Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘What sort of helicopters?’ asked the driver.

  ‘At the moment I’m training on the Juno but I want to fly Apaches eventually.’

  ‘The ones that fire those missiles?’

  ‘Yeah, those.’

  The driver nodded his approval. ‘Sweet,’ he said. ‘So are you being trained in Hereford?’

  Liam shook his head. ‘Nah, I’m at the Defence Helicopter Flying School, RAF Shawbury. In Shropshire. I’m here to visit family.’

  The driver looked at Liam in his rear-view mirror. ‘You look bloody young to be a helicopter pilot,’ he said. ‘So what rank are you?’

  ‘Second Lieutenant,’ said Liam.

  ‘Nice. I suppose I should salute you.’

  They arrived outside the house. Liam climbed out and took his backpack with him. The driver tooted his horn as he drove off. Katra’s red Nissan Juke was parked in front of the garage but there was no sign of his father’s car. Liam gritted his teeth. It wouldn’t be the first time that his father had let him down.

  He walked up to the front door and used his key to let himself in. ‘Katra?’ he called, but there was no reply. He went through to the kitchen and put his backpack on a chair, then switched on the kettle. He was bursting for a cup of tea.

  He went to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Katra?’ he called, but again there was no reply. He went upstairs. The main bedroom door was open but she wasn’t there. The door to his bedroom was closed but he doubted that she would be in there. He was just about to check the spare bedroom when the door to the en suite bathroom opened. She gasped when she saw him. Liam was equally surprised; her eyes were red and her cheeks were wet and she had obviously been crying. ‘Is it Dad?’ he asked, his heart pounding. ‘Has something happened to Dad?’

  She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes. ‘No. But he’s working this weekend. He says he’s sorry but something important came up.’

  ‘You have to expect that with Dad,’ he said. ‘There’s no need to get upset.’

  She forced a smile. ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘So what are you crying about?’

  She dabbed her eyes again. ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘It’s obviously not nothing,’ he said. ‘Look, I’ll go downstairs and make you a cup of tea and you can tell me what the problem is.’

  Liam was halfway through his mug of tea when Katra came downstairs. She had redone her make-up but her eyes were still red from crying. She sat down at the kitchen table and he put her tea in front of her. It was in her favourite mug, white with ‘WORLD’S BEST AU PAIR’ on it in pink capital letters. Liam had bought it for her birthday ten years earlier and while the lettering had started to fade she still used it every day. She picked it up and sipped it. She had tied her brown hair back and it emphasised how tired she looked.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Liam.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  ‘You were crying.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Is it because Dad isn’t here?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m used to that. We both are. That’s his job. When he works, he often works twenty-four-seven.’

  ‘So what is it, then?’

  Katra brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. Tears welled up in her eyes again and she looked away. Liam hurried over to the counter top and tore off a piece of kitchen roll for her. She wiped her eyes with it.

  ‘Please, Katra, tell me. Maybe I can help?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t think anyone can help,’ she said.

  He sat down and looked at her earnestly. ‘I’m not a kid any more, Katra. Tell me what’s happened.’

  She dabbed at her eyes again. ‘I have a problem in Slovenia. A big problem.’

  ‘What? What happened?’

  Katra swallowed and then closed her eyes as if she was gathering her thoughts. ‘My mother needed money. I said I’d send her some but your dad has been so busy I didn’t, then my sister borrowed some money.’

  ‘Mia?’

  Katra nodded. ‘She went to a man who helps people, and he did. She took the money from the man but then she had trouble paying him back and now he’s making her work in this …’ She shuddered. ‘This terrible place.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘She has to work in a brothel to pay back the money she has borrowed.’

  ‘What? Where?’

  ‘Not far from where our house is. They won’t let her leave but she managed to phone my mum.’

  Liam sat back. ‘Katra, you need to talk to the police.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, the man she borrowed the money from, he pays the police. It’s not like England. Here you can trust the police. In Slovenia …’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to do, I’m sorry.’

