Live Fire

by Stephen Leather

  ‘You’re the one who’s made the mistake,’ said Mark. ‘Now get up.’

  Shepherd’s mind whirled. Was Mark telling the truth? Had he made a mistake? Had the bent copper in London kept on digging and turned up his true identity? If that was the case, why hadn’t Charlie warned him? ‘This is crazy, guys,’ said Shepherd. He raised his hands, showing his palms, wanting to appear as non-threatening as possible.

  Mark stepped back, keeping the pool cue aimed at Shepherd’s face. Mickey picked up his bottle of Singha and took a swig. ‘We’re going to beat the shit out of you, you lying bastard. Then we’re going to bury you out back.’

  ‘Guys, this is madness,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I’ve done something to piss you off, just let me know what it is and we’ll sort it out.’

  ‘Outside,’ said Mark, waving the cue menacingly.

  Shepherd glanced around for anything he could use as a weapon but there was nothing within reach other than two crystal ashtrays on the coffee-table.

  ‘Outside,’ Mark repeated.

  Shepherd did as he was told, stepping through the french windows onto the terrace. A slight breeze ruffled his hair. He heard Mickey and Mark step onto the tiles behind him. Shepherd took a deep breath. He could run for the low wall at the end of the pool, and if he made it that far he could keep low and duck between the palm trees, get to the wall, and if he hit it hard enough he might be able to scramble over the top. He exhaled slowly. Mark was behind him, and there was every chance that as soon as he started to run, the cue would smash down on the back of his head. And even if he made the wall it was topped with razor wire. He forced himself to relax.

  ‘Keep your hands up,’ said Mark.

  Shepherd slowly raised his arms. Mark was close, maybe close enough to reach if he swung around and lashed out with his foot.

  ‘Anything you want to say?’ asked Mickey. ‘Anything you want to tell us?’

  Mark and Wilson raised their pool cues, hatred in their eyes.

  Shepherd wondered what he was getting at. If he knew Shepherd was an undercover SOCA agent he’d have said so already. And he doubted that the Moores would take the risk of killing an undercover officer, even in Thailand. And in the unlikely event that they did decide it was worth killing him, they were hardly likely do it in their own home. He smiled to himself. The brothers were winding him up. He lowered his hands. ‘You bastards,’ he said. ‘You had me going. You know my little secret, yeah?’

  Mickey pointed at Shepherd’s face. ‘We know you’re not John bloody Westlake, that’s for sure. What did you think, Ricky? Thought we were born yesterday, did you?’

  Mark and Wilson lowered their cues, hatred replaced with malicious grins. ‘Had you going, didn’t we?’

  ‘Having someone threaten to beat my brains out always gets me going,’ said Shepherd. He shook his head. ‘You bastards.’

  Mickey put an arm around his shoulders. ‘Come on, let’s have a drink,’ he said, guiding him back into the villa. ‘We’ve got something we want to run by you.’

  Once they were inside Mark went to get cold beers from the fridge.

  ‘Why did you give us all that guff about you being a car thief?’ said Mickey as he collapsed onto one of the sofas. ‘You ashamed of being a pavement artist?’

  Shepherd smiled at that. It wasn’t a phrase he’d heard in a long time. ‘I’m on the run, Mickey. Probably best that I don’t broadcast what I do for a living.’

  ‘The way I see it, Ricky, what we do for a living is nothing to be ashamed of. You’ve been inside, you’ve seen the sort of scum that’s behind bars in England. Drug-dealers, kiddy-fiddlers, rapists. Compared with them, we’re princes.’

  ‘I didn’t start robbing banks for the glory, Mickey. I needed the sodding money.’

  Mark walked over with bottles of Singha. He handed one to Shepherd and put another in front of Mickey.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ said Mickey, picking up his beer. ‘You never hurt anyone, right? Not really. You went in with a shooter but it was a tool of the trade. I bet you never pulled the trigger in anger.’

  ‘You pull the trigger, you leave forensics. Everyone knows that,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Mickey. ‘That’s what I always tell Mark. If we wanted to shoot at civilians, we’d have joined the police.’ He threw back his head and guffawed at his own joke.

