Short Range (The Spider Shepherd Thrillers Book 16)

by Stephen Leather

  A grey-haired sergeant aimed his gun at Dexter. ‘Put the grenade on the ground and step away from it!’ he shouted.

  Dexter held the grenade in the air. ‘I’ll throw it!’ he shouted.

  ‘Gary, mate, don’t be stupid,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It’s the only way,’ said Dexter. He pulled out the pin.

  ‘You’ll kill us all,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Not if they let us go,’ said Dexter. He waved the grenade above his head with his right hand and the pin with his left. ‘This’ll kill everyone within twenty feet,’ he said to the armed cops. ‘So you need to get back into your cars and fuck the fuck off.’

  ‘We’re not going anywhere,’ said the sergeant. ‘Just stop being a bloody fool and put the pin back in.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ said Dexter and he threw the pin at the sergeant. It bounced off the sergeant’s Kevlar vest and fell onto the concrete. Dexter held the grenade up again. ‘You shoot me and I let go and it goes off and we’re all dead.’

  ‘Gary, please, come on,’ said Shepherd. ‘You don’t want to do this.’

  ‘I’ve no fucking choice, John.’

  ‘You’ve been caught buying weapons,’ said Shepherd. ‘Big fucking deal. A few years inside. But if you throw that and kill somebody, that’s you behind bars for life.’

  Dexter took a step towards the armed police, and they all took a step back, though they kept their Glocks trained on Dexter’s chest.

  ‘Gary, don’t do anything stupid,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘John, mate, just go. They won’t stop you. Not while I’ve got this.’ He looked at Moorhouse. ‘Leg it, Rog. You too, Charlie.’

  ‘Leg it where, Gary?’ said Moorhouse. ‘John’s right. They’ve got us, we’re fucked, but blowing up cops is only going to make it worse.’

  ‘The police are part of the problem, don’t you see that? If they treated the Muslims the way they treat us, our country wouldn’t be in the state it is. They treat the muzzies with kid fucking gloves.’

  ‘Gary, the cops aren’t the problem,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘They fucking are!’ shouted Dexter. ‘They have a duty to protect us, the citizens, but they don’t and we have bombs on our buses and our trains and they burn poppies and they mow citizens down with their cars and the police do fuck all about it. They know who the jihadists are, they know their names and where they live, but they’re too scared to do a damn thing about it. Fuck them!’ He drew back his arm and threw the grenade at the armed cops.

  The police officers stood transfixed as the grenade flew through the air. It wasn’t until it landed on the ground that they began to run. Sharpe didn’t move, he had a look of astonishment on his face. Serafino also stood transfixed. The grenade bounced once on the concrete and then slid to a halt. Shepherd knew that there was no way they would be able to outrun the deadly shrapnel. Dexter, Palmer and Moorhouse were also running. There was a chance that they might survive, but it was a slim one.

  Shepherd had started counting the moment that Dexter had released his grip on the grenade. One thousand. Two thousand as the grenade hit the ground. Sharpe still hadn’t moved, he was staring at it in disbelief. Shepherd reacted instinctively, throwing himself over the grenade, covering it with his chest. Three thousand. Shepherd closed his eyes. He knew he’d feel nothing, the blast would turn his body into vapour, pretty much. He thought of Katra, and the look of horror on her face as she had died. Shepherd wasn’t a great believer in heaven or hell but part of him was sure that he’d be with her again. Four thousand. Shepherd gritted his teeth as he waited for the end. Five thousand.

  ‘You soppy bastard,’ said Sharpe.

  Shepherd opened his eyes. Six thousand. Was it a dud?

  ‘You didn’t really think they were all live, did you?’ said Sharpe. ‘Give me some credit.’

  Shepherd rolled off the grenade and sat up. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time you’d screwed up,’ he said, trying not to show just how relieved he was.

  ‘But good to know you’d throw yourself on a grenade for your old pal.’ He offered his hand and Shepherd grabbed it. Sharpe hauled him to his feet. The armed cops realised what was happening and gave chase after Dexter, Palmer and Moorhouse, who were making slow progress across the ploughed field. ‘You okay?’ Sharpe asked Shepherd as they watched the police round up the three men.

