Sharpe put away his gun and transferred the metal detector to his right hand. Ali held out his arms to the side and Sharpe ran the detector over him. Then he did the same with Fazal. It beeped when it went over the man’s trouser pocket but it was only his keys and loose change.
‘They kicked the shit out of me and slashed me because to them I was the wrong colour,’ said Ali. ‘And do you know what the police did? Nothing. They couldn’t care less. Sent a white cop who was younger than me. He took a few notes and I never saw him again. Hospital was great but you want to know why? Because hardly anyone working there was white, that’s why.’
‘Sounds like a racial thing, rather than a religious one,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s the same,’ said Ali. ‘You think the guys who did this to me knew I was Muslim? Or cared? They didn’t ask – they didn’t need to. The guys who blew up the Tube were Asian so all Asians are the enemy.’
‘And what do you want the guns for? To even the score?’
‘What do you care why I want the guns? You sell, we buy.’
‘Can’t say fairer than that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Come and see what I’ve got.’
He took the two men to the metal cases and opened the one containing the Ingrams. ‘The good news is that these are brand new, unfired,’ said Shepherd. ‘The bad news is that it’ll take me a few days to get the other three.’
‘We said five,’ said Fazal.
‘Yeah, I know, but they’re difficult to get. When you called you didn’t say you wanted five. I can get five, but it’ll take a couple of days.’ He opened the case containing the magazines. ‘I got all the magazines but only a hundred rounds. The other five hundred are on the way.’
‘You can get them?’ pressed Ali.
‘I said I could, didn’t I? I had a hundred in stock but my guy in Croatia is going to have to ship the rest and that’ll take a few days.’
‘A couple? Or a few? Which is it?’ asked Fazal.
‘Why? Are you up against a deadline?’
Ali picked up one of the Ingrams and sighted along the top. ‘When can we get the rest?’ he asked.
‘Three days max,’ said Shepherd.
Ali reached for a magazine. ‘Can I try it?’
Sharpe laughed. ‘No, you can’t bloody try it!’ he said. ‘One, you’ll hear the noise half a mile away and, two, there’s no way we’re going to trust you with a loaded submachine-pistol, not after your stunt with the knives.’
‘How can we be sure they’ll work?’ asked Fazal, picking up the second gun.
‘They’re not second-hand cars,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re firearms. You strip them, you check the working parts. It’s the ammunition you should be worried about.’
‘What do you mean?’ said Ali, frowning.
‘A gun’s a gun,’ said Shepherd, ‘just a mechanical tool. If the individual parts function correctly, it’ll work. But with the ammunition, you’re dependent on a chemical reaction. A crap round can ruin your whole day. Basically guns don’t jam, bad ammunition does.’ He opened the case containing the boxed rounds. ‘But this is the best of the best. You’ll have no problems with it.’
‘I’d be happier firing them first,’ said Fazal.
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Buy them and you can fire them all you want. Speaking of which, where’s the money? I’ll take five grand for what you have here, and you can give me the rest on delivery of the other three Ingrams and the rounds.’
‘I’ll get Hassan to call for the cash,’ said Fazal.
‘What?’ said Sharpe.
‘We don’t have the money with us,’ said Ali.
Sharpe took a step forward. ‘What do you mean you don’t have the money?’
‘We wanted to see that you were for real.’
‘Are you winding me up?’
‘We just wanted to see what you had. Now we know you can come up with the goods, we’ll do business with you.’
‘Screw you, Paki,’ said Sharpe, prodding Ali in the chest. ‘We’re not fucking Argos – you don’t place an order and queue up at the desk.’
Fazal moved towards Sharpe, who pre-empted him by pulling out his gun and pointing it at the man’s face.
Ali held up his hand. ‘It’s okay,’ he said to Fazal.
‘No, it’s not okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with but this isn’t how business is done.’ He took the two Ingrams from the men and put them in the case.
‘We couldn’t be sure you’d have the guns,’ said Ali.
‘You’re time-wasters,’ said Shepherd, slamming the case shut. ‘I think you’d better go before my partner decides to use you as target practice.’
‘I want the guns,’ said Ali, ‘and I’ve got the money. Just not here.’
‘Okay, but here’s the thing. We don’t know you, so we don’t trust you. For all we know you could be working for the cops. Or you could be trying to roll us over. Either way, you can see how you not having the cash would set alarm bells ringing.’
‘Look, don’t get the wrong idea,’ said Ali. ‘We’ve got the money, we just didn’t bring it with us. I’ll tell Hassan to make a call and it’ll be here in fifteen minutes.’
