Tall Order: The 15th Spider Shepherd Thriller

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Any more of your people?’

  Sutherland shook his head. ‘Garcia called me at home and filled me in. I told him to get straight out there and not to mention it to anyone else.’

  ‘Local police?’

  ‘Thankfully, no,’ said Sutherland. ‘The terrorists were discovered by a security guard and he’s the one who called Garcia. Garcia had interviewed him for a position a few weeks ago. The security guard is former Special Forces, Delta as it happens.’

  ‘Do we at least have him under wraps?’ asked the President.

  ‘He’s back at work. We’ve had him under surveillance and he doesn’t seem to be a security risk.’

  ‘What about financing? Who or what funded this killing spree?’

  ‘I have access to various Grey Fox accounts,’ said Yokely. ‘Some of those accounts are buried so deep that you’d need a submarine to find them. It has to be that way because most of their operations require total deniability.’

  ‘Deniability is all well and good, but this is still going to get out,’ said the President. ‘The Press are already on to the fact that Chris’s family was on that plane. And eventually someone somewhere will notice the murders. It might take a month or a year but eventually it will get out and someone is going to put two and two together. And when that happens, the Press will be looking for someone to pin it on.’

  ‘We can tell the truth,’ said Follis. ‘We can tell them that Christopher was grief-stricken and reacted instinctively—’

  ‘—by sending a government-trained, government-financed killer on a murdering spree?’ the President finished for him. ‘That leads them straight to my office. Straight to my desk. Christopher told you and Yokely that he was acting with my authority and he’s not in a position to retract that now, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s not,’ admitted Follis. ‘Mr President, isn’t the best strategy simply to come clean, to tell it like it is? That the Defense Secretary was acting on his own initiative, motivated by grief brought on by the loss of his wife and son.’

  ‘You think the media will let us get away with that?’ the President replied. ‘They’ll say that we’re using Chris as a fall guy, shovelling the blame on a man who can’t defend himself.’

  ‘But that’s not the truth,’ said Follis.

  ‘Don’t be so naive. The media doesn’t care about the truth, they want a story, and it’s a better story to blame the President. And even if they can’t prove it, the mud will stick. And Grey Fox is my responsibility. There’s no way I can prove that I didn’t authorise Yokely’s actions. It’s impossible to prove a negative.’

  ‘Richard can confirm that he was following instructions from the Defense Secretary.’

  ‘He can never go public, on anything, ever. Grey Fox is a can of worms that has to stay well out of the public eye.’ The President stopped pacing and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Damn that security guard. If he’d just phoned the police then none of this would have happened.’

  The President sat down again. He waved at a drinks cabinet. ‘Piers, pour me a brandy.’

  Sutherland went over to the cabinet and picked up a bottle.

  ‘Rocks?’

  ‘Neat. Pour one for yourself.’ He threw a tight smile at Yokely. ‘Help yourself to a drink if you want one. It looks like you could do with one.’ Follis wasn’t offered a drink – he was a well-known teetotaller.

  ‘I’m fine, Mr President. Can I make a suggestion?’

  ‘If it can get me out of the shit-filled hole I’m in, fire away.’

  Sutherland put a tumbler of brandy in front of the President and he took a sip without thanking him.

  ‘The four jihadists in Queens are gone and will never be found,’ said Yokely.

  ‘You sound certain of that.’

  ‘Dissolved in acid, so yes, I’m certain. Al-Qaeda have already claimed the credit for the attack. I’m assuming they haven’t released their names until they find out what’s happened to them. Now, there were two jihadists that escaped. I am fairly sure one was the guy who put it all together and the second was the driver. We don’t know who he is. They were in a truck and one guy got out. He saw the security guard jump his colleagues, but he didn’t hang around to see the outcome. So far as he knows his colleagues could have overpowered the security guard and gone to ground. We took one of the jihadists from a motel in Long Island. There was some damage to the door but we cleaned up after ourselves. So my suggestion is this. We carry out a drone attack on an al-Qaeda camp and obliterate it, then we announce that we are sure that the jihadists who carried out the attack were there and that they were killed. We show video of the Predator attack, the missile striking, the aftermath. But the names we release won’t be the names of the men in Queens. Al-Qaeda are hardly likely to call us on the lie, are they? What are they going to do? Name the four men they sent to bring down the jet and say that they are missing in action? No, they’ll probably just claim the names we give as martyrs.’

