Cold Kill

by Stephen Leather

‘It’s you she wants to see, Liam, not me,’ said Shepherd, buttering two slices of bread.

  ‘Can we play football?’

  ‘As soon as you’ve finished your homework.’

  ‘Can I have my TV back in my room?’

  ‘No,’ said Shepherd, slapping ham on to the bread and smearing mustard across it.

  ‘You’re really mean sometimes,’ said Liam.

  ‘I’m your father,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s my job.’

  Shepherd had breakfast with Liam and Katra, and after they had left for Hereford in the CRV he pulled on his black army boots and brick-filled rucksack. Moira hadn’t sounded surprised that he wasn’t going with Liam, nor had she seemed disappointed. He understood why they only wanted to see Liam. Sue had been their only child and he was their only grandchild, all they had left of their daughter. They had a right to as much access as Shepherd could give. Moira and Tom would have liked Liam to live with them, but he wasn’t prepared to allow that: Liam was his son. They were a family – a family of two, but a family nonetheless. It was a pity they didn’t live closer, but Moira and Tom had spent more than half of their lives in their house in Hereford and he didn’t think they would consider moving now. It was also the house in which they’d brought up Sue: giving it up would be tantamount to walking away from their memories of her growing up.

  He stared at himself in the mirrored door of his wardrobe. He’d told Liam that selling the house in Ealing would be a good idea, but that wouldn’t apply to Moira and Tom. Liam wanted a new mother, and there was a good chance that, at some point, he’d have one. Shepherd still missed Sue as much as the day she’d been taken from him, but he was enough of a realist to know that eventually he would find someone else to share his life with. But Tom and Moira would never be able to replace their lost daughter. Memories would be all they ever had of her. Memories, and their grandchild.

  Shepherd left the house. He did two laps of his regular five-kilometre route through the streets of Ealing and on to Scotch Common, but it was only when he was towards the end of the second that he began to work up a sweat. He preferred to run out of doors, even when the weather was bad. He’d tried exercising in gyms but the machines were boring, the air was stale, and most were full of middle-aged women waddling on treadmills or men in designer clothes with highlighted hair who seemed more interested in attracting partners than in working on their stamina. Shepherd ran to stay fit, but it also helped him to think. When he was working, more often than not, he was in character. He had to think and act in accordance with whatever role he was playing, not as Dan Shepherd. But when he was running he could be himself: he could think and feel without worrying that he might give himself away. Most of the time he ran on autopilot, barely aware of his surroundings and even less so of his pounding heart and burning muscles.

  He thought about Charlotte Button and how his life would change when he worked for SOCA; he thought about the Uddin brothers and how their lives would shortly fall apart; about Liam and his piano lessons; about Moira and Tom and how he ought to let Liam spend more time with them.

  He’d taken his work mobile with him, stuffed into one of the side pockets of the canvas rucksack, and it started to ring as he ran down the road towards his house. He stopped. It was Hargrove.

  ‘Not caught you at a bad time, have I?’ asked the superintendent.

  ‘Just running,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘The passport they gave you is genuine,’ said Hargrove. ‘It’s in the system. Whoever they’ve got on the inside has access at a very high level. We need to nail him.’

  ‘Any thoughts?’

  ‘Get them to fix you up another passport. I’ll get a name for you, and the Passport Agency systems boys will be watching when it goes up.’

  ‘Before or after the currency run?’

  ‘Do the delivery first. We might get one of the brothers to roll over on the passport guy, depending on how big an operation it is.’

  ‘Ten grand a passport? Even doing a few dozen a year it’s not going to be big bucks, is it?’

  ‘It’s not about the money, Spider. Anyone on a UK passport has visa-free travel to the States. It would be a terrorist’s dream. We need to know how many have been issued and to whom.’

  The superintendent cut the connection and Shepherd ran back to his house.

  Shepherd drove to a Best Western hotel on the outskirts of Southampton and arrived just before four o’clock. Hargrove and Singh were already there. The superintendent had ordered coffee and sandwiches from room service and was pouring himself a cup when Shepherd walked in.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked.

  ‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s going to be a long night.’ He took off his pea coat and tossed it on to a sofa.

