Dead Men ss-5

by Stephen Leather

  ‘So why not tell her but make sure she doesn’t pass it on to her bosses?’

  ‘She’s not like you and me. She won’t bend the rules,’ said Shepherd. ‘And she’ll want to protect her family.’

  ‘That should be her choice, shouldn’t it?’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘Even if SOCA put her and her family under full police protection, they’ll get her eventually. The guy who’s paying this assassin has enough money to keep sending people until the job’s done.’

  ‘You want me to shadow her without her knowing?’ O’Brien grimaced. ‘Spider, shadowing someone like Charlie Button round the clock would take three seven-man teams, plus a minimum of three vehicles and two bikes.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be surveillance,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re not looking to see what she does, only to make sure Salih doesn’t get close to her. The way I see it he’s a pro, which means he’ll be watching her before he strikes. So you’ll be looking for him looking for her. I’ll have a good idea of where she is.’

  ‘But if she’s shuttling between London and Belfast, she’ll spot a tail on the plane.’

  ‘So you’ll need a couple of good guys in Belfast, and another in London,’ said Shepherd. ‘Plus a fourth watching her house. Guys who know what they’re doing.’

  ‘You don’t want much, do you?’

  Shepherd punched O’Brien’s shoulder. ‘I know what I’m asking, Martin,’ he said, ‘and I know who I’m asking.’

  Salih flashed his headlights and Tariq waved, then headed for the car. He was wearing a shiny leather jacket, tight Versace jeans and wraparound sunglasses. ‘You look like a pimp,’ muttered Salih.

  Tariq’s mouth opened in surprise. ‘This jacket cost six hundred pounds,’ he said.

  ‘Lesson number one,’ said Salih. ‘You dress to blend in, not to stand out. Lose the hair gel, lose the glasses, lose the gold chain round your neck. Lose everything that people can use to identify you. Wear mid-range high-street clothes. Not too cheap, not too expensive. Wear shoes or workboots, not expensive trainers.’

  ‘I’ll remember,’ said Tariq.

  ‘Drive a mid-range car, blue or grey. Don’t speed, don’t drive aggressively, do nothing to attract attention to yourself. Don’t smile too much, don’t frown, don’t talk too much, don’t talk too little. Fly economy, not first class, stay in three-star hotels, not five. Blend.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Tariq.

  ‘I am putting a lot of faith in you, Tariq.’

  ‘I will do whatever you ask,’ said Tariq.

  ‘Open the glove box. You’ll find an envelope. Take it out.’

  Tariq did as he was told.

  ‘Inside that envelope is the name of a man and an address in Hereford. There is also the telephone number of the house. And five thousand pounds. I want you to kill the man, if he is there.’

  Tariq frowned. ‘Is there a photograph of him?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You watch the house, see who comes and goes. You find out if the man is there. If he is, you kill him. If he is not, you find out who else is in the house. If there is a wife or child, you kill them.’ Salih pointed at the glove box. ‘There is a gun in there. With a silencer. There are eleven rounds in the magazine. That will be more than you need. Get in close, to within six feet. Put at least two bullets in the chest and one in the head. Wear gloves. When you have finished, drop the gun.’

  ‘Drop the gun?’

  ‘It’s untraceable. There’s no need to hide it. Use a hire car. Keep a change of clothes in the boot. Drive to an area where you will not be disturbed, remove your outer clothing and burn it. Change into fresh clothes and return the car.’

  Tariq reached into the glove box and took out a leather case. He reached for the zip.

  ‘Not here,’ said Salih. ‘Do not open the case unless you’re wearing gloves. Do not touch the gun unless you’re wearing gloves. Do not touch the magazine or the bullets unless you’re wearing gloves. The tiniest flake of skin or drop of sweat could identify you.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Tariq.

  ‘Buy another pay-as-you-go Sim card,’ said Salih. ‘Phone me just before you do it. Then call me once you’re clear of the area. Once you’ve made the second phone call, destroy the Sim card.’

  Tariq nodded. ‘I won’t let you down,’ he said.

  ‘I know you won’t,’ said Salih.

