Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (29 page)

‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those conspiracy theory nutters,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m just saying, governments have people killed, it happens all the time. You know that the Libyans used to do it, and the Russians, right? And Saddam Hussein used to kill off his enemies all around the world.’

‘We’re not Libya, Russia or Iraq,’ said Shepherd. ‘Our government wouldn’t get away with killing people.’

‘Israel, then,’ said Harper. ‘Are you saying that you don’t think Mossad knocks off enemies of Israel?’

‘Israel’s different,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re a law unto themselves.’

‘America, then? What was the killing of Bin Laden if it wasn’t state-sponsored assassination?’

‘That’s different,’ said Shepherd. ‘That was a military operation.’

‘Because the assassins wore uniforms and flew in army choppers?’ said Harper. ‘They broke into a guy’s house and shot him in front of his family. How is that not an assassination?’

Shepherd threw up his hands. He could feel that he was losing the argument though he had no idea why he was suddenly trying to defend MI5. ‘You’re comparing apples and oranges,’ he said. ‘I’m just saying that MI5 doesn’t have a department that kills people.’

‘And I’m telling you it does, it’s just that you don’t know about it,’ said Harper. ‘But we’re getting away from the point. Assuming you don’t have a mysterious Q to give us some state-of-the-art assassin’s stuff, we’re going to need guns, right?’

‘I know a few Regiment guys who have a little something tucked away for a rainy day,’ said McIntyre.

‘Yeah, well, more fool them,’ said Shepherd. ‘The days of being able to keep a few souvenirs in the attic are well gone. Several guys have been sent down for keeping guns they shouldn’t have.’ He looked across at Harper. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘I know people who can get us guns here. Shorts and longs. Pretty much whatever we want.’

‘Untraceable?’

‘Sure. They’ll want cash, obviously.’

‘Let me think about it,’ said Shepherd. He started the engine and edged the car into the traffic.

‘I wish we could just go and slot the bastard now,’ said McIntyre. He punched the back of Shepherd’s seat. ‘That raghead bastard has it coming.’

‘One step at a time, Jock,’ said Shepherd. ‘Like I said, we need to get a bit more intel.’

‘Intel?’ repeated Harper. ‘What bloody intel do we need? We know it’s him and we know where he lives.’

‘Yeah, but we can hardly gun him down in the street, can we?’ said Shepherd. ‘We need to know where he goes, what he does. Who he lives with. Where he works.’

‘You think he works?’ said Harper. ‘I don’t think you’ll find many jobs for Taliban warlords down at the Jobcentre.’

‘He’s not on benefits, I know that much,’ said Shepherd. ‘So he must be getting money from somewhere. He must be paying for that house himself. Plus he’s got a car. A white CRV. If he wasn’t working, he wouldn’t need a car.’

‘Speak of the devil,’ said McIntyre. He pointed at a white CRV parked across the road from where they were. ‘Is that it?’

Shepherd looked over at the SUV. The registration number matched the number that Sharpe had given him. ‘That’s it,’ he said. He indicated right and headed east, towards Paddington station.

‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Harper.

‘Like I keep saying, we gather intel.’

‘And we’ll need guns,’ said Harper.

‘Intel first,’ said Shepherd.

‘Then guns,’ said Harper, rubbing his hands together. ‘Then we slot the bastard.’

Shepherd dropped McIntyre at Paddington station from where he could catch a train to Reading. ‘He’s changed,’ said Harper as they watched McIntyre walk into the station. His shoulders sagged and he had his head down as he trudged along with the evening commuters

‘We’ve all changed, Lex. It’s called getting older.’

‘He’s lost his edge, and you know it,’ said Harper. ‘He’s put on a couple of stone and you can smell the drink on him.’

‘He’s stopped drinking,’ said Shepherd.

‘You believe that?’

‘That’s what he says. Do you want me to drop you at Bayswater?’

‘Aye, might as well.’ Harper lit another cigarette.

‘You never smoked in Afghanistan, did you?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Nah. The guys I was doing the blagging with were all smokers so I thought if I can’t beat them, join them.’ He blew smoke through the open window. ‘You think you can rely on Jock?’

‘Jock’s sound,’ said Shepherd.

‘What about getting Jimbo? Jimbo Shortt?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, I was thinking that myself.’

‘And Geordie. Geordie’ll want to be on board for this. The two of them saved your life, remember.’ He chuckled. ‘Yeah, of course you remember. You remember everything.’