  ‘I’m okay,’ said Shepherd, brushing dirt off his blazer with his hands.

  ‘You sure?’

  Shepherd considered the question for several seconds, then he nodded. ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘That was a bloody crazy thing to do, you know that.’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I knew it wasn’t live,’ he lied.

  ‘You can’t kid a kidder,’ said Sharpe. He put his arm around Shepherd and hugged him. ‘Anyway, it’s the thought that counts.’

  ‘Don’t get all emotional on me, Razor. Please.’

  Serafino was staring at them in astonishment. Sharpe grinned. ‘Dan here’s one of us,’ he explained. ‘Used to be a cop but he’s secret squirrel now.’

  ‘You might have told me,’ said Serafino. He put out his hand and Shepherd shook it.

  ‘I figured it was one less thing for you to worry about,’ said Sharpe.

  As the police handcuffed Dexter, Palmer and Moorhouse and marched them back to their vehicles, Sharpe’s phone rang and he answered it. He frowned as he listened, swore under his breath, said ‘yes’ a few times and then ended the call. ‘We’ve got a problem with Harry,’ he said.

  ‘What sort of problem?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘A fucking huge one,’ said Sharpe. ‘He was asked to do a pickup and delivery. Julie organised the surveillance and was at the safe house to take samples. The team followed him to Warwick and Bradley’s house and were monitoring him on the iPhone you’d given him. Bradley said they wanted him to go inside and when he did it was obvious that two of Kriezis’s men were there. They’ve bundled him into a van and are taking him back to London as we speak.’

  ‘I thought we were done with using Harry undercover?’

  ‘Julie says Teflon wanted to keep Harry and the other county lines up and running for a while longer.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Razor. If anything happens to that kid …’

  ‘It’s not the end of the world, Harry still has his phone on him so we can track them.’

  ‘What about ARVs?’

  ‘Julie didn’t have armed support, it was a regular delivery.’

  ‘What about now?’

  ‘Teflon is organising ARVs in London but he told Julie he wants to adopt a wait-and-see posture.’

  ‘He what?’

  ‘His exact words, apparently.’

  ‘Harry’s been taken hostage, Razor. If we wait and see he could end up dead.’ He took out his phone and looked at the App linked to Harry’s iPhone. He smiled with relief when he saw that it was working. Harry was on the M4, heading east.

  The police officers from the Mercedes van ran over to the SFOs and took the fugitives into custody.

  Sharpe went over to the sergeant, whose Glock was now back in its holster. ‘We’ve got a situation with one of our assets,’ Sharpe said to him. ‘Can you offer us assistance?’ He gestured at Shepherd. ‘This is Dan, he’s with us.’

  The sergeant shook his head. ‘No can do, we’ve been told to attend a scene in Stoke Newington,’ he said. ‘Guy threatening to kill his wife. Sorry.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Shepherd. He gritted his teeth and considered his options. Yes, Ron McKee was running the investigation into Frenk Kriezis but Harry Dexter had been an MI5 asset so Shepherd was at least partly responsible for what happened to him. He looked at Sharpe and could see from the look on his friend’s face that he knew what Shepherd was going to say.

  ‘Your call,’ said Sharpe.

  ‘McKee won’t be happy.’

  Sharpe chuckled softly. ‘I’m just a consultant. Worst he can do to me is not sign off on my expenses.’

  ‘Let’
s go,’ Shepherd said, patting him on the back.

  Sharpe took him over to the other barn where he had parked his red Jaguar.

  ‘You’re using your own car on an undercover job?’ asked Shepherd. ‘That’s a bit risky isn’t it?’

  ‘I’m using NCA plates, and it means I get to claim mileage,’ said Sharpe.

  They climbed in. Sharpe’s phone rang and he looked at the screen. ‘Speak of the devil,’ he said. ‘It’s McKee.’ He put the phone on hands-free as he drove out of the barn. He brought the chief inspector up to speed as he drove along the rutted track that led to the main road. McKee listened and as soon as Sharpe had finished he confirmed that he had already put in a request for armed support. ‘Liaise through me,’ said McKee. ‘Keep me appraised of the boy’s location.’

