‘And have you been directly threatened by politicians? Have they specifically said they will have you killed if you don’t give them what they want?’
‘They don’t have to say that, we all know how Russia is ruled,’ said Grechko. ‘But now I am protected. And soon I will be a British citizen. Then I will be out of their reach and so will the companies I own.’
The butler returned with a tray laden with a solid silver tea service and two plates of delicately cut sandwiches. The butler poured tea under the Russian’s watchful eye, handed out cups and offered sandwiches before quietly slipping out through the double doors and pulling them closed behind him.
‘Miss Button, I can assure you that if you are looking for the men who want my death, you need look no farther than the Kremlin.’ He looked at his watch pointedly. ‘Now if you will forgive me, I have a lot of work to do.’
‘I quite understand,’ said Button. She got to her feet and offered her hand but Grechko strode past her and out of the room. She looked at Shepherd and raised one eyebrow. ‘Nice,’ she said.
‘He can be a charmer,’ said Shepherd.
He walked with her out of the piano room and along to the front door. ‘I really must get one of those remote control things,’ said Button. ‘You press a button and a butler magically appears.’
‘Not just the butler,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s programmed for all his staff. I think he’d have the bodyguards wearing them if he could but Popov spun him a line about them interfering with our transceivers.’
‘How are you getting on with Popov?’
‘He’s fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s a pro. And I think he realises that I’m on board to help and not to screw him over.’ He opened the front door for her.
‘Security here does seem on the ball,’ said Button. ‘But I don’t see the killer giving up. It’s like the IRA said after they almost killed Margaret Thatcher in Brighton. They only need to be lucky once. We have to be lucky all the time.’
‘Is that true?’ he asked as they reached the car. ‘About Grechko? Is he getting citizenship?’
‘He’s already entitled, the amount of money that he’s invested in this country,’ said Button. ‘Under existing rules an investment of just a million pounds will get you British citizenship and Grechko has invested hundreds of millions here.’
‘And I suppose the fact that he’s pally with the PM won’t hurt.’
‘I can assume that’ll get him fast-tracked,’ said Button. ‘But this isn’t about his connections, it’s purely financial. Let’s face it, Spider, the trouble this country is in economically, we need all the investors like Grechko that we can get.’
‘Even though we know next to nothing about him?’
‘He’ll have to show that he doesn’t have a criminal record,’ said Button.
Shepherd laughed. ‘Yeah, I’m sure that’ll be a problem,’ he said. ‘I wonder how much a clean bill of health will cost?’
Button unlocked the car door and then turned to face him. ‘Is there a problem?’
Shepherd grimaced. ‘I don’t like the man. I don’t like the way he carries himself, I don’t like the way he treats people. He’s an arrogant bully, Charlie, and I don’t think he got to where he is without riding roughshod over a lot of people. Maybe worse.’
‘Russia’s a tough place,’ said Button. ‘You don’t get to the top there by being a shrinking violet.’
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about him, that’s all. We were in Cyprus and he was up to something, flying back and forth with suitcases filled with I don’t know what.’
‘Contraband?’
‘I don’t know. Popov said it was cash. But who knows? You know, I can see that we need to protect him from assassination while he’s on British soil, but I’d be a lot happier if he just went back to Russia. And I don’t understand why we’re offering guys like him the keys to our country. You know this road, half the houses are owned by Russians and most of the rest by Arabs. And at any one time most of the owners aren’t even here.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know why we don’t just put a huge for sale sign up over our country and have done with it.’
Button looked at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s just a bit depressing seeing someone who has so much when you know that most of the population is struggling to just get by. I’ve got to go, Grechko is at the Mayfair Bar tonight so there’s a lot to do.’
‘How much time off are you getting?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because you look tired, Spider. Your eyes are so dark you look like a panda. Are you getting much sleep?’
Shepherd laughed despite himself. ‘I don’t need mothering, Charlie.’
