Moving Targets_An Action-Packed Spider Shepherd SAS Novel

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Leave it for now guys,’ Shepherd said. ‘The most important thing now is to find Aimee.’ He sent Jimbo and Geordie to scour the area around the surveillance site, while he contacted the attaché at the embassy for any update.

  ‘The Swiss police have already been in touch and are very keen to interview your group,’ the attaché said, ‘and they will be waiting at the airport when you return there.’ He paused, enjoying his moment. ‘So, you’re not quite as professional as you think you are, are you?’

  Shepherd broke the connection without bothering to reply. A couple more hours had passed without any sign of Aimee and they were on the point of leaving the RV area, when she suddenly emerged from the station.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Shepherd said.

  She smiled. ‘Out to the airport. When I saw you lot rolling round on the ground, I thought at least one of us should follow the subject, so I stuck to him like glue. He came here and caught a train out to the International terminal where he checked in for a flight to Singapore. I was behind him all the time, even in the checkin line. I followed him to the departure gates but then obviously I had to turn back as I didn’t have a boarding pass. I wasn’t close enough to see the name on his passport, but he’s travelling economy on Swissair.’

  ‘Fantastic work, Aimee,’ Shepherd said. ‘You’ve salvaged the op and shown us all up.’ He paused. ‘Well, one of us in particular.’

  Once more Rupert flushed and looked away.

  They retraced their steps to the airport and General Aviation, where, as the attaché had predicted, they found half a dozen plain-clothed Swiss policemen waiting to question them. Not liking the vague answers he was being given, the senior officer threatened them with arrest.

  ‘On what charges?’ Shepherd said.

  The officer began ticking them off on his fingers. ‘Assault, riot, affray. That enough for now?’

  After a tense few minutes the standoff was brought to a head by Rupert who, in a voice just loud enough to be overheard, muttered to himself ‘Bloody Swiss, only good for making money and cuckoo clocks.’

  The police inspector blew his top and gave Rupert a multi-lingual mouthful, but instead of arresting them, he then rounded on Shepherd. ‘I want you and all your thugs out of my country. Do not expect a warm welcome if you ever return.’

  ‘We’ll need to file a flight plan,’ the Wingco said, having watched the interrogation from the sidelines.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ the policeman said. ‘We have no desire to detain you further and I’ll make sure your flight plan is filed without delay. Where are you travelling to?’

  The Wingco gave Shepherd a quizzical look.

  There was only one possible answer. ‘Singapore.’

  CHAPTER 22

  The atmosphere inside the cabin of the 125 was tense. After an online discussion with Jock, the SAS team had left Zurich, but had then been forced to fly to the RAF base at Akrotiri in Cyprus. It was an unwelcome delay and diversion but they had to refuel because the 125 did not have the range to reach Singapore non-stop and it was also a chance to have the aircraft checked out by the RAF ground crews at the base.

  While that was happening, the team had a heated discussion about the operation in Switzerland. Despite Shepherd reminding them that the aim of a debrief was always to ‘highlight good points, highlight poor points and improve best practice in the future’, it had nearly developed into an all-out punch up. Geordie in particular was still furious with Rupert, insisting that his stupidity and recklessness had placed Aimee in danger.

  Apart from their irritation with him, another factor was making the team even more edgy: they were falling further and further behind their quarry. They all knew that the 125 did not have the legs of a commercial aircraft; they were unable to fly as far and as fast as the guy they were chasing even though, after leaving Akrotiri, the Wingo and his co-pilot had deliberately ripped up the flight hours rule book and insisted that they could fly all the way to Singapore under Royal Air Force emergency regulations. This allowed them to fly more than the stipulated twelve hours maximum, if the situation was deemed to be “in pursuit of the mission”. The Wingco, unrecognisable from the grumpy stickler for the rules they had first encountered just a few short weeks before, had decided to employ this interpretation with the proviso that as soon as they arrived in Singapore he and the co-pilot would have to crash out for at least twenty-four hours. That was also niggling at Shepherd because he didn’t know whether everything would come to a head on the island or they would need to crack straight on from Singapore.