  ‘Will do, Sir,’ said Sharpe and he ended the call. He looked across at Shepherd. ‘Well that’s a turn up for the books,’ he said. ‘I was sure he was going to be pissed off at me and tell me to get back to Peel House. Instead it’s all hands to the pumps.’

  ‘Maybe you misjudged him, Razor. It happens.’ Shepherd looked at his phone. Harry was still on the M4, heading to London.

  Kriezis turned around in his seat and jabbed his cigar at Harry. ‘Stop your fucking snivelling,’ he said.

  ‘I want to go home,’ said Harry in the rear of the van, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. He was boxed in by Shkodra and Prifti.

  ‘We’ll have a talk and if you tell me what I want to know, you can go home.’

  Kriezis took a pull on his cigar and blew smoke towards the windshield. He had no intention of letting Harry go home – the interrogation was only going to end one way.

  Dushku slowed the van and indicated to leave the main road.

  They were in Chingford and ahead of them was the industrial estate where they had dealt with Christy ‘Vicious’ Miller and his crew. Dushku pulled up in front of the unit and Kriezis used his remote control to open up the red metal door at the delivery area. Dushku drove through and came to a halt in the middle of the building. He switched off the engine and sat holding the steering wheel with both hands.

  ‘Is something troubling you?’ Kriezis asked him, in Albanian.

  ‘He’s a kid,’ said Dushku, staring straight ahead.

  ‘If I’m wrong, he can go home.’

  ‘But you don’t think you’re wrong, do you?’

  Kriezis shook his head. ‘No. And neither do you. The kid’s fucked us over and if we don’t get rid of him, we’re in the shit. And he’s not a kid. Look at our lives when we were his age. Were we kids?’

  ‘Our lives were different,’ said Dushku. He shrugged. ‘Don’t get me wrong. I’ll do what needs to be done. I was just saying, I don’t like killing kids or women.’

  Sharpe pounded on his horn in frustration. The middle-aged woman in the grey Volvo ahead of them was driving at just below the speed limit, with a mobile phone clamped to her ear. ‘The problem with the Jag is that I don’t have blues and twos,’ he said. He pulled out to overtake but there was a large cement truck heading their way, so he braked and dropped behind the Volvo again.

  Shepherd studied his phone. The red dot that marked the progress of the van was no longer moving. ‘They’ve stopped,’ he said. ‘It’s an industrial estate in Chingford.’

  Sharpe looked at his satnav. They were about five minutes away. The cement truck flashed by. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked, pushing down on the accelerator to overtake the Volvo. He glared at the woman as he went by but she was too engrossed in her phone conversation to notice.

  ‘Razor, they’re not taking him there to play hide and seek. You know what they’re going to do.’

  ‘You want to go in?’

  ‘I don’t want to go in, no, but I don’t see we’ve any choice.’

  Sharpe smiled thinly. ‘We?’

  ‘We can’t wait for the armed cops, not if his life is on the line.’

  Sharpe nodded as he drove. ‘I hear you,’ he said.

  Shepherd reached behind his back and pulled the Glock from its holster. Six shots in the clip and one in the chamber. The Glock 43 was a great weapon to carry covertly, but at that moment Shepherd would have preferred a few more rounds in the magazine.

  Shkodra opened the side door of the van and climbed out. He turned and grabbed Harry. ‘Out you come,’ he growled. Harry stumbled out of the van. Shkodra kept a tight grip on the teenager’s collar. Prifti followed and they stood either side of the boy, dwarfing him with their bulk.

  Kriezis and Dushku got out of the front of the van and slammed the door shut, the sounds echoing around the empty unit. Dushku went over to flick the switch that turned on the unit’s overhead fluorescent lights as Kriezis used the remote control to lower the metal door.

  Kriezis walked slowly over to Harry. He stared at the boy, then blew smoke into his face. Harry turned away and started coughing. Kriezis flicked ash from his cigar. ‘Where did you go today, Harry?’ he asked.

  Harry swallowed nervously. ‘Waterloo,’ he said. ‘Same as I always do.’

  ‘And then where did you go?’

  Harry swallowed again. ‘Reading,’ he said.

  ‘And when you got to Reading? Where did you go?’

  Tears were running down Harry’s face.