‘No, but you do need time off. There’s no point in you being with Grechko twenty-four-seven if you’re making yourself ill. I understand how stressful this is.’
‘So what are you suggesting? I take a break?’
‘Let me see if I can get someone to share the workload,’ she said. ‘Babysitting Grechko is probably a two-man job until we get the guy that’s after him.’
‘I might know someone,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Former Regiment guy. Jock McIntyre. He’s left the SAS and is working security now but it wouldn’t take much to get him to join me. I could probably get Grechko to pay his wages, too. But he’d need to know that he was on board with your approval because he only trusts his own people.’
‘Why did this McIntyre leave?’
‘He’s put in close to twenty years. Honourable discharge and all that. Bloody good operator, I was with him in Afghanistan.’
‘And he’s up to speed on personal protection?’
‘Like I said, he’s working security at the moment. I can vouch for him.’ Shepherd knew that he wasn’t actually lying to Button, but he was definitely stretching the truth. But she was right, he did need back-up, and it would be useful having McIntyre close by rather than having him running back and forth from Reading.
‘Let me run a background check on him and I’ll let you know. Have you got his date of birth?’
‘I’ll text you later today,’ said Shepherd.
Button nodded and climbed into the car. ‘You take care, Spider,’ she said. ‘And try at least to get a few early nights.’
She closed the door and started the engine. Shepherd waved at the guard in the guardhouse and as the car purred down the driveway the massive black gates swung open.
As Shepherd walked back to the house, he phoned Jock McIntyre. ‘Jock, fancy a bit of real work?’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Helping me babysit that Russian I told you about. I can probably get you a couple of hundred quid a day. It means you can stay in London while we handle the other thing.’
‘I’m your man,’ said McIntyre. ‘Anything to get me out of this bloody office block. It’s doing my head in.’
‘OK, first things first. I need your date of birth and your National Insurance number, they’ll want to run a check on you. You haven’t been in trouble, have you?’
McIntyre chuckled. ‘I’ve been as good as gold, mate.’
‘Terrific. Text me those numbers and make sure you’ve got a half-decent suit. I’ll call you when it’s sorted. You can live in, the security guys have their own quarters.’
‘This is getting better by the minute,’ said McIntyre.
Shepherd ended the call and weighed the phone in his hand as he headed around to the rear of the house. He hoped that he hadn’t made a mistake in trusting McIntyre. But at least Shepherd would be able to keep an eye on him while he was based at Grechko’s mansion. And he would be close at hand when the time came to move against Ahmad Khan.
Two days after Shepherd had given the iPad and tracking device to Shortt, he got a late night phone call from Harper. ‘All done,’ said Harper, ‘Are you up for a meet?’
‘Tonight?’ S
hepherd looked at his watch. It was just after ten and he’d only just arrived back at his flat.
‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ said Harper.
‘Can’t we at least meet in a pub?’ said Shepherd. ‘This park thing is getting on my nerves.’
‘I can get a cab to yours if that’s easier,’ said Harper. ‘Got anything decent to drink?’
‘Few bottles of lager and a bottle of Jamesons.’
‘Jamesons will do. With ice. Text me the address and I’ll come on over.’
Shepherd’s door entry system buzzed less than half an hour later and he pressed the button to open the downstairs door. Harper waited until he was in the flat before taking off his parka. He tossed it on a chair and pulled a face as he looked around. ‘Bloody hell, mate, they’re clearly not paying you enough to be a spook.’
‘It’s a cover flat,’ said Shepherd, pouring slugs of whiskey into two glasses.
Harper went over to look at the framed photographs of Shepherd. In a couple he was in police uniform, and in one he was in full CO19 gear. ‘Photoshop?’ he said.
‘Nah, I dressed up for that picture a few years ago,’ said Shepherd, dropping ice into the glasses and adding soda to his own.
Harper went over to study the contents of Shepherd’s bookshelves. ‘So who are you? In case anyone asks?’