  ‘Take your shirt off,’ said Singh, ‘and drop your trousers.’ He had a briefcase full of electrical equipment open on the dressing-table.

  ‘Amar, I never knew you cared.’ Shepherd did as he was asked.

  Singh held up a small grey plastic box. ‘This is the battery pack,’ he said. ‘No way we can get it any smaller, unfortunately. We need power to transmit over long distances.’

  ‘I’m not putting that up my arse,’ joked Shepherd.

  ‘It’ll be taped to the small of your back,’ said Singh, ignoring his attempt at humour. ‘Then I’ll run a mike to your chest. It’ll pick up everything you say and should give us anyone talking within a few feet of you.’

  ‘Until the engine’s on,’ said Shepherd. ‘You have to shout to make yourself heard.’

  ‘Which is why we’ll need you to give us a position before you set off, if at all possible,’ said Hargrove.

  Singh used strips of tape to fasten the battery to Shepherd’s back. Then he held up a metal cylinder the size of a small cigar. ‘The transmitter,’ he said. ‘This we can put up your arse.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Gotchya,’ said Singh, grinning. ‘The higher this is the better, so I’ll strap it to the back of your arm. I’ll be running wires from it to the battery and the mike. It’s all about transmitting power, so you’ll only switch it on when you need it. I’m going to rig an on-off switch under your belt.’

  ‘If they pat me down, I’m screwed,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It’s your call, Spider,’ said Hargrove. ‘If you’ve any reservations we can do it another way.’

  Shepherd watched as Singh ran tape around his left arm. He thought of the last time he’d seen Salik, how the man had hugged him and talked about trust. ‘No, it’s okay,’ he said. ‘I’m in with them.’

  ‘Your new best friends?’ said Hargrove.

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘You’re meeting them at the marina, right?’

  ‘At dark,’ said Shepherd. ‘Seven.’ He jumped when he heard a buzzing noise.

  Singh was holding an electric razor and grinning. ‘Shall I do the honours?’ he said.

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Shepherd.

  Singh shaved off Shepherd’s chest hairs.

  ‘We’ve already got the marina staked out, but I’m guessing all we’ll see is you and them having a chat,’ said Hargrove. ‘We’ll be listening in so see if you can get some idea of where you’ll be going, and where you’ll deliver the cash.’

  ‘Will do.’ Shepherd pointed at his chest. ‘You missed a bit, Amar,’ he said.

  Singh grinned. ‘The range is good for three miles, maybe four or five if we’re lucky,’ he said. ‘We’ll know from the lump where you are and the direction you’re heading in.’

  ‘Lump’ was police slang for a tracking device.

  ‘Has Europol got the Albanians covered?’

  ‘They’ve been on them since this afternoon,’ said Hargrove. ‘Our problem is finding out where the Uddin brothers will be meeting you. We need to see them with the cash. We’ve got them under surveillance but there’s no guarantee that they’ll turn up in person. So, you’ll have to take it slowly on the return journey, without making it obvious, of course.’


  ‘Got you,’ said Shepherd.

  Singh taped the microphone to Shepherd’s shaved chest, then ran the connecting wires round his body. ‘That’s you sorted,’ he said.

  Shepherd pulled up his trousers and slipped on his shirt.

  ‘Do me a favour – put your coat on and nip down to the car park,’ said Singh. ‘Switch it on and talk to yourself for a bit.’

  Shepherd went outside, made sure that no one was within earshot, switched on the transmitter and recited the Lord’s Prayer, the first thing that came into his head, as he walked about.

  When he got back to the room, Singh confirmed that the transmitter was working. He ran his hands down Shepherd’s arm, back and chest. ‘You can’t feel it,’ he said. ‘You’re fine. Just don’t go jumping into the water with it.’

  Shepherd picked up a sandwich. ‘There’s no question of busting them tonight?’ he asked Hargrove.

  The superintendent shook his head. ‘We’ll give them a clean run,’ he said. ‘We’ll have all the evidence, but we’ll wait until we’ve got their passport contact before we move in, by which time you’ll be long gone.’

