Shepherd knew he had only seconds to react and that every decision he made was crucial. There were three men in the cabin and another on the bridge. He’d seen one gun and hopefully that was now on a table but that didn’t mean there weren’t more on the boat.
He lay where he was and pulled down the zipper of his bomber jacket with his left hand while he groped inside with his right. His fingers were wet with Klaus’s blood but the Glock had a non-slip grip. There was no safety to worry about either, and there was already a cartridge in the chamber.
Klaus was groaning, his hands clasped over his face, blood trickling down through his fingers.
Still lying on his back, Shepherd grabbed the Glock and pulled it from its holster. All he could see was Klaus, rocking back on his heels and wailing like a banshee. He pulled his leg back, put his foot in the centre of Klaus’s chest and kicked him hard. Klaus fell backwards.
Shepherd brought his left hand up to support his right wrist, his finger tightening on the trigger as he looked for a target.
He found Kettering in his sights, standing by the table, his eyes wide and confused. Kettering cursed and looked to his right. Shepherd realised what he was looking at: Klaus’s gun on the table.
‘Don’t move!’ shouted Shepherd, but Kettering was already reaching for the gun. ‘Freeze!’ Shepherd yelled.
Kettering grabbed the gun and began to swing it round. He said something but Shepherd couldn’t hear him above the sound of Klaus’s screams. Shepherd fired once, hitting Kettering six inches below his Adam’s apple. Kettering stiffened and the gun dropped from his fingers, clattering back on to the glass table.
Shepherd got to his feet, sweeping the cabin with his Glock.
Thompson was standing by the stairs leading up to the bridge. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said.
‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ said Shepherd. Kettering sank to his knees, blood gushing over his shirt, his mouth working soundlessly.
Thompson moved towards the table but Shepherd fired close to the man’s foot. ‘The next one goes into your chest,’ he said. Thompson straightened up and raised his hands.
‘Does the captain have a gun?’ Shepherd asked. Thompson shook his head. ‘If you’re lying I’ll shoot you first,’ said Shepherd.
Kettering fell forward and thudded face down on to the deck.
‘He doesn’t,’ said Thompson. ‘I swear.’
Shepherd gestured with the gun. ‘Up the stairs. Try anything, even look at me wrong, and I’ll put a bullet in you.’
Thompson went slowly up the stairs to the bridge. Shepherd stayed well back in case Thompson tried to kick out but Thompson just did as he was told. The captain smiled when he saw Thompson but his face fell when he saw Shepherd and the gun in his hand.
‘I need you to take us back to the marina,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t have time to mess about so if you fuck around I’ll shoot you in the leg. Do you understand me?’
The captain nodded and immediately started turning the boat to starboard.
‘Take us back to the jetty,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m just looking after the boat,’ said the captain. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’
‘Just take us back. You can talk to the cops there,’ said Shepherd. He waved the gun at Thompson. ‘Back downstairs,’ he said.
He followed Thompson down the stairs into the cabin. ‘Down on your knees and put your hands behind your neck,’ he said. ‘While you’re at it, cross your ankles. See how you like it.’ Thompson obeyed sullenly.
Shepherd looked over at Sharpe. ‘Razor!’ he shouted.
Sharpe groaned.
‘Can you get up?’
Sharpe groaned again.
Shepherd kept the gun aimed at Thompson’s face as he fished his mobile out of his jacket. He tapped out Charlotte Button’s number with his thumb. The boat continued to make a sweeping turn to the right. Klaus stopped moaning. He crawled into a foetal ball and sobbed quietly. Shepherd knew that he’d done a lot of damage with his fingers and that Klaus would be losing at least one of his eyes.
The phone rang and Button answered. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘All good,’ he said. ‘One dead, two under control and one who’s going to need medical attention. We’re heading back to shore.’
‘There’s a police boat heading your way. You’re sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine,’ he said. He looked over at Sharpe, who was starting to come round, moving his head and moaning. ‘Razor’s going to have a sore head for a few days.’
