Khan followed Todd out of the American section of the base and into the British area. The British section appeared chaotic compared with the order and efficiency of the American operation, with its banks of computers, new-looking desks and equipment. Todd’s desk was covered with stacks of papers and files and there were more piled on top of the filing cabinet behind him, and a row of Post-it notes stuck to the edge of his desk heightened the impression of disorganisation. ‘I hope you take better care of your informants than you do of your documents,’ Khan said with a smile that belied his unease.
‘Don’t worry,’ Todd said. ‘Every document is locked away before I leave this office and every room is checked by the guards during the night. If there’s so much as a scrap of paper on show when they do so, I’ll be up on a charge.’ He smiled confidently. ‘You’re in safe hands, I promise you.’
His words would have been more reassuring, Khan thought to himself, had Todd not left all his documents on open display while he’d been spending more than an hour talking to him in the American section. But Khan knew that he had no choice other than to trust the British officer. Todd and Joshua were Khan’s only hope of escaping Afghanistan with his daughter.
The Bentley pulled up in front of the West Stand of Stamford Bridge stadium, home to Chelsea Football Club. It was just after ten o’clock in the morning and the street was pretty much deserted. They were well away from the main entrances where every match day more than forty thousand fans would pour in to cheer on their team. Popov gestured at a blue door, from which led a small flight of stairs to the left, and to the right a concrete wheelchair ramp. ‘That leads to the lift that goes straight up to Mr Abramovich’s private box.’ Two CCTV cameras covered the door and there was an intercom set into the wall to the left of the door.
‘It doesn’t look very VIP,’ said Shepherd. He was sitting in the back of the Bentley, directly behind Popov. Ulyashin was sitting next to him with his aluminium crutches between his legs, and Serov was squashed up against the other door, behind the driver. Shepherd could feel the transceiver pressing against the small of his back and he was having trouble getting used to the Bluetooth earpiece.
‘It’s not advertised,’ said Popov. ‘But it means high-profile visitors can get in and out without being snapped by the paparazzi.’
‘But it’s generally known that Mr Grechko would use it?’
Popov nodded. ‘More for convenience than because he wants to avoid publicity. Mrs Grechko likes to have her photograph taken.’
‘I bet she does,’ said Shepherd. ‘And this was where the car was parked, when it happened?’
‘For sure,’ said Popov. He said something to Chayka in Russian and the driver grunted and nodded. ‘Absolutely sure,’ said Popov.
‘And you came out of the door, with Mr Grechko?’
‘Me and Leo and Mikhail were with him in the box. We came down in the lift together after I confirmed that the cars were here.’
‘Cars?
‘The Bentley and one of the SUVs. Alexei and Boris were in the SUV with Nikolay driving.’
‘So there were two cars?’
Popov nodded.
‘Dmitry, I said I wanted everything to be the same.’
Popov frowned, not understanding the point Shepherd was making.
Shepherd sighed and reached for the door handle. ‘OK, run through it with me.’ He climbed out and then helped Ulyashin out with his crutches. His leg had a plastic protector around the dressing which reached from his ankle up to his knee and he had put an old sock over his foot. Popov got out of the front passenger seat and slammed the door behind him.
Popov, Tarasov and Shepherd walked up the steps to the door. Ulyashin looked at the steps, thought better of it and walked around and up the wheelchair ramp.
‘So in what order did you come out of the door?’ asked Shepherd.
‘I came out first,’ said Popov. ‘I had a quick look around to check that we were clear and then Leo joined me. Once we were in place Leo moved down the steps and Mr Grechko came out.’
‘Show me,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let’s pretend I’m Mr Grechko.’
Tarasov walked slowly down the steps, his arms swinging by his side. ‘So at this point I’m at the door, you’re to my left and Leo is in front of me,’ said Shepherd. ‘Then what?’
‘Then Mikhail came out.’
‘And did what? Stayed behind me?’
Popov nodded.
‘And what about the men in the SUV? Alexei and Boris?’
‘They stayed there. Watching from the car.’
