More Short Fuses

by Stephen Leather

  ‘Just bear it in mind for when we’ve left,’ said Shepherd. ‘The guy running the operation out there knows what he’s doing. He doesn’t want his men getting hurt.’

  ‘So he can tell them to pack up and go home.’

  ‘We both know that’s not going to happen.’

  McIntyre waved his can in salute. ‘Looks like we’ve got an impasse, then.’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘Jock, are you listening to yourself. You’ve got nothing to bargain with. You’re in here and they’re out there. They’ve evacuated the street. They can just wait you out. How much food have you got?’

  ‘There’s lager,’ said Armstrong, raising his can.

  ‘They’re not going to be sending in pizza,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s not as if you have hostages.’

  McIntyre grinned and gestured with his gun. ‘I do now,’ he said.

  Shepherd pointed a finger at McIntyre. ‘Don’t even think about it, Jock. I’ll take that piece of shit off you and shove it so far up your arse that you’ll be coughing bullets.’

  McIntyre laughed and held his hands above his head. ‘I was joking, pal.’

  ‘Yeah, well some jokes aren’t funny,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m in the middle of the something and I’m sure Billy here has better things to be doing.’

  Armstrong grinned. ‘As it happens I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve a job in Colombia next week but other than that I’m pretty much free.’

  Shepherd scowled at Armstrong but Armstrong just grinned. Shepherd sipped his lager. ‘What happened to the body-guarding gig?’ he asked McIntyre. ‘I thought you were sorted.’

  ‘Didn’t work out,’ said McIntyre. ‘I’ve had a couple of gigs since you fixed me up with that Russian, but it’s not my thing. The last job, the client’s wife kept asking me to carry her shopping. I explained that I was security and that if my hands were full of carrier bags I wouldn’t be able to protect her. She told her husband I’d been bad-mouthing her and I got the push. Word got around that I was difficult.’ He forced a smile. ‘Didn’t much like the work anyway. Babysitting gangsters, that’s what it comes down to.’

  ‘So what are you doing these days?’

  ‘Not much,’ said McIntyre. ‘I’ve been trying to get back into static security but the place is awash with Europeans and they work cheap.’

  ‘What about Emma?’

  ‘Haven’t seen her for years. Or the kids. My eldest has just had a kid, I know that much. Makes me a grandfather.’ He grinned. ‘Who’d have thought it, huh? Jock McIntyre, grandpa. I found out through a friend of a friend and I called Emma to see what was going on. She told me if I went near her or the kid she’d call the cops.’

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Not your fault,’ said McIntyre. ‘I was the arsehole who gave her hell. I’m amazed she put up with me as long as she did. And the kids don’t want anything to do with me so it’s no surprise they don’t want me near their kids.’ He shrugged. ‘I fucked up, Spider. I fucked it all up.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ said Shepherd. ‘We can sort this.’

  ‘How?’ He waved the gun. ‘This alone is going to put me behind bars for five years. Maybe longer. Then what? I’ll be bloody homeless. I’m being moved out of this place as it is. The bloody council’s no use. If I was a bloody Afghan or an Iraqi then they’d give me and my family a mansion in Kensington but when you’re a Brit who gave his life for his country, they don’t want to know.’

  ‘Well, strictly speaking you didn’t give your life for your country,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You always were a clever bugger, Spider. But I was in the Paras and the SAS and that should count for something. But it doesn’t, not in this brave new world. They hate the likes of me. White, middle-aged, male, I don’t tick any of the ‘must be helped’ boxes.’

  ‘We’ll help you, Jock,’ said Armstrong. ‘The Regiment will help.’

  ‘The Regiment does fuck all for the likes of me,’ sneered McIntyre. ‘Counselling for post traumatic stress disorder, that’s what they offered me.’

  ‘Did you take it?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Course I didn’t take it,’ snapped McIntyre. ‘I’m not crazy, Spider.’

  One of Shepherd’s mobiles rang and he pulled it out of his jacket pocket. He groaned when he saw who was calling. Charlotte Button. ‘I’m going to have to take this,’ he said, standing up. He walked into the hallway and put the phone to his ear. ‘Charlie, how’s it going?’