  As the 125 was on finals in bound to Changi airport, Shepherd was staring out of a window on the right hand side of the aircraft. He could see the whole of the island of Singapore laid out below them, with hundreds of ships awaiting access to the docks and beyond them, the high-rise buildings occupied by the commercial enterprises that had made the tiny state “the Switzerland of the East”. Countless other tower blocks housed the millions of workers needed to service the industries driving Singapore’s remarkable success story. To the south, dozens of dredgers were at work, creating artificial reefs to increase the size of the island still more to accommodate the ever-growing population.

  They were sandwiched in the long stack of passenger jets lining up to land at Changi, but unlike the civilian aircraft in front of and behind them, the 125 had been directed to the military side of the airport and once they had landed, they peeled away from the procession of jumbo jets making for the terminals and came to a halt alongside a row of Republic of Singapore Air Force F-15s.

  During the flight Shepherd had had several discussions with Jock back in the UK, who had been having a frustrating time trying to track down people to help them in Singapore. The fear that they all had was that without the help of the authorities there, their quarry could disappear without trace. ‘There’s no help to be had from this end,’ Jock said, ‘because it was made pretty clear to me that any assistance from the Foreign and Commonwealth office is out of the question. The focus there is purely on Europe these days, since the old colonialists with their “East of Suez” mind-set have long been pensioned off. I also drew a blank in the MoD, but then I remembered the name of an old ex-SAS officer - he was before your time, Spider - who also served with the Gurkha regiment in Brunei and the Gurkha contingent of the Singapore police. The old guy’s long retired but still lives in Singapore, looked after by a couple of Gurkha orderlies, and he immediately offered his help when I contacted him. He still knows many of his old contacts and he’s willing to meet you guys to see how he can help. However, any meeting has to be clandestine, away from official eyes. The population of Singapore is kept under very tight control - as you know, it’s pretty close to being a police state - but the authorities are always prepared to do a deal with us, so long as it’s not made public. So here’s the plan, I’ve come up with, subject to your approval of course. The Crabs stay on base at Changi,’ he said, using the traditional Army nickname for the RAF. The grease used on Navy gun breeches was called “crab fat” because it was the same blue colour as the ointment used to treat sailors for “crabs” - pubic lice. When the RAF began to be issued with uniforms of a similar colour, the nickname was transferred to them.

  ‘They can use the facilities there to unwind,’ Jock said, ‘but you guys should get yourselves rooms at a decent hotel. You’ve roughed it enough, so now you can relax in some nice surroundings until you’re contacted. Oh and by the way, remember the Squadron Boss in Afghanistan who said he was going to back us all the way? He’s now saying “Sorry, but I’m afraid you’re on your own”, and by an amazing coincidence he’s just got a DSO in the latest military honours list.’

  The SAS team duly booked themselves into a luxury hotel on Orchard Road. Shepherd had just finished a few fast laps of the Olympic-size swimming pool and had joined the rest of the guys who were nursing Tiger beers at a poolside table, when a small, thin, extremely pale-skinned man approached them.

  ‘E
xcuse me, I’m looking for a Dan Shepherd?’ he hesitated. ‘My name is Garry Winterburn. Garry with two Rs. Jock said I should ask for a Dan Shepherd.’

  ‘That would be me,’ Shepherd said. ‘Though everyone calls me Spider. This is Geordie, this is Jimbo and this gentleman,’ he said, gesturing towards Rupert, ‘is our in-flight window-cleaner, better known as Rupert.’

  The newcomer smiled. ‘Yes, I suppose it’s much better to keep things on a first name basis. It’s almost impossible to keep anything a secret in Singapore, but let’s give it a try.’ He directed a shrewd glance at Rupert. ‘I was in your position once and I made two mistakes when I joined the SAS. One was that I accepted a position without doing Selection and, quite rightly, this was held against me throughout my time there.’

  Rupert shifted uncomfortably in his seat, having done exactly the same thing himself.

