Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (13 page)

Shepherd wound down the window. ‘Tony Ryan,’ he said. ‘Dmitry Popov is expecting me.’

‘Turn off the engine and get out of the car!’ the man shouted again. He was short, probably not much more than five foot seven, but he was broad shouldered and had bulging biceps that strained at the arms of his suit. He was wearing impenetrable Oakley wraparound sunglasses and had a Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear. Shepherd recognised him as Timofei Domashevich, one of the recruits to the security team. From his attitude it looked as if he had something to prove.

Shepherd pulled his Tony Ryan warrant card from his jacket pocket and held it out. ‘I’m a cop,’ he said. ‘I’m here to see Dmitry Popov.’ The gate started to rattle closed behind him.

A hand grabbed at the handle of the X5 and yanked the door open. ‘Out!’ said a second man. He was tall, a good foot taller than the first man, and wearing a similar suit, shades and earpiece. It was Konstantin Serov. According to the file he’d read, Serov had been with Grechko for almost ten years. Shepherd realised there was no point in arguing. He put his warrant card away and released his seat belt. He stepped down out of the four-by-four but his feet had hardly touched the ground before the man had spun Shepherd around and pushed him against the car. ‘Hey, go easy!’ shouted Shepherd, but as he put his hands on the roof to steady himself the bodyguard roughly kicked his legs apart.

A third bodyguard appeared on the other side of the car. It was Alina Podolski, the only female member of the security team. Like the other two bodyguards she was wearing a black suit but her white shirt was tieless and open at the neck. She stood watching him with amused pale blue eyes, her arms folded. She had short blond hair with a fringe that reached down past her eyebrows and her red lipstick matched the colour of her nails.

Shepherd flashed her a tight smile as hands roughly patted him down. He decided not to tell them that he was armed, he figured they might as well discover it for themselves. A few seconds later a hand patted the Glock in its holster. Serov shouted something that sounded like ‘
pistolet
’ which Shepherd assumed was Russian for ‘gun’. He held the Glock in the air and waved it around for the rest of the bodyguards to see.

‘I’m a cop,’ said Shepherd, but a hand hit him in the middle of the back and pushed him against the car.

Another man was rooting through the back of the X5 while a fifth bodyguard had appeared with a mirror on the end of a metal pole and was using it to examine the underside of the car. It was Max Barsky, the youngest member of the security team and one of the new arrivals. He was tall and thin and his suit was slightly too small for him so that his white socks were clearly visible below the hems of his trousers. He was wearing Ray-Bans that were too big for his face, giving him the look of an ungainly stick insect.

Another man patted him down again, paying particular attention to his legs. They didn’t seem to notice the vest that he’d put on underneath the shirt. ‘OK, turn around,’ said the man. Shepherd did as he was told. It was Boris Volkov, tall and skinny with a shaved head, his eyes hidden behind impenetrable Oakleys. A former Moscow policeman, according to the file that Shepherd had committed to memory. ‘Boris Volkov,’ said Shepherd.

Volkov frowned and put his face closer to Shepherd’s. Shepherd could smell garlic on the man’s breath. ‘You know me?’

‘I’m here to see Dmitry Popov,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you know that, of course.’ He held out his hand. ‘Now stop pissing around and give me back my wallet and my gun.’

‘No one gets in with a gun,’ said Volkov, his English heavily accented.

‘You realise I’m a cop, right?’ said Shepherd.

Serov ejected the clip from Shepherd’s Glock.

‘You break it, you pay for it,’ said Shepherd. Serov ignored him and slotted the clip back in.

To the side of the gate was a brick gatehouse with a thick-glassed window and above it a white metal CCTV camera. Shepherd realised that someone was watching him from the gatehouse, a big man with a weightlifter’s build and the standard wraparound Oakley sunglasses. It was Dmitry Popov. He was standing with his arms folded, and Shepherd nodded, acknowledging his presence. His ears were slightly pointed, giving him the look of an oversized elf.

Popov turned away from the window and a few seconds later stepped through the doorway. Serov held out the Glock. ‘
Pistolet
,’ he said.

Popov took it from Serov and looked at the gun as if it had just appeared from a cow’s backside. ‘Plastic,’ he said. ‘I never liked plastic guns.’ He jutted his chin at Shepherd, emphasising the ugly scar on his left cheek. It looked as if someone had taken a broken bottle and ground it into the flesh. ‘Guns are not allowed on the premises.’ Like the rest of the bodyguards he had a Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear.

