False Friends ss-9

by Stephen Leather

  Shepherd stepped forward with his left leg as he swung the gun towards the man by the kitchen. He was aware of the woman’s arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance but she had no weapon so she wasn’t a threat.

  The man with the knife was overweight, his hair greasy and unkempt. He had taken off his shirt and was wearing a string vest pulled out over baggy jeans. Clumps of hair sprouted from his armpits and chest hair was poking through the holes in the vest. The man was moving towards Shepherd, the knife raised high, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Again Shepherd said nothing. There was no need. He wasn’t a police officer; no one from Professional Standards was going to be investigating the shooting; there’d be no suspension, no court case, no comebacks. All the man had to do was drop the knife and raise his hands, but he didn’t. He started to run towards Shepherd, growling like a cornered dog. Shepherd shot him in the face. Blood, brain and skull fragments sprayed over the wall and the man fell forward, slamming on to the floor with such force that Shepherd felt the vibration through the soles of his feet.

  Shepherd smoothly turned the gun towards the woman, his finger tightening on the Glock’s trigger. She had regained her balance and was already putting her hands behind her neck. Shepherd stared at her and she met his gaze with no trace of fear in her eyes. She knelt down on the floor, her eyes fixed on his. Shepherd kept the gun pointing at her face as she went down, knowing that the slightest increase in pressure on the trigger would send a bullet into her skull. There was a hint of a smile on her face as if she expected him to shoot her. Shepherd was breathing slowly and evenly, totally relaxed.

  The woman looked up at him, the movement tightening her neck.

  ‘Amar, get in here,’ said Shepherd.

  Singh stepped into the room and closed the door.

  Shepherd gestured at the woman with his gun. ‘Very slowly now, lie face down and keep your hands behind your neck.’

  The woman did as she was told.

  ‘Untie Harvey,’ Shepherd said to Singh. ‘But give me that roll of duct tape first.’

  Singh picked the roll of tape off the table and handed it to Shepherd. Shepherd holstered the Glock, then straddled the woman’s legs and used the tape to bind her wrists. He ripped off another length of tape and put it across her mouth.

  Singh went over to untie Malik as Shepherd put his ear against the door. He couldn’t hear anything in the corridor.

  ‘Try this,’ said Singh, and he tossed over the ceramic microphone. Shepherd slotted in the earphones and pressed the microphone against the door. Still nothing.

  ‘What happens now?’ asked Singh, who was on his knees behind Malik, working at the wires around his wrists. ‘Do the cops come?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Shepherd. ‘It sounded loud in here but in another apartment it’ll just be two loud bangs and they won’t know where they came from. If they do dial three nines the cops will ask a lot of questions that the caller won’t be able to answer. It might not even get reported.’

  Singh nodded at the body in the bedroom doorway, the man who had been holding the gun. ‘But you have to call it in?’

  ‘To Charlie, yes. Not to the cops. If we’re lucky it can be dealt with in-house.’

  He went over to the window and pushed open the blinds so that he could squint down into the street below. The apartment looked out on to the side road where they’d parked their cars but if he pressed his head against the wall he could just make out the main road. Traffic was flowing freely. If the police did arrive then there would be an armed response vehicle and their first action would be to set up a perimeter around the building.

  Shepherd went over and squatted down in front of Malik as Singh finished untying him. ‘Harvey, mate, can you stand up?’

  Malik stared back at him but didn’t react.

  ‘Is he okay?’ asked Singh.

  ‘He’s in shock,’ said Shepherd. ‘Get a blanket round him and make him some tea. With lots of sugar.’ He put his head closer to Malik’s. ‘It’s going to be okay, Harvey. You’re safe now.’ Malik continued to stare at him with blank eyes.

  Singh returned from the bedroom with a quilt and he wrapped it round Malik before heading to the kitchen.

