Shepherd was finishing his breakfast when he heard a phone ringing upstairs. He knew from the tone that Salik was calling. ‘Work?’ said Liam, reading his mind. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating his favourite scrambled eggs with cheese on toast and reading a comic, in which aliens were being blown apart by wisecracking space cowboys.
‘It never stops,’ said Shepherd.
‘We’re going to play football, right?’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd, then hurried up the stairs and took the call.
‘Where are you?’ asked Salik.
‘Out and about,’ said Shepherd. ‘What’s up?’
‘Are you at home?’
Shepherd couldn’t afford to say he was in case Salik was sitting outside the house in Dover. ‘I’m talking to some guy about a property in Spain,’ he said, ‘in case I have to leave the country at short notice.’
‘We would like to see the boat today,’ said Salik. ‘Can you meet us in Southampton?’
Shepherd looked at his watch. ‘When?’
‘We are in London. We could get to Southampton by three.’
‘Okay. Have you got a pen?’ Shepherd gave Salik the address of the marina and told him to wait in the car park until he got there. He cut the connection and phoned Hargrove.
‘They’re hooked,’ said the superintendent. ‘That’s good news.’
‘They just want to check the boat out but it looks as if they’re going to bite.’
‘Excellent,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll bring Singh in and we’ll get you wired up.’
‘I don’t think there’s much point in recording anything,’ said Shepherd, ‘and we wouldn’t pick up much on the boat over the noise of the outboard.’
‘We’ll need something on tape,’ said Hargrove.
‘Let’s see if they pat me down today,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s your call,’ said Hargrove.
‘I wouldn’t mind Sharpe and Joyce in the vicinity.’
‘Do you think the brothers still don’t trust you?’
‘After what the bloody Albanians did to me in Paris, I’m assuming nobody trusts me.’
‘I’m sure they’ll appreciate the overtime,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll call them.’
‘I’m assuming that all the Uddins will want is a look at the boat, maybe a short run out to sea.’
‘They wouldn’t be planning to pull a fast one on you, like he did with the trip to France?’
‘If they do, I’ll say no. I’m not doing the proper run unless everything’s set up at both ends. I learned my lesson last time.’
Shepherd ended the call and went downstairs. Liam glared at him over his comic.
‘What?’ said Shepherd.
‘I know what you’re going to say.’
‘Liam—’
‘It’s not bloody fair.’
‘Don’t swear!’
Liam threw down his comic and stormed out of the kitchen, pushing past Katra who was carrying an armful of dirty towels.
‘I have to work,’ Shepherd explained to her.
‘He was looking forward to playing with you,’ said Katra.
‘I know, but this is important,’ said Shepherd.
Katra opened her mouth to speak, then changed her mind.
‘What?’ said Shepherd.
‘Nothing,’ said Katra.
‘What were you going to say?’
‘It’s not my place, Dan,’ she said. ‘I work for you. I’m an employee.’ She opened the washing-machine and began to push in the towels.
‘You’re more than that, Katra, you know you are. Now, what were you going to say?’
Katra sighed and closed the washing-machine door. ‘Old habits die hard,’ she said, as she straightened up. ‘That’s the expression you used before, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s as if you’ve got into the habit of letting Liam down, as if he doesn’t matter.’
‘Of course he matters,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s my son.’
‘But work comes first?’
‘Of course,’ said Shepherd, and regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. He sat down at the kitchen table as the ramifications of what he’d just said hit home. ‘Wow,’ he said.
Katra smiled sympathetically, knowing she’d proved her point.
‘I really said that, didn’t I?’ He put his head into his hands. ‘What a shit I am.’
Katra sat down opposite him. ‘He knows you love him,’ she said.
‘But he always comes second to my job. What sort of father am I?’
Katra reached across and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s because when your wife was here it didn’t matter so much if you had to be away. He had a mother and a father. Now he has only you.’
Shepherd banged his fist against his head. ‘You’re right.’
‘I can be with him, so it’s not as if you leave him on his own, but I’m not his family.’
‘And I’m carrying on exactly as I was when Sue was here,’ he said. ‘I can’t believe I said work was more important than my son.’
‘It’s a demanding job,’ said Katra.
‘That’s no excuse,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve been such a bastard to him.’
‘No,’ said Katra. ‘He understands. Really. And he’s proud of you. He talks about you all the time when you’re not here,’ she said.
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘You don’t tell him much about your work, but he knows you don’t have a job like his friends’ fathers. He understands you don’t work regular hours.’
‘I don’t think I could do any other sort of job.’
‘Even for Liam?’
Shepherd sat back and ran his hands through his hair. ‘I want both.’ He sighed. ‘I want a job that challenges me, and I want to be a good father.’
‘Perhaps you can’t have both,’ said Katra. ‘Perhaps you have to choose.’
Shepherd pushed back his chair and stood up. ‘You might be right,’ he said. He went upstairs and knocked on Liam’s bedroom door. When the boy didn’t answer, Shepherd knocked again and opened the door a little way. ‘Liam, can I come in?’ Sue and he had made it a rule since Liam was seven that they asked permission to enter his bedroom. And Liam had to do the same with theirs. It had taught him the value of privacy, and prevented embarrassing interruptions. ‘Liam, I’d like to talk to you.’