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve just popped out,’ he said, heading for the kitchen.

  ‘To Brixton?’

  Shepherd closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.

  ‘Are you going to fill me in, Spider?’

  ‘I’m not sure what to say.’

  ‘How about the truth? What did you think, Spider? Did you think I wouldn’t recognise one of my men walking into a siege situation?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  ‘I had to laugh at the way you kept your head turned away from the TV cameras. It would have been funny if it wasn’t so bloody unprofessional.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ repeated Shepherd.

  ‘We’re in the middle of an operation that we have been running for the best part of three months, an operation which will shut down a network that has been bringing in fifty million pounds worth of cocaine a year into the UK, a network that has close links with at least two Middle Eastern terror groups.’

  Shepherd said nothing.

  ‘Not a great time to go walkabout, Spider. Seriously.’

  ‘He’s a friend,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was in the Regiment and now he’s in trouble. They’re getting ready to storm the house and that’s not going to end well for anybody.’

  ‘So why didn’t you tell me this before you went charging in like the cavalry.’

  Shepherd didn’t reply.

  ‘Because you thought I’d say no.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘That’s what offends me the most,’ said Button. ‘Not that you went rogue during an operation, but the fact that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me first.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes, so you said. ‘What state is your friend in?’

  ‘Fragile.’

  ‘Can you get him out of there?’

  ‘We’re working on it,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘And nothing yet from the boat?’

  ‘It’s not docked yet.’

  ‘If that operation falls apart, don’t bother coming back to the office. You understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good luck with your friend.’ The line went dead. Shepherd cursed under his breath again and put the phone away. He looked around the kitchen. McIntyre had stuck newspaper over the window above the sink and done his trick with screws and wires. He’d jammed a plank of wood under the handle of the door that led to the back garden. It would be difficult – but not impossible – for the cops to force their way in. But McIntyre would hear them coming and would have plenty of time to respond. He opened an old fridge. The icebox was encrusted with ice and there was no food to be seen, just cans of lager. He quickly looked through the kitchen cupboards. There was an almost empty box of cereal, a few slices of bread that had started to go green, and a couple of cans of tuna. McIntyre certainly hadn’t stocked up for a siege.

  ‘Everything okay?’ asked McIntyre as Shepherd walked back into the front room.

  ‘Not great, actually,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m in the middle of something and my boss isn’t happy about me being here.’

  ‘Tell him to go screw himself.’

  ‘It’s a her. And she’s right, Jock. I shouldn’t be here. And neither should you.’

  McIntyre waved his gun at the front door. ‘No one’s keeping you here,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not going to let you kill yourself like this,’ said Shepherd. ‘And it’s not fair on the guys outside. If one of them slo
ts you, it becomes a murder enquiry and he’s sent home until it’s over. That could be months. Years, sometimes.’

  ‘They’re armed cops, it’s their job.’

  ‘Yeah, you’d think that. But the way it works, once they’ve shot someone they’re treated exactly the same way as any villain who pulls the trigger. It’s not like the Army, Jock. There’s no free pass to go shooting people.’

  ‘No one forces them to do the job.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m just saying, there are better ways of ending all this than death by cop.’

  ‘Like what? Step in front of a train? Swallow a bottle of tablets.’

  ‘How about doing something worthwhile with the rest of your life?’

  McIntyre snorted. ‘It’s a bit late for that, mate. Bit late for a fresh start.’ He gestured at the window with his gun. ‘I have to say, I thought it’d be over by now.’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘They have to follow the rules of engagement and everything they do has to comply with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984 and the European Convention of Human Rights. They can’t come in with guns blazing. They’re only authorised to shoot if there is an immediate threat to life or if they see you holding a firearm. And they have to issue a clear verbal warning first.’

  ‘Who’d be a cop, huh?’

  ‘It’s not the job it used to be, that’s for sure. But then the SAS isn’t either. It’s the way of the world, Jock.’

