Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘There’s no direct link so far,’ said Pritchard. ‘But these racists tend to move in the same circles so I’d be surprised if there wasn’t a connection.’

  ‘Branko had no problem supplying us with RPG-7 rockets,’ said Shepherd. ‘He took our orders in the evening and they arrived before lunch the next day, so they can’t be stored too far away from the quarry where we fired them.’

  ‘The former Yugoslavia is still awash with RPGs,’ said Pritchard. ‘A lot make their way to the Middle East, though the Chinese are more than happy to sell new ones to anyone with the cash. So what sort of rockets did they have?’

  ‘Most of the group were firing practice fragmentation grenades,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was the only one who got the real thing – a bog standard PG-7V. Nothing special. A tank would shrug them off.’

  ‘Yeah, but they’d play havoc with a crowded mosque,’ said Pritchard. ‘If he can get one it’s reasonable to assume he could come up with more. You said there were grenades, too?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘M75s.’

  ‘Kashikaras,’ said Pritchard. ‘Obviously, made in Yugoslavia. Though they manufacture them in Macedonia these days. How much was he charging for them?’

  ‘A hundred euros.’

  The director smiled. ‘Greedy bugger. You know when the Yugoslav Wars were over the Serbs sold a massive shipment of them to a dealer in Sweden at three euros a pop. One of them turned up in Manchester in 2012, remember? A criminal by the name of Dale Cregan. Killed two cops and a couple of other people. And another two were used in a drug war in Antwerp in 2018.’

  ‘Yeah, well Branko clearly has a stock of them.’

  ‘And the cost of the RPG rockets?’

  ‘Two hundred and fifty euros.’

  Pritchard chuckled. ‘PG-7Vs were changing hands for fifty dollars a time in Somalia at the height of the war there. But even at Branko’s prices, they’re still affordable.’

  ‘Yeah, I think Branko was definitely overcharging. He’d probably do a deal if he wanted the cash.’

  Pritchard nodded. ‘So, you have confirmation that Gary Dexter intends to purchase RPGs and grenades with a view to attacking mosques in the UK?’

  ‘That’s obviously what he’s planning,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was deep in conversation with Branko, who was running the show. Branko hates Muslims, no question of that. Two of Dexter’s men, Simon Hewson and Joe Atkinson, told me that Dexter was talking to Branko about acquiring RPGs.’

  ‘Do they think you’re one of them?’

  ‘An Islamophobe? Sure. I didn’t push it too hard but enough for them to think I could be recruited.’

  ‘And the fact that you’re a journalist didn’t worry them?’

  ‘Dexter had Googled me and seen the sort of stuff Whitehill has had published. We’re good.’

  ‘The Serbs running the tours, Branko et al – there are three men on the website, were there any others out there?’

  ‘There was a guy called Neno. And two other guys were delivering equipment and food.’

  ‘Do you have pictures?’

  ‘Some. And some video.’

  ‘Send me what you have. And check the IRMCT database, see if you can come up with any matches.’

  Shepherd nodded. The International Residual Mechanism for Criminal Tribunals was set up in 2010 partly to continue with work that hadn’t been completed by the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia. The ICTY had been formed to prosecute those responsible for genocide and war crimes but prosecutions had tailed off and the IRMCT was now concerned mainly with paperwork. But there was a file of men still wanted, though they were no longer being actively searched for.

  For the first time, Pritchard smiled. ‘It looks as if we’re making progress,’ he said. ‘Well done. You made the right call when you suggested going to Serbia.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Shepherd. ‘On that point, can I make a suggestion?’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said the director, steepling his fingers under his chin. Shepherd wondered if he had practised the move in front of a mirror.

  ‘Using Harry Dexter definitely paid off,’ said Shepherd. ‘If we hadn’t given him the bugged phone we would never have found out about the shooting trip. But I don’t see we’ll be getting anything else from him. His father clearly isn’t involved and the uncle only visits on a Sunday. So I’m suggesting that we stop using him as a source.’

  ‘You’re still uncomfortable with using a minor, obviously.’

  ‘If he was an adult I’d still be recommending that we focus on my undercover investigation but I’m not going to deny that I’m not happy using children.’

