The three men got out of the car and walked across the road into the mosque. There were racks in the hallway and they removed their footwear. There was a small bookshop to the right full of copies of the Koran and various religious works. Al-Hussain saw at a glance there were no controversial volumes to attract the attention of the authorities. The prayer hall was off to the left presumably, in what had once been the main bar. At the end of the corridor double doors opened into another corridor off which were several smaller rooms. There was a sign on one of the doors: STUDY ROOM. It was locked but Ash had a key. He opened it and switched on the lights. There were four wooden tables each with four plastic chairs, and a whiteboard on one wall on which were written several Arabic phrases. A thick purple curtain had been drawn across the window.
Ash locked the door behind them. Sunny pushed a bookcase across the wooden floor and knelt down. He took a small knife from the pocket of his jeans and prised up a loose board that had been covered by the bookcase. He reached into the hole and pulled out a long package wrapped in sacking, carried it over to one of the tables and laid it down. He and Ash watched as al-Hussain carefully unwrapped it to reveal a metal transit case with two catches. He flicked them and opened the case to reveal the twin of the rifle he had used in Syria, with a Schmidt & Bender 10×42 telescopic sight, a chunky suppressor, mount, bipod, magazines, a sling and a cleaning kit.
He took out the rifle and examined it. It appeared to be brand new.
‘They make shit-hot guns, the Yanks,’ said Ash.
‘It’s British,’ said al-Hussain.
‘I was told it had been brought in from America,’ said Ash.
‘It would have been bought there, yes, but that is because it’s almost impossible to buy in England even though they manufacture them here. All guns are illegal in the UK.’
‘What’s it called?’ asked Sunny, stroking the barrel.
‘It’s an L115A3.’ Al-Hussain picked up the telescopic sight. It was slightly different from the one he’d used in Syria, but it was good and would do the job.
‘That’s a mouthful,’ said Ash.
‘Its nickname is “Silent Assassin” because it can be used at such a long range. The targets never hear a thing. Best sniper rifle in the world. Some guys who shot at the Olympics designed it.’
‘It looks the business,’ said Sunny. ‘Can I have a go?’
‘It’s not a toy,’ said al-Hussain, putting the sight back in the case.
‘I know that,’ said Sunny. ‘But we fired all sorts of shit when we went to Pakistan. AK-47s and RPGs, the lot.’
‘This is different,’ said al-Hussain. ‘It’s sensitive. It’s the difference between a knife and a scalpel. Anyone can kill with a knife, but a scalpel has to be in the hands of a surgeon.’
Sunny laughed. ‘That’s what you are, bruv? A surgeon?’
Al-Hussain nodded. ‘It’s how I like to think of myself, yes.’
‘Fuck me, bruv, you’re so far up your own arse it’s not true.’ He laughed.
Al-Hussain’s face hardened but he said nothing. He looked at Ash. ‘I need to fire it.’
‘Here?’ asked Sunny.
‘Of course not here,’ snapped al-Hussain, his eyes still on Ash. ‘I need to be outside, somewhere I can shoot for eight hundred metres.’
‘We weren’t told that you needed to practise,’ said Sunny. ‘No one said, did they, bruv?’
‘It’s not about practising,’ said al-Hussain. ‘The sight has to be calibrated. I’ve never used this weapon before so I won’t be used to it.’
‘What do you need?’ asked Ash.
‘Somewhere we won’t be disturbed and where no one will hear the gun being fired. As I said, I need to fire at over eight hundred metres.’
‘We can do that,’ said Ash. ‘We’ve run training exercises for brothers before they go out to Pakistan. We do it in the Peak District. Midweek this time of the year there won’t be anyone around. The place we used was well away from the walking trails and I know a valley that will trap any sound.’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Yes, of course. If that’s what you want.’
Al-Hussain folded the stock of the rifle and put it into the case.
Sunny took out his mobile phone.
‘What are you doing?’ asked al-Hussain.
‘Taking a picture, bruv.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ll put it on our Facebook page.’
‘Facebook page?’
‘Don’t worry, bruv. It’s not under my name. It’s an account we use to encourage recruits.’
‘You post on social media?’
‘Sure, bruv. Everyone does. And a picture of a gun like this, shit, it’ll go viral in no time.’