  Shepherd leaned forward, holding his bottle with both hands. ‘What are you saying, Mickey? Are you telling me we’re in the same line of business?’

  Mickey looked at his brother. ‘He doesn’t know who we are.’

  Mark sat next to Shepherd. ‘That’s because we’ve never been caught, Ricky. Unlike you.’

  ‘We’re low-profile villains who commit high-profile jobs,’ said Mickey. ‘Mark’s right, we’ve never been caught. No one’s looking for us, our money’s in the banking system, we can come and go as we please.’

  ‘Would you have done anything I might have heard about?’

  ‘One of the reasons we’ve never been caught is because we don’t tell tales,’ he said. ‘We plan everything down to the last detail, we always have an escape route and we only work with people we trust.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what’s always let me down,’ said Shepherd. ‘Other bloody people. Anyway, at least now I can forget about pretending to be someone else.’ He raised his bottle in salute. ‘To ordinary decent criminals.’

  The brothers raised their bottles in unison. ‘Ordinary decent criminals,’ they echoed.

  Shepherd tapped the four-digit code into his burglar-alarm console, then unlocked the french windows to the patio and stood by the waterfall at the end of the swimming-pool as he phoned Charlotte Button.

  ‘I hope you’re calling with good news,’ she said, as soon as she answered.

  ‘I’m in,’ he said. ‘Sort of.’

  ‘Sort of?’

  ‘They’ve told me what they do but they haven’t told me what they’ve got planned. They just told me who they are and we had a barbecue.’

  ‘Very civilised,’ said Button. ‘Did you get to see the Professor?’

  ‘He wasn’t there. And they didn’t mention him. They said they’d done some high-profile robberies that were well planned but they wouldn’t go into details.’

  ‘We’ll keep a watch for him at Heathrow,’ said Button. ‘So, are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘They’re not the easiest of guys to hang out with. Mark’s got a short fuse so I’m on eggshells.’

  ‘Hopefully it won’t be too much longer. In the meantime, any info you can pick up about the job will be gratefully received.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ said Shepherd. ‘How are you going to play it, Charlie? Are you going to let it run all the way?’

  ‘Let’s see what they’ve got planned,’ she said. ‘No point in counting chickens. You take care, you hear?’

  ‘Always,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call and stood by the pool, listening to the insects chirping. It got louder and louder until he could almost feel the vibrations on his skin. In the far distance he could hear the dull thudding of rock music and the occasional shriek of laughter. There was never a moment of silence in Pattaya. The bars were open day and night, and there were always people in the streets, no matter what the hour. Even in his secluded villa he could hear motorcycles buzzing along the roads, dogs barking and howling in the distance, cars and trucks sounding horns.

  He went back inside to his bedroom and put his phone on the bedside table. He didn’t feel like sleeping so he switched on the television. He flicked through the channels. There was a large satellite dish on the roof and he had access to more than five hundred, but he couldn’t find anything he wanted to watch.

  He heard another phone ringing. It was his home mobile, the one he used for personal calls. He’d left it in the bathroom and hurried to get it. It was Liam. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Shepherd, his heart racing.

  ‘Nothing, really,’ said Liam. ‘I mean, I’m ok
ay.’

  Relief washed over him. His reaction had been irrational, of course. If anything had happened to Liam, he wouldn’t have been making the call. ‘I’m glad you called,’ he said. ‘I’ve been missing you.’

  ‘When are you coming back, Dad?’

  It was a good question, he thought. He had been accepted by the Moores but that was only the first step in what promised to be a long operation. It could take weeks, months even, he had no way of knowing. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said truthfully.

  ‘You sound funny,’ said Liam. ‘Like you’re drunk.’

  Shepherd wasn’t drunk, but he’d put away half a dozen beers with the Moores and their team. ‘I’m just tired,’ he lied. ‘It’s late here.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  It was just after two o’clock in the morning. ‘Very late,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was just going to sleep. How’s school?’

  ‘School’s school,’ said Liam.

  ‘Gran and Granddad looking after you?’