‘I’m an SFO, a specialist firearms officer, and I’m authorised to carry my weapon anywhere in the British Isles,’ said Shepherd.

‘This is private property,’ said Popov. He took Shepherd’s wallet and flicked through it. He paid particular attention to the warrant card.

‘How about you and I have a quiet word,’ said Shepherd, gesturing at the guardhouse.

Popov nodded, turned his back on Shepherd and walked inside. Shepherd followed him. The door opened into a small room with two plastic chairs facing the window. There was a line of grey metal lockers on one wall and a whiteboard on which were written various car registration numbers, times and dates.

Another door led into a windowless office in which there was a desk with a computer terminal and behind it another whiteboard. Under the whiteboard was a line of charging transceivers. Popov walked behind the desk, placed the Glock and the wallet next to the terminal and sat down. He waved Shepherd to a chair on the other side of the desk. Shepherd sat down and crossed his legs. He said nothing as Popov picked up the wallet, opened it and scrutinised the warrant card again before going through the rest of the cards. He tossed the wallet towards Shepherd and it thudded on to the desk, but Shepherd ignored it. Popov picked up the Glock, ejected the clip and checked there wasn’t a round in the breech. ‘You like the Glock?’ he said.

‘It does the job,’ said Shepherd.

Popov reinserted the clip and leaned over to put the gun next to the wallet.

Still Shepherd said nothing. Popov leaned back and put his hands behind his bull neck. He stared at Shepherd with pale blue eyes. ‘You said you wanted a word,’ he said eventually.

‘Are you done?’ said Shepherd.

‘Done?’ repeated Popov.

‘Done. Finished. Have you finished showing me how on top of things you are? Because I’m assuming that’s what that little charade out there was all about.’

Popov put down his hands and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. He opened his mouth to speak but Shepherd beat him to it.

‘First let me say that I understand what happened out there,’ said Shepherd. ‘You wanted to demonstrate that security here is good, and I got that message loud and clear. There’s a few things we need to put right but I can see that you’re on top of things.’

Popov inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the compliment but his face remained impassive.

‘And I understand your need to let everyone see that you’re the top dog here. Having me brought in like this, it suggests that you’ve somehow failed, so by giving me a hard time, you show everyone that you’re still in control. I understand that, which is why I’ll let today pass.’ Shepherd smiled thinly. ‘But make no mistake, Dmitry, if you ever disrespect me like that again, I’ll destroy you.’

Popov’s eyes hardened but still his face remained neutral.

‘I’m sure you’ve got the right working visa but I can have the immigration authorities all over you. I gather you’re in the UK more than ninety days a year so I’ll have you audited by the Inland Revenue – they’ll squeeze you so hard that your eyes will pop. I’ll make a call to a contact of mine who works for Homeland Security in the States and I’ll have you put on the no-fly list which means your flying days will be pretty much over. And that’s before I get through telling your boss what a liability you are.’ He smiled easily. ‘But I’m sure it’s not going to come that. We both need the same thing, Dmitry. We want to make sure that nothing happens to your boss. So no more pissing around, OK? We work together, we help each other, we make each other look good.’

Popov nodded slowly. ‘I understand.’

Shepherd smiled. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m running the show while I’m here. It has to be that way, I don’t have time to run everything by you or to waste time massaging your ego. I’ll be respectful and I’ll include you as much as I can, and wherever possible I’ll make suggestions rather than issue orders, but at the end of the day I’m in charge. If something does happen and I tell you to jump, I need you to jump. On the plus side, if this does turn to shit it’ll be down to me and everyone will know that.’ He leaned over, picked up the Glock, and slid it into his holster, still smiling.

Popov stared at him for several seconds and then forced a smile. ‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘And I apologise for the overenthusiasm of my team.’ He held out his hand and Shepherd reached over and shook it. Popov squeezed hard as they shook, but not hard enough to hurt.

‘Dmitry, mate, if our roles had been reversed I would have done exactly the same to you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Except I’d have had them gloved up and giving you an internal examination.’ He stood up and pocketed his wallet. ‘Right, why don’t you give me the tour?’