  ‘My second mistake,’ Garry said, ‘was to think that the SAS were like the Gurkhas. In retrospect, although they share many of the warrior traits, the Gurkhas tend to follow orders faithfully and accept the plans that others formulate for them, even when they may lead to their deaths. From my experience the SAS do not accept any plan or course of action without thinking it through to see if it can be improved or indeed, if it is the right course of action which, I may add, is one of the things that makes the SAS Regiment so successful and unique. Anyway, enough of my reminiscences, tell me how I may be able to help you?’

  Shepherd outlined the situation regarding their quarry, and how they knew when and how he had arrived in Singapore. ‘We’ve had no assistance from the FCO or the Singapore Authorities and we are very keen to discover our subject’s whereabouts, and whether he is still on the island, or has disappeared into the Malay Peninsula or Indonesia, or indeed whether he just caught another flight out of Changi.’

  ‘I think I may be able to help you there,’ Garry said. ‘During my time with the Brunei Gurkhas and the Gurkha Contingent of the Singapore Police, I liaised closely with the Singaporean security authorities.’ He flashed a bleak smile. ‘There are many people in Singapore and abroad who think that the Gurkha contingent is nothing more or less than a counter-coup force, in case the Singapore armed forces ever try to flex their muscles and oust the President, but of course I couldn’t possibly comment on that. However I can arrange for someone to contact you who will have access to the information that you require. I realise the matter is urgent, so please do not wander far from the hotel until he makes contact. There will of course be a price to pay and the Singaporeans do tend to drive a hard bargain. I suspect that it will take the form of a request for training in the UK for a number of the Singaporean police. The Singaporeans place education and expertise at the top of their requirements, believing that it is the only way for them to stay ahead of their neighbours. Don’t forget, they are surrounded by hundreds of millions of people living on the breadline, and Singapore’s wealth attracts a lot of envy. The only thing that has stopped them from being swallowed up is the ability of their people to keep ahead of the game.’

  ‘No problem,’ Shepherd said. ‘If the British Government receives a request for training or indeed anything else from Singapore, I give you my word that the request will be honoured.’

  ‘Very well,’ Garry said. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting you but I don’t think it will be necessary for us to meet again. I hope the colleague I send to you will be able to solve your problem. I think he can.’

  They watched his slight figure pick his way back through the hotel and out into the furnace heat and humidity of the street.

  Shortly after dusk that day the telephone in Shepherd’s room buzzed. ‘Mr Spider?’ a voice with a strong Chinese accent said, when he picked up the phone. ‘This is Mr Garry’s friend. Can you meet me in the lobby?’

  Shepherd gathered the others and they took the lift down to the lobby where a small, round-faced and beaming Singaporean was waiting for them. ‘Hello Sirs,’ he said. ‘My name is Chee, shall we go for dinner?’

  He led them out of the hotel and they piled into a couple of taxis. If the drivers thought they had picked up another party of gullible tourists they could fleece, they were soon disabused of the idea by Mr Chee. After he had machine-gunned instructions at them in Chinese, they began driving as quickly as they could through the thick rush-hour traffic.

  Mr Chee sat in the back of the lead taxi next to Shepherd. ‘I hope you have no particular preference for what you eat, because I am going to take you to my favourite restaurant. The food exactly resembles the people of Singapore: Chinese, Indian, and Malay, though if you prefer European food, that is also available. The surroundings are a little basic but, believe me, the food is excellent.’

  They eventually arrived at the base of one of the huge tower blocks that housed the worker bees of the Singapore economy. While Mr Chee paid off the taxi drivers, Shepherd took in their surroundings and was surprised to see that, around and between the concrete and steel pillars holding up the skyscraper, there were metal dining tables covered with checked, oilcloth covers, surrounding a number of stalls that were cooking delicious-smelling food.

  ‘Gentlemen, let me explain,’ Mr Chee said. ‘The stalls selling food here are run by the old hawkers who used to sell street food on every corner in Singapore. To clean up our image for the tourists, the government moved the hawkers to where they were needed, closer to the people who bought the food. This not only increased the hawkers’ turnover but also the quality of the food. Now, this is how the system works: we select a table, a waitress will take our drinks order and then we go to the food area and order what we want to eat. When it is ready, the waitress will bring it to us, and when we are finished, we pay the bill and the waitress in turn pays the hawkers. A very simple system, don’t you agree? You may order for yourselves or … ”

  ‘Why don’t you order for us, Mr Chee?’ Shepherd said. ‘You know what’s good and there’s nothing we don’t eat.’