‘Tony Ryan, Specialist Firearms Officer with the Met,’ said Shepherd, handing one of the glasses to Harper.
Harper raised it in salute. ‘Nice to meet you, Tony,’ he said, and drank half of it before dropping down on to the sofa. ‘So you have full ID, driving licence, passport, all in the name of this Ryan.’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd, sitting down. ‘But before you even ask, the answer’s no, I can’t get paperwork for you.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of asking,’ said Harper. ‘Besides, I’ve got my own people for that.’ He reached over to his parka and pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket. He gave it to Shepherd and leant back, stretching out his legs. ‘So, Ahmad Khan has a job. He works at an Asian supermarket in Shepherd’s Bush. Big place, a lot of restaurants use it, cash and carry. Jimbo did a walk around and saw him stacking shelves and a while later he was manning one of the cash registers. He got there at eight in the morning and left at seven.’
‘He drove there?’
Harper nodded. ‘Parked around the back in a staff parking area. It’s not overlooked so it’d be a perfect place to pick him up, either first thing when he arrives or later when he’s leaving. We could be there with a van and he’d be in the back before he had any idea what was going on.’
‘What’s his home situation?’
Harper grinned. ‘Yeah, Jimbo did his secret squirrel thing while Khan was at the supermarket.’ He nodded at the piece of paper. ‘The details are there. His daughter was at home and she was happy enough to talk to him. Her name’s Najela and she’s nineteen.’
‘Definitely the daughter?’
‘That’s what she said. And her English is good, Jimbo said. She’s a student studying at a local college.’
‘What about her mother?’
‘Just the two of them. Jimbo asked about the mother but all she said was that she was dead.’
‘And she’s from Afghanistan?’
Harper nodded. ‘Kabul,’ she said. ‘She said her father was a teacher and left after he’d been persecuted by the Taliban.’
‘Well, that’s a crock,’ said Shepherd.
‘Khan isn’t short of money. They’re renting the house and have been for five years or so. Najela works part time at a Citizens Advice Bureau and she’s a translator for the local council.’
Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. ‘Anything else?’
‘That’s it, pretty much. Jimbo said he didn’t want to push it too hard. So we do it, right? We pick him up and we slot him?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘We need ammo,’ he said.
‘Ammo’s not a problem,’ said Harper. ‘I know a man.’
‘It’s got to be totally untraceable,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no point in using weapons from Afghanistan if the ammo points to Brixton gangbangers.’
‘Give me some credit, Spider. I’m not a virgin at this.’
‘You know about the Makarov specs, right?’
‘You mean 9.22 millimetre? Sure.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not the wet-behind-the-ears Para you knew back in Afghanistan. I’ve come on a bit since then.’
‘Apologies,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you’re sure you can get it?’
‘Russian stuff has been flooding into this country ever since the Soviet Union fell apart,’ said Harper. ‘Cheap, too. Your average gangbanger wants a nice shiny Glock or an Ingram or a Uzi. He thinks a Russian gun isn’t as cool because he doesn’t see them up on the big screen. Now your Bosnians and Serbs are quite happy to use a Russian gun, and London is full of them. Getting ammo will be a breeze. What about the longs? Do you want to use them?’
‘AKs are noisy,’ said Shepherd. ‘We can make suppressors for the shorts but there’s nothing you can do to quieten a Kalashnikov.’
‘We don’t have to fire them. Just the look of an AK tends to make people do as they’re told.’
‘The voice of experience?’
Harper laughed. ‘What can I say?’
‘It seems like overkill,’ said Shepherd. ‘I assume we’re doing this up close and personal. If we were planning a drive-by the AK would be the weapon of choice, but we’re not.’
‘Four men, two guns, doesn’t seem right, that’s all.’
‘There’s concealment, too. Even with the folding stock, the AK-47 is a big weapon. You could tuck it under an overcoat but even so it’s bulky.’
‘Might be useful if armed cops show up.’
Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Please tell me you’re joking.’
Harper leaned over and slapped him on the shoulder. ‘Of course I am, you daft sod.’
‘Because we’re not getting into a shoot-out with cops.’ He pointed a finger at Harper. ‘Any sign of cops and we run like the wind. Same with collateral damage — there isn’t to be any. We don’t hurt his family, we don’t hurt passers-by, and we certainly don’t hurt cops. I think we should pick him up, in a vehicle, and take him somewhere quiet. And we have to think about the body.’
‘We should bury him with a pig, or at least a pork chop in his mouth,’ said Harper.
‘Behave, Lex. We need to bury it somewhere where it’ll never be found.’
‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Harper.
‘I’m serious, Lex.’
‘I know you are, mate. And I’m with you one hundred per cent. But let me make a suggestion. The two Russian shorts are perfect for the job. Like you said, they’ll muddy the waters. But we need four guns. I’ll pick up two more when I buy the ammo.’
‘They mustn’t be traceable.’
‘They won’t be. I know a gangbanger south of the river who does them on sale or return.’
‘That’ll work. But make sure you don’t get stitched up.’
‘I trust these guys, it’ll be fine. Do you have a preference?’
‘Go for revolvers, that way we’re not picking up cartridges.’
‘Consider it done.’ He drained his glass, stood up and patted Shepherd on the shoulder. ‘I’ll give you a call when it’s done.’
Shepherd looked up at him. ‘How are you fixed for cash?’
Harper chuckled. ‘You offering me a handout?’
‘You’ve got a thing about ID so I’m assuming you don’t use ATMs, or banks.’
‘I’ve got a few internet bank accounts but you’re right, most ATMs these days have cameras. I use safety deposit boxes. And hawala.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘About the safety deposit boxes? Sure. I’ve got three in London, packed with cash, gold and a passport or two.’ He took his pack of cigarettes out and slipped one in his mouth.
‘You know what I mean. Hawala.’
Harper tilted his hea
d and lit the cigarette. He blew smoke before answering. ‘You don’t have to be a Muslim to use hawala,’ he said. ‘Plenty of places in Thailand that’ll take my cash,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a mate who dropped off a million baht with a guy in Pattaya yesterday. Today I can pick it up in sterling at any one of half a dozen places close to my hotel in Bayswater. Don’t even have to use ID if I don’t want to.’
‘How does that work?’
‘It’s buyer’s choice,’ said Harper. ‘If you want to use a driving licence or a passport as an ID to collect, that’s OK. But you can use a number, too. Produce the number, get the money. No questions asked.’
‘And you’ve never been ripped off?’
‘Other than the commission charge, nope. The hawala system is more reliable than the banking system. Quicker, too.’ He grinned. ‘So I’ve no problems with money, thanks for asking. And the guns and ammo, they’re on me.’
Shepherd’s mobile rang and he picked it up. It was Button. ‘I’ve got to take this,’ he said, and hurried over to the kitchen.
‘Sorry to bother you so late but I’ve just heard back about your friend,’ she said. ‘Interesting chap, this McIntyre.’ Shepherd could tell from her tone that there was more to come, so he didn’t say anything. ‘You didn’t mention his drinking,’ said Button eventually.
‘Everyone drinks,’ said Shepherd.
‘But not everyone gets into fights with civilians in pubs,’ said Button.
‘Hereford’s funny like that,’ said Shepherd. ‘The town’s proud of its association with the SAS, but you get more than your fair share of local hard men trying to prove how hard they are. It happened to all of us at some point — you’re having a quiet drink and some idiot on steroids will ask you if you’re SAS and why you’re not wearing your balaclava and did you come in through the window and all that nonsense, and you know it’s leading up to the “so how hard are you?” question and then fists start flying.’
‘And how do you handle that?’
‘I never got to that stage,’ said Shepherd. ‘I always used to say I sold life insurance and if that didn’t work I’d just walk away.’
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