Soft Target (40 page)

in New York and a third hit the Pentagon. When it was revealed that Muslims had carried out the attacks, he had cheered,

then rushed to his mosque where other young men were equally excited that someone had stood up to the Americans.

The older members of the mosque had tried to calm them,

tried to tell them that Islam was a peaceful religion, that any form of killing was wrong and that terrorism against innocent men, women and children was a sin, no matter what the provocation. Malik would not listen.

He joined street protests calling on the government not to join in the invasion of Afghanistan, and helped make petrol bombs when it became clear that Britain was going to back President Bush. It was when he saw images of a children's hospital in Kabul destroyed by an American missile that he decided protests were not enough. He told his parents he wanted to spend time in Pakistan, discovering his roots. They welcomed his decision as an opportunity for him to find a suitable wife and even paid for his ticket. They gave him a list of the phone numbers and addresses of family and friends and cried as he walked through the departure gates at Heathrow's Terminal Three. It was the last time they had seen him.

Malik spent a week in Pakistan and didn't call any of the numbers his parents had given him. He headed north to the frontier town of Peshawar and met a group of young Muslims who were as keen to fight American imperialism as he was.

He was taken to a camp where Muslims who wanted to fight the infidel were recruited and trained. There, they were desperate for recruits to send to Afghanistan to fight with the Taliban, but the men who ran the camp were suspicious of the clean-shaven young man who spoke only English. But the fact that he had a British passport intrigued them and I 319 they kept him under observation for three weeks, during which time he did nothing but study the Qur'an, grow a beard and perform basic exercise drills. Once they were convinced of his good intentions he was trained in the use of explosives, light weapons and communications. Malik was a quick learner, and enthusiastic. He had finally found something he considered worth studying.

His instructors monitored his progress and were about to send him to join the Taliban when word came from an alQaeda aide that Malik was to be moved to a training camp in the Yemen. There, he was given further intensive training in terrorism techniques but he spent the bulk of his time studying the Qur'an and the Hadiths, texts based on the life of the Prophet Muhammad. Without realising it, Malik was being nudged towards the passages that glorified martyrdom,

that promised everlasting joy in the shadow of Allah for those who fought and died in the name of Islam. He was shown videos of other young volunteers who had sacrificed themselves.

He was told how the shahids - the martyrs - would never be forgotten on earth and would live for ever in heaven.

Malik watched the videos of bright-eyed men and women,

some not even in their teens, eager to give their lives for the fight against the infidel.

Afghanistan fell to the Americans, and then it was Iraq's turn. Malik watched on CNN as the infidels slaughtered Muslims, then pillaged the country's resources. He saw photographs of American and British soldiers torturing Iraqi prisoners-of-war and begged his instructors to send him on a mission. He was told to wait, that his time would come, that he was too valuable a resource to be wasted. He was special,

and Allah had a special place for him in heaven.

Bombs exploded in Spain and the Spanish government pulled its troops out of Iraq; once again, Malik begged his instructors to use him. Finally his time came. He was told 320 I to shave off his beard and return to the United Kingdom,

not to Birmingham and his parents but to a bedsit in Derby, where he was to speak to no one other than a man who would bring him food and clean clothes. He stayed in the bedsit for two weeks and left the room only once,

at night. He walked to a local graveyard and climbed over the wall. He found a space between two graves and lay there, his arms crossed over his chest, trying to imagine what it would be like to be dead. He closed his eyes under the star-sprinkled skies and realised he was at peace. Death was nothing to be scared of. Malik knew that it wouldn't lead to eternal sleep. The death of a shahid was rewarded with eternal paradise for himself and his relatives. Death was to be embraced.

Eventually a second man collected him and drove him to London in a van that smelt of curry. In London he was shown into another bedsit and told not to go out. He spent the days studying the Qur'an and the nights sleeping.

One day the Saudi came to the bedsit, wearing a suit that looked made to measure and carrying a slim leather briefcase.

Malik didn't know the Saudi's name, nor did he want to.The Saudi explained that Malik would be given the chance to strike at the British, to punish them for their actions, to make a statement that would be heard across the world.