  ‘And Chris’s suicide?’

  ‘As Piers said, he killed himself, distraught with grief. There’s no reason a note couldn’t be found, even at this late stage. An email perhaps, to a close friend. Perhaps it went into a junk file and has only just now been found.’

  ‘And the rest of the deaths? The twenty people you killed?’

  ‘We went to a lot of trouble to make them look like accidents,’ said Yokely. ‘There was a straightforward shooting in Dubai but that man had enemies. We disposed of the four in Sarajevo and they were an arms dealer and his bodyguards, so no one would be too surprised if they disappeared.’

  ‘What about this jihadist who got away?’

  ‘We can continue to hunt for him. He’s hardly likely to go public on what happened, is he?’

  The President nodded slowly. ‘So we get justice for the dead. The public is happy. The wounds heal. But it depends on no one connecting the deaths to the jihadists. That’s the key.’

  ‘I can probably come up with some names that will fit the bill.’

  ‘They’d have to be dead.’

  Yokely smiled. ‘They will be.’

  The President nodded. ‘That might just work.’ He flashed Yokely a tight smile. ‘Remind me to never get on your bad side,’ he said.

  ‘I just follow my orders, sir,’ said Yokely.

  The President sipped his brandy. ‘There’s one loose end we need to tidy up.’

  Yokely frowned, not understanding. He was fairly sure that he had covered all the bases that needed covering.

  ‘The security guard,’ said the President. ‘What was his name?’

  ‘Dean Martin,’ said Yokely.

  The President laughed. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘That’s his name. He’s a good guy, sir. As Piers said, Delta Force.’

  ‘But can we rely on him?’ The President looked at Sutherland. ‘Why wasn’t he hired?’

  Sutherland looked uncomfortable. ‘He wasn’t suitable.’

  ‘Because?’

  ‘His psychological profile was … flawed.’

  ‘Flawed? Stop beating around the bush, Piers. You’re not being interviewed on CNN here.’

  ‘He has PTSD, that’s why he left Special Forces. Nightmares, flashbacks, anger-management issues. He just wasn’t suitable for a role in Homeland Security.’

  ‘Grey Fox could probably use him,’ said Yokely quietly. He had a nasty feeling that he knew where the conversation was headed.

  ‘Please don’t tell me that Grey Fox hires people with mental health issues, because that’s not what I want to hear right now,’ said the President.

  ‘He helped us, at the start,’ said Yokely. ‘If it hadn’t been for him, we’d never have caught the jihadists in the first place. And he helped us bring in a fourth guy.’

  ‘No one is saying he wasn’t helpful,’ said Sutherland. ‘It’s just that we don’t know what’s going to happen down the line. If he talks out of turn … he could bring down the presidency. No one is going to believe t
hat the President didn’t authorise the operation. We have to make sure that this stays buried, and that means we have to bury Martin.’

  ‘Collateral damage?’ said Yokely, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

  ‘A casualty of war,’ said the President. ‘Look, I can see you’ve got a personal connection to the guy, so you don’t have to do it yourself. We can use someone else in Grey Fox.’

  Yokely put up his hand. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s my mess. I’ll clear it up.’

  The President smiled. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘Always the pro.’ He finished his drink and looked at his watch. ‘And I’ve got time to finish my round, so the day’s not a complete loss.’

  As the President walked out with Sutherland following, Yokely’s cell rang. It was Sam Hepburn.

  ‘That draft file hasn’t been accessed,’ said Hepburn. ‘Just thought you might want to know.’

  ‘Thanks, Sam. You can drop the investigation now. I’ve been told to stand down. I appreciate all your help but we’re done.’

  ‘You okay? You sound a bit tense?’

  Yokely chuckled drily. ‘I’ve had better days, Sam. But I’ve had worse.’

