Chaudhry pulled a face. ‘Volvos are boxy,’ he said. ‘They’re a housewife’s car.’
Bradshaw laughed. ‘Then you can be in the Mondeo with me, Samil.’
Mark and Mickey picked Shepherd up in their Range Rover and drove him to the airport. They spent ninety minutes in the KLM business lounge before boarding their flight to Holland. Mickey and Mark drank two bottles of champagne between them but Shepherd stayed with mineral water. He told them he didn’t want to risk an upset stomach. After the food service, the brothers slept but Shepherd stayed awake. It wasn’t the robbery that was preying on his mind, it was Paul Bradshaw and the Asians, and what they planned to do with their surface-to-air missiles. If they launched a terrorist attack at one of the country’s airports and brought down a plane, the responsibility would lie at Shepherd’s door. In a perfect world he’d simply tell Charlotte Button everything he knew and let her pass the information to the relevant agencies. With luck, the police and the security services would be able to track them down and neutralise the terrorist cell before they were able to launch an attack. But it wasn’t a perfect world. Richard Yokely had made it clear that Shepherd was not to divulge the source of his information and the American was not a man to be crossed. Shepherd had told Button about the missiles, Bradshaw’s involvement and the arms dealer in Nice, and just hoped that would be enough for her to put the rest of the puzzle together. If she didn’t Shepherd would have no choice but to tell her everything, and if he did that his job would be on the line and Richard Yokely on his case. Neither option would have a pleasant outcome.
Shepherd felt as if he’d been backed into a corner with no way out. And while his mind went around in circles, trying to come up with a solution, he knew that the clock was well and truly ticking. Having got his missiles into England, Bradshaw wouldn’t wait long to use them – the longer he waited, the more likely it was he’d be caught. There could only be one possible target, and that was a passenger jet. But without knowing where he intended to strike, preventive measures were out of the question – there were simply too many airports, too many planes and too many passengers.
Andy Yates scanned the horizon with his binoculars. ‘There’s a dozen boats out there,’ he said. ‘How the hell are we supposed to know which one we’re looking for?’
‘Just keep an eye out for a fast boat heading this way,’ said Davie Black. They were sitting in a black Jeep Cherokee on a beach on the Northumbrian coast. He tapped the TomTom GPS unit sitting on the dashboard. ‘They’ll come right to us.’
‘I don’t understand why they’re doing this in broad daylight.’
‘Because it’s a busy stretch of water, and even with night-vision goggles it’s dangerous at the speed they travel at,’ said Black. ‘Stop worrying.’ He studied the sudoko puzzle in the newspaper in front of him.
‘What is it with you and those puzzles?’ said Yates.
‘Exercise for the brain,’ said Black. ‘Same as you like to exercise your mouth.’
Yates lowered the binoculars. ‘You’re turning into a grumpy old poofter.’
‘And you’re a boring old fart,’ said Black.
‘But you love me, really.’
Black shook his head in disgust and looked at his watch. ‘They’re late,’ he said.
‘If they don’t come, we’re screwed.’
‘If they don’t come we find someone else to come up with the RPGs and we do the job somewhen else.’
‘Somewhen?’ said Yates, grinning.
‘What?’
‘There’s no such word.’
‘You know what I mean, and that’s all that matters,’ said Black.
Yates put the binoculars back to his eyes and gazed out over the sea again. ‘Here we go,’ he said. He handed them to Black and pointed to the right. Black saw a needle-shaped boat heading their way, carving through the water like a knife. ‘Bloody move those things, don’t they?’
‘Mickey says even the navy doesn’t have anything that can keep up with them on the water,’ said Yates. ‘Only thing that can match them is a helicopter.’
Black climbed out of the Jeep and checked the beach. It was just after dawn and no one was around. The wind coming off the North Sea was bracing even in the summer months, and other than the occasional insomniac dog-walker the beaches were usually empty at this hour. If there had been anyone to pay any attention to the Jeep, the plates were false and both men were armed.
The boat streaked towards them, and Yates joined Black. They were both wearing fleece jackets, wellington boots and leather gloves, with woollen hats that could be pulled down as ski masks if necessary. They walked across the firm sand to the water’s edge.