  ‘And you haven’t told Dad?’

  ‘He’s just too busy. I was going to talk to him about it today but now he says he can’t come.’

  ‘How much money did Mia borrow?’

  ‘Eight thousand euros.’

  Liam smiled. ‘Is that all?’ He sighed. ‘I thought you were talking about hundreds of thousands. Katra, I’ve got that much in my bank right now.’

  She looked at him tearfully. ‘Really?’

  He laughed. ‘I’m not a kid any more,’ he said. ‘I’m an Army officer. I get paid decent money and I’m training so hard I don’t get time to spend it. I can fix this for you.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  His smile widened. ‘Of course. Look, you and I can fly to Slovenia first thing tomorrow, we’ll go and see this guy and talk to him and I’ll pay what your family owes and we’re all good.’

  ‘I should talk to Dan first,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no need,’ said Liam. ‘We’ll fly out tomorrow, back on Sunday, and everything will be sorted. We don’t even have to bother Dad.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Liam grinned. ‘Definitely,’ he said. ‘Now wipe your face while I book our flights.’

  Shepherd set his phone to wake him at seven thirty. He showered and shaved and put on a pair of black jeans and a blue denim shirt. He looked out of the window and decided that it was cold enough to take a pullover in addition to his jacket. He picked up his baseball cap and Ray-Ban sunglasses and went downstairs. The McAdams were already in the restaurant, sitting at a table and tucking into a plate of cheese, salami and fruit, with chunks of what smelled like freshly baked bread.

  There was a buffet table against one wall with a coffee maker and two jugs, one regular and one decaf. Shepherd poured himself a mug of regular coffee and added a splash of milk. As he was helping himself to bread and cheese, two men wearing camouflage fatigues walked in. Shepherd recognised one of them from the website, and smiled. ‘Are you with Gunfire Tours?’ he asked.

  The two men nodded. The taller of the two stuck out his hand. He was the one that Shepherd had seen on the website. ‘Luka,’ he said. He was broad-shouldered and had short curly jet-black hair. He had Oakley sunglasses pushed up onto the top of his head. His shirt sleeves were rolled up and like Branko he had a tattoo of a scorpion on his left forearm. ‘I’m one of the instructors. This is Neno.’

  Neno was short and wiry, with dark green eyes and a mischievous smile. He offered his hand to shake. He had a strong grip and he looked Shepherd in the eye as he shook.

  ‘I’m John,’ said Shepherd. ‘John Whitehill.’

  ‘Are you with the Dexter group?’ asked Neno.

  ‘I’m here on my own,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Ever shot before?’

  ‘Never,’ lied Shepherd. ‘I’m really looking forward to it.’

  ‘You’ll enjoy it,’ said Luka, patting Shepherd on the shoulder.

  The two instructors picked up plates and began filling them with food. Shepherd sat down at an empty table. After a few minutes Gary Dexter arrived with Charlie Palmer and Joe Atkinson. They were all wearing pullovers and jeans and Nike trainers. They greeted Shepherd and the McAdams, then went over to the bu
ffet. The rest of Dexter’s friends arrived shortly afterwards and Dexter pushed two tables together so that they could sit as a group.

  Luka and Neno sat at a table and tucked into their breakfast. Shepherd sat alone and ate. He really wanted to be sitting with Dexter and his friends but he didn’t want to appear too eager. There would be time enough for bonding, and he was close enough to hear everything that was said. The talk was mainly about football. Dexter and Palmer were Millwall fans, Hewson, Atkinson and Scott supported Chelsea and Moorhouse followed West Ham, so there was plenty of teasing and bantering.

  At eight-thirty sharp Branko turned up. Like his colleagues, he was wearing desert camouflage fatigues and Timberland boots. He rounded everyone up and took them outside to where Gordan was already behind the wheel of the coach. They all piled in, Gordan started the engine and they pulled away from the hotel. They drove along the main road for about a mile, then turned onto a smaller road that wound its way through farmland that had been freshly ploughed. The coach slowed and turned onto a narrow muddy track that cut through two low hills. The area was fenced off with chicken wire but many of the posts had rotted and fallen over.