  Chapter 65

  Present Day, London

  I t was just after three o’clock in the morning when Shepherd spotted Lex Harper at the wheel of the three-year-old Toyota. It was the same vehicle that Shepherd had tracked across the country. It was a good choice of car, nondescript and with no distinguishing features, unlikely to attract the attention of the police or be remembered by eyewitnesses. There was another man in the front passenger seat. He was bigger than Harper with black hair and a broad chin. Shepherd didn’t recognise him.

  The Toyota prowled quietly past the house where Millen lived in a small ground-floor flat. Shepherd sat back and waited. He was in his BMW X5 with the engine and lights off, tucked away in a side street with a clear view of the house.

  It was another five minutes before the Toyota reappeared, this time from the other direction. Shepherd figured Harper was checking the area for escape routes and potential problems. The Toyota parked about fifty yards from the house, on the opposite side of the road.

  Shepherd got out of his SUV, closed the door as quietly as he could and walked towards the Toyota, moving softly and approaching the car from the offside rear. He reached the rear door without being seen and he grabbed for the handle and pulled it open. The two men whirled around in surprise but before they could react he had slipped on to the back seat and closed the door behind him.

  ‘What the fuck?’ exploded the man in the passenger seat. He pulled a gun from his holster and pointed it at Shepherd. ‘Who the fuck are you?’

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Harper. ‘He’s a friend.’

  The man kept the gun pointed at Shepherd’s face. ‘I asked you a question.’

  Shepherd stared back at him. The gun was a regular Glock, a staple of law enforcement around the world. Its double-trigger safety system meant that it didn’t need a safety switch and was almost impossible to fire by accident. But the five-and-a-half-pound trigger pull and less than half an inch of trigger travel meant that firing it in anger was relatively easy. And the man staring back at him certainly looked angry.

  Harper put his hand on the gun. ‘Mick, it’s okay. I know him.’

  ‘What the fuck’s he doing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Harper. ‘Why don’t we ask him?’

  ‘This is fucked up,’ said O’Hara, scowling.

  ‘I hear you.’

  ‘And you’ve told him my name.’

  ‘Fuck yeah, an Irishman called Mick, you’re well fucked now. Anyway, Spider here is with MI5 so if he wanted to track you down he has the resources.’

  ‘A spook?’

  ‘Yeah, but one of the good ones. Look, Mick, if we had a problem we’d be surrounded by armed cops and lying spread-eagled on the ground, so as we’re not let’s hear what he has to say.’

  O’Hara reluctantly put his gun away.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Shepherd. He turned to look at Harper. ‘Who are you working for, Lex?’

  ‘You know I can’t tell you that.’

  ‘The Pool? Or is this off your own bat?’

  ‘It’s a job,’ said Harper.

  ‘Government-sanctioned?’

  Harper grinned. ‘I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  ‘This isn’t fucking funny, Lex. Do you have any idea what you’re involved in?’

  Harper’s face hardened. ‘Fuck you, Spider. Of course I do. I’m dealing with the vermin behind the stadium bombing. And you shouldn’t be shedding any tears for these scumbags.’

  Shepherd nodded at the house. ‘Except the guy in here had nothing to do with the stadium. He’s a jihadist and he’s planning something, that’s for sure, but he wasn’t involved in the stadium bombing. And the one thing I can assure you is that Usman Yussuf isn’t in there.’

  ‘How the fuck do you know about Yussuf?’ Harper frowned. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

  ‘That’s what I’m asking you. I can tell you this much – whatever you’re doing isn’t officially sanctioned and is going to blow up in your face. Now, is this a Pool operation?’

  Harper shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Charlotte Button?’

  Harper sighed. ‘I’m sure you’d worked that out for yourself already. First rule of interrogation, never ask a question you don’t already know the answer to.’

  ‘This isn’t an interrogation,’ said Shepherd. ‘This is just two old friends having a chat. When did Charlie give you this job?’

  ‘A few hours ago.’