‘Geordie’s dead, mate. Died in Iraq a few years back. Sniper.’

‘Shit.’

‘Yeah. You can say that again.’

‘It’s funny how quickly you lose touch with people. In the army you’re as tight as tight can be, you know? Then you hand in your papers and that’s it, you never see your muckers again.’ He blew more smoke through the window. ‘You keep in touch with your SAS mates?’

‘Some,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you’re right, once you leave you’re not part of it any more. The guys who are still in don’t treat you the same, and the ones that leave tend not to look back.’ He looked across at Harper. ‘Look, I don’t mean to get all emotional, but I’m sorry we lost touch.’

‘It doesn’t matter, mate. We’re good.’

‘No, I mean it, Lex. We were tight in Afghanistan, we got each other out of no end of scrapes. I should have made more of an effort to stay in touch.’

‘I’m a big boy, Spider. And it’s not as if I called you, is it?’

‘I wished you had, Lex. I wished you’d called me when you were having problems. I could have pulled some strings.’

‘And saved me from a life of crime, is that what you mean?’ He grinned. ‘I chose this life of crime, and I’ve no regrets. None at all.’

Shepherd stared at Harper, trying to work out whether the man was telling the truth.

‘I’m not lying, Spider. I got the life I wanted. Sun, sea, sand, all the birds I want, good muckers around me, and enough excitement if and when I need it.’

‘So long as you don’t get caught.’

‘Sure. And how safe is your job? Who’s to say you won’t get a knife in the back or a bullet in the face this time next week? Nothing lasts for ever, Spider. And really, I’m happy with the life I’ve got. You staying in touch wouldn’t have changed that.’ He laughed. ‘I might even have tempted you over to the dark side. You’d make a bloody good villain.’

Shepherd smiled and nodded. ‘You’re not the first person to have said that.’

‘I’m serious,’ said Harper. ‘You were a cop and now you’re a … what, a spy?’

‘I’m not a spy, Lex. I’m an MI5 officer. But the work I do is pretty much policing.’

‘And you’re on the side of the good guys, I get it. But what does MI5 really do? Protect the country’s citizens, or its ruling class?’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Bloody hell, when did you go all political?’

‘I can see what’s going on in the world, mate,’ said Harper, earnestly. ‘I can see how the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer, how multinational companies pay almost no tax and bankers can screw up our economy and still get seven-figure bonuses. And the cops and MI5 are helping to keep that system in place.’

‘There’s a bit more to it than that, Lex.’

‘Really? So what case are you working on now?’

Shepherd sighed. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said. That was true. All of Shepherd’s work was covered by the Official Secrets Act and it was an offence to discuss his work with outsiders. But it was also true that protecting Peter Grechko was less about making the UK a safer place than it was about doing a favour for the prime minister’s office.

‘You mean you could tell me but then you’d have to kill me?’ said Harper, and he laughed.

‘I keep telling you, I’m not James Bond,’ said Shepherd.

Harper took a long pull on his cigarette before blowing smoke out of the window. ‘Let me tell you how I see the world, Spider,’ he said. ‘The bankers have damn near destroyed the West. They’ve plunged millions into poverty and saddled us with debts that our grandchildren will be paying off.’

‘Not you, though,’ interrupted Shepherd. ‘I’m sure you’re not paying taxes on your ill-gotten gains.’

Harper ignored Shepherd and stared out of the window as he continued to speak. ‘They stole billions, mate. Billions. So how can anyone complain if I and a few mates go into one of their branches and take some of that for ourselves? It’s not as if anyone gets hurt. And the money we take is insured. All we’re doing, on a very small scale, is redressing the balance. What’s wrong with that?’

‘It’s theft,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re taking something that doesn’t belong to you and that’s against the law.’ He chuckled. ‘Hell, Lex, my boy knew the difference between right and wrong when he was four years old.’

‘Because you taught him,’ said Harper. ‘But if I had kids, I’d be giving them a different definition of right and wrong.’

‘And what about drugs?’ said Shepherd.

Harper turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You’d tell your kids that drugs are a good thing, right?’

‘I’d tell them what I believe, that drugs are no more dangerous than alcohol or cars.’

‘Cars?’