Al-Hussain closed the lid. ‘No pictures, no social media, no nothing,’ he said. ‘And you need to stay off social media. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, they’re all monitored. What we’re doing is too important to be jeopardised by a Facebook posting.’
‘Okay, bruv, no problem,’ said Sunny, putting away the phone. Al-Hussain handed the case to him and he replaced it in the hole in the floorboards.
‘So, you can arrange a trial firing tomorrow?’ al-Hussain asked Ash.
Ash nodded. ‘Not a problem.’
‘I’ll need some fruit, too.’
‘Fruit?’ repeated Ash.
‘I’ll give you a list.’
Shepherd indicated left and slowed to leave the motorway. The Toyota also slowed and indicated a left turn half a dozen cars back. He parked and made a show of looking at his watch, then walked into the main building. He ordered fish and chips and coffee and carried his meal to a table by the window, overlooking the car park. He couldn’t see the Toyota. If they were pros, one would stay with the vehicle and the other would come inside, but the fact that he had spotted them in the first place meant they were less than professional.
He ripped open a couple of sachets of ketchup and smeared it across his chips. He looked around casually but no one was paying him undue attention. He sipped his coffee, then began to eat. The fish was surprisingly good, though the chips were slightly soggy. He was halfway through the plateful when his phone buzzed to let him know it had received a message. It was Willoughby-Brown:
Call me
. Shepherd picked up the phone and rang him back.
‘The car’s registered to a Chris Batey of Beckenham, and nothing’s known,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘We can’t find any connections between him and the O’Neill brothers either.’
‘Well, they turned off into Reading Services when I did,’ said Shepherd.
‘Have you had eyes on them?’
‘They didn’t park near me. I don’t want to walk around the car park because then they’ll know I’m on to them.’
‘This might have nothing to do with the O’Neills, you realise that?’
‘Sure. But the car is in the name of Terry Taylor and I’ve been based at the Battersea flat for going on three months. I can’t see it can be anyone else. But you’re right, we need to keep an open mind.’
‘And if it is the O’Neills, do you think you’ve done anything to arouse suspicion?’
‘Everything’s been as good as gold,’ said Shepherd.
‘They might just be checking on you before they take the next step,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘A final look-see before admitting you to the inner sanctum.’
‘Or it could be Wedekind doing it off his own bat. He’s going to be vouching for me on the money-laundering and might want to make sure he’s not setting himself up for a fall.’
‘How do you want to play it?’
Shepherd looked at his watch. It was after one o’clock. ‘I think we stick with Plan A,’ he said. ‘Can you get a patrol car to pick them up between junctions eleven and ten? I’ll get them to speed and they can be pulled over. I’ll head back to Maidenhead and take the A404 up to the M40.’
‘I’ve a car on standby,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘I’ll get it ready to go at the roadside.’
‘Make sure they keep them tied up for some time,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t want them catching me up.’
‘I think I can smell alcohol on their breath from here,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘Okay, you stay put until the car’s in place. I’ll let you know when they’re ready.’
Shepherd ended the call and made a point of checking his watch again and frowning. If he was under surveillance he wanted to make it look as if he was waiting for somebody and they were late.
He finished his fish and chips, then bought himself another coffee and a copy of the
Daily Telegraph
. He went back to his table and spent the next fifteen minutes reading the paper, looking out of the window and checking his watch. Eventually his phone buzzed again. A message from Willoughby-Brown:
Good to go
.
Shepherd peered at his watch again, faked another frown, then finished his coffee and closed his paper. He picked up his car keys and walked to the exit. A man sitting alone at a table by the door grabbed his phone and made a call. It might have been a coincidence but as Shepherd left the building the man rushed off in the opposite direction. Shepherd let him go. If he was the tail, the cops would take care of him on the motorway.
A few minutes after leaving the service station and heading back to London, Shepherd drove past a police patrol car parked at the side of the motorway. He accelerated smoothly and took the BMW up to eighty. The Toyota kept pace with him but stayed about two hundred yards back. He eased down on the accelerator and gradually got the speed up to ninety. The Toyota accelerated too. Shepherd had to move into the outside lane and the Toyota was forced to follow suit. That was when the patrol car behind them hit the blues and twos. At the sound of the siren the Toyota slowed and indicated it was pulling over. Shepherd grinned and kept going.