  Charlotte Button had taken a suite at the Europa Hotel, which, during the Troubles, had acquired the unenviable reputation of being the most-bombed hotel in the world. These days, it was just one of Belfast’s thriving luxury hotels and was full of tourists and businessmen. She had booked in under another name and hadn’t told anyone where she was staying, so when her phone rang at nine that evening she assumed someone on the hotel staff was calling her. She was wrong. ‘Long time no hear,’ said a voice. ‘How’s Belfast?’

  It was Patsy Ellis, her former boss at MI5’s International Counter-terrorism Branch. She had long been Button’s mentor and had suggested that she take the job with SOCA. ‘Raining, as usual,’ said Button.

  ‘When are you back in the Big Smoke?’

  ‘Tomorrow morning,’ said Button. ‘Is everything okay?’

  ‘We need a face-to-face, darling. Shall we say the wine bar, eight or thereabouts?’

  ‘See you there,’ said Button.

  She put down the phone, worried. It had been three months since she’d seen Ellis, and that had been a social lunch. A glass of Chardonnay each, salad, and an hour of gossip. But this phone call had been as far from social as it was possible to get. Ellis hadn’t identified herself or the place where they were to meet. And by saying ‘eight or thereabouts’ she had told Button to subtract two hours from the meeting time. Standard tradecraft. Which meant Ellis was concerned that someone might be listening in.

  The display of Shepherd’s pay-as-you-go mobile phone flashed. He had set it to silent and when he checked the display he saw it was Yokely. He went into the back garden to take the call. ‘I took on board what you said about not using your cover phone,’ said Yokely.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Have you been reading the English papers?’

  ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet the last couple of days.’

  ‘Hereford and back, I gather.’

  ‘Have you been spying on me, Richard?’

  ‘Just think of me as your guardian angel,’ said Yokely. ‘I don’t know why you’re so suspicious of me, Dan. I really do have your best interests at heart.’

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Why are you so interested in my reading habits?’

  ‘Viktor Merkulov was pulled out of the Regent’s Canal this morning. He’d been knifed but his wallet and phone were still on him so it wasn’t a mugging.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Merkulov was working for Salih. He’s a former KGB spook.’

  ‘You don’t think I did it, do you?’

  Yokely chuckled. ‘You didn’t go near London.’

  ‘Are your friends at the NSA tracking me?’ asked Shepherd.

  Yokely ignored the question. ‘You weren’t in Little Venice, but Salih was. And shortly afterwards he ditched his Sim card.’

  ‘Why would he kill the Russian?’

  ‘Because I’d turned Merkulov. He must have found out.’

  ‘So now we’ve lost all track of him? Is that what you’re telling me?’

  ‘For the moment. But we’ve a good idea of where he’s been.’

  ‘Belfast?’

  ‘No, he’s not crossed the water yet. But he’s been to Berkshire and Surrey.’

  Shepherd’s fingers tightened on the phone until his knuckles were white. Surrey was where Charlie lived.

  ‘Spider, are you there?’

  Shepherd realised he’d been holding his breath. ‘I heard you.’

  ‘I had my NSA people talk to their contacts in the UK and they pinned down where Salih went befo
re he threw his Sim card away.’

  ‘And you’re saying he was at Charlie’s house?’

  ‘He went to Windsor, where her husband works. And Virginia Water. He was only in the area for a couple of hours, then went back to London.’

  ‘Why would he be checking out her husband?’

  ‘I’d only be guessing, Dan.’

  ‘What about Hereford? Did he go anywhere near my home?’

  ‘There’s a definite negative on that.’

  Shepherd relaxed a little. ‘Can you put out an alert for Salih?’

  ‘I can do that, sure. I can get the FBI liaison at the embassy to do it through SOCA, but even if I do, you know that Ireland leaks like a sieve, North and South. The ferries are a nightmare at the best of times and there’s no need to show passports when travelling from the mainland to Northern Ireland.’

  ‘Do you have a photograph yet?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ said Yokely. ‘He stays under the radar, this guy. If he’s travelled to the States he’s done it under a different name, and none of the countries he’s visited under the aliases we have take pictures at point of entry. But we’re working on it.’

