Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (18 page)

‘Yeah, he might be right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Which direction did the shot come from?’

‘Difficult to say,’ said Popov. ‘We didn’t hear the shot.’

‘It was a single shot?’

‘The only round that we know about is the one that struck Mikhail.’

‘But it’s possible that there were more?’

Popov shrugged. ‘Like I said, we didn’t hear the sound of a shot.’

Shepherd nodded. That meant that the sniper was too far away to be heard or used a suppressor. Spider wasn’t a big fan of suppressors, because while they cut down on the noise they also affected the performance of the round.

‘OK, walk me through it,’ said Shepherd.

Popov spoke to Tarasov in Russian and the big man moved down the steps, his legs swinging from side to side. As he headed for the rear door of the Bentley, Popov moved down the steps. Shepherd stood where he was and looked around. With the two bodyguards at the bottom of the steps, he was totally exposed. If the sniper was going to take the shot, the obvious time would have been when the target was on the steps, not when he was getting into the car.

Tarasov opened the rear door of the Bentley and turned to look at Shepherd. He was standing on the wrong side, Shepherd knew, he should have been standing at the rear of the car and not close to the front passenger door. Popov was standing behind Tarasov, watching Shepherd as he walked down the stairs. The fact that the two men were at the front of the car meant that Shepherd was vulnerable to an attack from the rear.

Behind him, Ulyashin cursed as his crutch skidded across the concrete. ‘And the guys in the SUV stayed where they were?’ asked Shepherd.

Popov nodded. Again Shepherd bit his tongue. Grechko had been at his most vulnerable when he moved down the steps and at that point he should have been surrounded by his team. As he moved down the steps, Ulyashin continued to have problems using the crutches and he cursed again, in Russian.

Shepherd reached the door of the Bentley and turned to look at Ulyashin, who had only just reached the bottom of the steps.

‘So when did he get hit?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Just as Mr Grechko got to the car. Where you are standing now.’

‘And Mikhail?’

‘He was moving back to the SUV.’

‘Mikhail, where did the bullet hit you?’

Ulyashin frowned. ‘The leg.’ He said something to Popov in Russian. Popov didn’t reply, he just waved away whatever Ulyashin had said.

‘The front of the leg or the back?’

‘The back,’ said Ulyashin.

‘The calf,’ said Popov. ‘The bullet went in the back and blew a chunk out of the front.’

Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. The fact that the round hadn’t taken off the man’s leg suggested that it was fired from far away, possibly a mile, so that by the time it reached its target it had lost most of its momentum. ‘Mikhail, think carefully, where exactly were you standing when the round hit?’

Ulyashin frowned. ‘Round?’ he repeated.

‘Bullet,’ said Shepherd.

‘
Pulya
,’ translated Popov.

‘Ah,
pulya
.’ Ulyashin nodded and stood with his legs apart at the rear of the Bentley, facing towards Shepherd.

‘See that?’ said Shepherd. ‘If he was standing there, he’d have been shielded by the SUV, right? So the sniper can only have been down there.’ He pointed down the road. In the distance was a crane and beyond it an apartment block and several office towers. ‘There are plenty of buildings he could have taken a shot from. Or he could have done it from a vehicle.’

Popov nodded slowly. ‘Mr Grechko was lucky.’

‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he? OK, I’ve seen enough, you guys can head back to the house.’

‘You’re not coming with us?’

‘I’ll catch a black cab,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve got something to do but I’ll be back at the house in a few hours. Mr Grechko’s not going anywhere, is he?’

‘There’s nothing on the schedule – you know that.’

‘Exactly. If anything changes then call me ASAP, otherwise I’ll see you back at the house.’

‘Is there a problem?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘It’s all good, Dmitry,’ he said.

Shepherd caught a black cab and had it drop him outside the Whiteley’s shopping centre in Queensway. He paid the driver, went inside and walked along to Costa Coffee, where he bought himself a cappuccino and found a quiet seat by the window before using the Samsung mobile to phone Harper. ‘Are you ready for a spot of cleaning?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Sure,’ said Harper. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘You’re close to Queensway, right?’

‘Just around the corner.’