  Shepherd took out his phone and leaned over the woman. He prodded the back of her neck with the barrel of his Glock and she tensed. ‘You have no idea how hard I’m fighting the urge to put a bullet in your head,’ he whispered. He tapped the gun against her head and then straightened up and called Charlotte Button. She answered on the third ring. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he said.

  The four men in white paper suits with blue surgical caps and blue shoe protectors looked like a police Scene of Crime unit but they were all employed by MI5. They had rolled the two corpses into black body bags and were preparing to take them downstairs to their waiting van.

  ‘What’s going to happen to them?’ Shepherd asked Button.

  ‘We’ll have a medic remove the bullets and mess around with the wounds, then we’ll deliver them to a medical school that we use.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Best way of getting rid of a body is to let a group of students dissect it,’ said Button.

  A doctor had already checked out Malik and insisted that he be taken down on a stretcher. Malik’s foot was badly disfigured and two of his fingers had been broken. It looked as if his kneecap had been shattered too. When the paramedics carried him out he was still in shock but he managed a weak smile when Shepherd patted him on the shoulder.

  Shepherd nodded at the woman, who was lying face down on the carpet with her wrists bound. ‘And what about her?’

  Button grimaced. ‘She’s more of a problem. We can’t let her near a lawyer, or anyone else who might spread the word.’

  The four men took the bodies out of the flat and along to the lift.

  ‘What if anyone sees them?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘We’ve got a HAZMAT van downstairs and an ambulance, and if anyone asks it’s a virulent TB case. But no one will ask. We’ve got four of our people down there in police uniforms. Everything’s under control.’

  The doctor reappeared in the doorway. He was a fifty-something grey-haired man in a rumpled blue suit. He was carrying a medical bag. The paramedics followed him. One was holding a collapsible stretcher.

  ‘How is he?’ asked Button.

  ‘His vitals are fine, but he’s going to be in shock for a while. I’ve given him antibiotics and something for the pain but what he really needs is rest. A lot of rest.’

  Button pointed at the woman on the floor. ‘Can you put her out for the next hour?’

  ‘No problem,’ said the doctor. He knelt down beside the bound woman and opened his bag. He rummaged around and took out a hypodermic, then injected the contents into her left buttock.

  Shepherd looked at his watch. It was almost midday. ‘What do we do, Charlie?’

  ‘Chaudhry can go on his own. Once we know what the target is, we move in.’

  ‘What if they want to know where Harvey is?’

  ‘He’s out with a girl and he’s uncontactable. I don’t see that as a problem, do you?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess they’ll realise it was short notice. But what about Raj? What do we tell him?’

  ‘Nothing,’ said Button. ‘He mustn’t know what’s happened to Harvey.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because he’ll want to be with his friend. Or it’ll put the wind up him. Either way it’s best that he doesn’t know.’

  ‘Charlie, we owe him the truth.’

  Button’s eyes flashed. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We owe him our protection. This is the end phase and he has to go into it with a clear head.’

  ‘So we lie to him?’

  ‘If that’s what it takes, yes.’ She put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. ‘It’s for his own safety. You can see that, can’t you?’

  ‘Sure, of course. But I don’t like the idea of lying to him
, not after everything he’s done for us.’

  ‘In a few hours this will all be over, Spider. And when it is you can tell him everything. But, until then, Harvey stays under wraps and Raj isn’t to know.’

  ‘She’s under,’ said the doctor, picking up his case. ‘Make sure her airway stays clear.’

  ‘Take her down, then,’ Button said to the paramedics.

  ‘What’s going to happen to her?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘We’ll take her to Thames House for questioning,’ said Button. ‘A lot depends on who she is and who else wants her.’

  ‘The Americans?’

  ‘We’ll see,’ said Button. ‘The important thing right now is that she’s isolated.’

  The two paramedics rolled her on to the stretcher, lifted her up and carried her out.

  ‘I’ll see you back at the ranch,’ the doctor said to Button and she smiled.

