘Why would anyone want an AK-47?’ asked Shepherd.