  Pritchard nodded slowly. ‘I hear what you’re saying.’ He took off his spectacles and began polishing them with a dark blue handkerchief. More displacement behaviour. ‘And I’m tempted to agree with you.’ He smiled and put his glasses back on. ‘You should continue in your role and we’ll stop using Harry. Do you think you’ll need anything in the way of resources?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Gary Dexter has offered to take me to a Crusader meeting and obviously as his guest I should have full access. I’m assuming he’ll tell me more about what he has planned. Once we know how he plans to get the RPGs into the country we can intercept the consignment. Assuming that Branko can actually deliver.’

  Pritchard frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Dexter seems to be pinning his hopes on Branko supplying him with what he needs, but I don’t know for sure if Branko agreed to that. It’s one thing to supply RPGs to thrill-seekers in a Serbian quarry, quite another to ship them into the UK for a terrorist attack.’

  ‘Branko hates Muslims, you said.’

  ‘No question. But he managed to avoid prosecution for his activities with the Scorpions, I’m not sure he’d want to put himself at risk for someone he doesn’t know.’

  ‘Good point,’ said the director. ‘I suppose we have to wait and see how it plays out.’

  ‘Sure, but if Branko doesn’t come through, I could become more proactive.’

  ‘In what way, exactly?’

  ‘I was thinking of me putting the Crusaders in touch with a genuine arms dealer. There’s plenty on the Continent.’

  ‘How would that work with the cover you have?’

  ‘I’d have to give it some thought,’ said Shepherd. ‘But if we could take out a dodgy arms dealer at the same time as Dexter, we’d be killing two birds with one stone.’

  ‘True,’ said the director. ‘But let’s cross that bridge if and when we come to it. Let’s assume that Branko will be the supplier. We need to let the RPGs into the country and pick up as many people as we can. Keep me informed, obviously.’

  ‘I should use the Hampstead flat that goes with the Whitehill legend. Once I’m up and running I’ll liaise with Amar Singh regarding recording equipment.’

  ‘Do you have any idea of the time frame?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I got the feeling that Dexter wants to move quickly.’

  ‘That’s good, the faster he moves the less likely he is to realise he’s being set up.’ He looked over at his computer screen. Now familiar with the director’s body language, Shepherd took that as his cue to leave. He stood up, grabbed his holdall and headed for the door.

  The curtains were drawn and the lights were on. Liam couldn’t see his watch, so he had no idea what time it was or how long they had been in the room when the door opened and Cauliflower Ears appeared. With him was a big man in a dark overcoat, chewing on a cigar. He had thick bushy eyebrows that almost met over a flat nose and a receding hairline that only half covered a liver-spotted scalp.

  Liam and Katra had been tied to wooden chairs in the middle of the room with duct tape, and strips of tape had been plastered across their mouths. Diamond Stud had roughly searched them, taken their phones, and then left them alone. Twice during the night Cauliflower Ears had come in and checked their bonds. The second time he had stood behind Katra and molested her, slipping his hands
inside her shirt and laughing as she had struggled. Liam had struggled with his bonds but the man had just carried on. He’d stopped eventually and left. There had been tears in Katra’s eyes and if Liam had had a gun he’d have shot the man dead without a second thought.

  The man with the cigar said something to Cauliflower Ears and he went over to Katra and ripped the duct tape away from her mouth.

  ‘You know who I am?’ the man with the cigar asked her.

  She nodded fearfully. ‘You are Mr Žagar.’ She looked down at the floor.

  ‘Don’t look away. Look me in the eye.’

  Katra did as she was told.

  ‘I remember you,’ said Žagar. ‘But you have been away for a long time now.’

  She nodded. ‘In England.’

  Žagar took a long pull on his cigar and then blew a cloud of bluish smoke towards her. He gestured at Liam with his cigar. ‘And who is this?’

  ‘The son of my boyfriend. He came to help me.’

  Žagar laughed harshly. ‘And how is that working out for you?’ He looked over at Cauliflower Ears and said something and the heavy started laughing.

  ‘We just wanted to pay my sister’s debt,’ said Katra.

  ‘Ah, yes. The lovely Mia. She is a very popular girl.’