  The track curved around to the left and they drove into a large quarry. It was several hundred yards across, a grey wall of granite facing them. There were marks on the quarry wall from where explosives had been used to dislodge the rock. Commercial quarrying seemed to have stopped as there was no heavy equipment around and the quarry faces were covered with moss in places.

  Gordan brought the coach to a halt and Branko pulled the door open. As they climbed out they saw a tent off to the left, and behind the tent two blue plastic Portaloos. The sky overhead was clear of clouds and Shepherd put on his Ray-Bans against the bright sun.

  Two pickup trucks were parked to the left of the tent and two men that Shepherd hadn’t seen before were pulling folding tables and chairs from the back of one truck and stacking them on the ground.

  About fifty yards from the tents was a line of white-painted wooden targets shaped roughly like armless people with bullseye targets pinned to their chests.

  Branko pointed out the toilets to the group, then took them to the tent. There was a large table with a white cloth over it on one side, and on the other was a long metal table on which there was a line of handguns. From where he was standing Shepherd could see they were all Glocks. Next to the guns was a clear plastic bin containing ear protectors and another bin full of safety glasses. Luka and Neno were standing at one end of the table, slotting cartridges into magazines.

  Branko went over to a holdall on the floor underneath the metal table and pulled out a nylon holster that he strapped to his hip. Then he picked up a Glock and a magazine. He had the group gather around him and then he slowly described the working parts and how the firearm operated.

  When he’d finished he asked if there were any questions. No one had any so Branko divided them into three groups. Shepherd found himself with the McAdams which was a pity but as the other guys were a group it made sense.

  Branko took care of Dexter, Palmer and Atkinson, Gordan went with Hewson, Moorhouse and Scott, and Neno looked after Shepherd and the McAdams.

  Neno took them over to the table and gave them a gun each and a magazine. Shepherd’s was a Glock 17 that looked as if it had been used a lot. The magazine was standard with seventeen 9 x 19 mm rounds in it. Ian McAdam also had a Glock 17 but Neno gave his wife a Glock 19. It was slightly smaller and held fifteen rounds in the clip, but the weight was pretty much the same and the trigger pull was identical, five and a half pounds. Neno described the various parts of the gun again, and pointed out the trigger safety mechanism. Then he told them to help themselves to ear protectors and safety glasses and took them over to the line of targets.

  The wall of the quarry was about a hundred feet behind the targets which meant that loose rounds wouldn’t be going astray. In between the quarry wall and the targets was a pile of sandbags, about nine feet tall. The sandbags were a good idea as with rock there was always the risk of a dangerous ricochet.

  ‘Right, everyone put on their ear defenders and glasses,’ said Branko. ‘Then we are good to go. Those of you wearing sunglasses will need to replace them with the safety glasses.’

  They all did as they were told. The instructors also put on their ear and eye protection before splitting the group into three. Neno took the McAdams couple and Shepherd over to the far end of the line of targets. ‘John here is a virgin,’ said Neno. ‘What about you two? Have either of you fired a gun before?’

  Ian and Carol McAdam shook their heads.

  ‘You can relax,’ said Neno. ‘It’s great fun. All you have to do is think safety first. When you’re not aiming the gun, you keep your finger off the trigger. And you do not point the gun at anything other than the target, not even as a joke. And third, always assume the gun is loaded. The only time you are one hundred per cent sure a gun is not loaded is when you remove the magazine and pull the slide back and look down the barrel with your own eyes. Get it?’

  All three nodded and Neno grinned. ‘Right, let’s start with you, Carol. Point your gun down the range and pull back the slide to slot a round into the chamber.’

  Neno was a good instructor; he was patient and calm and clearly knew what he was doing. He checked that Carol had chambered a round, then stood slightly behind her and talked her through it. Her hands were shaking and she had a fixed grin on her face but Neno continued to talk to her in a soft voice as though he were calming a spooked horse. She pulled the trigger. The gun jerked and the shot went wide. She started to turn to look at her husband but Neno had anticipated the move and his hand was already out to keep the gun aiming towards the sandbags.

