False Friends (The 9th Spider Shepherd Thriller)

by Stephen Leather

  ‘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.

  ‘A lot,’ said Shepherd. ‘A hell of a lot.’

  ‘Why is that? What it is about religion that makes people go out and kill?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘That’s something else that’s above my pay grade,’ he said.

  Chaudhry’s shoulders began to shudder and for a moment Shepherd thought that he was crying. Then he heard a throaty chuckle that grew into a full-blown belly laugh. Chaudhry turned round, laughing and shaking his head. ‘Pay grade,’ he said. ‘You’re a funny man, John.’ He pulled his hood down and rubbed his eyes.

  ‘Just trying to lighten the moment, Raj.’

  Chaudhry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘You really are a piece of work,’ he said. ‘You know, I still can’t think of you as anything other than John Whitehill, freelance journalist. You did a good job with that.’ He sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m ready. Talk.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘I need you to be there at five. I need you to get into the van so that we can follow you.’

  ‘They’ll want to know why Harvey’s not there.’

  ‘You can just say his phone’s off and that you couldn’t reach him.’

  ‘And what if they don’t believe me? Or what if they know something’s wrong? What if it’s a trap?’

  ‘It’s not a trap.’

  ‘You don’t know that, John. Not for sure.’ He bit down on his lower lip, then shook his head. ‘I can’t get into that van on my own,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t.’

  Shepherd said nothing for several seconds, then he took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Maybe there’s a way round this.’

  ‘Here he comes,’ said Charlotte Button, pointing at one of the twelve LCD screens on the wall. Chaudhry was walking along the pavement towards the restaurant where the van was due to collect him. He had the hood of his duffel coat up, his head down, his hands in his pockets. He walked slowly and purposefully.

  Button looked at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes before five. They were in the operations room on the top floor of Thames House and more than a dozen officers were bent over computer screens and talking into Bluetooth headsets. Commander Needham was at his desk, talking animatedly into a headset. He turned, gave Button a thumbs-up and held up four fingers. Four more ARV units on the way. She smiled back at him and mouthed ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Luke, what do we have in place?’ she asked.

  Luke Lesporis looked up from his terminal. ‘Two black cabs in Stoke Newington Church Street; two bikes in parallel streets; two delivery vans, each facing a different direction. I’ve got an outer perimeter with two more bikes and four black cabs all within half a mile. The other vans we identified at St Pancras are all covered too.’

  An LCD flickered into life and they had an overhead view of the street. Then the screen went black and all they could see were greenish figures and red spots marking car engines. ‘We have helly telly,’ said a blonde woman in a dark-blue suit.

  ‘Thanks, Zoe. Tell them we don’t need infrared,’ said Button. ‘And to keep high – no tipping them off.’

  ‘Will do,’ said the woman.

  ‘Luke, please tell me that we have eyes on Khalid.’

  ‘He’s in a terraced house in Tower Hamlets with three other men,’ said Lesporis. ‘Spent a lot of time washing his arse this morning but we had a dozen men on him so we stayed with him.’

  ‘Has anybody heard from Shepherd?’ asked Button. She sighed when there was no reaction. ‘Well, somebody try his mobile again. And keep trying.’

  Chaudhry had reached the Indian restaurant and stood with his back to it, looking down the street.

  ‘The van’s on its way,’ said Lesporis. ‘The same one as last time. The plumber’s van.’

  ‘Right, everyone, here we go,’ said Button. ‘We need to stay on top of this. All the signs are that this is the real thing.’

  Commander Needham raised a hand. ‘Two more ARVs en route,’ he said. Button thanked him. She had a strong feeling that they were going to be needed.

  The van pulled up at the kerb. Harith was in the front passenger seat, bundled up in a thick cloth coat and with a white wool scarf wound twice round his neck. ‘Salaam, brother,’ he said. ‘Where’s Harveer?’

  ‘He’s not feeling so good,’ said Chaudhry.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said Afzal, leaning across from the driver’s seat. ‘Is he not coming?’

  ‘No, he’s coming, but he was just on the toilet. He’s got the shits.’

  ‘Nerves,’ said Harith. ‘Probably nerves.’

  ‘No, he’s picked up a bug.’ He looked down the pavement. ‘Here he comes now.’

  A figure in a green parka was hurrying towards the rear of the van, the fur-lined hood up, his hands deep in the jacket pockets.

  ‘Get in the back, brother,’ said Afzal. ‘And make sure that Harveer doesn’t throw up. This is my uncle’s van and there’ll be hell to pay if I return it stinking of vomit.’

  ‘I’ll watch over him, brother,’ said Chaudhry.

  ‘Make sure you do,’ said Harith, winding up the window.

  Chaudhry went to the rear of the van and opened the door.

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Charlotte Button as she saw the man in the green parka walk up to Chaudhry. Chaudhry got into the van and the man in the parka followed him. ‘Who is that?’ she said, pointing at the LCD screen. ‘Is that Malik? Malik’s still in hospital, right?’

