Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Hang on a minute,’ said the Major. ‘You’re not planning on doing this on your own, are you?’

  ‘I don’t know what I’m doing yet, to be honest.’

  ‘Well as soon as you do know, just tell me what you need,’ said the Major.

  ‘Thanks, Boss, I appreciate that.’

  ‘I mean it, Spider. Anything you want or need, you’ve got it.’

  Shepherd thanked the Major again and ended the call. He had tried to sound relaxed but he was far from calm. His heart was pounding and his mouth had gone so dry that he could barely swallow. He realised the driver was watching him in the mirror and he forced a smile and settled back in his seat. The Major’s offer had come from the heart, he knew that, but the problem was that he had no idea what he needed. What he wanted was to get Katra and Liam home, but so far he had no clue how he was going to achieve that objective. He stared out of the window with unseeing eyes, wracking his brains for a solution.

  The Uber dropped Shepherd on Hampstead High Street and he walked around the corner to the apartment block. It was built during the sixties to fill the gap left when two mews houses were destroyed during a Second World War bombing raid. The John Whitehill flat was on the second floor. He used his key to let himself in and tapped in the burglar alarm code. There was a small sitting room overlooking the street, a bedroom with just enough room for a double bed and a wardrobe, a cramped bathroom and a pokey kitchen. Shepherd dropped his holdall on the sofa and looked around the flat. It had been cleaned and there were recent copies of The Economist and National Geographic on the coffee table. A shopper would make sure all the utility bills were paid and pop in once a week to collect the mail He went into the kitchen and checked the fridge, smiling when he saw the fresh milk and cans of soda water and a couple of Marks and Spencer ready meals for one.

  He paced around the room, trying to quell the rising sense of panic that was threatening to overwhelm him. Panic wouldn’t get him anywhere. He needed a game-plan, he needed a strategy, because without one he would never see Katra or Liam again. He dropped down onto the sofa and took out his phone.

  Shepherd had a few numbers stored in his phone – even with his faultless memory it was usually quicker to call through the address book than tapping out the number. But considering she had left MI5 under a cloud, Charlotte Button’s number was best left to his memory. He called and it went straight through to voicemail. He left a brief message and five minutes later she called him back. ‘It was a pleasant surprise to hear your voice but from your tone I’m assuming it wasn’t a social call,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sorry, Charlie, I’ve got a problem.’

  ‘Work or personal?’

  ‘Personal,’ he said.

  ‘Just tell me what you need,’ she said.

  ‘Remember when we were on that container ship business, you said you used a negotiator who did a really good job.’

  ‘Chris Thatcher, yes, he was working for the shipping company. He was very professional. So much so that when he retired we signed him up as a consultant. He’s come in very useful.’

  ‘Would you mind if I picked his brains?’

  ‘Of course not. I’ll send you his numbers. Dan, is there anything else you need?’

  ‘Just Thatcher’s numbers will be fine.’

  ‘I know you like to play your cards close to your chest but I’m here for you if you need me.’

  ‘I appreciate that, I really do. But there isn’t anything you can do. If that changes, I’ll call you straight away.’

  ‘Make sure you do that,’ she said. ‘And give it a couple of minutes before you call Chris, I’ll pave the way for you.’

  She ended the call. He stood up and began pacing again. He decided to make himself a cup of coffee and he was just about to add milk when his phone beeped. It was a text message with a mobile number and a landline. Shepherd called the mobile. Thatcher answered and said that he had already spoken to Button. ‘Charlotte said I’m to offer you every assistance, and that I’m to tell you that her company will bear any costs,’ he said.

  ‘That’s good of her,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t want to go into this on the phone, whereabouts are you?’

  ‘Islington,’ said Thatcher.

  ‘I’m not far away,’ said Shepherd. ‘Where’s a good place to meet?’

  ‘There’s a pub around the corner from me,’ said Thatcher. ‘The Angel, on Islington High Street.’

  ‘I’ll see you there in an hour,’ said Shepherd.

