Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Us being who, white people?’ said Shepherd.

  Palmer waved his glass under Shepherd’s nose. ‘John, mate, last time I looked I was black.’

  ‘It’s not about race, John,’ said Atkinson. ‘Those bastards who killed Lee Rigby were black, and he was white, there’s no getting away from that. But they killed him because he was Christian and they were Muslims. This isn’t a race war we’re in, it’s a religious war. And if we don’t start to fight back, we’ll lose. And losing to these people means our lives will be over. They see us as being less than the shit on their shoes. That’s the exact phrase they use. Shit on their shoes.’

  ‘So what are you? Some sort of group?’

  ‘The British Crusaders,’ said Hewson. ‘We’ve got a hundred or so members but we’re linked up with a lot of similar groups.’

  ‘Like UKIP?’

  Atkinson laughed contemptuously. ‘No, mate, UKIP is about politics, about Europe and all that shit. We’re about keeping our country what it has been for hundreds of years – a Christian country with Christian values. Mate, the muzzies throw gays off roofs and stone women for adultery. And they want to start doing that in England.’

  Hewson nodded and sipped his beer.

  ‘And the Crusaders, your group, what is it planning to do, exactly?’

  ‘It’s about balance,’ said Atkinson.

  ‘Balance?’ repeated Shepherd. ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘It’s simple enough,’ said Atkinson. ‘At the moment there’s no real Christian equivalent of the Muslim fundamentalists. What do they do? They burn poppies, they abuse our soldiers, they force halal food down the throats of our schoolkids, they insist on special treatment for pretty much everything. And what do we do? Nothing. We just let them get their own way and the more they get the more they want. So the Crusaders are going to give them a taste of their own medicine. We’re going to stand up for the British. British British. And if enough of us stand up to them then they’ll back down. That’s how you deal with bullies. You stand up to them and you give them a slap and if you slap them hard enough they stop being a bully and start to behave themselves.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘And how do you slap them, exactly?’ He faked a frown. ‘Gary wants to attack mosques, is that it? With the sort of weapons we’ve been using here? Fuck me.’

  Atkinson opened his mouth to answer but Palmer waved his glass again and shook his head. ‘Joe …’ he said.

  Atkinson smiled and nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. ‘Better you ask Gary, John. Get it from the horse’s mouth, as they say.’

  ‘There it is,’ said Katra, pointing at a three-storey flat-roofed building set back from the main road. Liam pulled up in the car park next to the concrete and brick structure. There were a couple of pickup trucks and half a dozen saloons parked to the left.

  ‘Maybe I should go in on my own,’ said Liam.

  ‘No, you’ll need me there,’ said Katra. ‘Besides, I want to talk to Mia.’

  Liam wanted to argue but he realised that she was right. He spoke no Slovenian and didn’t even know what Mia looked like. In all the years that Katra had been the Shepherd family’s au pair, her family had never visited. Each year she would fly to Slovenia at least twice but they had never flown over to see her. His father had gone with her, but Liam had only ever seen photographs of the Novak family.

  He parked the Clio next to a plumber’s van and climbed out. There was a cold wind blowing from the woods behind the house and he shivered. Katra got out and rubbed her hands together. She smiled at him and turned up the collar of her sheepskin jacket. He could see the nervousness in her eyes so he went over and gave her a hug. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he said. He patted his pocket. ‘I’ve got three thousand euros, I’m sure that’ll be enough to get the ball rolling.’

  They walked to the front door. Liam knocked. There was no response and so he knocked again. This time the door was opened by a big man in a black suit. His head was shaved, he had a nose that had been broken and had healed badly, and he had cauliflower ears. He looked Liam up and down and opened the door wider, but stopped when he saw Katra. He barked at her in Slovenian. Katra smiled ingratiatingly and answered him. The heavy shook his head and started to close the door. Liam stuck his foot in the gap and shoved the door with his shoulder. The heavy pushed back but Liam grunted and gave it a hard shove. The heavy moved back and Liam slipped inside. ‘I just want to talk!’ said Liam.