The hard bottom of the rib boat meant it could come right up onto the beach, providing the rotor was swung out of the water. It slowed as it got nearer the shore, but its onboard GPS kept it heading directly for them. As it came closer Yates could see two men in dark blue weatherproof jackets standing behind the windshield. The figure on the right waved and Yates waved back. There was a third figure in the back of the boat, and as it roared into the shallows he swung the outboard motor towards the front so that the rotor lifted out of the waves. The boat’s momentum carried it forward and it scraped along the sand.
‘Quickly! Quickly!’ shouted the man holding the motor.
Yates and Black waded into the surf. One of the men at the front of the boat moved back and helped Yates to drag one of four wooden boxes over the side. He and Black carried it to the sand and put it down carefully, then hurried back. In less than five minutes they had unloaded all four and the boat was speeding towards Holland.
Shepherd managed a few hours’ sleep but he didn’t feel rested when the lights came on in the cabin and the crew began serving breakfast. He didn’t want to eat but he drank three cups of coffee. They landed on time and spent two hours at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam before catching an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin. Mickey, Mark and Shepherd travelled separately on the Irish plane and didn’t meet up until they had passed through Immigration, where overweight plainclothes Garda Síochána officers barely glanced at their British passports.
Barry Wilson was waiting for them outside the terminal in a long-wheelbase Land Rover Defender with Irish plates. Mickey climbed into the front, Shepherd and Mark into the back. ‘Everything sorted?’ asked Mickey.
‘No worries,’ said Wilson. ‘Chopper called to say they’d got the gear from Holland and were driving down to the meet.’
‘I love it when a plan comes together.’ Mickey took out a cigar and lit it.
Wilson drove them to the long-stay car park where there was a second Land Rover Defender. Wilson gave a set of keys to Mickey. ‘Do you know where the ferry terminal is?’
‘Near the sea, right?’ said Mickey. He blew a cloud of smoke out of the window. ‘I’ll follow you.’ Wilson reached under the dashboard and pulled out a print-out of an Internet booking for an afternoon ferry sailing and a parking ticket. Mickey took it and climbed out of the car. ‘Come on, Ricky, you can ride shotgun,’ he said.
Shepherd took his holdall with him and walked over to the second Land Rover. Mickey got into the driving seat and Shepherd sat next to him. Wilson headed out of the car park and Mickey followed. He grinned when he saw a GPS unit mounted on the dashboard. ‘Cheeky bugger – do I know where the ferry terminal is!’ He patted the GPS. ‘If I don’t, this gizmo sure as hell does.’
The journey took forty-five minutes. Men in fluorescent jackets pointed the way to the waiting area where they joined queues of cars, horseboxes, trucks and caravans preparing to board. After a half-hour wait, the two Land Rovers drove separately onto the ferry and parked on different levels. The four men met up in the spacious lounge close to the restaurant. A member of staff with a heavy Polish accent issued what were probably safety instructions, but as her voice was barely intelligible none of the passengers paid her any attention.
‘Wanna eat?’ asked Mickey. He took his cigar case out of his pocket, then saw a sign that said smoking was permitted only outside on deck so he scowled and put it away.
‘Just coffee,’ said Shepherd.
Mickey and Mark went over to the cafeteria while Wilson and Shepherd sat at a table by a large picture window. Shepherd flicked through his copy of the
Irish Times
. As he looked up he saw a young Asian man in a brown leather jacket and Armani jeans walking away from the cafeteria with a bottle of water. It was Amar Singh, one of SOCA’s technical experts. Shepherd had worked with him for more than five years, initially on a police undercover team and latterly with SOCA. Singh studiously avoided eye contact as he went towards the men’s toilets in the middle of the ship.
Shepherd put down his paper. ‘I need a leak,’ he said.
‘Have one for me,’ said Wilson.
He found Singh checking that the two stalls were empty. When he had satisfied himself, he took a Nokia mobile from his pocket and handed it to Shepherd. ‘Long time no see,’ he said.
‘Been busy?’ asked Shepherd, taking his own phone from his jacket pocket. He had already removed the Sim card. He gave the phone to Singh and took the replacement.
‘Same old,’ said Singh. He indicated the phone in Shepherd’s hand. ‘The GPS locator will give us your position around the clock. It still functions whether or not it’s switched on and it looks the same as the regular phone so only an expert will be able to tell that it’s been modified.’
‘What if the battery loses its charge?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Then you’re screwed, so keep it charged,’ said Singh, slipping Shepherd’s phone into his jacket. ‘Have you got the details of the transport?’
‘Two Land Rover Defenders, Irish plates,’ said Shepherd. Singh took out a small notebook and Shepherd gave him the registration numbers.