  He showered then checked the wardrobe. There were clean clothes, everything from socks and underwear to jeans and shirts and even a couple of suits. Shepherd chose a Ted Baker shirt and Diesel jeans.

  He ordered an Uber on his John Whitehill account and went downstairs two minutes before it arrived. It took less than half an hour to get to Islington High Street. Shepherd walked into the pub and looked around. There was only one guy of retirement age sitting on his own, and Shepherd nodded at him. The man nodded back and gave him a small wave. He was wearing a dark suit that looked made-to-measure, with a starched white shirt and gold cufflinks. He stood up. He was tall and thin with a close-cropped grey beard and wire-framed spectacles. ‘Dan?’ he said, offering a well-manicured hand.

  ‘Chris, thanks for this.’ They shook hands. Thatcher was drinking a cappuccino and Shepherd went over to the bar and bought himself a regular coffee. When he got back to the table, Thatcher had taken out a small notebook and a gold pen. Shepherd didn’t bother with small talk; it was clear that Thatcher was a professional. He explained what had happened and the text message he had received. He took out his phone and showed the message to Thatcher. He copied it down into his notepad. ‘You’ve had no proof of life?’ asked Thatcher. ‘No photographs or voice message?’

  ‘Just that one text message from Liam’s phone,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve called his number and it’s now off. I’m guessing that they have destroyed it and that the Slovenian number they are using is a throwaway.’

  ‘Have you called the Slovenian number?’

  ‘Not yet. I want to get all my ducks in a row first.’

  Thatcher nodded. ‘Your son’s name is Liam, right? So Liam Shepherd?’

  Shepherd nodded.

  ‘And your girlfriend?’

  ‘Katra Novak. She has family in Slovenia. A mother. A brother. Two sisters. But she only visits twice a year. I wouldn’t say they were close.’

  ‘What can you tell me about Liam?’

  ‘He’s twenty-one. He’s finished his officer training at Sandhurst and is now learning to fly helicopters. If all goes to plan he’ll be getting his wings next year. He was on leave and was coming to see us in Hereford at the weekend. I got tied up with work and their phones were off. When I got back I went to the house. There were no signs of a struggle and the two of them flew to Slovenia on Saturday, though I have no idea why.’

  Thatcher made notes as Shepherd spoke. ‘So what do you want me to do?’ he asked as Shepherd finished speaking.

  ‘I don’t want to talk to them myself. I’m too close, my emotions will be running riot. I need a professional to handle the negotiations.’

  ‘That’s the smart thing to do,’ nodded Thatcher.

  ‘Plus I intend to go over to Slovenia and I need someone here to handle things.’ He smiled. ‘That someone to be you, obviously. If you are okay with that?’

  ‘I’m on this for the duration,’ said Thatcher.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Shepherd. ‘I plan to go to Slovenia tonight or tomorrow. Are you okay to do this from home?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Thatcher. ‘I have recording equipment there, it wouldn’t be the first time. How about I take you there now and we’ll get started.’

  They downed their coffees and Thatcher led Shepherd around the corner to a small terraced house with a white door and a knocker in the shape of a lion’s head. He unlocked the door and went in first, then held the door open for Shepherd. ‘First on the right,’ said Thatcher.

>   Shepherd walked into the room. It was a sitting room that was obviously used as a study, with a desk and filled bookcase by the window, and a scuffed leather sofa and two winged leather armchairs around a coffee table. There were two watercolours on the wall either side of a large cast-iron fireplace, and above it a gilt-framed mirror.

  The room had an old-fashioned feel to it but there were two state-of-the-art Mac screens on the desk and a MacBook laptop. There were two phones, one of which was part of a fax machine. ‘Pull over a chair,’ said Thatcher as he sat down at the desk and opened one of the drawers.

  Shepherd moved one of the armchairs closer to the desk. ‘I’m going to use my landline,’ said Thatcher. ‘Mobiles are all very well but they do go down from time to time.’ He took out a digital recorder from the drawer and plugged it into an adaptor on the floor. There was a wire running from the base of his phone and he plugged it into his recorder, then he took a pair of Sony headphones from the same drawer. He plugged the headphones into the recorder and gave them to Shepherd. Shepherd put them on.