Peter Grechko’s mansion was the biggest home that Shepherd had ever seen. He’d been in five-star hotels that were smaller and less luxurious and it took the best part of an hour for Popov to give him the lie of the land. Popov took Shepherd into the house through the garage. They had driven towards the garage doors in Shepherd’s X5 but as they rolled up it became clear that the garage was actually the entrance to the lower levels of the house. The ramp curved around and opened into an underground parking area large enough for a dozen cars. They climbed out and Popov took Shepherd over to a lift. The lift doors opened as they approached. There was a keypad to the right of the door and Popov tapped out a four-digit code and touched his thumb to a small sensor on the keypad before pressing the button for the second floor. Shepherd frowned at the buttons. ‘There are five floors?’ he said.

‘Three are underground,’ said Popov. ‘The control centre is on Basement One, where we are now, with the car parking area and storage rooms. Basement Two has the recreational areas, including the cinema, games room, billiards room and bowling alley. Basement Three has the pool and the boss’s gym, the wine cellar, more storage. Our gym is on Basement One. You’re welcome to use it.’

‘I’m not a great one for gyms,’ said Shepherd.

‘You keep fit, though,’ said Popov.

‘I run,’ said Shepherd. He gestured at the scanner. ‘So you know who is where at any point, right?’

‘We know which doors have been accessed and by who. And the transceivers we carry have GPS so have real-time locations for all the security staff. I’ll fix you up with a transceiver and get you a security code once we’ve done the tour.’

They arrived at the top floor and Popov walked Shepherd though the two wings, either side of a large hallway from which a huge marble staircase swept down to the ground floor. There were ten bedrooms in each wing, each exquisitely furnished and each with a massive en suite bathroom. The bedrooms all had double-height ceilings but they were individually designed in a range of styles and colours, any one of which could have been featured in a glossy magazine. None of them appeared to have been slept in.

‘Where does Mr Grechko sleep?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Since the shooting he has slept in a room on Basement Two,’ said Popov. ‘He says he feels safer there.’

‘Understandable,’ said Shepherd. He was looking out of the window of a room decorated in Japanese style with a low bed and rosewood furniture. There was a collection of Japanese pottery that looked as if it had just come from a museum and several Japanese swords in display cases. ‘But the house isn’t overlooked.’ He tapped the window. ‘And this is bulletproof glass, right?’

Popov nodded. ‘I explained that but he insisted on going below ground.’

Shepherd turned to face him. ‘He’s scared?’

‘You’ve never met him, have you?’ Shepherd shook his head. ‘Mr Grechko doesn’t scare easily,’ said Popov. ‘But after the sniper he sent his wife to France.’ He grinned. ‘Shopping.’

‘Shopping?’

‘Mrs Grechko likes to shop.’

‘And he has two sons, right?’

‘Sixteen and fourteen. They are with their mother. The former Mrs Grechko. Mr Grechko owns a large estate on Cyprus and Mrs Grechko knows that she is to stay there with the boys until this is resolved.’

‘And what about security in Cyprus?’

‘Mrs Grechko has her own security, but they have all been with the family for many years. Totally trustworthy.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Before the attack, he had a lot of guests?’

Popov shook his head. ‘Mr Grechko rarely entertained here,’ he said.

‘But all these rooms?’

The bodyguard shrugged. ‘The new Mrs Grechko likes nice things,’ he said. He grinned. ‘I’ll show you her dressing rooms.’

‘Rooms?’

Popov’s grin widened. ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘Rooms.’ He led Shepherd down a corridor lined with a thick green carpet, with small chandeliers hanging every ten feet or so. At the end of the corridor were two gilt doors. Popov threw them open. ‘The shoe room,’ he said. He wasn’t joking. The room was filled with rack upon rack of shoes, most of which hadn’t been worn. Popov pressed a button and the racks began to move to the side. More shoes appeared. And more.

Shepherd began to laugh and Popov laughed with him. ‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd.

‘If she sees a style she likes, she buys them in every colour,’ said Popov. ‘At the last count she had close to one thousand pairs.’ He pressed the button and the racks stopped moving. At the end of the room were two more double gilt doors and Popov pushed them open. ‘The handbag room,’ he said. The room was smaller than the previous one and lined with display cases containing handbags of every conceivable design and colour. Shepherd recognised many of the brands – Gucci, Chanel, Prada, Louis Vuitton.