  ‘Thanks again, Will. You’re a godsend.’

  ‘So where do you want me?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Thames House, same as last time,’ said Button. ‘But first you’re going to have to check on Raj.’

  ‘And what do I tell him about Harvey?’

  ‘Tell him that as soon as we know where Harvey is, he’ll know.’

  Shepherd sighed. ‘I really hate having to lie to him.’

  ‘It comes with the job, Spider.’

  ‘Have you ever lied to me, Charlie?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. But then I’ve never had to.’

  Abney Park Cemetery was more than just a piece of ground where corpses were buried, though there were some very famous people rotting in the ground, including William and Catherine Booth, the founders of the Salvation Army. It was a local nature reserve and park as well, a place where lovers walked arm in arm and spinsters exercised their dogs. It was also a pretty good place for a clandestine meeting with its twisted pathways, tangled vegetation and ivy-covered monuments and gravestones. Shepherd had made a point of never meeting Chaudhry and Malik on their home turf but today was different. There were only hours to go and Chaudhry needed hand-holding like he’d never needed it before.

  The park was a short walk from the flat and Chaudhry reached it first. He waited just inside the gate, his duffel coat buttoned up to the neck and the hood up. Shepherd arrived in his Volvo and managed to find a parking space close to the entrance. As he walked in he saw Chaudhry but ignored him and walked towards the centre of the graveyard down a tree-lined path. Left and right were gravestones so old that time had obliterated most of the carved lettering, though various shapes were still discernible: urns draped in flowers, crosses, angels, wreaths. As the path turned to the right and they were no longer visible from the entrance, Shepherd slowed and Chaudhry fell into step next to him.

  ‘I thought you said we should never meet in Stokie,’ said Chaudhry.

  ‘Yeah, well, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that,’ said Shepherd. ‘As a rule the handler should stay well away from the agent’s turf, but the rule book’s been torn up today.’

  ‘Harvey’s phone is still off. What do I do?’

  ‘You go ahead without him.’

  ‘Did you get the text message from his phone?’

  It was a good question, Shepherd knew. A good question and an obvious one and if he answered truthfully it would be followed by a host of other good and obvious questions. Did Shepherd go to the address? Did he go inside? Was Harvey there? Was the girl? At some point he was going to have to start lying and the big question was: when?

  ‘Yeah, it was a flat in Finsbury Park.’

  ‘And?’

  Not a question, just an invitation to supply more information. Shepherd sighed and then cursed under his breath.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Chaudhry.

  They walked past a stone angel, its hands clasped in prayer. It wasn’t lying that Shepherd found difficult. He was a good liar, and he knew exactly what he had to do. He had to look Chaudhry in the eye and tell him that he had been round to the flat and it had been empty. There had been no sign of Malik and no sign of the girl. The police were looking for them now and as soon as Shepherd knew where Malik was, Chaudhry would know too. It was a simple lie, easy to tell and easy to back up.

  ‘I went to the flat,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was there.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The girl he’d gone to see was with two other guys and they were torturing him.’

  Chaudhry stopped and turned to face Shepherd. He put his hands on Shepherd’s shoulders and moved his face so that it was just inches from Shepherd’s. ‘Are you serious?’ he hissed.

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Yes. He’s in hospital. He’s in a bad way but he’ll be okay.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me right away? Which hospital?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But he’s going to be fine.’

  Chaudhry let go of Shepherd’s shoulders, walked away and then stopped. He whirled round and pointed a finger at Shepherd’s face. ‘You’re playing me. Handling me — that’s what you called it.’

  ‘No, Raj. If I was handling you I’d have lied and said that everything was okay. But I told you I would never lie to you and I’m sticking to that.’

  Chaudhry put his hands up to his head and covered his ears as if he didn’t want to listen to anything that Shepherd had to say. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘This can’t be happening.’ He walked away and again turned back after a couple of steps. ‘Who?’ he said. ‘Who tortured him?’

