Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours

by Leather, Stephen

  Todd sent the three Paras off to collect their kit and then turned back to Khan. ‘You won’t let me down, will you?’ he said. ‘I’ve staked my own reputation, such as it is, on this.’

  ‘I have my own reasons – and, with respect, they are far more powerful than yours – for wanting this to succeed. My daughter’s future, perhaps even her life, depends on it.’ He held Todd’s gaze and the Englishman was the first to look away.

  The Paras loaded their gear into a Land Rover with a General Purpose Machine Gun mounted on the bonnet. Each of the three men was also armed with an M16 rifle. Khan’s AK-74 and his magazines and ammunition were given back to him and he cradled the weapon in his lap as he sat in the back alongside one of the Paras. As they drove out of the compound, Khan saw Spider and Geordie standing off to one side, watching him. The expressions on their faces showed that they did not trust him an inch.

  ‘It’s him,’ said McIntyre. ‘It’s definitely him. No question.’ Shepherd, McIntyre and Harper were sitting in Shepherd’s X5 in the street opposite the house occupied by the man they used to know as Ahmad Khan. McIntyre was in the back of the car, directly behind Shepherd.

  ‘What do you think, Lex?’ asked Shepherd, moving to the side to give him a better view.

  ‘The eye’s the giveaway,’ said Harper. ‘The beard’s shorter and he’s older but then we’re all getting older, aren’t we?’

  ‘I’d be happier seeing him in Afghan dress,’ said Shepherd. ‘The Western clothing is throwing me off.’ Khan was wearing baggy brown corduroy trousers and what appeared to be carpet slippers, and a green quilted jerkin over a dark brown pullover. On his head was a knitted skullcap. ‘But the way he moves, the way he carries himself, it all feels right.’ Khan had left a terraced house in the Hammersmith street and was walking purposefully away from them, his arms swinging freely at his sides.

  ‘Yeah, if he had an AK-74 slung over his shoulder then we’d know for sure,’ said Harper. ‘Can we get closer?’

  ‘If he recognises any of us then we’ll blow it,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Why would he recognise us?’ asked Harper. ‘It’s been more than ten years and we probably all look the same to him.’

  ‘He got up close and personal with me,’ said Shepherd. ‘And you tend to remember the people you’ve shot. I know I do.’

  ‘I don’t know why we’re even discussing this,’ said McIntyre. ‘It’s him. Even without the eye I’d know him anywhere.’

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right,’ said Shepherd. He shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think. I know. It’s him.’

  ‘Yeah, that milky eye nails it,’ said Harper.

  ‘So what do we do?’ asked McIntyre.

  ‘We take it one step at a time,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Sod that,’ said Harper. ‘Let’s just slot the bastard. He’s due, Spider. He’s overdue. After what he did to you and the captain.’

  ‘Have you got a gun on you, Lex?’ asked Shepherd. ‘This isn’t Afghanistan. Everything we do from now on has be planned out in advance and executed flawlessly otherwise we’ll all end up behind bars.’

  The man disappeared around a corner. ‘So what do you want to do?’ asked Harper.

  ‘We need intel,’ said Shepherd. ‘We need to see who he’s living with.’ He gestured at the house. ‘That’s one house, it’s not been subdivided into flats. So he probably lives with someone. His family maybe. We need to find out where he works. What his movements are.’

  ‘Here’s what I don’t get,’ said Jock. ‘The last time we saw him he was taking pot shots at us in Pakistan. How does he end up here?’

  ‘That’s a good question,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was involved in that money-clearing house that was channelling funds for al-Qaeda. Maybe he pocketed some of the cash himself and used it to buy his way into the country.’

  Harper nodded in agreement. ‘Ten grand will buy you a genuine UK passport,’ he said.

  ‘A fake, you mean?’ said McIntyre.

  ‘No, the real thing,’ said Harper. ‘There’s a whole industry geared up for it. They use genuine citizens who don’t need a passport. They effectively buy up the identity and apply for a passport using a different photograph.’

  ‘Sounds like the voice of experience,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’ve got three, under different names,’ said Harper. ‘A British one, an Irish one and a German one. All kosher. The only drawback is facial recognition. If you’re on two different databases under different names then facial recognition will catch you out. But if Khan’s new identity is the only one in the system then he can stay here for ever without being found out.’