  Nobody answered and other than the police commander everyone in the room avoided eye contact with her.

  ‘Will somebody please find out if Harveer Malik is still in hospital? If he is then we need to know who is wearing his parka.’ The words had barely left her mouth before she realised that there was only one person who could possibly have stepped in to take Malik’s place. ‘Has anyone managed to get through to Dan Shepherd?’ She was faced with a dozen or so shaking heads. ‘I think we now know why,’ she said.

  Shepherd sneaked a look at his watch. They had been in the back of the van for just over half an hour and without windows he had no idea in which direction they were heading. When they first got into the van they had headed south but there had been a number of turns and a roundabout and now with no indication
of the speed of the van he couldn’t even calculate how far they were from Stoke Newington, never mind in which direction they were going.

  He was sitting on the floor at the rear of the van, facing the double doors. He was about the same height and build as Malik and provided he stayed in that position, with his hood up, the driver and front passenger couldn’t see his face. He’d found a pair of wool gloves in Chaudhry’s flat and he was wearing them to conceal his hands.

  Chaudhry kept talking to Harith to keep his attention away from Shepherd, mainly asking questions about what was going to happen. Harith kept telling him to wait, that all would soon be explained.

  During a lull in their conversation Afzal looked over his shoulder. ‘Harvey, brother, are you okay? You’re quiet.’

  Shepherd grunted and shrugged.

  ‘He’ll be okay. He’s just got a tummy bug,’ said Chaudhry, leaning forward to get between the driver and Shepherd. ‘So where’s Khalid?’

  ‘The control room,’ said Afzal.

  Harith held up a mobile. ‘He called me on this just half an hour ago,’ he said. ‘This time it’s for real, brothers. This time we change England for ever. From today onwards they will treat us Muslims with the respect that we deserve.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘It is time,’ he said.

  ‘Time?’ repeated Chaudhry.

  ‘Brothers, it’s time for you to learn what it is that you are to do,’ said Harith. ‘Today will be a glorious day. Today the British government will learn what it means to betray its Muslim population. Today is the day we strike back. Today we teach them to respect us. And to fear us.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘We are going to Westfield shopping mall. There will be more than a dozen brothers there. This is where you need to go.’

  He handed the paper to Chaudhry. The sheet was folded in half and Chaudhry opened it, then leaned over and tapped Shepherd’s shoulder with it. Shepherd took it and stared at the hand-drawn map. It was marked ‘First Floor’. There were two crosses by doors that led to a car park.

  ‘We will drop you at the car park. In the crate next to you are two backpacks. They contain your weapons, ammunition, a chain and a lock. There are also ski masks so that you can cover your face. At exactly six o’clock you are to run the chain through the handles of the doors and use the lock to fasten it.’

  Shepherd slowly pulled down the zip of his parka. Underneath he was wearing his leather jacket. The Glock was in his shoulder holster, snug under his left arm.

  ‘All the doors will be locked and there will be brothers on every level, at every entrance and exit. Then you are to begin shooting. In the backpacks are guns and pre-loaded clips. You are to shoot as many kaffirs as you can, avoiding brothers and sisters wherever possible. Do you understand?’

  Chaudhry nodded. So did Shepherd.

  ‘You will be on the first floor. You are to go straight inside and chain the door shut. And then begin shooting. After ten minutes you are to make you way to Marks & Spencer. You can use the internal escalator to reach the ground floor. It has its own exit, separate from the mall. As you move through the store you can drop your weapons and remove your masks and disappear into the crowds. Once outside you can make your way to the tube. There are Oyster cards in the backpacks.’

  Chaudhry smiled. ‘It is a good plan, brother.’

  ‘Are you all right, Harveer?’ asked Harith.

  Shepherd waved his gloved hand and grunted.

  ‘You should look at the map.’

  ‘I told him not to order the prawn vindaloo,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Never a good idea to go with the prawns. Get a bad one and you’re as sick as a dog.’

  ‘But you can do this, brother? You’re not going to let us down, are you?’ Shepherd didn’t react. ‘Harvey?’ said Harith.

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Chaudhry.

  Harith stared at the hood of the parka. ‘Harveer?’

  Shepherd grunted again and waved his hand.

  Harith’s eyes narrowed. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun.

  ‘Gun!’ shouted Chaudhry, and he lunged forward, trying to grab it.

  Shepherd grabbed for his own Glock as Chaudhry seized Harith’s wrist. Afzal looked over at Harith, his mouth wide open. Harith lashed out with his left hand and smacked Chaudhry across the nose. Blood spurted down Chaudhry’s chin but he refused to let go of Harith’s wrist.

  ‘What are you doing?’ shouted Afzal. ‘What’s happening?’

  Shepherd pulled the Glock from its holster and slipped his finger on to the trigger.

  Harith pulled the gun towards himself and screamed at Chaudhry to let go even though they both knew that as soon as Chaudhry released his grip Harith would fire.