  He talked her through it again and this time she was calmer, but the shot went high. The third shot hit the target and she squealed with pleasure. Neno smiled at her enthusiasm and explained about the sight picture and how she needed to line the sights up with the target and focus on them.

  She fired again but rushed it and this time the round went low, thudding into the stand below the bullseye. Neno explained about breathing, how she needed to take a breath and release half of it before gently squeezing the trigger. She nodded, frowned as she concentrated, and fired. The round hit the absolute centre of the bullseye and she yelped with excitement.

  ‘Well done,’ said Neno, though he must have known it was a complete fluke.

  She fired off the rest of the shots and while none hit the centre again she did have several within the bullseye. Once she had fired off all fifteen rounds, Neno took the gun from her, pulled back the slide to check that there wasn’t a round in the chamber and gave it back to her. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘For a first time, you did well.’

  Her husband hugged her. ‘That was such fun,’ she said.

  ‘I’m going to have to be on my best behaviour from now on,’ laughed her husband.

  There were more shots off to the left. Branko was watching over Dexter as he fired his gun. Dexter fired quickly and by the look of it most of his shots were missing the target. Branko didn’t seem to care and when Dexter had finished he took the gun off him and checked it was empty, before waving for Atkinson to fire.

  Atkinson pulled back the slide, shrugged his shoulders, then aimed the gun gangster-style, rotated ninety degrees with the butt parallel to the ground. Shepherd assumed that Branko would correct his technique but the Serb just watched impassively as Atkinson emptied his magazine. To Shepherd’s surprise several of his shots were in the bullseye but it was clearly more by luck than judgement.

  Moorhouse and Hewson were watching as Gordan corrected Scott’s stance and showed him how to support his right hand with his left.

  Neno had Ian McAdam chamber a round, then had him shoot at the target. He was marginally better than his wife. When he’d emptied the magazine, Neno took the gun from him and checked it was clear. Then he turned to Shepherd. ‘Ready?’ he said.

  ‘Hell, yeah,’ said Shep
herd. He grinned at the instructor. At this short range he could quite happily have put all the rounds in a fifty-pence piece but Whitehill was a beginner and that was how he had to come across.

  He pointed the gun at the ground and attempted to pull back the slide but failed. He flashed Neno an embarrassed smile. ‘Sorry,’ he said. He tried again and this time slotted a cartridge home.

  He listened as Neno briefed him about the sight picture, but he kept his hand loose as he aimed at the target and jerked the trigger so that the gun jumped in his hand. The round clipped the top of the target. ‘At least you hit it,’ said Neno, patting him on the back.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Try again.’

  Shepherd fired again, this time aiming high. He missed the target completely and the round thudded into the sandbags. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

  ‘Relax your shoulders,’ said Neno. ‘And tighten your grip. Don’t be scared of it. You have to control it, don’t let it control you.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. He fired again and hit just above the bullseye.

  ‘Better,’ said Neno. ‘Now do everything the same but aim just a fraction lower.’

  Shepherd did as he was told but loosened his grip and the shot went wide. ‘Shit,’ he said.

  Neno patted him on the shoulder. ‘It’s okay, you’re doing fine,’ he said. ‘You’ll get there.’

  Shepherd would have loved to have shown the Serb just how proficient he was with a Glock, but that would have blown his cover, so he fired almost randomly, allowing the rounds to pepper the wooden target with only about half in the bullseye. He was mentally counting off the shots but he kept on pulling the trigger after he got to seventeen.

  ‘You’re out,’ said Neno, taking the gun from him. Neno checked to be sure and then gave the gun back to Shepherd.

  ‘You all did really well considering it was your first time,’ he said. ‘As soon as they’ve finished we’ll go and take a closer look at your targets and we can take some photographs. Later we’ll do some balloon shooting.’