  He did so and then joined them at their table. ‘While we are waiting for our food to arrive, gentlemen,’ Mr Chee said, ‘to business. The person you are interested in arrived at Changi approximately thirty hours ago on a Singapore Airlines flight from Zürich. He passed through immigration using a Republic of China passport issued in Hong Kong. He was waved through customs and left the airport by taxi. He travelled to a branch of the Commerz and Privat Bank in downtown Singapore. When he emerged from the bank, he changed taxis and travelled over the causeway to Johore Bahru in Malaysia. Three hours later he returned to Singapore using the same passport, and went straight to Changi. Using a bank card issued by the same Swiss bank, he bought a ticket on a flight to Hong Kong and departed a few hours later. When his luggage was searched on departure he had only a few hundred dollars in his possession, and yes, in case you were wondering, all luggage, including hold baggage, is searched at checkin.’

  He put the tips of his fingers together and leaned forward, lowering his voice. ‘Now for our analysis. When the gentleman arrived in Singapore he came as just another tourist or businessman. It wasn’t until you alerted us to his real status that we reviewed all the information we were able to turn up on him. We now believe that he came here to withdraw a very substantial sum in Singapore dollars from his personal account, then took it across to Malaysia to pay off a person or persons unknown for as yet unknown reasons. I’m sorry that this tells you so little, but I can reassure you that he did nothing suspicious during his time in Singapore. We are a very highly regulated society, we can draw on numerous sources of intelligence, including CCTV cameras and other means of surveillance, and there is nothing to indicate any activity other than what I’ve already described.’

  Shepherd and the others asked a few questions but there was clearly nothing more to be discovered about their target and they turned their attention to the plates of food that the waitress kept putting in front of them. After they’d eaten, Shepherd insisted on paying the bill. This caused Mr Chee to explode in amusement. ‘Okay, dear
chap,’ he said. ‘Go ahead, I will not be offended, even though I am your host.’ Shepherd signalled to the waitress and was presented with a bill written on a sheet torn from a school exercise book, demanding the princely sum of sixteen Singapore dollars, including tip - less than ten pounds sterling.

  CHAPTER 23

  The news that their target had already flown to Hong Kong caused disquiet in the team. They had no leads on their quarry, and he would find it easy to disappear into the teeming streets of one of the most densely populated cities in the world. They shared the feeling that they might have hit a dead end, but before cutting and running back to the UK, they investigated all their options. Over an open line to Jock on the satphone they discussed whether the Singapore Special Branch could be wrong about the target having headed for Hong Kong.

  ‘The intelligence services in Singapore are as good as any in the region,’ Jock said, ‘so it is most unlikely that they would make a mistake.’

  ‘But why Hong Kong?’ Shepherd said. ‘If he is connected to Chinese dissidents, as we suspect, he couldn’t have chosen a more dangerous destination.’

  ‘If his documents stood up to scrutiny in Singapore, they’d pass anywhere,’ Jock said, ‘and as to why he’d head for Hong Kong, I suspect he’d go there for money. For him to achieve anything he needs hard cash. He can’t do anything with a bank card or bankers drafts, he must have the folding stuff. He has to pay for his manpower, and all the day to day mundane things like food, lodging and travel for the team he’s assembling to carry out his next attack - and there will be another one, that’s for sure. He will also have to buy his logistic support, weaponry, explosives etc., and everything costs money. The problem he has is that it is difficult to physically take cash in large sums through airports and sea ports - he’d never have been allowed to fly out of Changi with an unexplained pile of cash, for example, so he has to find another way. We know that he has money in the Swiss bank from the Greek and French jobs, and the bank has branches in Hong Kong, Shanghai and Macau, as well as Singapore.’