  ‘Let me know as soon as you get anything, will you?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Yokely. ‘No one’s keener than I am to get this guy, Spider. It’s me he’s trying to kill, remember. Me and Charlotte.’

  ‘You’re a big boy, you can take care of yourself,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s collateral damage I’m worried about.’

  The wine bar where Patsy Ellis wanted to meet was on the fringes of Covent Garden. Button spent half an hour wandering through crowds of tourists, checking she wasn’t being followed, and assumed that Ellis would do the same. A man in a top hat and tails was balancing on stilts and juggling flaming torches. Button watched him for a while, then tossed a pound coin into a yellow plastic bucket.

  When she walked into the wine bar, Ellis was at a corner table, two glasses in front of her. She stood up as Button came over and they hugged. ‘I thought we’d try the Pinot Grigio,’ said Ellis.

  ‘So long as there’s alcohol in it, I’m a happy bunny,’ said Button. She sipped appreciatively. ‘It’s good.’

  ‘You’ve got time to eat, I hope?’

  ‘On my tab or yours?’

  Ellis laughed. ‘I’ve got the bigger budget,’ she said. ‘But after you’ve heard what I have to say, maybe you’ll want to treat me.’ Her face was serious now. ‘You’ve got an admirer, Charlie, and not in a good way.’

  ‘I’m all ears.’

  Ellis reached into her handbag and passed across a surveillance photograph of a heavy-set man with a square face and a pig-like nose. ‘Viktor Merkulov. Former KGB, hard man of the Seventh Directorate,’ said Ellis. ‘Switched over to the Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki, then went freelance. Now he works for the highest bidder. Surveillance and intelligence, mainly. Or, rather, he used to work for the highest bidder.’

  ‘Used to?’

  ‘Mr Merkulov is no longer with us. He was fished out of the Regent’s Canal yesterday with a very sore throat.’

  ‘Can I keep this?’ asked Button.

  ‘Of course,’ said Ellis. ‘But I doubt he’s the one interested in you. He was almost certainly acting for someone else. He was looking at your phone, Charlie. Location tracking and call listing. He has contacts with most of the mobile-phone companies and we’ve been looking at him for the past six months. Alarm bells rang when he made enquiries about your number.’

  Button sipped her wine. ‘I’m confused, Patsy. Are you telling me this because he was looking at my phone or because he’s dead?’

  ‘Good question, darling,’ said Ellis. ‘We got wind that someone was on your trail a few days ago, and we had a pretty good idea it was Merkulov. But knowing and proving are two different things. It was only when his body was fished out of the canal that we could forget about things like search warrants and took a look round his very well-appointed apartment in St John’s Wood. Frankly, we’re a bit annoyed at his untimely demise because it was of more use to us having him going about his business. Down the line we might have closed him down, but we were happy enough keeping an eye on what he was doing.’

  ‘Any idea who he was working for?’

  ‘Specifically, no. His clients included the great and the good, the bad and the ugly. He didn’t care who he worked for so long as they could afford his fees. Our American cousins used him from time to time, and a couple of less than responsible Sunday newspapers had him on retainer. But we didn’t have him under direct surveillance. Merkulov was a pro so it would have taken up too much in the way of resources to do it without him knowing. If he’d realised we were on to him, he’d have upped and left.’

  ‘So we’re none the wiser,’ said Button.

  ‘I have a list of clients we know about,’ said Ellis. ‘Cast your eyes over them, see if anyone rings a bell.’ She passed Button an envelope.

  Button pulled out a folded sheet of paper and scanned the list. She recognised several names – a big-time cannabis-dealer based in Amsterdam, a South London gang boss high on SOCA’s wish list, half a dozen members of the Russian Mafia, which wasn’t surprising, and several Bosnian and Serbian gangsters. Three others were top City financiers and one was a well-known documentary-maker. But she didn’t see anyone who might want to cause her any grief.

  ‘That’s not an inclusive list by any means,’ said Ellis. ‘Much of his work is for cash and he’s often approached by middle men.’