Malik listened to him, then hugged him and thanked him for the opportunity he was being given. 'Allahu akbar,' he said.

'Allahu akbar,' the Saudi echoed. God is great.

The Saudi told Malik to cleanse himself and prepare for his mission. When the time came Malik would be given only an hour's notice. He was to be ready at all times, day or night.

Shepherd had three mobile phones on the seat of his Toyota.

One rang as he pulled away from the house. It was Hargrove.

'Bad news, Spider,' said the superintendent. 'Bad news, and really bad news.'

'I'm listening,' said Shepherd.

'Where are you?'

'En route to Leman Street. I'm on the two to ten shift.

What's happened?'

'Angie Kerr's dead.'

'What?' It was the last thing Shepherd had expected to hear.

'She killed herself.'

'She was in custody. How the hell could that have happened?'

'Sleeping tablets. The custody officer thought she was asleep. They didn't try waking her until eleven and by then she was cold.'

Shepherd indicated and pulled over to the side of the road.

'Spider, are you there?'

'How the hell did she get sleeping tablets? Wasn't she searched when she was taken in?'

'They patted her down but I'm not sure how thoroughly.

It's not as if they expected a weapon. But she had two visitors yesterday so we think it was one of them.'

'Her husband?'

'Her husband's lawyer and her own lawyer.'

'For God's sake, this is getting worse by the minute. Why the hell did her husband's lawyer come in?'

'We didn't know the man was his lawyer. She made a call,

said she wanted legal advice before she agreed to any deal with the GPS. A couple of hours later a lawyer called Gary Payne turned up and spent ten minutes with her. An hour later she spent five minutes with her own lawyer, then asked to go back to her cell.'

'So Payne told her what Kerr planned to do to her and gave her the tablets?'

'That's the way I read it, but it's one thing knowing and another proving it.'

Shepherd closed his eyes. He'd liked Angie Kerr and,

directly or indirectly, he'd been responsible for her death.

Hargrove wouldn't see it that way, of course, but Shepherd had made the decision to extend the Hendrickson investigation,

Shepherd had set her up, and Shepherd had been in the car when she was arrested. If she'd never met him, she'd still be alive.

'There's more,' said Hargrove. 'Hendrickson's disappeared.'

'He's what?'

'He hasn't been in the office since Friday.'

'For God's sake, this is Wednesday. Wasn't he being watched?'

Hargrove didn't reply, which meant no.

'So the Kerr case has turned to shit, and Hendrickson's done a runner?' said Shepherd.

'With the wife dead we've got nothing on the husband,'

said Hargrove.

'So I've wasted the last two weeks,' said Shepherd.

'If we get Hendrickson, he'll go down. Look, I know we should have had the lid on him, but the local cops have budgetary considerations. They took the decision to leave him be until we were ready to move in.'

'This is a bloody nightmare,' said Shepherd. 'What's the point of me working my balls off if it all turns to shit down the line? Angie Kerr should have been watched - she was supposed to have been an asset. Jesus H. Christ, we were promising her witness protection and we let her husband kill her.'

'She killed herself,' said Hargrove.

'That's semantics, and you know it,' said Shepherd, bitterly.

'There'll be an inquiry, of course, but life goes on.'

'Yeah,' said Shepherd. 'Life goes on.'

'Anything turns up on Hendrickson, I'll let you know,' said Hargrove.

Shepherd ended the call. He sat in silence, staring through the windscreen with unseeing eyes. He thought about the first time he'd met her. The way she'd sat in the car, smoking and flirting with him. The fear in her eyes when the armed police had charged out of the van. And now she was dead.

Not only that, she'd killed herself because of the position he'd put her in. It had been Hargrove's plan, but Shepherd had forced her into a corner with only one way out. Except that Angie had found another option. He swore under his breath. Her husband had killed her, as surely as if he'd put a gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

Shepherd was drinking a polystyrene cup of strong tea when the call came in over the main set. An IC One male with a handgun in MaidaVale. He tossed the cup out of the window as Sutherland started the car. Rose entered the address, a council estate off the Harrow Road, into the computer while Shepherd checked it in the street directory.