  Žagar took his cigar out and stabbed it in Liam’s direction. Cauliflower Ears ripped the duct tape away from Liam’s mouth. Liam licked his lips and cleared his throat. ‘Look, I’ve got money,’ said Liam. ‘I’ve brought cash and we can use my credit cards. Mia borrowed what, five thousand euros from you? I can pay you six, so you get your money back and a profit.’ He forced a smile. ‘That’s what all this is about, right? Making a profit?’

  ‘Six thousand euros, that’s what you’re offering me?’ asked Žagar. He flicked ash onto the floor. ‘That’s a fucking insult.’

  ‘It’s her debt,’ said Liam. ‘I’m here to repay it.’

  Žagar shook his head. ‘It isn’t about her debt any more. Now it’s about her value to me. A girl like Mia, she can earn five hundred euros a day. Maybe a thousand. That’s three hundred thousand euros over the next year. Maybe more. Why would I give up an asset like that for six thousand euros? Like you said, I am a businessman. Why would I throw away a profit?’

  Liam swallowed nervously. ‘How much would you want?’ he asked quietly.

  Žagar grinned and stared up at the ceiling as he pretended to consider the question. He took a drag on his cigar, then lowered his head and blew smoke at Liam. ‘Five hundred thousand euros,’ he said. ‘Half a million. That is fair.’

  ‘How is that fair?’ shouted Liam. ‘That’s a hundred times what she borrowed.’

  Žagar shrugged. ‘That is the price.’

  ‘Well I don’t have it.’ He looked over at Katra. She was close to tears. ‘Okay, I’ll go back to the UK and see what we can do about raising the money.’

  Žagar’s eyes hardened. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said.

  ‘What do you mean? I don’t have anywhere near that much money. I’ll have to go back to England and see what I can do.’

  ‘You and your girlfriend will stay here until I get my money.’

  ‘She’s not my girlfriend.’

  ‘Girlfriend, whore, slut, I don’t care who the fuck she is to you. All I care about is getting my money and if you don’t get it for me I’ll cut you up into pieces to feed my pigs and your whore can work off the debt here.’

  ‘No!’ said Liam. ‘That’s not going to happen.’

  Žagar chuckled as he walked across the room to Liam. He stood in front of him, grinning as he took a long pull on his cigar. Then he took it and pressed the burning end into Liam’s forehead. Liam yelped and Žagar pressed harder. He laughed as Liam screamed in pain, then took a step back. He sucked on the cigar to redden the end again, then he walked over to Katra, who was frantically struggling with her bonds.

  ‘No!’ shouted Liam. ‘Don’t hurt her. Please.’

  Žagar turned to look at him. ‘If I do not get my money within forty-eight hours, she will be put to work here,’ said Žagar. ‘She can start by giving my man here a blow job. I’m sure a pretty mouth like hers will give a lot of pleasure. Though if we pull all her teeth out, I’m told that the pleasure is intensified.’

  ‘We don’t have that sort of money,’ hissed Liam.

  ‘You live in England, a rich country,’ said Žagar. ‘I’m sure you will know someone there who can help.’

  Liam nodded. ‘My dad,’ he said. ‘He’ll help.’

  Žagar grinned savagely. ‘For both your sakes, you had better be right.’

  Shepherd went down to the second-floor hot-desk room. It was empty and he chose a terminal by the window. He dropped his bag on the floor, connected his phone and uploaded the photographs and videos that he had taken in Sid, then emailed a link to Pritchard.

  He accessed the IRMCT database and clicked through the several dozen photographs of men still wanted for war crimes. None of them had been at the quarry. He logged onto John Whitehill’s Facebook page. It had been well maintained by the footies, with recent posts related to the various articles that had been published under his name. He uploaded several of the photographs that he’d taken in Sid, being careful not to include any of Dexter and his friends, and mentioned that he was planning an article on adventure holidays. He did a search for Gary Dexter and sent him a friend request, then did the same for Roger Moorhouse, Charlie Palmer, Joe Atkinson, Simon Hewson and Matthew Scott.

