False Friends ss-9

by Stephen Leather

  He took a second suppressor from the holdall and attached it to Thompson’s weapon.

  ‘And they don’t affect the accuracy?’ asked Kettering.

  ‘Not so you’d notice,’ said Shepherd. He looked at Sharpe. ‘Do you want to set up the target, yeah?’

  ‘Okay, just make sure no one gets trigger happy while I’m doing it. How far?’

  ‘A hundred metres should do it,’ said Shepherd.

  Sean was looking at the suppressors and frowning. ‘Where did you get them from?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s for me to know, mate,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘That’s pretty specialised kit.’

  ‘And we’re pretty specialised suppliers,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You get them made here? Or overseas?’

  ‘Sean, mate, that’s need-to-know and you don’t need to know.’

  Sharpe paced out a hundred steps and then stood the target up. He looked around, picked up a few large rocks and used them to weigh down the bottom of the target. He waved at Shepherd. ‘Okay!’

  ‘Why don’t you put an apple on your head and we’ll do that William Tell thing?’ shouted Shepherd.

  ‘Yeah, and why don’t I bend over and let you kiss my hairy Scottish arse?’ shouted Sharpe as he walked back. ‘And tell then to keep those things pointing at the ground until I’m out of the way.’

  ‘Jeez, I shoot him in the leg once and trust just goes out of the window,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Thompson.

  ‘Of course he isn’t,’ said Kettering.

  ‘He has a point, though,’ said Shepherd. ‘Keep the safeties on, fingers out of the trigger guards and barrels down at the ground. We did have a prick down in London who let rip with a Mac-10 by mistake a few months back. Geordie guy. Could hardly understand a word he said but he looked like he knew about guns so we gave him a bit of leeway. Next thing we know he pulls the trigger on full automatic and twenty rounds go everywhere.’ He nodded at Sharpe. ‘Almost blew his nuts off.’

  ‘What about the Mac-10?’ asked Kettering as he looked at the AK-47.

  ‘Pray and spray,’ said Shepherd. ‘Very short barrel so the accuracy is shit. Gang bangers like them because they see them in the movies and because they’re easy to hide. They use them a lot in drive-bys — they shove them through an open window and pull the trigger until the magazine’s empty. But nine times out of ten you won’t hit the target.’ He pointed at the AK-47. ‘That’s a lot more accurate because you can put it to your shoulder and use the sights. If you need something a bit more compact you can get a folding stock. Of course, if you want Mac-10s I can get you Mac-10s. The customer’s always right.’ He looked at Sean. ‘What do you think?’

  Sean nodded in agreement. ‘Yeah, wouldn’t touch a Mac-10 with a barge pole. The Yugo’s way better.’

  Kettering laughed. ‘That’s good to hear,’ he said. He turned to face the target. ‘So, safety off, right?’

  ‘You got it,’ said Shepherd.

  Kettering flicked the safety off, put the stock against his shoulder and looked through the sights.

  ‘It’s set for single fire,’ said Shepherd. ‘Don’t want you to blow the target apart the first go.’

  Kettering aimed and pulled the trigger. There was a bang, muffled but loud, but the target seemed to be unscathed.

  ‘You went high,’ said Shepherd. ‘Grip tighter with your left hand.’

  Kettering did as he was told and fired again. This time a small hole appeared dead centre of the chest.

  ‘Nice,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Killed him stone dead,’ said Thompson.

  ‘Not bad,’ agreed Sean, standing with his hands on his hips.

  Kettering fired off the rest of the clip and most of them hit the target. The grouping wasn’t impressive but Shepherd knew that the size of the AK-47’s bullet meant that any shot to the chest at that range was pretty much guaranteed to be fatal.

  When he’d finished, Shepherd checked that the weapon was safe before allowing Thompson to fire at the target. Thompson was far less proficient with the weapon and his first six shots all went wide.

  ‘The bloody sights are off,’ said Thompson.

  ‘Try sighting with your other eye,’ said Shepherd. ‘Generally one eye’s better than the other. And just because you’re right-handed doesn’t mean you’ll aim better with your right eye.’