  The heavy shouted something at him. Liam put his hands up. ‘I’m English, I don’t understand,’ he said.

  A second heavy appeared. This one had a crew cut and a diamond stud in one ear and was wearing a shiny black leather jacket. ‘Who are you?’ he asked. ‘What do you want?’

  Katra slipped through the door and began talking to them in Slovenian. Liam looked around. The ground floor was one large room with a pool table and sofas and tables and chairs, and at the far end was a bar where a barman in a tight black T-shirt was staring menacingly in their direction. A young girl in a black negligee was sitting next to a middle-aged man on a sofa and holding a bottle of beer to his lips while he used both his hands on her ample breasts. Another two scantily-dressed girls were playing pool with two middle-aged customers.

  The heavy with the diamond stud in his ear pointed outside and shouted at her, clearly telling her to go. She answered back and Liam stepped forward, protesting. ‘Don’t you touch her!’ he shouted.

  The guy with cauliflower ears punched Liam in the chest, just below the solar plexus, and the breath exploded from his lungs and he staggered back. Katra screamed and rushed over to Liam putting her arms around him as she shouted defiantly at the two heavies.

  Diamond Stud slammed the door shut and grabbed Liam, pulling him from Katra’s grasp and shoving him against the wall.

  ‘Katra!’

  They all turned to look at the girl who had shouted. It was Katra’s sister, at the top of a flight of stairs to the left of the bar. Liam had seen pictures of her but never dressed the way she was, in a parody of a school uniform with her hair in pigtails. Mia was wearing high heels and she held onto the banister as she hurried down. Katra rushed over to her and they met at the foot of the stairs and hugged.

  Liam tried to go over to them but Cauliflower Ears shoved him in the chest and pointed a warning finger at his face. ‘I just want to pay back the money that Mia owes,’ said Liam.

  ‘Money?’ the heavy repeated.

  Liam reached into his pocket and took out the envelope of euros. The heavy took it from him, ran his thumb along the wad of banknotes, then grinned and put them into the inside pocket of his jacket.

  ‘Hey, that’s for Mr Žagar,’ said Liam, trying to grab the money back.

  The heavy back-handed Liam across the face. Liam raised his hands to form fists but his eyes were watering from the blow and before he could focus the heavy had punched him twice in the stomach and Liam fell onto his knees, gasping for breath.

  Diamond Stud laughed and kicked Liam in the chest, knocking him on his back.

  Katra screamed and ran over to them. She grabbed the heavy’s arm but he shook her off as if she were a child, then slapped her, hard. Katra’s mouth opened in shock and she stared at the man in horror as if unable to believe that he had hit her.

  Liam tried to get up but the heavy with cauliflower ears kicked him in the side.

  Mia shouted at the men but Diamond Stud pointed at her and shouted back and she crumpled to the floor, crying.

  Cauliflower Ears grabbed Katra by the arm and frog-marched her to the stairs. Liam started to protest but the other heavy produced a pistol from inside his jacket and jammed it up against his neck. He pulled Liam to his feet and walked him across the floor to the stairs, where Cauliflower Ears was already halfway up with Katra.

  The barman shouted something over to Diamond Stud who shouted back as he left. He was holding the collar of Liam’s jacket with his left hand and had the gun jammed against Liam’s neck as they went
up the stairs. Katra was crying now and tears were stinging Liam’s eyes, partly as a result of being hit but also because he had never felt so powerless or humiliated. The girls and customers were watching, grinning or laughing. No one seemed to care in the least that they had been assaulted or that one of the men was brandishing a weapon.

  Cauliflower Ears reached the top of the stairs. He was laughing at Katra’s distress and said something to his colleague. The man laughed and there was a nasty edge to the sound and Liam’s stomach lurched. Whatever they were talking about doing, it wasn’t going to be pleasant, that was for sure. His mind raced, trying to think of something, anything, that he could say or do to get them out of their predicament, but he drew a complete blank. He was totally in their power. And so was Katra.