Once he was sure the Toyota had pulled over he slowed the BMW and drove the rest of the way to Heston Services at just over the speed limit, spending most of the time in the outside lane. If the cops did their job right they could detain the Toyota for up to half an hour.
His mobile phone rang when he was ten minutes away. It was Amar Singh. ‘You can’t keep away from me, can you?’ he said.
‘Must be love,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you going to clean my car?’
Singh laughed. ‘I’ve got your replacement and I’m to drive the Beamer back to London. Where are you?’
‘About ten minutes away. You?’
‘I’m at Heston already.’
‘Excellent. Look, park behind the coaches. Somewhere quiet.’
‘No problem.’
Shepherd kept the BMW at a steady eighty to the service station, keeping a close eye on his rear-view mirror. He moved to the left and slowed for the exit, then drove along to the coach parking area. He saw a grey Audi TT sports car, and as he parked next to it, Amar Singh climbed out, immaculately dressed as usual, this time in a black Hugo Boss suit, pink shirt and red tie. He shook hands with Shepherd. ‘You’ve got a tail, I’m told.’
‘Picked them up in Slough and they were with me all the way to Reading. They stuck close so I’m hoping the car’s clean.’ He gestured at the Audi. ‘Is that my replacement?’
Singh tossed him the keys. ‘Be careful with it.’
‘How is this in the car pool?’
‘It isn’t. It’s mine. I didn’t have time to get one from the pool and I know you’re a careful driver.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s a bit late to be asking me that now,’ said Singh. He took a small black box with three stubby antennas on it and walked slowly around the BMW, staring at a series of small lights. He bent down to examine the underside of the car, taking care not to dirty his trousers, then ran the box over the boot and the bonnet. ‘Nothing I can see,’ said Singh, ‘and this thing will pick up pretty much anything.’
Shepherd gave him the keys. ‘Thing is, you have to just drop this at my place in Battersea. Whatever you do, don’t drive it around.’
‘You don’t trust me?’ Singh looked hurt but grinned when Shepherd started to explain. ‘I’m only pulling your chain, Spider,’ he said. ‘Willoughby-Brown explained the situation. I’ll put it back in your parking space and make sure no one sees me.’ Shepherd gave him the keycard for the car park. ‘Any idea when you’ll be back?’ asked Singh.
‘Two days, max,’ he said.
‘If you need anything, give me a call,’ said Singh.
The two men shook hands and Shepherd climbed into the Audi. A few minutes later he was powering his way towards Hereford.
Omar parked his bike at the back of the unit and took off his helmet. The main door was locked so he took out his key and let himself in. ‘It’s me,’ he shouted, as he locked the door behind him, realising immediately how stupid it was to announce himself. The police would have charged in with guns and stun grenades, not let themselves in with a key.
He could hear the hum of the compressor powering Faisal’s spray gun. There were three vehicles in the unit now, all bought with cash. Two had been in the colours they needed. The last had been the exact make and model they wanted but had been all white so Faisal was having to respray it.
Omar went to the far end of the unit, which had been sealed off with sheets of polythene hanging from the ceiling. A ghostly figure was walking back and forth as he gave it its first coat of yellow paint. Omar put his helmet and gloves on a metal table and waited for Faisal to finish.
After a few minutes Faisal turned off the compressor and placed the spray gun on the floor. He parted the polythene sheet, then took off his goggles and dust mask. He was wearing paint-spattered overalls and rubber gloves. ‘You missed all the hard work again,’ he said.
‘My dad said I had to stay late,’ said Omar. ‘We’ve got jobs backed up but he’s too tight to hire anyone else.’
Faisal grinned. ‘I’m joking,’ he said. ‘Spraying’s an art. It’s got to be done right.’
Omar nodded at the vehicle behind the polythene sheeting. ‘How’s it going?’
‘Yellow’s done. I’ll let it dry, then do the green. You should be able to fix the lights tomorrow. What about the plates?’
‘I haven’t been given the numbers yet but I’ve a guy lined up to make them for me. He’s in Stretford so they can be here within an hour.’
Faisal took off his gloves and picked up a bottle of water. ‘I’m starving,’ he said.
Omar glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve got to be in Lancaster by seven but we can stop for a bite on the way,’ he said.
‘What state is it in?’