  ‘Good to go?’ asked Thatcher.

  Shepherd nodded, though he didn’t feel good at all. There was a constant feeling of dread gripping his heart, squeezing it so hard that he could barely breathe. He forced a smile. ‘Ready when you are,’ he said, though his mouth was so dry that he had trouble speaking.

  Thatcher opened his notepad and tapped the Slovenian number into his phone. Shepherd heard it ringing through his headphones. It rang for almost thirty seconds and Thatcher was about to cut off the call when it was answered. There was no voice at the other end, but they could hear heavy breathing. ‘My name is Chris Thatcher,’ said Thatcher, speaking slowly and carefully. ‘I am speaking on behalf of Dan Shepherd. Who am I talking to?’

  There was no reply, but they could definitely hear breathing.

  Thatcher repeated what he had said, word for word.

  ‘I will only talk to the boy’s father,’ said a voice. It was a man, not young, and with an Eastern European accent. Shepherd’s ear wasn’t sensitive enough to differentiate between the likes of Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Serbia.

  ‘Mr Shepherd isn’t available at the moment,’ said Thatcher. ‘But he has given me the authority to speak on his behalf. We want to do what is necessary to bring Liam and Katra back to the UK.’

  ‘Where is he?’ the man grunted.

  ‘He is talking to his bank,’ said Thatcher.

  ‘So he will pay?’

  Thatcher caught Shepherd’s eye. Shepherd nodded. He had caught the eagerness in the man’s voice. He definitely wanted the money. Shepherd had been worried that there might have been another motivation for the kidnapping, but it was starting to look as if it was genuinely about the money.

  ‘He wants his son and girlfriend back home,’ said Thatcher. ‘And we need you to help us make that happen.’

  ‘All you have to do is pay what I am asking,’ said the man.

  ‘Who am I talking to?’ asked Thatcher.

  ‘You don’t need to know my name.’

  ‘I think I do. In case I call and somebody else answers. My name is Chris. What can I call you?’

  There was silence for a few seconds, then the man cleared his throat. ‘You can call me David.’

  Thatcher wrote the name down in his book. ‘Good, David, that’s good. Now we know each other. I’m Chris and you’re David. Now the next thing we are going to need is proof of life. You understand what I mean by that, David? Proof of life. We need to know that Liam and Katra are alive and well.’

  ‘They have not been hurt,’ said David.

  ‘I’m sure that’s the case, but you will understand that we need proof. That’s why it is called “proof of life”. The best way to establish proof of life is to put them on the phone so that I can speak to them. Once I have spoken to them we can move forward.’

  ‘That is not possible.’

  ‘Why not, David? Why can’t I speak to them?’

  ‘They are not here.’

  Thatcher made a note in his notebook. ‘Well, can you send me a picture of them with a newspaper to show the date?’

  ‘That will take time.’

  ‘We will need that, David. We need proof of life.’

  ‘We need to talk about the money.’

  ‘David, we cannot talk about the money until we have had proof of life. You must understand that. If we do not know for sure that Liam and Katra are alive, we cannot move on.’

  ‘It will take time.’

  ‘We will wait, David. How long do you think it will take?’

  ‘A few hours.’

  ‘Then I will call you back in three hours, David. Will that be okay?’

  ‘Four hours better,’ said the man.

  ‘Four hours it is, David. I will call you back in four hours. Goodbye.’

  Thatcher replaced the receiver and sat back. Shepherd took off his headphones.

  ‘That went all right, I think,’ said Thatcher.

  Shepherd nodded. ‘We can assume his name isn’t really David.’

  ‘It is a common name in that part of the world, but yes, the hesitation gave it away, didn’t it? Did you note that he said “all you have to do is pay what I am asking”, which suggests that he is in charge. He did use “we” as well but I think that was referring to him and me. When it was about the money it was “I”, so from my perspective he is the one calling the shots.’

  ‘And he isn’t with Katra and Liam. He is saying it will take three to four hours to get proof of life which means that he is what, an hour or so away?’

  Thatcher nodded. ‘That’s how I read it. I think I’ll call him back in about ninety minutes. If he’s with them then I might be able to persuade him to let them talk to me.’ He put down his pen. ‘It’s good news that it is about the money and we’re not into any religious territory. It’s looking like a purely financial transaction and they are always easier to deal with. I suspect that David is an established criminal. How old would you have put him at? Forty? Fifty?’

  ‘In that area, yes.’

  ‘And I got the impression that he hasn’t done this too many times. I don’t think that kidnapping is how he usually earns his living. I could be wrong, of course.’

  ‘No, I understand what you’re saying. He seemed quite willing to let you take the lead.’

  ‘So that suggests that this wasn’t planned. Something happened to create a situation that David is now taking advantage of. And again that is good news. Whatever it was that happened, David just wants to be paid off. What about the money? How much can you get?’

  ‘If I sell some shares, possibly a hundred thousand. I can probably borrow another hundred, maybe two hundred.’

  ‘The text message said five hundred, so two or three hundred might put you in the right ballpark.’

  Shepherd leaned forward. ‘That’s going to be a fall-back position, Chris,’ he said. ‘I don’t know this David, I don’t know if we can trust him or not, so I’m going to head over to Slovenia and see if I can track him down there. The total population is a little over two million and there’s only a quarter of a million people in Ljubljana. If I can talk to the right people …’ He left the sentence unfinished.

  Thatcher nodded. ‘I’m sure you know what you’re doing,’ he said.

  Shepherd grimaced. ‘I wish I was that sure,’ he said.

  Shepherd had no way of accessing MI5’s database at home so he took an Uber from Islington to Thames House. He went up to the second floor and logged on to a terminal. There was still no response to a request for information on Liam and Katra’s phones. The phone companies were supposed to respond day and night to urgent enquiries but it was Sunday night so he hadn’t expected an immediate reply.

  He used his smartphone to check for flights to Slovenia. There were still plenty of seats available throughout the day but he wanted to wait for confirmation that Liam and Katra were definitely there.

  He wasn’t sure what arrangements MI5 h
ad with Slovenia regarding phone traces. Slovenia was in the European Union so he assumed that there were protocols in place. He entered David’s Slovenian mobile number, requesting location, calls and messaging, and flagged it ‘PRIORITY’.

  He stood up and stared out the window, considering his options. The problem was that just then he didn’t have any. All he could do was wait.

  Chris Thatcher sipped his coffee, looked at his watch for the tenth time, then pressed the redial button. David answered within seconds but said nothing. ‘David?’ said Thatcher. ‘It’s Chris.’

  ‘We said four hours.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but it occurred to me that as far as proof of life goes, it might be easier if you just put Katra or Liam on the phone. It would only take a minute and I only need to talk to one of them.’

  ‘That is not what we agreed,’ said David tersely.

  ‘I appreciate that, David, I’m just trying to simplify things. If you would rather take a photograph with a newspaper and send it to me, that works, I simply thought it might make it easier for you just to let me talk to Liam or Katra and that way I would have proof of life.’

  ‘That isn’t what we agreed,’ David repeated, but there was less conviction in his voice.

  ‘David, I just wanted to simplify things, that’s all. If it’s impossible for me to talk to Liam or Katra then of course I will wait for you to send me the proof of life. It’s up to you.’

  Thatcher took another sip of his coffee as he waited for David to come to a decision. There was no point in saying anything else.

  ‘Okay,’ said David after several seconds. ‘Wait.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Thatcher. He checked that the recorder was working.

  There was nothing for almost a minute then a woman’s voice came on. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello,’ said Thatcher. ‘My name is Chris Thatcher. Who am I talking to?’

  ‘Katra,’ said the woman. ‘Katra Novak.’

  ‘Hello Katra, I am calling on behalf of Dan Shepherd.’

  ‘Dan? Is he okay?’ Her voice was shaking, she was clearly afraid.

  ‘He’s fine and he’s going to get you back, so you’re not to worry.’