  ‘Bet you’re glad to be out of it?’

  ‘The SAS? I miss it, Jock. I miss the action, I miss the professionalism, I miss the way we were allowed just to go in and do what had to be done. But it’s not as clear cut these days. It’s all about politics.’ He nodded at the gun in McIntyre’s hand. ‘A few years ago, a Regiment guy with a gun would have just been given a dressing down by the local cops. Wouldn’t have made the papers, you’d have just been given a bollocking by the Boss. These days, there are cameras on the spot within minutes so the whole world is watching and the cops have to play it by the book, The Army’s heading down the same road.’

  McIntyre drained his can, tossed it into the corner, then pushed himself out of his armchair. ‘Anyone else want another?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ said Shepherd. He had barely touched his lager.

  ‘I’ll have another, Jock.’

  McIntyre grunted and headed down the hallway to the kitchen. Shepherd looked at the gun, still lying on the coffee table.

  ‘Don’t even think about it, Spider,’ said Armstrong.

  ‘It’d mean him getting out of here in one piece,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Straight behind bars, like he said. And he’d blame you for it. He wouldn’t think of it as you helping to keep him alive, he’d see it as a betrayal.’

  ‘See what as a betrayal?’ asked McIntyre. He walked into the room, tossed a can of lager to Armstrong and sat back in the armchair.

  ‘What the SAS did to you,’ lied Armstrong. ‘They should have helped.’

  ‘They bloody well sacked me, Billy. Tossed me out on the scrapheap.’

  ‘Jock, you’re what, forty three? Forty four? You’re hardly on the scrapheap.’

  ‘My life is over, Spider, Done and dusted. I’ve lost my job, I’ve lost my family, I don’t have a penny to my name. I’m fucked.’ He popped the tab on his lager and drank.

  Shepherd looked at Armstrong but Armstrong just shrugged. Neither of them had any idea of what to say to McIntyre. ‘There has to be another way out,’ was the best he could come up with.

  ‘Name one,’ said McIntyre sourly.

  ‘We can find work for you, Jock,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You say that, but we both know it’s not true. I’m not cut out for personal protection, and Billy wasn’t able to get me anything. You want me to go back to baby-sitting office blocks at night?’ He shook his head vehemently. ‘I’m done with that. I’m done with it all, Spider.’

  ‘You’ve got kids, Jock. They’ll see it on TV. Do you want this to be the last memory they have of you?’

  ‘They don’t give a toss about me. ‘

  ‘They’re you’re kids, Jock. They’ll care.’

  McIntyre wiped his face with his hand. ‘My kids hate me,’ he said. ‘Emma made sure of that.’ He looked up at Shepherd, His eyes were red and he looked close to tears. ‘How’s your boy?’

  ‘Liam? He’s a good kid. He’s at boarding school so I don’t see him as much as I’d like to, but he loves it. Lots of sports and they work them hard.’

  ‘You keep hold of him, Spider. It’s easy to lose them when they’re teenagers.’ McIntyre drained his can and tossed it into the corner by the window. He leaned forward and picked up the gun.

  ‘Jock, think about this,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I’ve done nothing else but think since I got the eviction notice,’ said McIntyre. ‘I’m out of options.’

  Armstrong looked over at Shepherd. ‘What’s the story with the cops?’ he asked. ‘Is it fixable?’

  ‘Fixable in what way?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Can we get Jock out without them shooting him? Sure. He just has to throw the gun down and walk out with his hands in the air. Fixable as in making it go away?’ Shepherd sighed. “I don’t know. Really. The Police are all about ticking boxes these days and there’s no box that says forgive and forget.’

  McIntyre stood up. ‘You guys best be going,’ he said. ‘I’m glad you came, it was great to see you, but it’s time to say goodbye.’

  ‘Don’t do this, Jock,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Spider, I appreciate your concern. And I’m grateful for the help you gave me before. But I’m a lost cause.’