  ‘What do you need three passports for?’ asked McIntyre.

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Harper. He sat back in his seat and pulled out his cigarettes. He showed the pack to Shepherd. ‘OK if I smoke?’

  ‘Sure, it’s not my car,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just crack the window open.’

  Harper opened the window a few inches and lit a cigarette. He offered the pack to McIntyre but he shook his head.

  ‘Assuming it is him, what then?’ asked Harper.

  ‘We slot him,’ said McIntyre quickly. ‘Maybe kick the shit out of him first.’

  ‘Spider?’

  Shepherd sighed. In his heart he knew that he had already decided what he was going to do, but he was finding it difficult to say the words out loud. Ahmad Khan deserved to die for what he had done back in Afghanistan, but deserving to die and committing a cold-blooded murder were two very different things.

  ‘Spider?’ repeated Harper.

  Images flashed through Shepherd’s mind. The gaping wound in Captain Todd’s throat and the frothy blood that oozed from between his lips. The splintered skull and the mangled brain tissue beneath it. The look of panic in the young captain’s eyes before the life had drained from them. ‘Yeah, it has to be done,’ said Shepherd quietly.

  ‘Then how?’ asked Harper.

  ‘How?’ repeated Shepherd.

  ‘Ways and means,’ said Harper. ‘We’re going to need guns, right? Unless you’re planning something more creative.’ He laughed. ‘I’m sure you MI5 guys have all sorts of tricks up your sleeves.’

  ‘MI5 doesn’t kill people,’ said Shepherd. ‘We don’t have a licence to kill. It’s not like the movies.’

  ‘Just because you don’t have a licence to kill doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen,’ said Harper. ‘It’ll be handled by a department you’ll never hear about. Remember that scientist, the one involved in the weapons of mass destruction nonsense. Are you telling me that MI5 didn’t top him and try to make it look like suicide? And that guy who fastened himself up in a kitbag in the bath?’

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those conspiracy theory nutters,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’m just saying, governments have people killed, it happens all the time. You know that the Libyans used to do it, and the Russians, right? And Saddam Hussein used to kill off his enemies all around the world.’

  ‘We’re not Libya, Russia or Iraq,’ said Shepherd. ‘Our government wouldn’t get away with killing people.’

  ‘Israel, then,’ said Harper. ‘Are you saying that you don’t think Mossad knocks off enemies of Israel?’

  ‘Israel’s different,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re a law unto themselves.’

  ‘America, then? What was the killing of Bin Laden if it wasn’t state-sponsored assassination?’

  ‘That’s different,’ said Shepherd. ‘That was a military operation.’

  ‘Because the assassins wore uniforms and flew in army choppers?’ said Harper. ‘They broke into a guy’s house and shot him in front of his family. How is that not an assassination?’

  Shepherd threw up his hands. He could feel that he was losing the argument though he had no idea why he was suddenly trying to defend MI5. ‘You’re comparing apples and oranges,’ he said. ‘I’m just saying that MI5 doesn’t have a department that kills people.’

  ‘And I’
m telling you it does, it’s just that you don’t know about it,’ said Harper. ‘But we’re getting away from the point. Assuming you don’t have a mysterious Q to give us some state-of-the-art assassin’s stuff, we’re going to need guns, right?’

  ‘I know a few Regiment guys who have a little something tucked away for a rainy day,’ said McIntyre.

  ‘Yeah, well, more fool them,’ said Shepherd. ‘The days of being able to keep a few souvenirs in the attic are well gone. Several guys have been sent down for keeping guns they shouldn’t have.’ He looked across at Harper. ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘I know people who can get us guns here. Shorts and longs. Pretty much whatever we want.’

  ‘Untraceable?’

  ‘Sure. They’ll want cash, obviously.’

  ‘Let me think about it,’ said Shepherd. He started the engine and edged the car into the traffic.

  ‘I wish we could just go and slot the bastard now,’ said McIntyre. He punched the back of Shepherd’s seat. ‘That raghead bastard has it coming.’

  ‘One step at a time, Jock,’ said Shepherd. ‘Like I said, we need to get a bit more intel.’

  ‘Intel?’ repeated Harper. ‘What bloody intel do we need? We know it’s him and we know where he lives.’