  Shepherd drove the Land Rover into the marina car park and switched off the engine. The Mercedes was already there and the Uddins were standing at the locked gate that led down to the jetties. They were both wearing long coats and gloves and Salik had a thick wool scarf round his neck. He waved and Shepherd raised a hand in response. He reached down and switched on the transmitter, then climbed out of the Land Rover and locked the door.

  Salik hurried across the car park and Shepherd sensed he was about to hug him so he stuck out his hand. Salik shook it. ‘Everything okay?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘I’ve spoken to Kreshnik. It’s all ready,’ said Salik.

  Shepherd nodded at Matiur. ‘Sure you don’t want to come with me?’

  Matiur shuddered. ‘I’m happier on dry land.’

  A big man got out of the Mercedes, wearing a blue waterproof jacket with the hood up and green wellington boots.

  ‘That is Hussain,’ said Salik.

  ‘He looks seasick already,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘He’ll be okay.’

  ‘And when exactly are you going to tell me where I pick up the stuff?’

  Salik handed Shepherd a piece of paper. ‘Kreshnik gave me the GPS co-ordinates. You can find the place from this?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘To within twenty metres,’ he said. He studied the numbers on the paper and squinted as he recalled the charts McConnell had shown him. He read out the numbers slowly, as if he was checking them. ‘Cap Gris Nez,’ he said. ‘Good choice. Quiet coastline but the autoroute E402 runs close by. Lots of traffic to get lost in.’ Shepherd figured that would give Hargrove enough information to go on.

  ‘You know the area?’ said Salik.

  ‘I know the charts.’

  ‘You’ve got a good memory.’

  ‘I get by,’ said Shepherd, and put the piece of paper into his back pocket. ‘What about coming back? Where do I deliver the stuff?’

  ‘Hussain has the GPS co-ordinates,’ said Salik. ‘He will give them to you on the way back.’

  ‘Yeah, well, he’d better not lose them,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘It’s safer that way,’ said Matiur.

  ‘Safer for you, you mean,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m going to be buzzing around at fifty knots not knowing where I’m going.’

  ‘As soon as you have the cans on board, Hussain will tell you where to go.’

  ‘But it’s the south coast, right? I don’t want to be running up to John o’Groat’s.’

  ‘It’s the south coast,’ said Salik.

  ‘Which means I won’t need to carry extra fuel,’ said Shepherd. ‘See? That’s why it’s nice to know these things in advance, Salik. We’d look pretty bloody silly sitting out there with Hussain telling me he wants me to take him a hundred and fifty miles and me having to explain that we don’t have enough fuel.’

  ‘It’s the south coast,’ repeated Salik, ‘and I’m sorry if we appear to be keeping you in the dark but there’s a lot of money at stake.’

  ‘That’s okay. It’s not the first time I’ve been treated like a mushroom,’ said Shepherd, ‘and it probably won’t be the last. Will you be there?’

  ‘Matiur and I will both be there to take delivery,’ said Salik. ‘Don’t worry.’

  Shepherd wasn’t worried. But at least now Hargrove knew that all he had to do was keep tabs on the Uddin brothers to find out where the consignment was arriving. ‘What time did you tell Kreshnik we’d be there?’ he asked.

  ‘Eleven o’clock.’

  Shepherd glanced at his watch. ‘We’ve plenty of time. Have you arranged any signals?’

  ‘Hussain has a flashlight.’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘A mobile phone would be better,’ he said. His face hardened. ‘Is that all he’s got?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Does he have a gun?’

  Salik and Matiur exchanged a look so transparent that he almost laughed. ‘It is for security,’ said Matiur.

  ‘His or mine?’

  ‘It’s a lot of money, Tony,’ said Salik.

  ‘And if I try to run off with it, he’ll shoot me?’

  ‘Tony, please.’

  ‘If I’d known you were going to send someone to ride shotgun, I’d have worn my vest.’

  ‘If Kreshnik decides to double-cross you, the gun could be useful,’ said Matiur.

  ‘If the Albanians decide to double-cross us, we’ll both be dead.’ Shepherd waved to Hussain and pointed for him to get into the boat. ‘We’ll head off now,’ he said.

  Salik stepped forward and hugged Shepherd, surprising him, then kissed his cheek. ‘We shall see you later tonight, my friend,’ he said. ‘Inshallah.’