‘Well done, Spider. I have to confess that my heart was in my mouth for a while there.’
‘I was worried myself,’ admitted Shepherd. ‘I’m just glad he didn’t go for a head shot. And tell Amar I owe him a drink. His vest was a lifesaver.’
He ended the call and went over to Sharpe, keeping his gun trained on Thompson. Sharpe struggled to sit up. He put his hand against his temple and it came away bloody. He groaned loudly and looked up at Shepherd. ‘Who am I?’ he said.
‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd.
Sharpe grinned. ‘Had you going,’ he said, getting unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at Kettering. Blood was pooling around him on the polished wooden decking. ‘Was it him that hit me?’
Shepherd gestured at Thompson. ‘It was him.’
Klaus sobbed and his whole body shuddered.
‘What’s his problem?’ asked Sharpe. ‘Did you shoot him?’
‘Clawed his eyes out,’ said Shepherd. ‘He started it.’
Sharpe walked slowly to the galley, picked up a tea towel and pressed it against his wound. He looked out of a window and pointed. ‘There’s a launch heading this way with four guys in it. I hope they’re on our side.’
‘They are,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you okay to cover Thompson while I go up to the bridge?’
‘Now you trust me with a gun?’
Shepherd chuckled and handed the Glock to Sharpe. He picked up the gun that Klaus had been using. It was a 9mm Beretta and he checked that it was loaded and that the safety was off. ‘I figure you’d have trouble with the stairs,’ he said. ‘If he gets off his knees, shoot him.’
‘Will do,’ said Sharpe.
Shepherd went up the stairs to the bridge. He was fairly sure that Thompson hadn’t been lying about the captain being unarmed but he felt more comfortable with the Beretta in his hand. He needn’t have worried. The captain had both hands on the wheel and they were heading straight for the marina. In the distance Shepherd saw a small launch. There were four men in casual clothes standing at the prow and as the wind whipped at their jackets he caught glimpses of guns in shoulder holsters.
‘I had no idea what was going on,’ said the captain. ‘You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Tell that to the cops,’ said Shepherd. ‘I need you to cut the power.’ He pointed at the launch. ‘Those guys are going to board us.’
The captain did as he was told and the boat slowed.
‘I didn’t do anything. I just drive the boat.’
‘What did they tell you was going to happen to me and my friend?’
The captain swallowed but didn’t reply.
‘You knew they were going to kill us, right?’
‘I’m just the captain.’
‘And you knew there was a body down there?’
The captain nodded.
‘Well, that’s the body of a cop, mate. So maybe you should just keep quiet until you’ve got a lawyer.’
Chaudhry was walking down the Strand to King’s College when he first suspected that he was being followed. It wasn’t any of the signs that he’d been taught to watch out for, it was much more subtle than that. It was a feeling, a sense that he was being looked at that actually made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. It happened first as he walked out of Charing Cross tube station and the feeling was so strong that he turned and looked behind him, but he didn’t see anyone who was obviously tailing him.
Chaudhry usually cycled to college but it had been raining when he left the flat so he’d taken an umbrella and made the journey by tube instead. The rain had died down by the time he arrived at Charing Cross and it was barely spotting so he’d left his umbrella in his backpack and made do with pulling up the hood of his duffel coat.
He shivered again as he passed McDonald’s, then he remembered what he’d been taught about doubling back so he did a quick U-turn and headed back to the entrance. As he reached McDonald’s door he made eye contact with an Asian man in his twenties wearing a dark-blue Puffa jacket and brown cargo pants. The man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened a fraction but then he clamped it shut, looked away and thrust his hands into his pockets.
Chaudhry forced himself to show no reaction. He went inside, joined the queue and bought himself an Egg McMuffin and a coffee and sat down at a table by the window. He pushed down the hood of his duffel coat and pulled his tablet computer out of his backpack. As he took a sip of coffee and switched on the tablet the man in the blue Puffa jacket walked back on the other side of the road, talking into his mobile phone.