  ‘Yeah, but we can hardly gun him down in the street, can we?’ said Shepherd. ‘We need to know where he goes, what he does. Who he lives with. Where he works.’

  ‘You think he works?’ said Harper. ‘I don’t think you’ll find many jobs for Taliban warlords down at the Jobcentre.’

  ‘He’s not on benefits, I know that much,’ said Shepherd. ‘So he must be getting money from somewhere. He must be paying for that house himself. Plus he’s got a car. A white CRV. If he wasn’t working, he wouldn’t need a car.’

  ‘Speak of the devil,’ said McIntyre. He pointed at a white CRV parked across the road from where they were. ‘Is that it?’

  Shepherd looked over at the SUV. The registration number matched the number that Sharpe had given him. ‘That’s it,’ he said. He indicated right and headed east, towards Paddington station.

  ‘So what’s the plan?’ asked Harper.

  ‘Like I keep saying, we gather intel.’

  ‘And we’ll need guns,’ said Harper.

  ‘Intel first,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Then guns,’ said Harper, rubbing his hands together. ‘Then we slot the bastard.’

  Shepherd dropped McIntyre at Paddington station from where he could catch a train to Reading. ‘He’s changed,’ said Harper as they watched McIntyre walk into the station. His shoulders sagged and he had his head down as he trudged along with the evening commuters

  ‘We’ve all changed, Lex. It’s called getting older.’

  ‘He’s lost his edge, and you know it,’ said Harper. ‘He’s put on a couple of stone and you can smell the drink on him.’

  ‘He’s stopped drinking,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You believe that?’

  ‘That’s what he says. Do you want me to drop you at Bayswater?’

  ‘Aye, might as well.’ Harper lit another cigarette.

  ‘You never smoked in Afghanistan, did you?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Nah. The guys I was doing the blagging with were all smokers so I thought if I can’t beat them, join them.’ He blew smoke through the open window. ‘You think you can rely on Jock?’

  ‘Jock’s sound,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What about getting Jimbo? Jimbo Shortt?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, I was thinking that myself.’

  ‘And Geordie. Geordie’ll want to be on board for this. The two of them saved your life, remember.’ He chuckled. ‘Yeah, of course you remember. You remember everything.’

  ‘Geordie’s dead, mate. Died in Iraq a few years back. Sniper.’

  ‘Shit.’

  ‘Yeah. You can say that again.’

  ‘It’s funny how quickly you lose touch with people. In the army you’re as tight as tight can be, you know? Then you hand in your papers and that’s it, you never see your muckers again.’ He blew more smoke through the window. ‘You keep in touch with your SAS mates?’

  ‘Some,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you’re right, once you leave you’re not part of it any more. The guys who are still in don’t treat you the same, and the ones that leave tend not to look back.’ He looked across at Harper. ‘Look, I don’t mean to get all emotional, but I’m sorry we lost touch.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, mate. We’re good.’

  ‘No, I mean it, Lex. We were tight in Afghanistan, we got each other out of no end of scrapes. I should have made more of an effort to stay in touch.’

  ‘I’m a big boy, Spider. And it’s not as if I called you, is it?’

  ‘I wished you had, Lex. I wished you’d called me when you were having problems. I could have pulled some strings.’

  ‘And saved me from a life of crime, is that what you mean?’ He grinned. ‘I chose this life of crime, and I’ve no regrets. None at all.’

  Shepherd stared at Harper, trying to work out whether the man was telling the truth.

  ‘I’m not lying, Spider. I got the life I wanted. Sun, sea, sand, all the birds I want, good muckers around me, and enough excitement if and when I need it.’

  ‘So long as you don’t get caught.’

  ‘Sure. And how safe is your job? Who’s to say you won’t get a knife in the back or a bullet in the face this time next week? Nothing lasts for ever, Spider. And really, I’m happy with the life I’ve got. You staying in touch wouldn’t have changed that.’ He laughed. ‘I might even have tempted you over to the dark side. You’d make a bloody good villain.’

  Shepherd smiled and nodded. ‘You’re not the first person to have said that.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Harper. ‘You were a cop and now you’re a … what, a spy?’

  ‘I’m not a spy, Lex. I’m an MI5 officer. But the work I do is pretty much policing.’

