Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (33 page)

‘I can get a cab to yours if that’s easier,’ said Harper. ‘Got anything decent to drink?’

‘Few bottles of lager and a bottle of Jamesons.’

‘Jamesons will do. With ice. Text me the address and I’ll come on over.’

Shepherd’s door entry system buzzed less than half an hour later and he pressed the button to open the downstairs door. Harper waited until he was in the flat before taking off his parka. He tossed it on a chair and pulled a face as he looked around. ‘Bloody hell, mate, they’re clearly not paying you enough to be a spook.’

‘It’s a cover flat,’ said Shepherd, pouring slugs of whiskey into two glasses.

Harper went over to look at the framed photographs of Shepherd. In a couple he was in police uniform, and in one he was in full CO19 gear. ‘Photoshop?’ he said.

‘Nah, I dressed up for that picture a few years ago,’ said Shepherd, dropping ice into the glasses and adding soda to his own.

Harper went over to study the contents of Shepherd’s bookshelves. ‘So who are you? In case anyone asks?’

‘Tony Ryan, Specialist Firearms Officer with the Met,’ said Shepherd, handing one of the glasses to Harper.

Harper raised it in salute. ‘Nice to meet you, Tony,’ he said, and drank half of it before dropping down on to the sofa. ‘So you have full ID, driving licence, passport, all in the name of this Ryan.’

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd, sitting down. ‘But before you even ask, the answer’s no, I can’t get paperwork for you.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of asking,’ said Harper. ‘Besides, I’ve got my own people for that.’ He reached over to his parka and pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket. He gave it to Shepherd and leant back, stretching out his legs. ‘So, Ahmad Khan has a job. He works at an Asian supermarket in Shepherd’s Bush. Big place, a lot of restaurants use it, cash and carry. Jimbo did a walk around and saw him stacking shelves and a while later he was manning one of the cash registers. He got there at eight in the morning and left at seven.’

‘He drove there?’

Harper nodded. ‘Parked around the back in a staff parking area. It’s not overlooked so it’d be a perfect place to pick him up, either first thing when he arrives or later when he’s leaving. We could be there with a van and he’d be in the back before he had any idea what was going on.’

‘What’s his home situation?’

Harper grinned. ‘Yeah, Jimbo did his secret squirrel thing while Khan was at the supermarket.’ He nodded at the piece of paper. ‘The details are there. His daughter was at home and she was happy enough to talk to him. Her name’s Najela and she’s nineteen.’

‘Definitely the daughter?’

‘That’s what she said. And her English is good, Jimbo said. She’s a student studying at a local college.’

‘What about her mother?’

‘Just the two of them. Jimbo asked about the mother but all she said was that she was dead.’

‘And she’s from Afghanistan?’

Harper nodded. ‘Kabul,’ she said. ‘She said her father was a teacher and left after he’d been persecuted by the Taliban.’

‘Well, that’s a crock,’ said Shepherd.

‘Khan isn’t short of money. They’re renting the house and have been for five years or so. Najela works part time at a Citizens Advice Bureau and she’s a translator for the local council.’

Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. ‘Anything else?’

‘That’s it, pretty much. Jimbo said he didn’t want to push it too hard. So we do it, right? We pick him up and we slot him?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘We need ammo,’ he said.

‘Ammo’s not a problem,’ said Harper. ‘I know a man.’

‘It’s got to be totally untraceable,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no point in using weapons from Afghanistan if the ammo points to Brixton gangbangers.’

‘Give me some credit, Spider. I’m not a virgin at this.’

‘You know about the Makarov specs, right?’

‘You mean 9.22 millimetre? Sure.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not the wet-behind-the-ears Para you knew back in Afghanistan. I’ve come on a bit since then.’

‘Apologies,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you’re sure you can get it?’

‘Russian stuff has been flooding into this country ever since the Soviet Union fell apart,’ said Harper. ‘Cheap, too. Your average gangbanger wants a nice shiny Glock or an Ingram or a Uzi. He thinks a Russian gun isn’t as cool because he doesn’t see them up on the big screen. Now your Bosnians and Serbs are quite happy to use a Russian gun, and London is full of them. Getting ammo will be a breeze. What about the longs? Do you want to use them?’

‘AKs are noisy,’ said Shepherd. ‘We can make suppressors for the shorts but there’s nothing you can do to quieten a Kalashnikov.’

‘We don’t have to fire them. Just the look of an AK tends to make people do as they’re told.’