  Thompson changed eyes and his next shot hit the target right between the eyes. Thompson whooped like an excited kid. ‘Now we’re talking,’ he said, and he fired off another half-dozen shots; all but one went high.

  ‘Squeeze the trigger, don’t pull it,’ said Shepherd. ‘And you’re anticipating the recoil.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Thompson, looking through the sights.

  ‘You know it’s going to kick so you pull against it but that just makes it worse. You need to be stable with a firm grip, and squeeze slowly.’

  ‘Okay, okay, I’ve got it,’ said Thompson and he fired off the rest of the clip. He got another shot into the head of the target, one to the chest and two to the groin. Shepherd realised it would take hours on the range to get the man anywhere near proficient with the weapon.

  ‘How about letting Sean have a go?’ asked Kettering.

  ‘No problem,’ said Shepherd. He slotted in a fresh magazine and handed the weapon to Sean.

  Sean brought the weapon up smoothly, sighted on the target and in the space of three seconds put six shots into the heart. He nodded appreciatively at Shepherd. ‘Nice,’ he said. He sighted again, took a couple of seconds to steady himself and put another six shots into the head of the target.

  ‘Fucking show-off,’ said Roger. ‘Sign of a misspent youth, that is.’

  ‘Do you want a go?’ asked Sean.

  ‘I can’t shoot for shit,’ said Roger. ‘I’m a lover, not a fighter.’

  They all laughed as Sean emptied the magazine into the target.

  When he’d finished Shepherd took the weapon from him, pulled out the magazine, checked that the breech was clear and handed it to Sharpe, who put it back in the Range Rover.

  ‘See, if you were firing Mac-10s you wouldn’t get a single shot in the target from this range,’ Shepherd said to Kettering. ‘And they have a tendency to jam. It’s horses for courses. But, like I said, the customer is always right.’

  ‘These suppressor things, how much are they?’ asked Kettering.

  ‘Negotiable,’ said Shepherd. ‘There isn’t much call for them, frankly.’

  ‘What if we wanted one for each gun?’

  ‘You want forty suppressors?’ asked Sharpe.

  ‘If the price is right, yeah,’ said Kettering.

  Shepherd rubbed his chin. ‘That might take time,’ he said. ‘There’s not a huge call for them so they’re made to order. Usually a hundred.’

  ‘A hundred quid?’ said Kettering.

  ‘There’s no production line and it’s not as if they can be subcontracted out to China or India,’ said Shepherd. ‘But if you order forty we can maybe do the lot for two grand. I’ll have to check.’

  ‘Two grand is more like it,’ said Kettering. He looked at Sean. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s specialist kit, no question about that,’ he said. ‘And it does the business. Cuts the noise right down.’

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, why do you need suppressors for all of them?’ said Shepherd. He held out his hands and Kettering passed him the weapon.

  Kettering shrugged as Shepherd pulled the magazine out and made the gun safe. ‘Just thought they’d be a good idea. Easier to. .’ He shrugged again.

  ‘We just want them,’ said Thompson. ‘Not a problem, is it?’

  Shepherd grinned and put the gun into the crate. ‘Nothing’s a problem so long as you’ve got the readies.’

  ‘Can you deliver the suppressors when you deliver the guns?’

  Shepherd looked across at Sharpe. ‘What do you think?’
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br />   Sharpe wrinkled his nose. ‘We might have to kick them up the arse, but yeah, we should be able to manage that.’

  Shepherd turned back to Kettering. ‘Seems like we’ve got a deal, right?’

  ‘We’re getting there,’ said Kettering. He looked around as if he was scared of being overheard, even though they were in the middle of nowhere. ‘What about the other things? The grenades?’

  ‘Thought you’d never ask,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at Sharpe. ‘Grab the target and shove it in the car, yeah?’

  ‘What did your last slave die of?’ joked Sharpe, as he headed towards the target.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t overwork, I can tell you that,’ said Shepherd. He winked at Kettering. ‘You just can’t get the staff these days.’ He took a grenade out of the ammunition box and showed it to Kettering. Kettering reached for it but Shepherd held up a warning hand. ‘No touching, mate,’ he said. ‘It’s not a toy.’

  ‘I want to see it work,’ said Kettering.