  ‘You need to tell me, Harry,’ said Kriezis. ‘I do not like being lied to.’ He took another long pull on his cigar.

  ‘I took the bag to Reading,’ said Harry. ‘I took it to the house. You know that. You were there. The house I always go to.’

  Kriezis slapped Harry across the face, hard. ‘Do not lie to me, you little shit!’ he shouted.

  ‘I did, that’s what I did, I delivered the drugs the same way as I always do.’ He glared defiantly up at Kriezis, his eyes brimming with tears.

  Kriezis lowered his head so that his face was level with Harry’s. ‘I know exactly where you went and what you did,’ he said. ‘Yes, you delivered the drugs, but before you did that you went to another house, didn’t you? The house with the green door.’ Kriezis grinned when he saw the look of confusion flash across the boy’s face. ‘Yes, Harry. I know everything. But I need to hear it from your own mouth.’

  Harry sniffed and wiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hands. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me you’re sorry,’ said Kriezis. ‘You just need to tell me the truth. Who did you meet in the house?’

  ‘The police,’ said Harry, his voice a hoarse whisper.

  ‘And the police checked the drugs?’

  Harry nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you do that every time? Before you deliver the drugs, you visit the house with the green door?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘I’m really sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.’

  ‘I know,’ said Kriezis.

  ‘They followed him,’ said Shepherd, staring at his phone in horror. ‘How did that happen, Razor?’ They could hear most of what was being said, but Harry’s phone must have been in his jacket or pocket because the sound was muffled.

  They had parked at the entrance to the industrial estate. The unit where the Albanians had taken Harry was directly ahead of the Jaguar. It was a single-storey building with an entrance on the left-hand side and a delivery area with a large metal shutter to the right. There was a line of parking spaces next to the entrance but they were all unoccupied which meant that the Albanians had driven their van inside.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Sharpe. ‘We were winding down the investigation, someone must have taken their eye off the ball.’

  ‘We need to get in there, now,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re going to kill him.’

  ‘The ARVs are on their way.’

  ‘We don’t have time.’ Shepherd gestured with his Glock at the metal loading-bay door. ‘There’s only one way in.’

  Sharpe looked at the door, then back at Shepherd. ‘You are fucking joking.’

  ‘It’s the only way, Razor.’
/>   ‘This motor’s almost brand new.’

  ‘Harry’s in danger.’

  ‘I’m still paying for it.’

  ‘You’ll be reimbursed.’

  ‘I fucking love this car.’ He looked back at the door. ‘Fuck.’

  Shepherd checked his seatbelt.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Sharpe again. He turned the car towards the door and accelerated, hard. The engine roared and the Jaguar leapt forward.

  Sharpe kept accelerating, both hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white.

  Shepherd reached out with his left hand and opened the door. The Jaguar was a sturdy car but it would buckle when it hit the door and Shepherd didn’t want to risk being trapped inside the vehicle when it crashed.

  The speedometer was a fraction off forty miles an hour when the Jaguar hit the door. The car weighed close to one and a half tons and its momentum ripped it through the door with the scream of tortured metal.

  The shattered door clattered on the roof of the Jaguar as Sharpe slammed on the brakes.

  Shepherd looked to his left. Time seemed to have slowed and he saw Kriezis staring at them, open mouthed. His three heavies were standing with their backs to the car and had yet to react. Harry was standing between them.

  The Jaguar screeched to a halt. Shepherd kicked the door open and brought his gun to bear on the four men. ‘Hands up, now!’ he shouted. He moved away from the Jaguar. ‘Stay where you are, Razor,’ said Shepherd. Sharpe wasn’t armed and Shepherd didn’t want his friend getting caught in the crossfire.

  Kriezis threw away his cigar and grabbed Harry while the three heavies turned to look at Shepherd.

  ‘Hands in the air, now!’ shouted Shepherd, and he fired a warning shot up into the roof. ‘Harry, get over here!’

  Harry struggled but Kriezis had a tight grip on his collar. ‘Help me!’ Harry shouted.

  Kriezis held Harry with his left hand while his right reached inside his coat.

  Marko Dushku and Jetmir Shkodra had turned and began moving towards him, seemingly oblivious to the gun he was holding. ‘Stay where you are!’ he shouted.