  ‘You can bank on it,’ said Shepherd. ‘Inshallah.’

  Shepherd looked at the GPS monitor. He had turned the brightness right down so that it wouldn’t interfere with the night-vision goggles. He slowed the boat to twenty knots and steered to port. ‘About a mile to go,’ he told Hussain.

  Hussain hadn’t said much during the crossing: fifteen minutes into the trip he’d leaned over the side and thrown up.

  Shepherd followed the course he’d programmed into the GPS navigation unit. There had been a fair amount of traffic, much of it heading to or from Boulogne, but it had all been commercial – ferries or trawlers – no fair-weather sailors or rich men playing with the motor-boats that cluttered the seaway during the day.

  Shepherd hadn’t bothered giving Hussain night-vision goggles. Out at sea, there was enough of a moon to see by, and all the vessels were equipped with navigation lights. The goggles were a help, but not essential, and he’d told Hussain to warn him if he spotted anything in the water.

  The crossing was as uneventful as it had been when Shepherd had gone out with McConnell, and navigating with the GPS was as simple as driving a train.

  He slowed the boat to fifteen knots, still fast enough for it to plane, pushed the night-vision goggles up his forehead and blinked rapidly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ asked Hussain.

  ‘I will be in a few minutes, as soon as I get used to the dark.’

  ‘I can’t see the land.’

  ‘It’s there,’ said Shepherd. ‘Flash your light.’

  Hussain took his torch from his pocket, switched it on and began to wave it.

  ‘Flash it,’ said Shepherd. ‘On and off. Didn’t you prearrange a signal?’

  ‘Salik just said to use a light.’

  ‘Flash it three or four times, then wait,’ said Shepherd.

  Hussain did as he was told. They stared in the direction of the shore. Nothing.

  ‘They’re not there,’ said Hussain.

  Shepherd turned up the brightness of the GPS screen. They were right on course. He pulled out the piece of paper Salik had given him and cross-checked the reference, which matched. ‘We’re where we should be.’ He pulled back on t
he throttle and the boat settled into the water, rising and falling with the swell of the waves. ‘Flash the torch again.’

  Hussain switched it on and off. On and off. On and off. He groaned.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘You’ll be fine.’

  ‘I feel really sick.’

  ‘It’s because we’re not moving forward. You’ll be on land in a few minutes. Flash the torch again.’

  Hussain did as he was told. ‘Where are they?’ he whispered.

  ‘Relax,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re making me nervous.’ He frowned as he peered into the darkness. He hoped nothing had happened to spook Kreshnik. Shepherd didn’t have as much faith in Europol as Hargrove had. All it would have taken was for one of the French surveillance team members to have shown out and the Albanian would have called off the whole thing. ‘Again,’ said Shepherd.

  Hussain flashed his torch. Almost immediately a powerful single light flashed on and off to Shepherd’s right. He applied power gently and moved the boat towards the beam. It flashed again.

  ‘See? You were worrying about nothing,’ he said. He increased power and moved closer to the beach where he made out a figure, holding a large flashlight. Some distance behind him, Shepherd could distinguish a squat silhouette, which he assumed was a vehicle. He edged the boat forward until he felt the hull scrape across sand. The man on the beach was wearing dark clothes and a ski mask. Shepherd could see the van clearly now. The rear doors were open and two men, also wearing black clothes, were unloading cans on to the sand. They, too, wore ski masks but from their body shape and the way they moved Shepherd could tell they were Ervin and Artur.

  The man with the flashlight went to the van. He tucked the light into his belt and picked up two cans. Shepherd kept the engine ticking over, with just enough throttle to keep the bow on the sand. Hussain jumped off the boat on to the beach, holding the tow rope.

  The man with the cans splashed into the water and walked past him. ‘Nice night for it,’ said Shepherd. The man grunted something unintelligible that he figured was probably an Albanian insult. He shrugged. So long as he wasn’t getting his feet wet, he was happy.

  Ervin and Artur carried the rest of the cans to the water’s edge and left them there, obviously having decided there was no point in them all getting wet. When the man with the flashlight saw what they were doing he yelled at them, but the two Albanians laughed and went back to the van.