  ‘Sure, but it’s not the same as being at home. I want you to come back, Dad.’

  ‘I will, as soon as this job’s finished, I promise. And I’ll take time off. We can have a holiday.’

  ‘I’ve got school, Dad.’

  ‘Okay, when school’s finished. We’ll go to Eurodisney or something.’

  ‘You’ll have another job by then,’ said Liam, reproachfully. ‘You always have another job.’

  ‘I’ll make the time,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have you done your homework?’

  Liam sighed. ‘Yes, I’ve done my homework. You always change the subject when you know you’re in the wrong.’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘You’d make a good policeman,’ he said. ‘You’ve got excellent interrogation skills.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a policeman,’ said Liam. ‘It’s a lousy job. You have no life.’

  Shepherd knew his son was trying to hurt him, but there was an element of truth in what he was saying. His work as an undercover agent was all-consuming, and it did mean he spent long periods away from home. But Shepherd loved his job; he loved the challenges it presented and the buzz he got from doing it well. But that wasn’t something he could explain to an eleven-year-old boy who missed his father. ‘What do you want to do?’ he asked.

  ‘I want to be a pilot,’ said Liam. ‘I want to fly jumbo jets.’

  ‘There’s a bigger plane now,’ said Shepherd. ‘The new Airbus.’

  ‘Do you think I could be a pilot?’

  ‘Sure, Liam. You can be anything you want. You just have to study hard and work hard.’

  ‘Or a footballer,’ said Liam. ‘I want to play for Arsenal.’

  ‘At least I won’t have to pay to send you to university,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Or a rock star,’ said Liam, warming to the theme.

  ‘It’s good to have options,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Can I have a guitar for my birthday?’

  There were times when his son could be as transparent as a villain caught red-handed. ‘Sure,’ Shepherd said, laughing.

  ‘An electric one?’

  ‘We’ll go and buy it together when I’m back,’ he agreed. ‘Liam, is there a reason you phoned me, other than that you want me to buy you a guitar?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Katra called. She wants to talk to you.’

  ‘She’s still in Slovenia?’

  ‘Yeah. She sounded upset, Dad.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll call her now.’

  ‘She left her number for you.’ As Liam dictated, the digits stored themselves automatically in Shepherd’s filing cabinet of a memory.

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I miss you.’

  ‘I miss you too, Liam. I’ll be back soon. I promise.’ Liam cut the connection. Shepherd took a deep breath. He wanted to sleep but Katra wouldn’t have phoned Liam unless there was something important she wanted to discuss. He took a deep breath and tapped out her number. He figured that Thailand was probably three or four hours ahead of Slovenia. She answered almost immediately, and when she spoke it was obvious that she’d been crying. ‘It’s my father, Dan. He died last night.’

  ‘Oh, Katra, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It was the chemotherapy. It just killed him.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Shepherd couldn’t think of anything else to say. It had been the same after Sue had died. Friends and colleagues had wanted to find the words to make him feel better, but there were none. When Sue had died she’d left an aching void in his heart that had never been filled, and never would be. And it would be the same for Katra. There was nothing he could say or do that would take away her pain. All he could do was show he cared.

  ‘Dan, it was horrible. He just got weaker and weaker and then he died. I don’t know what to do.’

  ‘Honey, I’m sorry. Are your brothers there?’

  ‘They’re with me and they’re taking care of everything, but I feel so alone even though they’re here. Do you know what I mean?’ She sniffed and he could hear her blowing her nose.

  ‘I do, Katra. I’m so sorry.’ He wanted to stop saying he was sorry, but the words kept tumbling out. He did feel sorry – sorry for her loss and sorry for his inability to help her – but the words meant nothing to her. After Sue’s death he had felt completely alone and it had been months before he’d been able to connect with other people again.

  ‘Are you still in Thailand?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes, a place called Pattaya.’

  ‘Dan, my father’s funeral is in two days. Can you come?’

  Shepherd’s shoulders sagged and he put his hand over his eyes. His stomach churned. ‘Oh, Katra …’

  ‘I don’t want to be on my own …’ She sniffed and blew her nose again.