  Button folded the sheet of paper and put it back into the envelope. ‘No one there has it in for me,’ she said.

  ‘What about the cases you’re working on now?’

  ‘I have a man under cover in Belfast, but it’s a murder case and I’ve got a very low profile.’

  ‘IRA? Unionists? Could they be after you?’

  Button smiled. ‘I’m SOCA now, Patsy, totally nonpolitical.’

  ‘But you were in Belfast for three years on counterterrorism, back in the day,’ said Ellis. ‘They’ve got long memories, the Provos.’

  ‘As I said, I’m very low profile there, and why would they bother tracking my phone? If they already know I’m in the city a couple of guys in ski masks could pay me a visit and that’d be that. The fact that whoever it is had to use Merkulov suggests they don’t know much about me.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Ellis.

  ‘Do you know what they wanted to know?’

  ‘Merkulov’s contact in the phone company has provided him with a list of incoming and outgoing calls and texts, and the location of your phone.’

  Button frowned. ‘How could he have got my number?’

  ‘It’s your work phone, right?’

  ‘That means he has to have got it from someone I work with, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Ellis. ‘You could have been scanned. Or he could have taken the number off someone else’s mobile.’

  ‘Do you think I should be worried?’ asked Button.

  Ellis smiled sympathetically. ‘I’m not sure how to answer that, Charlie. Merkulov wasn’t cheap, so whoever was paying him must have a good reason. But the fact that they have to ask for your location means they can’t know much about you.’

  ‘Which begs the question, why would a stranger want to know where I am? And why would they want a list of my calls?’

  ‘I suppose it could be personal,’ said Ellis.

  ‘I’m too busy to be having an affair.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Ellis. ‘How’s Graham, these days?’

  ‘As busy as always. You don’t think he’s checking up on me, do you?’

  Ellis laid her hand on Button’s. ‘Don’t get paranoid,’ she said. ‘I was only asking after him. One, he loves you to bits, and two, an estate agent in Surrey wouldn’t know how to contact a man like Merkulov. There’s no need to worry too much. We know someone’s looking at you so we’ve got the edge.’

  ‘He’ll already have passed on th
e information, presumably?’

  ‘I would assume so.’

  ‘So whoever paid Merkulov knows I was in Belfast, and has a list of all the calls to and from my mobile.’

  ‘Which, frankly, is no biggie. You can change your Sim card, and keep away from Belfast if necessary.’

  ‘I’m running an operative,’ said Charlie.

  ‘Someone else can run him,’ said Ellis. ‘Or her.’

  ‘It’s a he,’ she said, ‘and it’s a sensitive case so I’m not playing hide and seek just because someone’s stalking me. But you’re right, of course, it’s not too serious. Yet.’

  ‘And let’s be positive. As I said, whoever it is, if he had to pay Merkulov for information he couldn’t have known that much about you in the first place.’

  ‘You always look on the bright side, don’t you?’ said Button. ‘Or are you just trying to make me feel better?’

  ‘How long have I known you, darling?’ said Ellis. She raised her glass.

  ‘Too long,’ laughed Button. They clinked.

  ‘Are you happy at SOCA?’

  ‘Funnily enough, I am. They’re not as cerebral as Five, that’s for sure, but they get the job done.’

  ‘You won’t be there for ever, you know. You’re far too valuable to be playing cops and robbers.’

  Button sipped her wine. ‘Nice to know I’m wanted.’

  ‘You are, very much so. At some point I’m moving up, and when that happens there’ll be a slot at the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre.’

  ‘I’ve only just got my feet under the table at SOCA.’

  ‘It’s a stepping-stone, Charlie. Don’t think of it as anything other than that.’

  Button picked up the menu. ‘So, are we eating?’

  Shepherd sipped his coffee as he looked out of the sitting-room window. His mobile rang. It was Button. ‘Good morning, Charlie,’ he said. ‘Are you in Belfast?’

  ‘I’m at home, actually,’ she said. ‘I’ve a couple of meetings and will probably be back in Belfast tonight.’

  A black Vauxhall Vectra crawled up the hill towards Shepherd’s house.