  He tapped in ‘British Crusaders’ and found their page, and clicked the button to like it. As he was scrolling down it, his phone buzzed, telling him he had received a message. He disconnected it from the computer. It was from Liam’s phone. He opened the message and frowned. It was all in capital letters. ‘WE HAVE YOUR SON AND YOUR GIRLFRIEND. WE WANT 500,000 EUROS. IF YOU CONTACT THE POLICE THEY WILL DIE. CALL THIS NUMBER WHEN YOU HAVE THE MONEY.’

  The number in the message was a mobile and the country code was Slovenia. Shepherd squinted at the phone. Was Liam playing some sort of sick joke, payback for him not being there at the weekend? He called Liam’s number but it went straight through to voicemail. He ended the call and tried again. Still voicemail. He tried Katra but the same thing happened.

  He sat back in his chair and ran a hand through his hair. It wasn’t the sort of prank that Liam would play. So what the hell was going on? And why the Slovenian phone number? That was where Katra was from, but she hadn’t been there for almost a year. His home in Hereford was a three-hour drive away, minimum. He called the mobile number of Major Allan Gannon, his former commanding officer. The Major answered almost immediately. ‘Spider, are you in town?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Boss,’ said Shepherd. ‘I need a favour. You still have my house key, right?’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Can you pop around and see if Liam and Katra are there? I’m having trouble getting in contact with them.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘I know it sounds crazy, Boss, but I’ve been sent a text message saying they’ve been kidnapped. Liam was supposed to be at the house this weekend. Now his phone is off and so is Katra’s and I’ve got this weird text message.’

  ‘I’ll go straight round,’ said the Major.

  ‘Thanks, Boss.’

  Shepherd ended the call. His heart was pounding and he took several long, slow breaths to calm himself down. He stared at the screen for several seconds as he considered his options. He entered Liam and Katra’s numbers into the system and requested details of the location of the phones and any calls made. He flagged the request as ‘PRIORITY’, though that was pretty much what everyone who made an application did. The phone companies were inundated with enquiries from the police and the intelligence services and there was a backlog of several days even for the urgent requests. The Security Service and MI6 tended to go straight to the head of the queue, but even so, it ultimately came down to some overworked and underpaid office worker accessing
the phone company’s records. In a perfect world MI5 would have access to the databases of all the phone companies but the world was far from perfect.

  Flight records were a different matter. MI5 had direct access to the databases of all EU airlines. EasyJet, Adria Airways and Wizz Air all offered direct flights from London to Slovenia. Katra usually travelled with EasyJet when she visited family so he checked their flight records first. He found them on a Saturday midday flight from Stansted Airport, two seats in the middle of the plane. They had booked onto a return flight on Sunday afternoon but they hadn’t been on board.

  Shepherd sat back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. What the hell were they playing at? Why had they flown to Slovenia without telling him? He remembered that Katra had wanted to talk to him about something but he had been too busy to listen. Did she have some family problem? Why hadn’t she told him? And how did that end up with her and Liam being kidnapped? His heart was racing again and he forced himself to breathe slowly and evenly.

  He logged off the terminal and went downstairs with his holdall. He called for an Uber and it arrived within five minutes but the wait felt like hours. The seconds seemed to crawl by as he paced up and down the pavement.

  Shepherd was still about ten minutes away from the Hampstead flat when his phone buzzed. It was the Major, calling on FaceTime. Shepherd accepted the call. ‘I’m inside,’ said the Major. His face filled the screen, showing his twice-broken nose and the deep cleft in his chin. ‘No sign of anyone.’ He held the phone up and showed Shepherd the kitchen.

  ‘Was there a red Nissan Juke outside?’

  ‘No. No car at all.’ The Major pointed his phone at the sink. ‘The washing up has been done and there are no signs of a struggle. The place is spotless.’

  ‘Yeah, I’ve checked flight details and they were on a flight to Ljubljana yesterday.’

  The screen showed the Major’s face again, and Shepherd could see the concern in his eyes. ‘What’s going on, Spider? You said kidnapped?’

  ‘So far I’ve just got a text, Boss. I’ve been given a number to call in Slovenia but I wanted to check I wasn’t being conned. Anyway, thanks, I’ll take it from here.’