Chaudhry’s stomach was churning and he didn’t feel like eating but he forced himself to take a bite of his McMuffin, then chewed slowly as he pretended to read. The man in the blue Puffa jacket didn’t return. When he’d finished the coffee and the McMuffin he cleared his tray and headed out of the door. He stood on the pavement and looked around casually as he pulled up his hood again. The street was busy but there was no sign of the Asian man. He was starting to wonder if he’d imagined it. The hairs were no longer standing up on the back of his neck. Perhaps the guy had just been startled by eye contact with a stranger; maybe Chaudhry was being oversensitive.
He started walking towards the college, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Part of him wanted to do another double-back but he knew that would be too obvious. He checked reflections in the shop windows but the angles were wrong and he couldn’t get a clear view directly behind him.
It wasn’t until he’d reached the entrance to King’s that he had the opportunity to glance to his right, but he could do it casually for only a second or two and there were simply too many people to register them all.
He walked inside, showing his student ID, and then took out his mobile phone. Standing with his back to the wall he pretended to make a call. Through the window he watched businessmen and shoppers walk to and fro, all of them moving purposefully, getting from A to B as quickly as possible. Jobs to get to, shopping to be done, appointments to be kept. Then he saw him. His hands still in his Puffa jacket, walking slowly and looking around as if trying to work out what went on inside the building. Chaudhry turned away and went up to the canteen, his heart pounding, the silent phone pressed tightly against his ear.
Shepherd had just returned from a run on the Heath when his John Whitehill BlackBerry rang. It was Chaudhry. ‘Yes, Raj, what’s up?’ he said, tossing his weighted rucksack on to a kitchen chair.
‘I think I’m being followed,’ said Chaudhry.
Shepherd was about to open the fridge door and grab himself a bottle of chilled water but he stopped, his hand outstretched. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said.
Chaudhry explained what had happened in the Strand and at the college. ‘What should I do?’ he asked.
‘First, you need to take it easy,’ said Shepherd. He could hear the stress in the man’s voice, the clipped words and the ragged breathing. ‘You’re safe where you are, so even if there is a tail nothing can happen while you’re at King’s. What about Harvey?’
‘I don’t know. He’d already gone when I left the flat.’
‘I’ll talk to him,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have you got lectures all day?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘So what time would you normally leave?’
‘Five-ish. What are you going to do?’
Shepherd sat down and took off his boots. ‘I’m going to sort this out, Raj, don’t worry. Stay where you are and just carry on as normal. I’ll put together a team to watch over you when you go home tonight, then we’ll know for sure.’
‘But what if they …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.
‘What, Raj? Spit it out.’
‘I don’t want to end up dead,’ said Chaudhry. ‘What if this is al-Qaeda? What if they know what I’m doing? Maybe it’s time to call it a day.’
‘Raj, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You need to relax. If there’s a tail that’s all it is, a tail. If they wanted to take you they’d have done it as you left the flat. Or lured you somewhere quiet. If you are being followed then you’re not in any danger.’
‘What do you mean “if”? Don’t you believe me?’
‘You’re under quite a lot of stress at the moment, Raj; you might be a bit oversensitive, that’s what I’m saying. But by this evening we’ll know for sure. Until then you need to carry on as usual.’
‘I’m shitting myself here,’ said Chaudhry.
‘I know you are, Raj. But there’s no point in counting chickens. I’m on the case so you’ll be followed every step of the way from college to your flat and if there’s any hint of a problem we’ll pull you out.’
‘You swear?’ asked Chaudhry.
‘Raj, mate, there’s no way I’ll put you in harm’s way. I promise. Now get on with being a student and keep your phone on. I’ll fill you in once I’ve got everything sorted. And don’t leave the campus, for any reason, until you hear from me.’