  ‘And you’re on the side of the good guys, I get it. But what does MI5 really do? Protect the country’s citizens, or its ruling class?’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘Bloody hell, when did you go all political?’

  ‘I can see what’s going on in the world, mate,’ said Harper, earnestly. ‘I can see how the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer, how multinational companies pay almost no tax and bankers can screw up our economy and still get seven-figure bonuses. And the cops and MI5 are helping to keep that system in place.’

  ‘There’s a bit more to it than that, Lex.’

  ‘Really? So what case are you working on now?’

  Shepherd sighed. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said. That was true. All of Shepherd’s work was covered by the Official Secrets Act and it was an offence to discuss his work with outsiders. But it was also true that protecting Peter Grechko was less about making the UK a safer place than it was about doing a favour for the prime minister’s office.

  ‘You mean you could tell me but then you’d have to kill me?’ said Harper, and he laughed.

  ‘I keep telling you, I’m not James Bond,’ said Shepherd.

  Harper took a long pull on his cigarette before blowing smoke out of the window. ‘Let me tell you how I see the world, Spider,’ he said. ‘The bankers have damn near destroyed the West. They’ve plunged millions into poverty and saddled us with debts that our grandchildren will be paying off.’

  ‘Not you, though,’ interrupted Shepherd. ‘I’m sure you’re not paying taxes on your ill-gotten gains.’

  Harper ignored Shepherd and stared out of the window as he continued to speak. ‘They stole billions, mate. Billions. So how can anyone complain if I and a few mates go into one of their branches and take some of that for ourselves? It’s not as if anyone gets hurt. And the money we take is insured. All we’re doing, on a very small scale, is redressing the balance. What’s wrong with that?’

  ‘It’s theft,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re taking something that doesn’t belon
g to you and that’s against the law.’ He chuckled. ‘Hell, Lex, my boy knew the difference between right and wrong when he was four years old.’

  ‘Because you taught him,’ said Harper. ‘But if I had kids, I’d be giving them a different definition of right and wrong.’

  ‘And what about drugs?’ said Shepherd.

  Harper turned to look at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’d tell your kids that drugs are a good thing, right?’

  ‘I’d tell them what I believe, that drugs are no more dangerous than alcohol or cars.’

  ‘Cars?’

  ‘More people die in car accidents every year than they do from drug overdoses. Yet you don’t hear anyone saying we should ban cars. Alcohol causes way, way more damage than drugs. Yet you can buy it in supermarkets. So you tell me why drugs are singled out they way they are. Your rich banker can sit on a cellar with a thousand bottles of wine and all’s well with the world. But you get caught with half an ounce of cocaine and you’re banged up. Our hospitals are full of people dying from alcohol abuse, and half of all the people in jail have alcohol problems.’

  ‘There are plenty of people behind bars because of drugs.’

  ‘You see, that’s where you’re wrong, mate,’ said Harper. ‘They’re in prison because the powers that be have decided that drugs are illegal. So you get sent to prison for possession of drugs or for selling them. If drugs were legal, none of those people would be in prison.’

  ‘See, that’s not true,’ said Shepherd. ‘Look at all the violent crimes caused by drugs.’

  Harper shook his head. ‘It’s not the drugs that cause the crime, it’s the drugs trade. It’s because drugs are illegal that the trade is controlled by gangsters. They shoot each other over turf wars and get violent with anyone who owes them money. But it’s not the drugs that make people violent. You can’t say that about alcohol. Drunks punch and knife each other every day of the week. Hospital A&E departments are full of people affected by alcohol, and like I said, most car crashes involve booze. But people on drugs generally don’t drive and generally don’t fight each other. You smoke some dope and you chill, you pop a few tabs of ecstasy and you love your neighbour, you don’t want to punch him in the face. Even coke is about enjoying yourself. Mate, if drugs were legalised tomorrow the world would be a much happier and safer place.’ He took another pull on his cigarette, blew smoke through the window, and then held the still-smouldering butt under Shepherd’s nose. ‘And what about these?’ he asked. ‘Biggest self-administered killers on the planet, cigarettes. And no sign of them being made illegal.’ He flicked ash out of the window. ‘It’s Prohibition, mate. Pure and simple. And one day that’s how it’ll be seen.’