‘OK, here’s the deal. I know you hate tube stations but I need you to go to Queensway tube station. Keep your head down and your hood up and the CCTV cameras won’t get your face. Buy yourself a one-day travel card from a machine. Don’t worry, the machines don’t have CCTV. The only line that uses Queensway is the Central Line. Go straight down the escalator to the eastbound platform. Wait for the first train and look as if you’re going to get on, then take a seat on the platform. Don’t make a thing about looking around but be aware if anyone does the same.’

‘Got you,’ said Harper.

‘Then get up and make a thing about looking at the map. Put on a bit of a show as if you’ve realised that you’re on the wrong platform and walk across to the westbound. Do the same there. Make it look as if you’re getting on the next train and then change your mind and sit down.’

‘So I’ll spot if there’s a tail.’

‘Either that or they’ll get on the train so that they don’t show out. If they do board, they’ll call in a watcher at the entrance. The thing is, don’t make it too obvious. Just act a bit confused, as if you’re not sure what you’re doing. Then look at your watch as if you’re late for something, and head back up the escalator and out into the street.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’ll have watched you go in and out. If you’ve been tailed I should have spotted it. I’ll phone you as soon as you’re back in the street.’

‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Harper.

‘Now this is important, Lex. Don’t look for me, but if you do see me just blank me. No reaction at all. And don’t look for a tail. Even on the tube platform. No looking around. If someone stays on the platform you’ll see them, you don’t need to look at them. That’s how it works on the tube, no one makes eye contact.’

‘I’ll be keeping my head down, that’s for sure. When are we going to do this?’

Shepherd looked at his watch. It was just after eleven o’clock in the morning. ‘The sooner the better.’

‘I can be at the tube station in twenty minutes.’

‘Perfect.’ Shepherd ended the call and spent ten minutes drinking his coffee before walking back down Queensway. He arrived opposite the tube station at 11.15 and spent the last few minutes window-shopping. He spotted Harper walking from the direction of Hyde Park, his hands in his parka and his head down. Shepherd took his mobile and started speaking into it as he walked slowly along the pavement. There didn’t seem to be anyone interested in what Harper was doing, but if MI5 were watching him that was to be expected. The surveillance teams of the Security Service were among the best in the world. They had honed their skills during the Cold War and against the IRA and were at any one time following hundreds of potential Islamic terrorists.

As Harper disappeared inside the station, Shepherd continued to pretend to talk on his phone as he watched to see who else went inside. A man in a grey suit with a briefcase, two students with backpacks and beanie hats, an old lady in a cheap coat with what looked like a dead fox around her neck, a woman with a pushchair, a very fat man in an anorak and stretch pants, a girl with a Hello Kitty suitcase, three Japanese teenagers with spiky hair and chains hanging off their tight jeans, a curly-haired man in a London Underground jacket, a Sikh man with a blue turban and a violin case.

Shepherd took his phone away from his ear but kept it in his hand as he walked slowly along the pavement. If the followers were good they’d have left one watcher in the ticket hall, just in case Harper did what Shepherd had suggested and doubled back. Sending Harper into the tube station would also have confused any vehicles or cyclists being used as part of a surveillance team. Normal protocol would be to send any vehicles to the next stations along the line or to put them on stand-by. Queensway was a busy road with no places to stop. A black cab disgorged a businessman with a leather briefcase and then it went on its way, its yellow light on. A white van went by. There were two men in it, one of them eating a Cornish pasty and reading a copy of the
Sun
.

A bike courier, a woman in black spandex leggings and a tight fluorescent jacket, had stopped outside the station and was talking into a mobile phone clipped to her collar. She wheeled her bike along the pavement and then padlocked it and went inside a money exchange shop. An ambulance turned into Queensway from the Hyde Park end and its siren kicked into life as it sped down towards Whiteley’s. Heads turned to watch it go. Shepherd ignored it and concentrated on any passers-by who were more interested in the tube station. Two pensioners, a man and a woman, walked arm in arm into the ticket hall, wearing matching raincoats. The woman with the pushchair reappeared, looking flustered, but then she looked around and saw a man in a long leather jacket walking down the road towards her, waving. She kissed him on the cheek and they walked back into the ticket hall together. The bike courier reappeared from the currency exchange shop, unlocked her bike and rode off towards Hyde Park.