Shepherd ended the call. He dialled Malik’s number but it went straight through to voicemail. Shepherd didn’t leave a message. He shaved, showered and put on a blue polo shirt and black jeans, then tried Malik’s number again. It went through to voicemail again and this time Shepherd left a message asking him to call back.
Malik returned the call as Shepherd was in the back of a black cab heading towards Thames House.
‘Where are you, Harvey?’
‘University,’ said Malik. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Probably nothing,’ said Shepherd. ‘But Raj thinks someone might have been following him this morning.’
‘Oh fuck,’ said Malik.
‘It might be nothing – it’s easy to start jumping at shadows when you’re under pressure,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m going to get some of our people to follow Raj home and then we’ll know one way or another. What about you, Harvey? Did you notice anything today?’
‘No, but I wasn’t looking for it. What should I do?’
‘Can you stay where you are until later this evening?’
‘I was planning to hit the library anyway, so yes.’
‘How about you stick to that? Stay put until you hear from me this evening. If we find that Raj does have a tail we’ll put a counter-surveillance team on you as well.’
‘This is bad, isn’t it, John? We could be fucked.’
‘Or it could be nothing. We’ll take it one step at a time. But if you see anything that worries you over the next few hours, you call me straight away.’
‘Bloody right I will,’ said Malik.
‘Harvey, it’s going to be just fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I give you my word that nothing bad’s going to happen.’
He ended the call as the taxi pulled up in front of Thames House, wishing that he felt as confident as he sounded.
‘So, you a spy, then?’ asked the taxi driver.
Shepherd had been deep in thought so he missed the question. ‘Sorry, what?’
The driver jerked his thumb at the building. ‘MI5. You a spy?’
Shepherd took out his wallet and handed the driver a twenty-pound note. ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,’ he said.
‘They all say that,’ said the driver. ‘Everyone I drop here pretends to be James bloody Bond.’
‘He was MI6,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at the note. ‘Keep the change,’ he said. ‘And can I have a receipt?’
The driver laughed. ‘See, that James Bond, you never see
him asking for receipts, do you?’
There was no name on the door, just a number, but Shepherd knew that it was the office of Luke Lesporis and he knocked twice before opening it. Lesporis looked up, pushing his wire-framed designer spectacles up his nose as Shepherd came in.
‘You sounded rushed on the phone, Spider, what’s up?’ The jacket of his Hugo Boss suit was draped over the back of his chair and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
‘Remember the two guys I took to Reading, the ones you helped arrange the training exercise for?’
‘Sure, Raj Chaudhry and Harvey Malik, right? The guys we followed to St Pancras.’
‘Yeah. I need to run counter-surveillance on Raj. He’s a student at King’s College in the Strand. That’s where he is now.’
‘What’s the story?’ asked Lesporis, picking up a pen.
‘He thinks someone followed him from the tube station. Asian man, blue Puffa jacket, brown cargo pants.’
‘Professional, you think?’ asked Lesporis as he scribbled on a yellow legal pad.
‘I’m tempted to say no because Raj is a complete amateur. But he might just have been lucky. He did a backtrack and almost stumbled over the guy.’
‘How long have we got?’
Shepherd looked at the clock on the wall. It was just before ten. ‘He’s got lectures all morning. We could send him home at lunchtime, or I could get him to stay in the building all day. Whatever works best for you.’
‘The latter,’ said Lesporis. ‘I’m really pushed today. We’ve got three ongoing operations and I’ve just had to put together a rush job on a Saudi diplomat who’s arriving at Heathrow in an hour with a million euros in a suitcase.’
‘If it makes it any easier he’s going to be travelling home on the tube so we won’t need vehicles.’
‘Home being the flat we started at last time?’
‘That’s it. But this time there’s no chance of a vehicle; he’ll take the tube to Manor House and walk to the flat.’
‘Easy-peasy,’ said Lesporis. ‘Tell you what, I’ll pitch in myself. It’ll be good to be on the pavements again.’
False Friends (The 9th Spider Shepherd Thriller) Page 32