Shepherd was about to point out that a bodyguard’s place was next to his principal, not sitting in a car watching what was going on, but he bit his tongue. He had meant what he’d said about not embarrassing the man in front of his colleagues. ‘OK, and what was the plan? Leo’s on the step, you’re on my left and Mikhail is behind me.’
‘Leo moves down to the car and opens the rear door. I go down and stand to the front of the car, next to Leo. You — Mr Grechko — walks down the stairs and gets into the car. Mikhail covers his rear, Leo gets in next to you, I get in the front and Mikhail goes back to the SUV.’
The SUV which isn’t there, thought Shepherd, but again he didn’t say anything. Nor did he point out that in a situation like Stamford Bridge there was safety in numbers and the safest option would have been to have brought Grechko out of one of the main exits. The isolated VIP entrance was a gift to any attacker.
Shepherd looked around. A good sniper, a really good one, could make a near-guaranteed kill shot at a mile or more, but that would be exceptional. Shepherd had honed his sniping skills in the deserts of Afghanistan, which is where an Australian sniper had a GPS-confirmed shot of more than three thousand yards and where Craig Harrison, a corporal with the Blues and Royals, shot and killed two Taliban machine-gunners at a range of two thousand seven hundred yards. But such distances really were the exception, and most snipers weren’t comfortable beyond half a mile. And at anything above half a mile the wind made a big difference, and calculating the distance the round would fall became crucial. The problem was that the stadium was in a built-up area of West London and was overlooked by all manner of residential and office buildings. From where he was standing Shepherd could see at least a dozen vantage points that would be perfect for a sniper, from open windows to office block roofs to cranes high above building projects.
‘Did the police do this with you?’ Shepherd asked Popov. ‘Did they do a run-through like this?’
Popov shook his head. ‘Mr Grechko didn’t want to talk to the police,’ he said. ‘He said the British police are useless when it comes to things like this. He said the British police couldn’t find their own arses if they used both hands.’ He laughed, and then repeated what he’d said in Russian for the benefit of Tarasov and Ulyashin.
‘Yeah, he might be right,’ said Shepherd. ‘Which direction did the shot come from?’
‘Difficult to say,’ said Popov. ‘We didn’t hear the shot.’
‘It was a single shot?’
‘The only round that we know about is the one that struck Mikhail.’
‘But it’s possible that there were more?’
Popov shrugged. ‘Like I said, we didn’t hear the sound of a shot.’
Shepherd nodded. That meant that the sniper was too far away to be heard or used a suppressor. Spider wasn’t a big fan of suppressors, because while they cut down on the noise they also affected the performance of the round.
‘OK, walk me through it,’ said Shepherd.
Popov spoke to Tarasov in Russian and the big man moved down the steps, his legs swinging from side to side. As he headed for the rear door of the Bentley, Popov moved down the steps. Shepherd stood where he was and looked around. With the two bodyguards at the bottom of the steps, he was totally exposed. If the sniper was going to take the shot, the obvious time would have been when the target was on the steps, not when he was getting into the car.
Tar
asov opened the rear door of the Bentley and turned to look at Shepherd. He was standing on the wrong side, Shepherd knew, he should have been standing at the rear of the car and not close to the front passenger door. Popov was standing behind Tarasov, watching Shepherd as he walked down the stairs. The fact that the two men were at the front of the car meant that Shepherd was vulnerable to an attack from the rear.
Behind him, Ulyashin cursed as his crutch skidded across the concrete. ‘And the guys in the SUV stayed where they were?’ asked Shepherd.
Popov nodded. Again Shepherd bit his tongue. Grechko had been at his most vulnerable when he moved down the steps and at that point he should have been surrounded by his team. As he moved down the steps, Ulyashin continued to have problems using the crutches and he cursed again, in Russian.
Shepherd reached the door of the Bentley and turned to look at Ulyashin, who had only just reached the bottom of the steps.
‘So when did he get hit?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Just as Mr Grechko got to the car. Where you are standing now.’
‘And Mikhail?’
‘He was moving back to the SUV.’