‘There’s nothing to talk about,’ said Liam.
Shepherd opened the door fully. His son was lying on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. ‘I’m sorry,’ said Shepherd.
‘You’re always sorry.’
Shepherd sat down on the side of the bed. Liam rolled away from him. ‘It’s a big case,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s one I’ve been working on for a long time.’
Liam said nothing.
‘Last time I was away, remember? I had to go to France. I was on a boat. I told you, right? Well, it’s that case and I’m still working on it. I’ll have to go back to France again and this is part of that. I have to go and see some people this afternoon.’
‘Why today? It’s Saturday.’
‘The bad guys don’t work office hours, Liam. I can’t tell them I’m playing football with my son, can I?’
‘Why not?’
Another question to which Shepherd had no answer.
‘Do the bad guys have kids?’
‘One does,’ said Shepherd. He thought of the four photographs Salik had shown him. ‘Four. One’s a boy of about your age.’
Liam rolled back to face Shepherd. His cheeks were wet with tears. ‘So he’d understand. He’d play football with his kids, right?’
Shepherd imagined Salik running around with his children, sweating and panting as he tried to keep up. ‘Probably,’ he said.
‘So?’
‘So what?’
‘So tell him you promised to play football with your son and that you’ll see him next week.’
‘It’s not as simple as that.’
‘Like I said, it’s a big case.’
‘Is it drugs?’
‘No. Fake money.’
‘And are they gangsters?’
‘The men in France are. But the men in England . . .’ Shepherd frowned. He wouldn’t have described the Uddins as gangsters. Criminals, of course – they were breaking the law – but they weren’t what Shepherd would have called gangsters. ‘Not really. They’re bringing in the fake money. Smuggling.’
Liam sat up and shuffled back so that he was propped against the headboard. ‘Millions?’
‘Sure.’
‘Millions of pounds?’
‘Euros.’
‘And how do they smuggle it in?’
‘Boats,’ said Shepherd.
‘And is that what you’ve been doing?’
Shepherd was telling his son more than he should about an operational matter, but Liam was enthralled. He patted the boy’s leg. ‘This is top secret, you know that?’
Liam nodded seriously. ‘Secret Squirrel.’
Shepherd held out his hand, his little finger crooked. ‘You mustn’t tell anybody,’ he said. ‘Pinkie promise.’
‘Pinkie promise.’ Liam crooked his little finger and linked it with Shepherd’s.
‘They use boats to bring the money in from France. I’m pretending to be a sailor. That’s why I drive the Land Rover with the boat stuff in it.’
‘Is it dangerous?’
Shepherd remembered the Albanians. ‘No, not really.’
‘Do they have guns?’
‘Most gangsters have guns,’ said Shepherd.
‘Do they fire them at you?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘But you were shot in the army.’
Shepherd’s shoulder began to ache. It was his brain playing tricks, he knew, a subconscious reminder of the bullet he’d taken in the Afghan desert. ‘That was different,’ he said. ‘That was a war.’
‘But gangsters shoot people, don’t they?’
‘Not police officers,’ said Shepherd. ‘If they do, they go to prison for ever. Liam, I’m really sorry about today, but I have to talk to these men and show them the boat.’
‘The smugglers’ boat?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘I won’t be more than a few hours. If I get back before it’s dark, we can still play football. Okay?’
Liam smiled unwillingly. ‘Okay.’
‘And I’ll owe you one,’ said Shepherd.
‘So you’ll let me have my television back in my bedroom?’
‘Don’t push it.’ Shepherd grabbed him and began to tickle him.
Liam writhed on the bed. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘I give in, I give in!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes!’
Shepherd released him and stood up. ‘And I want all your homework done by the time I get back,’ he said, ‘or I’ll tickle you again.’
‘I’m too old to be tickled.’
Shepherd lunged at him again and the boy squealed. ‘Okay! I’ll do it!’
The boat was moored at a berth in a small marina on the outskirts of Southampton, rented in the name of Tony Corke and backdated for twelve months. Salik and Matiur stood on the wooden jetty as Shepherd pulled the faded blue tarpaulin off the boat and rolled it up.
‘Come on, climb aboard,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m not good on boats,’ said Matiur. ‘I get seasick.’
‘A rib doesn’t roll like a normal boat,’ said Shepherd. ‘It cuts through the waves. It’s more like a car than a boat.’
Matiur put his hands up. ‘I’ll stay here,’ he said.
Shepherd looked at Salik. ‘What about you?’
‘I suppose so.’
‘I’ll just show you how it works so you can see for yourself how simple it is.’ He helped Salik climb in, fired the engine and told Matiur to release the moorings. He coiled the ropes, then eased the boat away from the jetty.
‘He liked you,’ said Salik, as Shepherd headed out to open water.
‘Who?’
‘Kreshnik. He said you were professional.’
‘Did he tell you what he did to me?’
‘What?’
‘His men hit me over the head and put me into the boot of a car at gunpoint.’