  The flight back to London left Belgrade airport at ten minutes past ten. The coach had picked them up at the hotel at seven. Shepherd had been up at six for a breakfast of ham, cheese, bread and coffee with the McAdams, who were both bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Atkinson, Palmer and Moorhouse had put in an appearance at a quarter to seven but had sat in the corner, nursing hangovers and drinking black coffee.

  Dexter had appeared at five minutes to seven, looking very much the worse for wear, and when he saw that Hewson and Scott were still missing he went back to reception and called their rooms. They appeared with their bags just as Branko arrived. He did a quick headcount and then ushered them onto the waiting coach. Hewson and Scott clearly hadn’t showered or shaved and had dark patches under their eyes. They sat at the back of the bus, Hewson to the left and Scott to the right. The McAdams sat at the front.

  Shepherd chose the same seat as the last time and was surprised when Dexter came down the aisle and plonked himself down in the aisle seat. ‘Lightweights,’ he said, jerking his thumb at the two men at the back of the coach.

  ‘It was one hell of a night,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You can handle your drink, all right. You look as fresh as a daisy.’

  Shepherd smiled. ‘My head’s raging,’ he said. ‘I just hide it well.’

  Branko climbed in and pulled the door shut. The driver started up the engine and drove away from the hotel.

  ‘So where do you live?’ asked Dexter. ‘You still in Leeds?’

  It was a friendly-enough question and Shepherd didn’t think he was being probed. ‘London, now,’ he answered. ‘Hampstead. I never go back to Leeds. Not after what happened.’

  ‘We should have a night out when we get back,’ said Dexter. ‘I’m south of the river. Beckenham. But we could meet in Mayfair or something.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You could meet some of the guys.’

  ‘Guys?’ said Shepherd, pretending not to understand.

  Dexter moved his face close to Shepherd’s. ‘The Crusaders,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure I’m a political animal,’ said Shepherd. It was always better to play hard to get, during the early phase anyway.

  ‘You hate what’s happening to our country. And like you said, you’ve seen what happens, up close and personal. What they did to your sister, that was shit. It’s time for you to make a stand, John. And you should meet a few other guys who feel the same.’

  ‘And do what, Gary? Go on a march and have eggs thrown at me? Fuck that.’

  ‘We don’t march. Look, I can’t say too much at the moment but we do have something planned and you’re a natural.’

  ‘A natural at what?’

  Dexter chuckled. ‘You can handle a gun. And the RPG.’

  ‘Scared the shit out of me when I pulled the trigger,’ said Shepherd. ‘It was a rush.’

  ‘You were bang on target.’

  ‘Beginner’s luck.’

  Dexter punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘You’re one of us, Johnny boy,’ he said. ‘You need to get your arse off the fence and stand up for what you believe in.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘There’s no maybe about it,’ said Dexter. ‘If we don’t stand up and fight for our country, we’ll lose it.’

  ‘You really believe that?’

  Dexter opened his mouth to say something but then had second thoughts. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you come along to one of our meetings, you can meet some of the guys. Are you on Facebook?’

  ‘Sure. And Twitter.’

  ‘I’m not a fan of Twitter but I use Facebook a lot and the Crusaders have a page that has several hundred followers.’

  ‘I’m easy to find on Facebook. Send me a friend request.’

  ‘Will do. And can you like and follow the Crusaders page?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘I can do that.’

  Dexter grinned. ‘Damn sure you can. And you won’t regret it.’

  Shepherd switched on his phone as soon as the plane touched down and he got a signal as it taxied up to its gate. He had received a text message. He assumed it was Katra but it was Pritchard, saying that he was in the office and that he wanted Shepherd to report to him.

  Shepherd went through the automatic passport gates with Dexter and his team, and they all shook hands in the arrivals area. ‘I’ll drop you a line about meeting up with the rest of the guys,’ promised Dexter, patting Shepherd on the shoulder.