‘Passengers aren’t allowed on the car decks while the ship’s at sea, but I need you to keep an eye on the guys in case they decide to go walkabout,’ said Singh.
‘No problem,’ said Shepherd.
‘Message from Charlie about that army guy you mentioned. He almost certainly killed the arms dealer in Nice – he had hi-tech micro cameras all around the house and there’s video of an IC One male sticking a knife into him in the hallway. Could well be Bradshaw. Charlie wants to know if you’ve any other info because he’s gone off the radar.’
‘Not much more I can tell her,’ said Shepherd. ‘What’s she found out?’
‘He was a tank gunner based at Abu Naji camp during his last tour. If he did convert to Islam he kept it a secret from his army buddies. Got an honourable discharge and enrolled on an engineering course at South Bank University. Was a model student during his first year but no one’s seen him for the past two weeks. Charlie fears the worst.’
‘Yeah, understandably,’ said Shepherd. ‘If he’s gone AWOL with surface-to-air missiles, it can’t be good news.’
‘That’s why she’s asking for more intel on him,’ said Singh. ‘She’s had him red-flagged but there’s no record of him entering the country from France so she’s assuming he’s got fake ID.’
‘Not sure I can help,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t suppose she’s going to go public?’
‘Can’t do that without causing a panic,’ said Singh. ‘You can imagine what it’d do to the aviation business if we start telling people a crazed fundamentalist’s about to shoot down passenger jets.’
Singh was right. And if Button did go public with Bradshaw’s details, it would drive him further underground. ‘Tell Charlie if I get anything, I’ll call or text,’ he said.
‘Be lucky,’ said Singh, and left the toilet. Shepherd went into one of the stalls, sat down and installed his Sim card. He switched on the phone and went back to join Wilson.
Bradshaw stood at the rear of the removals van and examined Kundi’s handiwork. ‘What do you think, brother?’ asked Kundi.
‘You’ve done a good job,’ he said. Kundi had used the oxyacetylene torch to cut out a large section of the roof, then hinged the piece so that it could be lowered, with the hinges above the cab. It reached almost halfway down the length of the van meaning that the missile would have to be fired at the back, but that wasn’t a problem. There would still be enough room to keep the tailgate up until Kundi was ready to pull the trigger.
‘I’ll run a seal around the edges, then fit locking bolts at either side to hold it in place,’ said Kundi.
‘They need to be quick-release,’ said Bradshaw. ‘And Chaudhry has to be able to release them standing on the floor. We won’t have time for him to be messing around with stepladders.’
‘I’ll have a pole with a hook on the end that’ll release the bolts.’
‘Just make sure it doesn’t slam down on his head,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Once it’s done we’ll start practising, I want him to be able to do it blindfolded.’ He dropped off the tailgate onto the concrete floor. Talwar and al-Sayed were on either side of the van, wearing white overalls and carefully repainting the furniture-removal company’s name and logo. Bradshaw grinned at Talwar’s attempts to reinstate the phone number. ‘Is that a three or an eight, Rafee?’ he asked.
‘A three,’ said Talwar, wiping his forehead with the arm of his overalls. ‘Shall I redo it?’
‘It has to look perfect,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Anything out of the ordinary might attract attention.’
‘Is mine okay?’ asked al-Sayed, scratching his neck. The skin below his right ear was red raw and a thin rivulet of blood trickled down his neck. He wiped his fingers on his overalls.
‘It’s fine,’ said Bradshaw, encouragingly, and al-Sayed beamed.
Bradshaw moved to the corner of the storage area to get a better view of the van. Once the painting was finished, it would look like any of the company’s other vehicles. The alterations made to the roof wouldn’t be seen by anyone passing, and the van still had its original licence plates. The tax disc was out of date but Chaudhry was arranging to get a fake one made that would pass all but the closest inspection. Not that Bradshaw was over-worried about the van being stopped and checked. It would remain in the storage area until the day it was going to be used, and it was only a short drive to Heathrow, the busiest airport in the world.
The two Land Rovers drove off the ferry shortly after two o’clock in the afternoon. They were among the last vehicles to leave and for the next hour they powered down the outside lane of the A5 overtaking the trucks and cars that had disembarked before them. By the time they reached the bridge linking Anglesey to the mainland the traffic was lighter. It began to rain and the windscreen wipers struggled against the downpour.