  ‘Katra, I’m sorry, I’m working.’

  ‘It’s just one day, Dan. I just need you with me when I say goodbye to him. That’s all.’

  Shepherd took a deep breath. The combination of beer and stress was making him queasy. He owed it to Katra to be with her, but the operation was at a crucial phase. Ricky Knight was on the run and he’d only just arrived in Thailand. There was no reason for him to fly back to Europe. If the Moores found out, alarm bells would start to ring and the operation would be at risk. He had to stay in Thailand, no matter how hard-hearted that made him appear. He wanted to be with his son. He wanted to be in Slovenia to support Katra, but he had to stay in Pattaya. He had no choice. ‘Katra, I’m really, really sorry. This is just a bad time.’

  ‘It’s always a bad time, Dan.’ The line went dead.

  Shepherd paced around the room. He understood how upset she was over the death of her father, but as much as he felt she was part of his family, he was only her employer. Katra knew little about his job and he couldn’t explain to her how important it was that he stayed in Thailand. He walked through the french windows and around the swimming-pool into the kitchen. He took a bottle of Evian water from the fridge and drank it as he went back to the sitting room. He hit redial on his mobile but Katra had switched off her phone. Shepherd groaned. She was right, of course. It was always a bad time. Working under cover meant working twenty-four hours a day, which left no time to be a father, a friend or anything else. Until the operation was over he was Ricky Knight, and Dan Shepherd had to take second place, no matter who got hurt. When the operation was over, when Mickey and Mark Moore and their team were behind bars, he’d do whatever he could to put it right. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

  Bradshaw walked with his shoulders hunched, the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Kundi was on his right, Chaudhry on his left. They followed the path towards the café in the centre of the park, close to the children’s playground. Two West Indians in security uniforms were watching a group of Kosovans playing a coin-tossing game against the wall of the changing rooms.

  Talwar and al-Sayed were already at the café, sitting with drinks at an outside table. ‘Get me a coffee, and whatever you want,’ Bradshaw said to Kundi, hand
ing him a ten-pound note. He went to the table, embraced Talwar and al-Sayed in turn and sat down. Chaudhry pulled up a chair next to him. He opened a pack of Wrigley’s chewing-gum and offered it around, but no one took a piece. He unwrapped a stick and slotted it into his mouth.

  ‘How did it feel?’ asked Talwar in a hushed voice. ‘When you cut the dog’s throat, how did you feel?’

  ‘It was just like that,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Of no more significance than taking the life of a dog. Less than that. It was like stamping on a cockroach. Or an ant.’

  ‘I’ll never forget the blood,’ said Chaudhry. ‘It pumped and pumped, even after the head was off.’

  ‘The body tries to live even when there’s no hope,’ said Bradshaw. ‘It’s the nature of the animal.’

  ‘We should do it again,’ said al-Sayed. ‘Did you see the newspapers today? The whole world is talking about what we did.’

  ‘No,’ said Bradshaw. ‘It’s time to move on.’

  ‘But it was so easy,’ said Kundi. ‘We should take a policeman next. Or a politician. We could take an MP. They have almost no security when they do their surgeries.’

  Chaudhry nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ll slit his throat next time, brothers. I’ll do the deed.’

  The two black security guards walked by, talking in their own language. The men fell quiet until they were out of earshot. Kundi came over to the table with three coffees. He put the cups down and handed the change to Bradshaw.

  ‘Brothers, there are others who will continue what we have started,’ said Bradshaw, pocketing the change. ‘But we’re leaders, not followers, and we’re about to take the next step.’

  ‘We’re with you, you know that,’ said Kundi, sitting down between al-Sayed and Talwar. He lit a cigarette, using his left hand to shield it from the wind blowing across the park.

  ‘We’ve proved ourselves, haven’t we?’ said Chaudhry.

  Bradshaw put his arm around Chaudhry, his fingers digging into his shoulder. ‘Of course you have, brother, of course you have. You all have. You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you. No man could ask for better allies in the struggle for jihad. I would die for you, brothers, and I would die happily.’ He smiled as Chaudhry added his usual five spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee.