‘And the grenades,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let’s not forget about the grenades.’
They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Sharpe sighed and stretched out his legs. ‘I sometimes wonder if we should even bother fighting this whole Muslim thing,’ he said.
‘What?’
Sharpe grimaced. ‘Well, first of all, they’re going to win in the end, aren’t they? They’re ten per cent of the population now, give or take. But they’re breeding way faster than us.’
‘Us?’
‘You know what I mean. I’ve got two kids, which just maintains the status quo. You’ve got only the one and there’s no sign of you having any more. But your average Muslim family breeds like rabbits. Six kids. Seven. Eight. And most of the guys have more than one wife. So they’re breeding faster than us. And it won’t be long before there are more of them than us and then they can vote in their own government and everything changes.’
‘You’re crazy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Even crazier than usual.’
‘You can’t argue with the maths,’ said Sharpe. ‘And if Turkey joins the EU then it’ll happen even faster. How many Muslims are there in Turkey? A hundred million? How many do you think will head over to the UK for benefits and the NHS? I tell you, Spider, we’ll be a Muslim country by the end of the century and probably a lot sooner.’
‘Yeah, well, neither of us will be around to see that.’
‘But that’s my point,’ said Sharpe. ‘Maybe we should be trying to speed things up.’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘Now you’ve lost me.’
‘Look, here’s the thing,’ said Sharpe. ‘Would it be so bad if we became a Muslim country? Because if you look into it, it’s not that bad for us guys. In fact, on balance, my life would be better.’
‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
‘Hear me out,’ he said. ‘Under Islamic law men get to run things again. No more women bosses, no more female home secretaries, no more Charlotte Buttons breaking our balls. No more foul-mouthed chavs screaming in the street. And I’m all for covering the faces of the ugly ones when they’re out in public. The roads would be a lot safer as well, if they were prevented from driving. Women would do what women should be doing: staying at home and bringing up the kids. And we could have more than one wife too. Think how well that would work. You could have one as a cook, one as a cleaner, one for the bedroom, and one …’ He struggled to find a reason for a fourth wife. ‘Anyway, you get my drift.’
‘You’re mad,’ said Shepherd.
‘Even the booze thing isn’t a problem,’ continued Sharpe. ‘We had a group of Algerian cops over doing an undercover course at Bramshill. Drank like fishes. And the Turks are Muslims but they brew a good beer. The only downside that I can see is bacon.’
‘Bacon?’
‘The pork thing. I love bacon butties and crackling and I wouldn’t want to give that up. But the prayer thing isn’t a problem. Look at those bastards who keep taking cigarette breaks – everything stops while they go out for a smoke. Well, I’d be happy enough to take five breaks a day for a lie-down.’
‘You don’t lie down, you soft bastard. You kneel and pray.’
‘You know what I mean,’ said Sharpe. ‘I’m just saying that five prayers a day is no hardship. And giving ten per cent of your money to charity is a good thing. Especially if that meant lower taxes. And putting women back in the home means that unemployment would go right down, which is great for the economy.’
‘Please tell me this is a joke, Razor,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re starting to worry me.’
‘But the really great thing is the whole shariah law business. An eye for an eye. Now you tell me that the UK wouldn’t benefit from a policy of removing the right hands of thieves. Or castrating rapists. And I’d definitely go for beheading some of the scumbags I’ve put away rather than them doing twelve years in a cushy jail before being sent home to their families.’
‘And stoning adulterers?’
Sharpe scowled. ‘I’m not saying that there aren’t some negative aspects, but on balance I think there are advantages to shariah law. Plus, in every Muslim country I know of, the police are respected.’
‘Feared, you mean.’
Sharpe shrugged. ‘Fear or respect, they don’t spit in your face and get away with it like they do in this country.’
‘Come on, Razor. Corruption is rife in all those countries. You can buy your way out of their prisons, and the rich get away with murder.’
‘No system’s perfect,’ said Sharpe. ‘I’m just saying that perhaps we shouldn’t be fighting an Islamification that is going to happen eventually. Maybe we should start embracing it.’
‘Allahu akbar,’ said Shepherd.
‘Indeed,’ said Sharpe. ‘Fancy a curry?’
‘I thought a kebab would be more your thing after your Road to Damascus moment,’ said Shepherd.
‘No, mate, a curry and a couple of Kingfishers is what I need.’ He grinned. ‘Mind you, have you noticed that you never see women serving in curry houses? There’re no bolshy waitresses; it’s always guys. I’m sure that’s a Muslim thing.’
‘Razor, I swear to God, if you turn up for work in a man dress tomorrow I’m off this case.’ He grinned. ‘Okay, a curry it is. There’re a couple of good places in the centre of Hereford. Soon as we’ve dropped the guns off at the barracks we’ll swing by before we head back to London.’
Shepherd waited until he was back in his Hampstead flat before phoning Charlotte Button.
‘Kudos, Spider, that couldn’t have gone better,’ she said.
‘You got sound and video?’
‘We got everything. Well done.’
‘Yeah, well, it was more by luck than judgement, I have to say. If they hadn’t jumped at the chance of a drink I don’t know how else we could have got them to the pub.’
The pub they had gone to after the weapons demonstration had been fitted with hidden microphones and cameras and the farm workers outside had all been MI5 officers.
‘All’s well that ends well,’ she said. ‘And we now have Roger McLean in the frame and that’s priceless. They’ve already arrived back in Birmingham and we have a team on him as we speak.’
‘What about Sean?’
‘His name’s not Sean, for a start. Aidan McEvoy. Ulster Defence Association hard man. The PSNI lost sight of him a year or so ago and assumed that he was in Ireland.’
‘Why would the UDA get involved with the likes of Kettering and Thompson?’
‘We’re working on that. Might just be personal. Might be that he’s a hired hand. Of course it might also be that the UDA is connected to Breivik’s Knights Templar group, in which case we have a major problem.’
‘The UDA has plenty of arms so if they’re involved there’d be no need for them to be buying from me.’
‘That’s what we’re hoping,’ said Button. ‘A UDA lone wolf is bad enough; if the whole organisation was moving its attentions to the mainland we’d have a small war on our hands. But there’s no point in crossing bridges. We’ve got McEvoy under observation now so we’ll see where that leads us. But as far as today went, job well done.’ She ended the call.
Shepherd felt too tense to sleep. It was often that way after working undercover: the adrenaline was flowing and all his senses were on overdrive. During his undercover career he’d seen agents deal with the pressure in many different ways. Drink, drugs and gambling were easy crutches to turn to, but they’d never appealed to Shepherd. Running had always been his way of taking the edge off. Running cleared his mind, and aching muscles led more often than not to a dreamless sleep, but it was too late to go out running so he spent an hour doing sit-ups, crunches and press-ups before showering and heading to bed.
Chaudhry was sitting at the back of a lecture theatre typing notes into his laptop. There were more than a hundred students listening to the lecturer and most had laptops open in front of them, though a few were still taking notes the old-fashioned way, scr
ibbling away on notepads. He felt his phone vibrate in his pocket as he received an SMS. He took out his phone. The message said ‘Now’ and was followed by a mobile number he didn’t recognise. It was Khalid. He changed his number every few days and changed his phone once a month. It was Friday and Chaudhry hadn’t had any contact with Khalid for over a week. Chaudhry grimaced. The door was at the front of the lecture theatre and if he left now he’d have to walk past the lecturer, a forty-something surgeon with a tongue as sharp as his scalpel. Chaudhry looked at his watch. There were only another ten minutes until the lecture would be over so he decided to wait, though he packed away his laptop and put it into his backpack. As soon as the lecturer finished, Chaudhry picked up his bike helmet and backpack and hurried out into the corridor. There were too many students around so he went along to the cafeteria, where there were only a handful of people. He took out his mobile and called the number.