Harper emerged from the tube station. Shepherd called him on his mobile. ‘Looking good,’ he said. ‘Turn left and head down Queensway to Whiteley’s. On the way stop at a shop window, any one, it doesn’t matter. Walk past, stop, then walk back and stare in the window for about thirty seconds.’

‘Got you,’ said Harper, and he began to walk down the busy road, his parka hood still up.

‘Go into Whiteley’s, there’s an escalator up to the first floor,’ continued Shepherd. ‘Take it but then come straight back down on the down escalator. Then just head up to Hyde Park and I’ll see you there. Don’t look around, you don’t have to worry about spotting a tail, that’s down to me.’

Harper put his phone into his pocket and slouched off down the road. Shepherd was standing on the opposite side of the road, looking into the window of a shop that sold London souvenirs and T-shirts. He turned, his phone still held against his ear as he carried out an imaginary conversation. If Harper was being followed, a professional would almost certainly be on the opposite side of the road, though if there were multiple followers they would use both sides. If the surveillance was top notch, they might even have someone ahead of Harper. The fact that Harper had gone into the tube station meant that there were unlikely to be vehicles or cyclists in the area as they would have moved towards the next stations on the Central Line.

Shepherd continued to talk into his phone as he watched Harper head down Queensway. He waited until Harper was about a hundred yards away before he started walking after him. Harper did his U-turn in front of a Chinese restaurant with a dozen dark-brown ducks hanging from their feet in the window. Shepherd didn’t see anyone falter on either side of the street. When Harper began walking again, no one stopped to allow him to get ahead, which was a good sign.

Shepherd walked quickly, jogged across the road, and by the time Harper walked into the Whiteley’s shopping centre, Shepherd was only twenty feet behind him. As Harper walked towards the escalator, Shepherd turned towards a shop selling leather jackets and used the reflection to watch Harper go up the escalator. Shepherd’s photographic memory enabled him to effortlessly remember every person who followed Harper up the escalator, and not one of them followed him back down when he made the downward journey a few seconds later. Nor did anyone follow Harper out of the shopping centre.

Shepherd crossed Queensway and followed Harper back up to Hyde Park. As Harper entered the park Shepherd stayed on the pavement, pretending to make a call on his mobile. Over the next five minutes a dozen or so people walked into the park, but it was clear that none was involved in surveillance. Shepherd put his phone away and walked over to the bench where Harper was sitting and smoking a cigarette. ‘Clean as a whistle,’ said Shepherd, sitting down next to him.

‘I’ve never understood what that meant,’ said Harper. ‘People are always blowing in whistles so they’re not especially clean, are they?’

‘I think it goes back to the days of steam engines,’ said Shepherd. ‘They were made of brass and were always well polished.’

Harper grinned. ‘You and your trick memory,’ he said.

‘Yeah, but just because I remember it doesn’t mean it’s true,’ said Shepherd. ‘Anyway, there’s no one following you. Not today, anyway.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You could be marked for occasional surveillance. If they’ve nothing else on. High-priority targets are followed twenty-four-seven but there are plenty of low-priority targets who get followed as and when.’

‘Shit. So we have to go through this every day?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘I think you’re OK. If they had spotted you at a mosque they’d be all over you for the first few days just in case you were an imminent threat. But from now on, no more hanging around outside mosques.’

‘But walking around Fulham and Hammersmith is OK, right?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not.’

‘Thought I might visit a few of the Asian shops, check out the restaurants from that part of the world.’

‘Afghan cuisine?’

‘You’d be surprised, mate,’ said Harper.

‘Seriously, Lex, keep your head down. Let my guy do his thing first. Let’s work the databases before we start prowling the streets.’

Harper flicked ash on to the grass. ‘You’re right,’ he said.

‘I know I’m right. It’s what I do for a living.’

Harper shivered. ‘Why’s it so bloody cold?’ he asked.

‘The weather’s been funny all year,’ said Shepherd. ‘We had snow right through March.’

‘So much for global warming.’

‘They call it climate change now,’ said Shepherd. ‘And there’s no doubt that there’s something funny going on with our weather.’