‘Mikhail, where did the bullet hit you?’
Ulyashin frowned. ‘The leg.’ He said something to Popov in Russian. Popov didn’t reply, he just waved away whatever Ulyashin had said.
‘The front of the leg or the back?’
‘The back,’ said Ulyashin.
‘The calf,’ said Popov. ‘The bullet went in the back and blew a chunk out of the front.’
Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. The fact that the round hadn’t taken off the man’s leg suggested that it was fired from far away, possibly a mile, so that by the time it reached its target it had lost most of its momentum. ‘Mikhail, think carefully, where exactly were you standing when the round hit?’
Ulyashin frowned. ‘Round?’ he repeated.
‘Bullet,’ said Shepherd.
‘Pulya,’ translated Popov.
‘Ah, pulya.’ Ulyashin nodded and stood with his legs apart at the rear of the Bentley, facing towards Shepherd.
‘See that?’ said Shepherd. ‘If he was standing there, he’d have been shielded by the SUV, right? So the sniper can only have been down there.’ He pointed down the road. In the distance was a crane and beyond it an apartment block and several office towers. ‘There are plenty of buildings he could have taken a shot from. Or he could have done it from a vehicle.’
Popov nodded slowly. ‘Mr Grechko was lucky.’
‘Yes, he was, wasn’t he? OK, I’ve seen enough, you guys can head back to the house.’
‘You’re not coming with us?’
‘I’ll catch a black cab,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve got something to do but I’ll be back at the house in a few hours. Mr Grechko’s not going anywhere, is he?’
‘There’s nothing on the schedule — you know that.’
‘Exactly. If anything changes then call me ASAP, otherwise I’ll see you back at the house.’
‘Is there a problem?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘It’s all good, Dmitry,’ he said.
Shepherd caught a black cab and had it drop him outside the Whiteley’s shopping centre in Queensway. He paid the driver, went inside and walked along to Costa Coffee, where he bought himself a cappuccino and found a quiet seat by the window before using the Samsung mobile to phone Harper. ‘Are you ready for a spot of cleaning?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Sure,’ said Harper. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘You’re close to Queensway, right?’
‘Just around the corner.’
‘OK, here’s the deal. I know you hate tube stations but I need you to go to Queensway tube station. Keep your head down and your hood up and the CCTV cameras won’t get your face. Buy yourself a one-day travel card from a machine. Don’t worry, the machines don’t have CCTV. The only line that uses Queensway is the Central Line. Go straight down the escalator to the eastbound platform. Wait for the first train and look as if you’re going to get on, then take a seat on the platform. Don’t make a thing about looking around but be aware if anyone does the same.’
‘Got you,’ said Harper.
‘Then get up and make a thing about looking at the map. Put on a bit of a show as if you’ve realised that you’re on the wrong platform and walk across to the westbound. Do the same there. Make it look as if you’re getting on the next train and then change your mind and sit down.’
‘So I’ll spot if there’s a tail.’
‘Either that or they’ll get on the train so that they don’t show out. If they do board, they’ll call in a watcher at the entrance. The thing is, don’t make it too obvious. Just act a bit confused, as if you’re not sure what you’re doing. Then look at your watch as if you’re late for something, and head back up the escalator and out into the street.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll have watched you go in and out. If you’ve been tailed I should have spotted it. I’ll phone you as soon as you’re back in the street.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Harper.
‘Now this is important, Lex. Don’t look for me, but if you do see me just blank me. No reaction at all. And don’t look for a tail. Even on the tube platform. No looking around. If someone stays on the platform you’ll see them, you don’t need to look at them. That’s how it works on the tube, no one makes eye contact.’
‘I’ll be keeping my head down, that’s for sure. When are we going to do this?’
Shepherd looked at his watch. It was just after eleven o’clock in the morning. ‘The sooner the better.’
‘I can be at the tube station in twenty minutes.’