  Shepherd cursed under his breath. He gave the fake intel to Ellis and she must have been on to Button immediately. But why? Why would the acting head of MI5 be taking matters into her own hands? And why would she act through Charlotte Button and not official channels?

  ‘So what’s the problem?’ asked Harper.

  ‘The problem is that the name you were given isn’t a valid target. I came up with the name and gave it to someone I’ve started to suspect might not be on the level. The fact that Button gave you the name and that you and Mick are here tooled up proves that my suspicions are correct, which means that I have to put a stop to it.’

  ‘You’re saying you’re gonna try and stop me carrying out the hit?’ asked Harper. ‘Because from where I’m sitting, you don’t have a gun and Mick and I have two between us.’

  ‘You’re not going to shoot me, Lex. There’d be no money in it.’

  ‘No, but Mick might.’

  ‘You can fucking count on it,’ growled the Irishman.

  ‘How about this?’ asked Shepherd. ‘I’ll send a text. Just one text. And I’m pretty sure the job will be cancelled.’

  Harper stared at him for several seconds and then nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said.

  Shepherd reached inside his jacket and the Irishman immediately pointed his gun at Shepherd’s face. Shepherd slowly took out his iPhone, showed it to both men and then tapped out a message to Patsy Ellis: Intel on Andrew Millen and Yussef is incorrect. Mistaken identity. Am on the case. He sent the message and smiled at Harper. ‘Okay, let’s see what happens next.’

  ‘How long do we give it?’ asked Harper. ‘We don’t want to be here when dawn breaks.’

  ‘It won’t be long,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘What the fuck is going on?’ asked the Irishman. He gestured at the house. ‘Are we offing this raghead or not?’

  ‘We’ll give Spider a few minutes to work his magic,’ said Harper. ‘We’ve nothing to lose.’

  ‘Unless the cops go by and wonder why there are three white men sitting outside a raghead’s house.’

  ‘Cops hardly ever patrol these days,’ said Harper. ‘They’re usually in the office staring at screens or sitting on the motorway catching speeding cars. We’re cool.’ He lit a cigarette and offered one to the Irishman.

  Shepherd wound down the window as the two
men puffed away. They sat in silence. Harper’s phone rang less than five minutes after Shepherd had sent the text message to Ellis. Harper answered. ‘Yeah? Outside. Just about to go in.’ He listened for several seconds before speaking again. ‘Well, that’s all well and good but we’re locked and loaded. You’re going to have to pay the full whack.’ He listened again and then shrugged. ‘Okay, fine. And the expenses as well. We’re right up to the wire on this.’

  He ended the call, put the phone away and twisted around in his seat. ‘So what just happened?’

  ‘The job’s off?’ asked Shepherd, though he already knew the answer to his question.

  ‘The lovely Charlotte says we are to walk away. No explanation, but she’ll pay the fee and cover the costs.’ He looked over at the Irishman. ‘It’s been called off, Mick, but we get paid so all’s well.’ The Irishman shrugged and put his gun away. Harper looked back at Shepherd. ‘This is not good.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ agreed Shepherd.

  ‘The shit is going to hit the fan, isn’t it?’

  ‘At some point, yes.’

  ‘Fuck.’ Harper slapped the steering wheel and swore again.

  ‘So what’s happening?’ asked the Irishman, clearly confused.

  ‘What’s happening is that we’ve been used to do someone’s dirty work, and that someone has been caught by the short and curlies,’ said Harper. ‘You, my friend, need to get back to Ireland as quickly as possible.’ Harper looked over his shoulder. ‘How fucked am I, Spider?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘It won’t come from me, Lex. I was never here. I just wanted to check if my suspicions were right. I’m not a hundred per cent sure what’s happening, but at some point it’ll all come out. My end of it anyway. But it looks to me as if Charlotte Button is being used as a cut-out, so whether your name is in the frame will be down to her.’

  ‘I trust Charlotte,’ said Harper emphatically.

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ said Shepherd. ‘And she couldn’t do what she does without being totally reliable. You just need to be careful when the authorities get on the case, and by authorities we’re talking the Security Services and the cops. I found you, Lex. And trust me, it wasn’t difficult.’