'Indian country,' said Rose. 'The locals aren't averse to taking pot-shots out of spite.'

The three men listened as a female officer relayed the details of the incident over the radio. 'Neighbour saw a man with a gun enter number twenty-eight. He forced his way in. Occupant is a Sharon Jones, estranged from her husband Barry. He has convictions for assault and there's a restraining order against him.' Rose scribbled on his clipboard.

'Anyone confirm that it's the husband in the house?' Rose asked.

'Negative,' said the female officer. 'We have no description other than IC One.'

'Can you confirm that Barry Jones is IC One?'

'Affirmative,' said the female officer.

I Rose pulled a face. 'It's like pulling teeth sometimes,' he said.

'I hate domestics,' muttered Sutherland. He flashed the main beams and cut in front of a double-decker bus. 'Give me a Yardie with an Ingram any day of the week. You know where you are with a Yardie. Guy with a grudge against his wife can do anything. Shoot her, shoot himself, shoot us. It's like trying to second-guess a rabid dog.'

'Nice analogy,' said Rose.

'You know what I mean,' said Sutherland. 'Criminals with guns, you can generally figure what they'll do. Citizens are just plain dangerous.'

They reached the Harrow Road and Sutherland killed the blues and twos. The traffic was light and there was no point in announcing their arrival.

They pulled up in front of the housing estate. There were no police cars, no paramedics. A middle-aged man was sitting on a small patch of grass in front of number twenty-eight.

Rose frowned and asked the control room who else was attending.

'A local car is en route] said the female officer.

'Shit, we're first on the scene,' said Rose. 'Come on, break out the big stuff. Mike, you stay on the main set.'

'Will do,' said Sutherland.

The man on the grass was sitting perfectly still, his hands in his lap.

Shepherd unlocked the Hecklers and handed one to Rose,

then a magazine. 'Don't you think these'll spook him?' asked Shepherd.

'My experience, amateurs take one look at an MP5 and throw their hands in the air,' said Rose.

'Or panic and do something stupid,' said Shepherd. 'It could go either way. He's got something in his hand and I reckon it's a gun.'

325 'We have to contain the situation,' said Rose.

'Let me talk to him,' said Shepherd.

Rose shook his head emphatically. 'No bloody way,' he said. 'You're not trained in hostage negotiation.'

'He doesn't have a hostage,' said Shepherd.

'Same difference,' said Rose. 'There are guys trained to talk to these psychos, and guys trained to shoot them. We wait for a negotiator.'

'Sarge, the way I see it, one of two things is going to happen. He's going to pull the trigger or he's going to start waving that gun around. Either way, he's leaving here in a body-bag.'

Rose stared at Shepherd. 'You done this sort of thing before?'

'A couple of times,' lied Shepherd.

'If he even looks like he's going to point his weapon at you, I'll take him out,' said Rose.

'I'd want you to,' said Shepherd.

Rose nodded slowly. 'Keep out of my line of fire.'

'Will do.'

'And if I tell you to get out of there, you do it.'

'Cheers, Sarge.'

'I just hope you know what you're doing.'

Shepherd put the MP5 into the boot of the Vauxhall and reached for his Glock.

'You're not going in without a gun,' said Rose.

'I want to show him I'm no threat.'

'So leave it in your holster.'

'If it's holstered, I won't have time to draw it anyway,' said Shepherd.

'You do understand why they call us armed police, don't you?'

'If he sees a gun, be it an MP5 or a Glock, he'll panic'

'Take the Taser, then.' The ARVs were equipped with 326 Taser guns capable of firing electrode-tipped wires up to twenty-one feet and delivering a debilitating 50,000-volt electric shock that would drop a man in less than a second.

'Any sort of weapon could set him off,' said Shepherd. He made the Glock safe and put it into the ballistic bag in the boot with his CS spray and retractable baton. He took a deep breath. 'Into the valley of death,' he said, then winked at Rose. 'It'll be fine, Sarge.' He turned and walked towards the house, his arms out at his sides, palms open to show that he wasn't carrying.