Salik seemed genuinely surprised. ‘They did that?’
‘Kreshnik’s a heavy guy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Dangerous.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Salik.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Shepherd. ‘Okay, sit down and hold on to the rail. I’ll show you what this baby can do.’
As soon as Salik had slid on to the seat, Shepherd pushed the throttle forward and the boat accelerated away from the marina, reaching planing speed within seconds. Salik’s jaw dropped.
Shepherd guided it through a flotilla of small dinghies, then accelerated to forty knots.
‘This is amazing,’ yelled Salik, squinting against the slipstream. ‘And we can’t be seen on radar?’
‘We’re virtually invisible,’ shouted Shepherd.
‘Amazing!’
Shepherd put the boat through a couple of tight turns, enjoying the alarm on his passenger’s face, then spent half an hour showing off what it could do and eventually took Salik back to the marina.
The brothers helped him tie up and cover the boat with the tarpaulin.
‘How was it?’ Matiur asked his brother.
‘Amazing,’ said Salik. ‘Like a sports car on water.’ He slapped Shepherd on the back. ‘We’ll do it for real tomorrow.’
‘What?’ said Shepherd.
‘Tomorrow. We have already paid Kreshnik.’
‘That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’
‘The sooner the better,’ said Matiur.
‘What about you? Are you coming too?’
‘We’re not, but we will send someone with you,’ said Matiur.
‘To keep an eye on me?’
Salik smiled. ‘It is a lot of money, Tony. You can understand our reluctance to let you bring it over alone.’
‘Just don’t make it one of the Albanians,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t want a bullet in the head.’
Salik patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry, they trust you now. As do we. But just because we trust you doesn’t mean we stop being careful.’
‘Where do I collect the stuff from?’
‘We’ll tell you tomorrow.’
‘And where do I deliver it to?’
‘Tomorrow.’
Shepherd smiled. ‘You love keeping me in the dark, don’t you?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Salik repeated. He put his arm round Shepherd’s shoulders and hugged him. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, Tony. We’ll make a lot of money and become good friends. We’ll meet again here tomorrow, as soon as it gets dark. Inshallah.’
Shepherd phoned Hargrove, using the hands-free kit, as he drove the Land Rover back to London. ‘They want to do it tomorrow night,’ he said.
‘You’re okay with that?’ asked the superintendent.
‘Providing the back-up’s in place at both ends, I’m easy,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ll talk to Europol now,’ said Hargrove. ‘The snag is, we won’t know where the stuff’s being collected. Are you okay being wired?’
‘I guess so,’ said Shepherd. ‘They didn’t pat me down this time.’
‘We’ll know where the boat is from the tracking device, but not where you’re going.’
‘You realise they might not tell me in advance?’
‘We’ll have the Albanians under surveillance, and the Uddin brothers under the microscope here. The wire will be a fallback position.’
‘Will it work at sea?’
‘Let me talk to Singh,’ said Hargrove, ‘see what he’s got in his box of tricks. We’ll meet in Southampton tomorrow at four.’
When Shepherd got home Liam was sitting at the kitchen table with Katra, chewing at a pencil and frowning at an exercise book. ‘Dad!’ he shouted, throwing dow
n the pencil and rushing to hug him.
‘Homework?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Science,’ said Katra. ‘Do you know anything about trees?’
‘The brown things with leaves on them? Sure.’
Liam laughed. ‘Photosynthesis, Dad,’ he said. ‘They turn sugar into starch in their leaves. I have to write an essay and Katra says I can’t use the Internet.’
‘Why would you want to?’
‘To download stuff. It makes it easier.’
‘You’re supposed to do it yourself,’ said Katra. ‘The Internet’s cheating.’
Liam looked at his father, hoping he’d contradict her, but Shepherd said, ‘Katra’s right. The teacher wants to know that you understand the science, not that you can download someone else’s work off the Internet. And you’re in enough trouble at school as it is.’
‘You’re so old-fashioned,’ said Liam, scornfully. ‘Everyone uses the Internet.’
‘Yeah, and everyone uses calculators, these days, which is why no one can add up in their heads any more. Remember when I made you do the times tables?’
Liam sighed. ‘Yes.’
‘And you didn’t like doing it at the time, right?’
‘It was boring.’
‘Sure it was boring. But now you know all the times tables, right? What’s nine times seven?’
‘Fifteen,’ said Liam, straight-faced.
‘What?’ said Shepherd.
‘Just joking,’ said Liam. ‘Sixty-three.’
‘See. You can do that because you learned your tables. Sometimes it’s better to do things the old-fashioned way.’
‘It’s hard,’ said Liam.
‘Nothing worth having comes easy,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s okay for you – your memory’s perfect.’
‘But it never helped me write essays,’ said Shepherd. ‘The teacher wants to know that you understand what you’ve learned, not that you can repeat parrot-fashion what someone else has written. Having a good memory doesn’t make it any easier to understand things. And being smart is about understanding stuff, not just memorising it.’ He pointed at the exercise book. ‘So, get writing, yeah?’
Liam sat down.
‘Do you want coffee?’ asked Katra.
Cold Kill Page 24