  Shepherd laughed. ‘They don’t work,’ he said. ‘You pull the pin, you throw them and they go bang.’

  ‘Then I want to see this one go bang,’ said Kettering.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I want to know that I’m buying the real thing.’

  ‘Oh, it’s real,’ said Shepherd. ‘You pull the pin and release the lever and you’ve got a maximum of four seconds, which means you really want to be throwing it on a count of three.’

  ‘So let’s do it,’ said Kettering.

  ‘First of all, these make one hell of a bang,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’ll be heard for miles. And second of all, it leaves shrapnel all over the place. It’s not like picking up a few shell cases.’

  ‘What, you think someone might start looking around for evidence?’

  ‘There’ll be a hole about six feet wide and bits of metal for up to a hundred feet or so. I’m not saying you can’t watch it go bang; what I’m saying is that as soon as it has, we’re going to be wanting to get the hell out of Dodge.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Kettering. ‘I think we’re pretty much done.’

  ‘Plus, you’ll need to pay me two hundred quid.’

  ‘Two hundred?’

  Shepherd held up the grenade. ‘These don’t grow on trees. You break it, you pay for it. And once you pull the pin it’ll be well and truly broken.’

  ‘You can add it to the bill, can’t you?’

  ‘Sure I can. But I really don’t see the point. You can’t check them all, can you?’

  ‘The one will do,’ said Kettering. He held out his hand.

  ‘You sure you want to do it?’ said Shepherd. ‘The world looks an awful lot different when you’re holding one of these things with the pin out.’

  ‘I’m a big boy,’ said Kettering. ‘What do I do?’

  ‘The first thing you do is get the fuck away from us,’ said Sharpe, returning with the target under his arm. He threw it into the back of the Range Rover.

  ‘He’s not lying,’ said Shepherd. ‘Head away from us, well away from the cars. See over there where the ground slopes? Do it there. Pull the pin, then throw it as far as you can. Then you’ve got two choices. There isn’t much cover out here so you can either run like fuck or hit the ground.’

  ‘Which is best?’ asked Kettering.

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘Six of one,’ he said.

  ‘Are you serious?’ asked Kettering. ‘You don’t know the best way?’

  ‘Truth be told, we don’t get much call for grenades,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re lucky I had a contact who had this.’

  ‘But you can get more?’ asked Kettering.

  Shepherd exhaled through tight lips. ‘I’ll be honest, it won’t be easy. Grenades aren’t like guns. Guns you can mess around with and nothing bad is going to happen. Even ammunition is inert unless you treat it really badly. But grenades you’ve got to treat with respect. Plus, you’ve got to know that they’ve been looked after. You can’t mistreat them.’

  ‘Say I wanted a couple of dozen?’

  ‘Bloody hell, mate, two dozen grenades? What the hell would you want with that many?’

  Kettering laughed. ‘Just want to have them around for a rainy day. Sell me twenty-four for four grand.’

  Shepherd looked at Sharpe and Sharpe took the cue. ‘I guess we can do that,’ he said. ‘But transport’s the thing. We’ll have to talk to our guys.’

  ‘Looks like we’ve got a deal,’ said Shepherd. ‘I guess for four grand we can let you have this one for free.’

  ‘Is it made in Yugoslavia?’ asked Kettering.

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘Nope, but that’s where we’ll be getting them from. We know a supplier there. They’re made by a Swiss company for the British but they sell them around the world. It’s an L109A1 and the British Army have been using them since 2001. It’s filled with RDX explosive and the steel shell does the damage. When it goes off it produces thousands of fragments that are designed to go through Kevlar body armour.’

  Kettering took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ he said.

  Shepherd took Kettering’s hand and showed him how to hold the grenade so that the lever was held in place. He pointed at the ring at the top of the lever. ‘When you’re ready, pull out the pin. So long as you hold the lever in place, nothing has changed; you can stay like that for as long as you want. But as soon as you release that handle the grenade is live. A non-reversible chemical reaction starts that culminates in an explosion after three or four seconds. So here’s the thing: once the handle is off there’s nothing can stop it. There’s no changing your mind.’

  ‘Understood.’