  ‘We haven’t identified them yet. The woman is presumably the one who sent him the text. They’re all Asians.’

  ‘Do you think Khalid is behind this?’

  ‘Probably not. If he was why would he take just Harvey? And why would he call you this morning and tell you both to get ready?’

  ‘So who, then?’

  Shepherd held up his hands. ‘I don’t know, Raj. If I did I’d tell you.’

  Chaudhry frowned and began pacing up and down. ‘Is it about The Sheik? Is it al-Qaeda? If it was al-Qaeda why did they take Harvey and not me?’ He stopped pacing. There was a wild look in his eyes and his hands were shaking. Shepherd recognised the symptoms. Shock. Stress. Fear. ‘Maybe they are coming for me. Maybe when they come to pick me up they’ll torture me.’ He walked back to Shepherd and stared at him. ‘You’ve got to pull me out now. And my family. We need protection. What do you call it? Witness protection?’

  ‘No one’s saying you need protection, Raj.’

  ‘The fact that Harvey’s in hospital suggests that I do,’ said Chaudhry. ‘If Harvey had been protected he wouldn’t have been tortured would he?’

  ‘We’ve got the people who were hurting him.’

  ‘Hurting him? They were going to kill him. And then they would have gone after me.’

  ‘Raj, they’re out of the picture.’ Shepherd wasn’t going to lie to Chaudhry but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell him that he’d personally shot and killed the two men.

  ‘But what if there are more of them? What if they weren’t alone?’ Chaudhry began pacing again. Shepherd watched and waited for him to calm down. Adrenaline would be coursing through his system and it would take time for it to work its way out.

  ‘You’ve got to get me and Harvey out of this,’ said Chaudhry.

  ‘Harvey’s out already,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s been taken care of. The woman is being questioned so we’ll find out who she is and who sent her.’

  ‘And what about me?’

  ‘That’s what I want to talk about, Raj. That’s why I’m here.’

  Chaudhry stood and glared at him. ‘Talk? I think we’re way past talking.’ The shaking of his hands had intensified and he looked down at them as if seeing them for the first time. ‘For fuck’s sake, look at me.’

  ‘It’s stress. It’ll pass.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me!’ hissed Chaudhry. ‘I’m a med student. I’ll be a doctor soon. I know why I’m shaking. I’m shaking because my best
friend is in hospital and it could have been me. I’m shaking because unless I do something I could end up dead.’

  ‘You’re not going to end up dead, Raj.’ Shepherd took a step towards Chaudhry but Chaudhry put up his hands to ward him off.

  ‘You can’t say that,’ said Chaudhry. ‘You don’t know.’ He put his hands over his face and swore vehemently.

  Shepherd said nothing. He had to wait for the anger to subside.

  Chaudhry turned his back on Shepherd and started walking down the path. Shepherd walked after him. For two or three minutes there was only the sound of their shoes squelching on wet leaves.

  ‘I need to see him,’ said Chaudhry eventually.

  ‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Today.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  Chaudhry turned to look at him. ‘That’s your technique, is it? Agree with everything I say? That’s your way of handling me?’

  ‘It’s not about handling you. I think you should see Harvey. I think he’d want to see you.’

  Chaudhry started walking again, his arms folded, his head down. Every now and again he would shake his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.

  They reached the old church in the centre of the graveyard. Abney Park Chapel had been an impressive building in its time, built when churches were meant to stand for centuries. The walls were made of blocks of grey granite and the roof tiles were slate. The chapel had been closed for years and most of the lead flashings had been stolen. Vandals had also damaged many of the slates, with the result that water had seeped inside and caused so much damage that the chapel would almost certainly never again be opened for worship, especially as the percentage of Christians in the area was declining year by year.

  Chaudhry stopped and looked up at the spire. ‘How many people have died because of religion?’ he asked quietly.