  Chaudhry managed to get his left hand on the gun and he wrenched it up, but as it jerked it went off and a bullet ripped through the thin sheet-metal roof of the van. The shock made Chaudhry release his grip on the gun and Harith roared and brought the gun down, aiming it at Chaudhry’s face.

  Shepherd leaned back and fired two quick shots that both hit Harith in the face. The bullets erupted out of the back of the man’s skull with enough force to smash the windshield. Blood and brain matter splattered across the dashboard.

  Chaudhry sat back on his crate, gasping for breath.

  Shepherd pointed the gun at Afzal’s head. ‘Pull over,’ he said. ‘Pull over now or I’ll put a bullet in your head. Your choice.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Afzal, trembling. ‘I’m doing it.’

  He indicated to the left, ignored the blare of a horn from behind them and stopped at the kerb. Shepherd handed the Glock to Chaudhry. ‘Keep that pointed at his head. If he moves, shoot him.’

  Chaudhry nodded nervously as Shepherd pulled out his mobile phone.

  ‘What just happened?’ shouted Button, frowning at the LCD screen showing the view from the police helicopter. ‘Why did they stop?’

  On screen they saw a motorcycle dispatch rider pass the van and a few seconds later Lesporis twisted round in his seat.

  ‘The front passenger has been shot. There’s blood all over the windscreen,’ he said.

  ‘I have an ARV thirty seconds away,’ said Commander Needham.

  ‘Hold off on that, Commander,’ said Button. Her mobile phone rang and she picked it up. It was Shepherd calling. She took the call and held the phone to her ear. ‘What the hell is going on, Spider?’

  ‘The target is Westfield shopping mall, the one in Stratford. They’re using guns, not explosives. The attack is due to happen at six p.m. They’ll seal all the exits and start shooting. The plan is for the attackers to escape through the department stores because they have exits leading to the outside.’

  ‘Give me a minute, Spider.’ Button stood up. ‘I need everybody’s attention, right now.’ She looked over at the clock on the wall. It was twelve minutes to six. ‘We are looking at multiple armed attackers at Westfield shopping mall, Stratford.’ She pointed at Commander Needham. ‘We need all your ARVs there now, and any others you can raise.’ She looked over at Lesporis. ‘Luke, maintain surveillance on the other vans. As soon as you can confirm that they are heading to the mall, we need them intercepted and neutralised.’ Button pointed at Zoe. ‘Get the Met helicopter over the mall, now.’ Zoe nodded and started talking into her headset.

  A tall man in a black leather jacket looked over at Button, waiting for instructions. She only knew him as Terry and he was her SAS liaison. The SAS had a team outside the house where Khalid was holed up, ready to move in and do whatever was necessary. The SAS weren’t hampered by the same rules and regulations that governed the police so the house clearance wouldn’t turn into a siege situation.

  ‘Hang fire, Terry,’ she said. ‘Let’s wait until we have them all.’

  Terry nodded. ‘Ready when you are, ma’am,’ he said. He was holding a pack of chewing gum and he slid a piece into his mouth.

  Button put her mobile back to her ear. ‘What’s your situation, Spider?�
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  ‘All good,’ said Shepherd. ‘The passenger took a bullet; the driver’s under control. I need to get to the mall.’

  ‘Negative on that. We’ll take it from here.’

  ‘Charlie, I saw all their faces on the photos at Thames House. I’m the only one that can ID them. Get a bike here and I can be there in minutes. The cops aren’t going to know who to take out. It could get very messy.’

  ‘We can take out the vans before they get there.’

  ‘And what about the ones who aren’t in the vans? What about the ones going by tube? Or bus? I need to be there, Charlie. Get me that bike.’

  Button looked over the clock again. The seconds were ticking away.

  ‘What’s happening?’ asked Chaudhry. He turned to look at Shepherd and as he did so Afzal slid his hands off the steering wheel.

  Shepherd pointed at the driver. ‘Raj, keep the gun at his head. Afzal, you do anything other than grip that wheel and he’ll put a bullet in you, I swear.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ said Afzal. His face was bathed in sweat and his hands were trembling.

  ‘I’m serious, Raj. He moves, you shoot him.’

  Chaudhry nodded. ‘I will do,’ he said. His voice was shaking and he took a deep breath. ‘I will,’ he said, louder and more confident. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to the mall.’ He pulled the lid off the plastic crate containing the backpacks and pulled one out. He unzipped it and looked inside. There were two Glock pistols, several dozen filled magazines and two boxes of extra ammunition.

  ‘I’m coming with you,’ said Chaudhry, keeping his eyes on the driver.

  ‘You can’t,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’ve been trained,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I can shoot.’

  Shepherd slung the backpack over his shoulder. ‘Raj, trust me. There are armed cops from all over London heading towards that shopping mall. The last thing you want to be is an Asian with a gun. Best will in the world, you might as well have a bull’s-eye on your chest.’