  ‘And don’t freeze. It can be quite stressful and you might find your hand tightens up, so stay focused. Check the direction you’re going to throw it, pull the pin, and throw. That counting to three is strictly for the movies. Pull, throw, count to three while you run and drop on three.’

  ‘And it can kill anything within a hundred feet, is that what you said?’

  ‘I said the fragments will go that far, but they’re only deadly within about sixty feet. Further than that and they’re more like airgun pellets. They’ll hurt but won’t do much damage. The closer you are to the explosion, the more the damage. If it goes off while you’re holding it there won’t be much left of you, let’s put it that way.’

  ‘Got you,’ said Kettering. He took another deep breath and nodded. ‘Okay.’ He laughed nervously. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead and Shepherd hoped that his hands weren’t as sweaty because the last thing he wanted was a live grenade rolling on the ground.

  ‘And as soon as it’s gone off, we’re in the cars and away,’ said Sharpe. ‘No hanging around.’ He slammed the Range Rover’s tailgate shut.

  ‘You’ll call when you have a delivery date?’ asked Kettering.

  ‘Yeah, and we’ll be dealing with you direct from now on,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no need for Ian to be involved.’ Shepherd wanted Ray Fenby out of the loop so that there’d be less chance of Kettering and Thompson blaming him when the shit hit the fan. He pointed towards the slope. ‘Off you go, and whatever you do don’t try to see it go off. If you can see it the shrapnel can rip through your eyes. Remember that.’

  ‘Good luck,’ said Roger. ‘Rather you than me. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll wait behind the Jag.’ He headed off towards the car.

  ‘Piece of cake,’ said Kettering, and he walked away.

  Shepherd looked over at Thompson. ‘If he blows himself up we can still sell the stuff to you?’ he said.

  ‘Sure, we don’t really need him,’ said Thompson. Roger and Sean laughed out loud.

  ‘I heard that!’ shouted Kettering. He carried on walking and stopped about fifty yards away from them. ‘How’s this?’ he called.

  Shepherd gave him a thumbs up. ‘Go for it,’ he called. ‘Just remember to throw it down the slope.’

  ‘Do we need to cover our ears or something?’ asked Thompson.

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bsp; ‘Not out in the open,’ said Shepherd. ‘In a confined space, maybe.’

  ‘And we won’t get hurt?’

  ‘Would I be standing here if there was even a chance of that?’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You’ll be fine,’ agreed Sean. ‘Unless he fucks up and throws it the wrong way.’

  ‘Here we go!’ yelled Kettering. He pulled out the pin, threw the grenade in a high arc down the slope, then turned and ran up the hill. After three paces he dropped face down on to the grass and a second later there was a dull thud that Shepherd felt in his stomach and through the soles of his feet. There was a cloud of white smoke at the bottom of the slope and a brown patch about five feet wide that smouldered though there was no fire. In a fraction of a second the small metal globe had been transformed into thousands of small deadly fragments.

  Grenades were nasty weapons. Shepherd had never had to throw one in anger during his army days, and he was grateful for that. He’d shot men, and women, and on a few occasions he’d used a knife. He regretted none of the killings, but there was something basically unfair about a grenade. If you shot a man then there was a chance that he might fire first. In hand-to-hand fighting the more skilled fighter won. But there was no defence against a grenade. If you had one and the enemy didn’t, and you threw it, then he was dead and you weren’t.

  Kettering was already up, jumping up and down and punching the air enthusiastically. ‘Did you see that!’ he shouted.

  Thompson stared at the rapidly dispersing cloud of smoke. ‘Fucking awesome!’ He turned to look at Shepherd. ‘Was that fucking awesome or what?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, awesome.’

  Kettering hurried up the slope. ‘That was amazing, Garry. My heart was pounding when I pulled the pin out, it really was.’ He shook his head. ‘I want to do it again.’

  ‘We need to go,’ said Shepherd. ‘The sound carries. No one’s going to mistake a grenade for someone out shooting crows.’

  Kettering looked disappointed, like a child who’d been told his time at the funfair was over and that he had to go home.

  ‘Cheer up, mate,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once you’ve bought them you can throw as many as you want.’

  ‘I might do that,’ said Kettering. ‘You know what would be cool? Throwing one in the canal. I bet there’d be one hell of a splash.’