  Dexter and his group headed off to the car park while Shepherd went to the black cab rank. He took a taxi to Thames House but had it drop him on the Embankment a short distance away. The nature of the work that went on in the building had long since ceased to be a secret, and being dropped outside almost always bought a cheery comment about spies or James Bond or Miss Moneypenny, even though the world’s most famous secret agent actually worked for MI6 and would be based at the SIS Building across the river at Vauxhall Cross.

  Shepherd walked to the front entrance. He showed his Home Office ID and passed through the metal detector. He waited while his holdall was checked by a uniformed security guard, and took the lift up to Pritchard’s floor. His secretary wasn’t at her desk and the director’s door was open. Shepherd knocked lightly.

  ‘Yes, come, come,’ said Pritchard. Even though it was a Sunday he was wearing a suit and tie, though he had taken off the jacket and slung it over the back of his chair. ‘Sit down,’ he said, still looking at his screen.

  Shepherd dropped his holdall on the floor and sat down. Pritchard finished whatever he was doing and looked at him expectantly. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Extremely well,’ said Shepherd. ‘They were definitely there looking for kit. Grenades and RPGs. They practised with both while we were over there. The top guy there was called Branko, with three other Serbs, and I’m pretty sure they were all former Scorpions. Two of them, including Branko, had scorpion tattoos.’

  ‘The fact that your little jolly was in Sid should have been a clue,’ said Pritchard. ‘Once the Yugoslav Wars were over, a lot of the Scorpions moved to Sid. It became a bit of an enclave.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘I was over in that part of the world during the nineties,’ said Pritchard.

  ‘Me too,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Really? Where?’

  ‘Sarajevo. 1995.’

  ‘During the siege? Those were bad times.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘So you’d have been with the SAS back then?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘We were tasked with taking out a sniper. Got him eventually.’ Shepherd frowned. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, what were you doing there?’

  Pritchard smiled. ‘Sadly, that is still classified.’

  ‘You were there for MI5?’

  ‘I admire your persistence, Daniel, but my lips are sealed.’

  Shepherd realised that Pritchard was in no mood to be questioned. ‘Anyway, I managed to get a look at Dexter’s mobile,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’d been with a couple of guys from Combat 18, there were some selfies with them in London. Neil Burnside and Lee Barnett. And there were text messages from Burnside talking about Gunfire Tours. There were also sev
eral text messages from German numbers that were in English but a bit cryptic, which suggests that Dexter has been looking for weapons out there.’

  ‘That’s certainly what we’ve been told,’ said Pritchard. ‘Dexter and two of his friends were out in Dortmund earlier this year meeting with representatives of a neo-Nazi group called Die Rechte, which translates as “The Right”, obviously. Die Rechte is careful to stay on the right side of the law – no pun intended – but their predecessor group, National Resistance Dortmund, was banned in 2012. The BfV has most of Die Rechte’s leaders under active surveillance, and they passed on the intel to us.’

  Shepherd nodded. The BfV was the Bundesamt für Verfassungsschutz, the Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution. It was the German equivalent of MI5. Because of the country’s history, the government kept a close eye on right-wing groups and moved quickly to stamp on them the moment they broke the law.

  ‘You say Dexter had photographs with these Combat 18 people?’ asked Pritchard.

  ‘Just selfies, taken in London,’ Shepherd replied.

  Pritchard nodded. ‘Combat 18 has pretty much dropped below the radar these days, and their website has been down since 2014. But the individuals involved with Combat 18 are still very much involved with right-wing groups elsewhere. We’ve been looking at the internet footprint of the man you apprehended at the mosque attack, Tony Hooper. He’s a regular visitor to a couple of US sites that are affiliated with Combat 18. And it turns out that Hooper’s dad was a card-carrying member during the nineties. Hooper senior went on to become involved with National Action for a while but he’s slowed down since he discovered he had prostate cancer.’

  ‘Any evidence that Hooper junior had been in touch with Dexter? I did mention the Acton attack to him and he was pretty disparaging, but I was wondering if he was faking it.’