‘More people die in car accidents every year than they do from drug overdoses. Yet you don’t hear anyone saying we should ban cars. Alcohol causes way, way more damage than drugs. Yet you can buy it in supermarkets. So you tell me why drugs are singled out they way they are. Your rich banker can sit on a cellar with a thousand bottles of wine and all’s well with the world. But you get caught with half an ounce of cocaine and you’re banged up. Our hospitals are full of people dying from alcohol abuse, and half of all the people in jail have alcohol problems.’

‘There are plenty of people behind bars because of drugs.’

‘You see, that’s where you’re wrong, mate,’ said Harper. ‘They’re in prison because the powers that be have decided that drugs are illegal. So you get sent to prison for possession of drugs or for selling them. If drugs were legal, none of those people would be in prison.’

‘See, that’s not true,’ said Shepherd. ‘Look at all the violent crimes caused by drugs.’

Harper shook his head. ‘It’s not the drugs that cause the crime, it’s the drugs trade. It’s because drugs are illegal that the trade is controlled by gangsters. They shoot each other over turf wars and get violent with anyone who owes them money. But it’s not the drugs that make people violent. You can’t say that about alcohol. Drunks punch and knife each other every day of the week. Hospital A&E departments are full of people affected by alcohol, and like I said, most car crashes involve booze. But people on drugs generally don’t drive and generally don’t fight each other. You smoke some dope and you chill, you pop a few tabs of ecstasy and you love your neighbour, you don’t want to punch him in the face. Even coke is about enjoying yourself. Mate, if drugs were legalised tomorrow the world would be a much happier and safer place.’ He took another pull on his cigarette, blew smoke through the window, and then held the still-smouldering butt under Shepherd’s nose. ‘And what about these?’ he asked. ‘Biggest self-administered killers on the planet, cigarettes. And no sign of them being made illegal.’ He flicked ash out of the window. ‘It’s Prohibition, mate. Pure and simple. And one day that’s how it’ll be seen.’

‘You think so?’

Harper nodded. ‘I’m sure so. People want drugs, and eventually they’ll get a government that gives them what they want. That’s how democracy works, right?’

Shepherd chuckled. ‘I have to say I don’t think I know how democracy works these days,’ he said. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Do you want me to drop you in Bayswater?. I’m guessing you don’t want to go back on the tube, what with your thing about CCTV.’

‘Anywhere near Queensway’ll be fine,’ said Harper.

Shepherd put the car into gear and edged into the traffic. ‘What Jock was saying, about souvenired weapons, it’s not a bad idea.’

Harper frowned. ‘I told you, I can get whatever we need here. Untraceable and no comebacks.’

‘I believe you. But maybe traceable is what we need.’ He braked to allow a black cab to perform a tight U-turn in front of them. ‘Khan is from Afghanistan. If we use guns from Afghanistan and they do get traced, the Afghan connection would muddy the waters, wouldn’t it.’

‘Using SAS guns would muddy the waters? You’ll need to explain that to me.’

The black cab tooted its horn and continued on its way. Shepherd accelerated, heading west. ‘Not SAS guns, you plonker. Taliban weapons, if we can get any. I’m sure lots of the guys brought guns over and have them tucked away. And with the clampdown on illegally held guns at the moment, they’d probably be happy enough to get rid of them.’

‘Do you know anyone?’

‘I think I might know someone who has a little something tucked away for a rainy day, yes.’

Shepherd parked his X5 next to a meter and fed it with a couple of one-pound coins. He took out his mobile phone as he walked towards the entrance of the park and tapped out Amar Singh’s number. He explained what he wanted – a GPS tracking device that he could leave on a car for a few days.

‘Not a problem, Spider. Can you drop by today, I’ll have one waiting for you.’

Shepherd looked at his watch. It was just after three and he’d almost certainly get stuck in rush-hour traffic. ‘Can you wait for me, if I try to get there before six?’

‘I’m on a late one tonight so no rush,’ said Singh. ‘We’re working on CCTV links to a lock-up in Bradford that’s got some very interesting stuff in it.’

Shepherd stood to the side to allow two large women with a golden retriever and a liver-and-white cocker spaniel exit the park. It was a sunny day but there was a chill in the air and he was wearing an overcoat over his suit.

The park was in North London, edged with trees and overlooked by a terrace of Edwardian brick mansion blocks. To the right was a line of tennis courts and to the far left, behind a building housing showers and changing rooms, was a running track and an outdoor gym. There was a children’s playground beyond the running track but most of the park was given over to a huge field where dogs could be exercised and where during the summer weekends pub teams played cricket. Around the field ran a tarmac path with wooden benches every fifty yards or so.