‘The voice of experience?’

Harper laughed. ‘What can I say?’

‘It seems like overkill,’ said Shepherd. ‘I assume we’re doing this up close and personal. If we were planning a drive-by the AK would be the weapon of choice, but we’re not.’

‘Four men, two guns, doesn’t seem right, that’s all.’

‘There’s concealment, too. Even with the folding stock, the AK-47 is a big weapon. You could tuck it under an overcoat but even so it’s bulky.’

‘Might be useful if armed cops show up.’

Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’

Harper leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Of course I am, you daft sod.’

‘Because we’re not getting into a shoot-out with cops.’ He pointed a finger at Harper. ‘Any sign of cops and we run like the wind. Same with collateral damage – there isn’t to be any. We don’t hurt his family, we don’t hurt passers-by, and we certainly don’t hurt cops. I think we should pick him up, in a vehicle, and take him somewhere quiet. And we have to think about the body.’

‘We should bury him with a pig, or at least a pork chop in his mouth,’ said Harper.

‘Behave, Lex. We need to bury it somewhere where it’ll never be found.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Harper.

‘I’m serious, Lex.’

‘I know you are, mate. And I’m with you one hundred per cent. But let me make a suggestion. The two Russian shorts are perfect for the job. Like you said, they’ll muddy the waters. But we need four guns. I’ll pick up two more when I buy the ammo.’

‘They mustn’t be traceable.’

‘They won’t be. I know a gangbanger south of the river who does them on sale or return.’

‘That’ll work. But make sure you don’t get stitched up.’

‘I trust these guys, it’ll be fine. Do you have a preference?’

‘Go for revolvers, that way we’re not picking up cartridges.’

‘Consider it done.’ He drained his glass, stood up and patted Shepherd on the shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a call when it’s done.’

Shepherd looked up at him. ‘How are you fixed for cash?’

Harper chuckled. ‘You offering me a handout?’

‘You’ve got a thing about ID so I’m assuming you don’t use ATMs, or banks.’

‘I’ve got a few internet bank accounts but you’re right, most ATMs these days have cameras. I use safety deposit boxes. And hawala.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘About the safety deposit boxes? Sure. I’ve got three in London, packed with cash, gold and a passport or two.’ He took his pack of cigarettes out and slipped one in his mouth.

‘You know what I mean. Hawala.’

Harper tilted his head and lit the cigarette. He blew smoke before answering. ‘You don’t have to be a Muslim to use hawala,’ he said. ‘Plenty of places in Thailand that’ll take my cash,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a mate who dropped off a million baht with a guy in Pattaya yesterday. Today I can pick it up in sterling at any one of half a dozen places close to my hotel in Bayswater. Don’t even have to use ID if I don’t want to.’

‘How does that work?’

‘It’s buyer’s choice,’ said Harper. ‘If you want to use a driving licence or a passport as an ID to collect, that’s OK. But you can use a number, too. Produce the number, get the money. No questions asked.’

‘And you’ve never been ripped off?’

‘Other than the commission charge, nope. The hawala system is more reliable than the banking system. Quicker, too.’ He grinned. ‘So I’ve no problems with money, thanks for asking. And the guns and ammo, they’re on me.’

Shepherd’s mobile rang and he picked it up. It was Button. ‘I’ve got to take this,’ he said, and hurried over to the kitchen.

‘Sorry to bother you so late but I’ve just heard back about your friend,’ she said. ‘Interesting chap, this McIntyre.’ Shepherd could tell from her tone that there was more to come, so he didn’t say anything. ‘You didn’t mention his drinking,’ said Button eventually.

‘Everyone drinks,’ said Shepherd.

‘But not everyone gets into fights with civilians in pubs,’ said Button.

‘Hereford’s funny like that,’ said Shepherd. ‘The town’s proud of its association with the SAS, but you get more than your fair share of local hard men trying to prove how hard they are. It happened to all of us at some point – you’re having a quiet drink and some idiot on steroids will ask you if you’re SAS and why you’re not wearing your balaclava and did you come in through the window and all that nonsense, and you know it’s leading up to the “so how hard are you?” question and then fists start flying.’

‘And how do you handle that?’

‘I never got to that stage,’ said Shepherd. ‘I always used to say I sold life insurance and if that didn’t work I’d just walk away.’

‘Pity that Mr McIntyre didn’t use the same technique,’ said Button. ‘He’s been in a few scrapes, I see.’