‘What took you so long, brother?’ asked Khalid.
‘I’m at the university and I needed to find somewhere quiet,’ said Chaudhry.
‘You can talk now?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then listen to me, brother, and listen well. It is time.’
Shepherd was walking out of Tesco Express when his mobile rang. It was Chaudhry.
‘John, where are you?’
‘Hampstead,’ said Shepherd. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘It’s on,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Today. Today’s the day.’
Shepherd quickened his pace, heading for his flat. ‘What do they want you to do?’
‘I don’t know yet. Harvey and I are being picked up later today and that’s when we’ll be told. John, what do we do?’
Shepherd could hear the tension in the man’s voice and he was breathing heavily.
‘Just take it easy, Raj. Everything will be okay.’
‘This is it. This is when the killing starts. They want us to kill people. You have to do something.’
‘Raj, you need to be cool. No one’s going to kill anybody. We’ve got your back. Let’s just take this one step at a time. Now, who did you speak to?’
‘It was Khalid.’
‘And did he say where you would be going?’
‘He said nothing, John. Just to turn up outside an Indian restaurant and a van would collect us. Me and Harvey.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘And the restaurant? Where is it?’
‘Stoke Newington Church Street. At five o’clock. That’s only four hours away.’ He was talking quickly again, the words tumbling into each other.
‘It’s going to be fine, Raj, I promise. Now, did he ask you to take anything with you?’
‘No.’
‘What about clothing? Did he tell you what to wear?’
‘Just casual stuff.’
‘Outdoor gear, indoor?’
‘He didn’t say.’
‘Did he say anything about bringing ID? Money?’
‘He didn’t say anything about that.’
‘Passport? Did he mention your passport? Or driving licence?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Okay, now the phone we gave you. The one with the GPS. I need you to take that with you and to keep it switched on.’
‘He said no phone.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. He was very specific about that. He said that Harvey and I were to leave our phones behind.’
Shepherd tapped his phone against the side of his head as his mind raced, considering all his options.
‘John, are you there?’
‘Yes, Raj, I’m here.’
‘What do we do?’
‘Are you okay to go?’
‘I think so. But what do you think they want?’
‘I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t,’ said Shepherd. ‘Okay, now listen to me carefully, Raj. I want you and Harvey to do exactly as you were told. I’ll make sure that you’re followed and that you’re protected.’
‘You can do that? You’re sure?’
‘As soon as I’ve finished this call I’ll get on to my bosses and arrange it. You and Harvey do as Khalid says and I’ll make sure you’re followed every step of the way.’
‘But what if they want us to kill, John? What if they give us guns or bombs?’
‘Then we’ll see that and we’ll move in,’ said Shepherd. ‘Look, Raj, do you think you can take your phone with you? That would make it easier for us to follow you.’
‘But what if Khalid finds out? He’ll know I disobeyed him.’
‘It’s up to you, Raj. All I’m saying is that if you had the phone it would be easier for us to track you. But there’s no pressure. It has to be your call.’
Chaudhry laughed harshly. ‘No pressure? Are you serious? If they find out what I’m doing they’ll …’ He left the sentence unfinished.
‘Raj, it’s going to be okay.’
‘You promise?’
‘I promise,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach because he knew that wasn’t a promise that he could make. He phoned Charlotte Button and told her what had happened.
‘Friday evening?’ she said. ‘Worst possible time. Any idea of potential targets?’
‘Raj had no idea. Unlikely to be a sporting venue, right? If they’re being picked up at five I doubt they’ll be in place by six. More likely seven.’
‘Seven o’clock in London? They could hit Soho, Leicester Square, the theatre district. Or it could be symbolic. Trafalgar Square. Downing Street. The London Eye.’
‘He wasn’t specifically asked to bring ID so I can’t see it’ll be anywhere that would need identification,’ said Shepherd.
‘Well, we can spend all day trying to second-guess them but that’s not going to get us anywhere.’