‘Perfect.’ Shepherd ended the call and spent ten minutes drinking his coffee before walking back down Queensway. He arrived opposite the tube station at 11.15 and spent the last few minutes window-shopping. He spotted Harper walking from the direction of Hyde Park, his hands in his parka and his head down. Shepherd took his mobile and started speaking into it as he walked slowly along the pavement. There didn’t seem to be anyone interested in what Harper was doing, but if MI5 were watching him that was to be expected. The surveillance teams of the Security Service were among the best in the world. They had honed their skills during the Cold War and against the IRA and were at any one time following hundreds of potential Islamic terrorists.
As Harper disappeared inside the station, Shepherd continued to pretend to talk on his phone as he watched to see who else went inside. A man in a grey suit with a briefcase, two students with backpacks and beanie hats, an old lady in a cheap coat with what looked like a dead fox around her neck, a woman with a pushchair, a very fat man in an anorak and stretch pants, a girl with a Hello Kitty suitcase, three Japanese teenagers with spiky hair and chains hanging off their tight jeans, a curly-haired man in a London Underground jacket, a Sikh man with a blue turban and a violin case.
Shepherd took his phone away from his ear but kept it in his hand as he walked slowly along the pavement. If the followers were good they’d have left one watcher in the ticket hall, just in case Harper did what Shepherd had suggested and doubled back. Sending Harper into the tube station would also have confused any vehicles or cyclists being used as part of a surveillance team. Normal protocol would be to send any vehicles to the next stations along the line or to put them on stand-by. Queensway was a busy road with no places to stop. A black cab disgorged a businessman with a leather briefcase and then it went on its way, its yellow light on. A white van went by. There were two men in it, one of them eating a Cornish pasty and reading a copy of the Sun.
A bike courier, a woman in black spandex leggings and a tight fluorescent jacket, had stopped outside the station and was talking into a mobile phone clipped to her collar. She wheeled her bike along the pavement and then padlocked it and went inside a money exchange shop. An ambulance turned into Queensway from the Hyde Park end and its siren kicked into life as it sped down towards Whiteley’s. Heads turned to watch it
go. Shepherd ignored it and concentrated on any passers-by who were more interested in the tube station. Two pensioners, a man and a woman, walked arm in arm into the ticket hall, wearing matching raincoats. The woman with the pushchair reappeared, looking flustered, but then she looked around and saw a man in a long leather jacket walking down the road towards her, waving. She kissed him on the cheek and they walked back into the ticket hall together. The bike courier reappeared from the currency exchange shop, unlocked her bike and rode off towards Hyde Park.
Harper emerged from the tube station. Shepherd called him on his mobile. ‘Looking good,’ he said. ‘Turn left and head down Queensway to Whiteley’s. On the way stop at a shop window, any one, it doesn’t matter. Walk past, stop, then walk back and stare in the window for about thirty seconds.’
‘Got you,’ said Harper, and he began to walk down the busy road, his parka hood still up.
‘Go into Whiteley’s, there’s an escalator up to the first floor,’ continued Shepherd. ‘Take it but then come straight back down on the down escalator. Then just head up to Hyde Park and I’ll see you there. Don’t look around, you don’t have to worry about spotting a tail, that’s down to me.’
Harper put his phone into his pocket and slouched off down the road. Shepherd was standing on the opposite side of the road, looking into the window of a shop that sold London souvenirs and T-shirts. He turned, his phone still held against his ear as he carried out an imaginary conversation. If Harper was being followed, a professional would almost certainly be on the opposite side of the road, though if there were multiple followers they would use both sides. If the surveillance was top notch, they might even have someone ahead of Harper. The fact that Harper had gone into the tube station meant that there were unlikely to be vehicles or cyclists in the area as they would have moved towards the next stations on the Central Line.
Shepherd continued to talk into his phone as he watched Harper head down Queensway. He waited until Harper was about a hundred yards away before he started walking after him. Harper did his U-turn in front of a Chinese restaurant with a dozen dark-brown ducks hanging from their feet in the window. Shepherd didn’t see anyone falter on either side of the street. When Harper began walking again, no one stopped to allow him to get ahead, which was a good sign.
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