‘He’s a highly trained soldier who’s seen action in some of the world’s most dangerous places,’ said Shepherd. ‘Iraq, Afghanistan, Sierra Leone. You’ve got to expect him to blow off a little steam every now and again.’

‘And you said he was in the security business?’ Shepherd winced in anticipation of what he knew was coming. ‘You failed to mention that he was a security guard and that he spends most of his time sitting at a reception desk in an office building in Reading.’

‘He’s working. A job’s a job.’

‘Look, I get that he’s a friend, and I get that you served together in the SAS. But are you absolutely sure he’s up for close personal protection with a man like Peter Grechko?’

‘I’m sure,’ said Shepherd, but even as he said the words there was a nagging doubt at the back of his mind and he remembered the way that McIntyre’s hand had shaken as he’d poured whisky in his miserable little room.

‘He’s to stay off the booze,’ said Button.

‘He knows that.’

‘And he’s to keep quiet about his SAS background, I don’t want him getting all competitive with Grechko’s people.’

‘No problem.’

‘And I need you to keep a close eye on him. He’s your responsibility.’

‘He’ll do just fine. And I’ll feel happier with him around. I can rely on Jock one hundred per cent, which is something I can’t say for Grechko’s security team.’

‘What’s the problem?’ asked Button.

‘They’re clearly not happy about having an outsider telling them what to do,’ he said. ‘Let’s just say that if Grechko is ever in the firing line, I’ll be the one thrown in front of the bullet.’

Button laughed. ‘Well, make sure you’re wearing a vest,’ she said. ‘OK, I’ll go with you on this. He’s worked undercover before?’

‘We all do undercover scenarios during selection,’ said Shepherd. ‘And he’s been on undercover ops.’

‘Then I’ll put together a legend and email it to you,’ she said. ‘We’ll have him down as a security expert with a military background and I’ll tell Grechko that we’ve used him before and that he’s there as a back-up.’

‘As soon as you’ve done that, I’ll take him over to the house,’ said Shepherd. ‘He can bunk down with Grechko’s team. He was one of the SAS’s linguists and he speaks reasonable Russian so that’ll be useful.’

‘Just make sure he knows he’s to be on his best behaviour,’ said Button.

The line went dead. Shepherd went back into the sitting room. Harper was grinning like a naughty schoolboy. ‘What?’ he said.

‘Your voice changes,’ said Harper.

‘What do you mean?’

‘That was your boss, right? The woman?’

‘Charlie, yeah.’

Harper’s grin widened. ‘Well, your voice changes when you talk to her. It goes softer. Lovey-dovey, in fact. It’s like she gets you in touch with your feminine side.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Shepherd.

‘Just saying, it’s nice to see a softer, gentler Spider, that’s all,’ said Harper.

‘Carry on taking the piss like this and I’ll show you my softer side all right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Charlie Button’s my boss, end of.’ He could see from the look on Harper’s face that he didn’t believe him and that there was no point in trying to convince him otherwise. He sighed and poured another slug of Jamesons into his glass.

Harper spent the next day holed up in his hotel watching television and eating pizza delivered by Domino’s. The Polish lady who cleaned the rooms seemed happy enough when he told her that he’d make his own bed and that he didn’t need a change of towels. He waited until it was dark before heading out and as always kept his head down and his parka hood up as he walked along the street. He let three black cabs go by him before holding up his arm and flagging down the fourth. He waited until he had climbed in the back before telling the driver where he wanted to go – a street close to Clapham railway station. It was starting to get dark and most vehicles had switched on their lights. He took out his cigarettes but then saw the no smoking sign on the glass panel behind the driver’s head. He settled back in his seat as the cab crawled over the Thames.

The street lights were on when the cab dropped him off. He kept his head down as he walked along the street, his hands thrust deep in the pockets of his parka. It was a rough area, where the cops tended to drive by mob-handed in grey vans, and where street muggings happened so often that they weren’t even mentioned in the local paper. A stabbing would be dismissed in a couple of paragraphs and the paper had long since given up printing police requests for witnesses as no one ever came forward.

There were two large black men in Puffa jackets standing in front of the house. It was in the middle of a run-down terrace and one of the few that hadn’t been converted into flats. The two men were both wearing wraparound sunglasses and leather gloves and they stared at Harper with unsmiling faces as he walked along the pavement towards them. The bigger of the two men, his shaved head glistening in the light from a street lamp just feet away, clenched and unclenched his fists.