  Shepherd and Armstrong stood up. Shepherd’s mind was racing. He could overpower McIntyre, he was sure of that. McIntyre trusted him and wouldn’t be expecting it. But what then? The cops would pile in and McIntyre would be bundled away. Five years in prison? Ten? Shepherd had spent time in prison undercover and he knew how depressing life could be behind bars. And when he was released, if anything he’d be in an even worse position. No one in the security business was going to give a former convict a job. McIntyre had painted himself into a corner and Shepherd couldn’t see any way out of it.

  One of his phones rang and he fished out all four.

  Armstrong laughed. ‘Bloody hell, how many phones have you got?’ he said, but Shepherd motioned for him to be quiet. It was the Nokia pay-as-you-go.

  ‘I’ve got to take this guys, it’s the job I’m on. Keep quiet, yeah?’

  He walked into the hallway and took the call. ‘Micky, it’s Dave.’

  ‘Yeah, Dave. How’s it going?’

  ‘We’re coming in to port now. I’ll send you the co-ordinates. Text me back to let me know you get them, okay?’

  ‘Will do. No problems?’ Shepherd walked into the kitchen as he talked. He looked around.

  ‘Good as gold. Just make sure the truck’s ready and waiting, we don’t want to hang about.’

  Shepherd ended the call. Several seconds later the phone beeped to let him know he’d received a message. It was the co-ordinates identifying the location of the drop off. Shepherd sent a text back to say that he’d received it. The deal was that the guys on land wouldn’t be told until the last minute where the drugs were being delivered. He held the Nokia in his left hand and called Ricky Reece on the Samsung. Ricky was parked in a lay-by outside Brighton. Shepherd told him the boat was on its way and that he’d send the co-ordinates. He ended the call and then copied the coordinates onto the Samsung and sent the SMS to Reece. He sent the same SMS to Charlie Button and then phoned her. ‘It’s on,’ he said. ‘The boat should be docked within half an hour and the truck’s on its way. What’s the plan?’

  ‘As soon as the gear’s on the truck we’ll move in,’ said Button. ‘Interpol are liaising with the Spanish and we’ll be picking the Costa guys up at the same time as we’re rounding up our targets in London. Nice work, Spider. Job well done.’

  ‘Let’s not
go counting chickens,’ said Shepherd. ‘The cops could still screw it up. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

  ‘Speaking of which, how’s it going there?’

  ‘Not good,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I hope you’re not there in any sort of official capacity,’ she said.

  ‘They know I served with him, they’re happy to use me for intel,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Do they know you’re with Five?’

  Shepherd closed his eyes and cursed silently. He couldn’t lie to her because if he did and she found out, she’d never trust him again. ‘I mentioned it, but only to the Silver Commander. Gold is the guy I worked with in the West Midlands a while back. Chief Superintendent Warner. He’s cleared it.’

  ‘Not with me he didn’t,’ said Button tersely. ‘Just make sure this doesn’t blow up in your face.’

  ‘I’m doing my best,’ said Shepherd.

  She ended the call and he put the phones away. He unclipped the radio, then gently pushed the kitchen door closed. He held the radio to his mouth and pressed the transmit button. ‘Shepherd here. Over.’ He released the transmit button, waited a few seconds and then tried again.

  ‘Silver here,’ said the superintendent. ‘How is it in there? Over.’

  Shepherd gave the superintendent a quick rundown of the situation, including the wires on the windows and the nailed planks.

  ‘What weaponry does he have? Over.’

  ‘A Makarov. I think eight in the clip and I don’t see any spare ammunition,’ said Shepherd. ‘He might only have a few rounds left. I’ll try to find out for sure. It’s not an accurate firearm and he’s lost any edge he once had. Just keep your distance for a while longer. I can handle this. Over and out.’

  He clipped the radio back on his belt, opened the kitchen door and went back to rejoin McIntyre and Armstrong.

  ‘Problems?’ asked Armstrong.

  ‘All good,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘You need to be going,’ said McIntyre.

  ‘Come with us,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ll go with you. We’ll speak for you in court. I’m sure I can get a doctor to plead PTSD, if necessary we can go to the papers.’