‘They’re being picked up outside an Indian restaurant on Stoke Newington Church Street. I’ve asked Raj to take his GPS phone with him so we can track him. He’s reluctant, though, because Khalid specifically said no phones. What about Khalid? Are you going to have him tailed too?’
‘Khalid shook his tail yesterday.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘Khalid’s hardcore al-Qaeda, Spider. Single-use SIM cards, disposable phones or callboxes, no computer of his own and only uses computers in Muslim-owned internet cafes, never conducts business at home but almost always face to face in public places.’
‘But he’s under surveillance, right?’
‘Most of the time, yes. But ninety-nine per cent of the time he does nothing. He sleeps, he goes to the mosque, he eats, he socialises. We’ve no idea what he says to the people he meets, which is why Chaudhry and Malik are so valuable. They’re the only assets we have in his circle.’
‘But yesterday he lost his watchers?’
‘It happens now and again. He goes into anti-surveillance mode and he’s clearly been trained by experts. We could have a dozen men on him and he’d still lose them all.’
‘So he knows that he’s being followed?’
‘Our guys are experts too, Spider. I doubt that he knows that he’s being followed; it’s just that every time he goes active he employs all the anti-surveillance techniques at his disposal. Like I said, he’s hardcore. I wish we knew what he was planning. We could be looking at anything, couldn’t we? Guns. Bombs. Chemicals. We just don’t know.’
‘There’s nothing to suggest that it’s a suicide attack,’ said Shepherd. ‘So I don’t think it’ll be bombs.’
‘They could be lying to Chaudhry and Malik,’ said Button. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’
‘What do you need me to do?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Where are you?’
‘Hampstead. Just dropping some stuff off.’
‘Soon as you’ve done that, come to Thames House,’ she said. ‘I’ll get an operation room set up.’
‘I’d rather be closer to them.’
‘No can do,�
� said Button. ‘You’re not a professional follower. The last thing we need is you showing out. Soon as you can, okay?’
‘I’m on my way,’ said Shepherd.
Chaudhry unlocked the door to his flat and wheeled in his bike. Malik was sprawled on the sofa eating his way through a bag of crisps and watching a quiz show on television. Chaudhry glared at him. ‘Why the hell is your phone off?’ he said.
‘Battery died,’ said Malik. ‘It’s charging.’
Chaudhry kicked the door shut and leaned his bike against the back of the sofa. ‘Khalid called,’ he said. ‘It’s today.’
‘What?’ Malik sat up, spilling crisps over the carpet. ‘What do you mean?’
‘What do you think I mean?’ said Chaudhry, tossing his helmet on to an armchair. He folded his arms and stood glaring down at Malik.
‘Today? It’s today?’
Chaudhry nodded. ‘It’s today.’
‘What do they want us to do?’ Malik asked.
‘How am I supposed to know?’ Chaudhry said, shrugging.
Malik stood up. Stray crisps fell to the carpet. ‘He didn’t say anything?’
‘Harvey, if he’d told me one word don’t you think I’d have told you? He said be here, now. He said we’d be picked up. That’s all he said.’ Chaudhry walked into the small kitchen and opened the fridge. ‘Why is there never anything to drink?’ he said. ‘I bought three cans of Coke yesterday so where the hell are they?’
‘This is fucked up,’ said Malik, coming up behind him. ‘Why didn’t they tell us what’s going on?’
Chaudhry slammed the fridge door. ‘Because the fewer people who know what we’re doing, the less chance it gets out. Need to know.’
‘It’s treating us like we don’t matter, that’s what’s going on here.’ Malik screwed up his face and grunted. ‘Bastards, bastards, bastards.’
‘Relax,’ said Chaudhry. He switched on the kettle. ‘What happens, happens.’
‘Have you called John?’
‘First thing I did.’
‘What if they …’ Malik left the sentence unfinished.
‘What?’ said Chaudhry.
False Friends (The 9th Spider Shepherd Thriller) Page 23