‘Yeah, or maybe he makes a phone call and the cops come. Or your mates turn up with more knives.’
‘I swear to you, all that will happen is that the money will be brought to you,’ said Ali.
Shepherd looked across at Sharpe. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think we should just pop them both, then go out and put a bullet in the one outside,’ said Sharpe. ‘Something’s not right.’
Ali held up his hands. ‘Please, you have my word. We have the money. We want to buy as much as you want to sell. Let me get my colleague to make a phone call.’
‘I’ll tell you what we’ll do,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ll stand at the door with you. You shout at him to come to us. We listen while he makes the call. And if anything other than a bag of money arrives, you’ll have a bullet in your head. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
Shepherd pushed him towards the door, then motioned for Fazal to follow him. Sharpe kept his gun levelled on Ali as he walked behind him. ‘Stop at the door,’ said Shepherd. The two men did as they were told. Ali beckoned to Hassan.
‘Over here, slowly,’ said Shepherd. ‘And keep your hands out of your pockets.’ He didn’t believe the men intended to rip them off, but an underworld arms dealer like Graham May would be suspicious of everybody and everything.
Sharpe waved his gun at Hassan. ‘Make the call,’ said Sharpe. ‘Get the money and make sure every word is in English. If I hear one word of Paki I’ll shoot all of you.’
‘Urdu,’ said Fazal. ‘We speak Urdu.’
‘I don’t care what the hell you speak. I just want to hear English coming out of his mouth.’
Hassan reached inside his jacket.
‘And if that hand appears with anything other than a mobile phone in it, I’m going to start shooting.’
Hassan’s hand reappeared with a Motorola phone. He flipped it open, scrolled through the address book and called a number. ‘Yeah, everything’s okay,’ he said. ‘Bring the cash.’ He flipped the phone shut and glared at Shepherd.
‘You can stop giving me hard looks,’ Shepherd said to Hassan. ‘They don’t worry me, and it was your own fault for thinking you could take my photograph without me minding. Now, get inside and sit down on the floor.’ He gestured at Ali and Fazal. ‘That goes for you too.’
The three men went to sit by the metal tables.
‘What do you think?’ whispered Sharpe.
‘I think they thought they were being clever, that’s all,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s not a problem.’
They stood by the door, but kept a close eye on the three men. Just under twenty minutes later, a Volvo estate car drove up.
‘They don’t go in for posh motors, do they?’ said Sharpe.
It parked next to the Mondeo. Asim was driving
and Salman was in the passenger seat.
‘Tom, get over here,’ said Shepherd. Ali got to his feet. The circulation had gone in his legs and he walked unsteadily over to the door. ‘Go and get the money,’ said Shepherd. ‘Five grand. Don’t make any sudden movements, don’t do anything that will make Lomas here get the least bit jittery because that gun he’s holding so casually has a hair trigger.’
‘Okay, okay,’ said Ali, and hurried over to the Volvo. Asim wound down the window. They were too far away for Shepherd and Sharpe to hear what was said, but Salman had a briefcase on his knee. He opened it, took out half a dozen bundles of notes, then closed the case and handed it through the window to Ali. Ali hurried back with the briefcase in both hands.
Shepherd followed him to the metal tables while Sharpe stood at the door, holding his gun in plain view.
Ali opened the briefcase. Inside there were bundles of used banknotes, a mixture of tens and twenties. Shepherd flicked through one, then tossed it back into the case.
‘Aren’t you going to count it?’ asked Ali.
‘If you’re short, I’ll shoot you in the legs,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now, do you want to count it or are you happy?’
‘It’s all there,’ said Ali.
‘Well, then, there’s no need to count it, is there?’ said Shepherd, cheerfully. He nodded at Hassan and Fazal. ‘You guys can get up now.’ They got to their feet. ‘I’ll call you once we have the rest of the guns and ammunition,’ said Shepherd. ‘Now that we know each other, we can bring them to you. Where are you guys from?’
‘Birmingham,’ said Fazal.
‘Two hours up the motorway,’ said Sharpe. ‘We can do that.’
‘Okay,’ said Ali, picking up the case of guns. He carried it towards the door. Fazal picked up the cases with the magazines and ammunition and followed him. Hassan took one from him.
‘Drive carefully,’ said Shepherd. Hassan gave him a final glare and Shepherd grinned back.
Ali and Fazal put their suitcases into the Mondeo’s boot, then climbed into the car. Hassan put his in with theirs, slammed the boot and joined them. They drove away, the Mondeo leading, as Shepherd and Sharpe watched them.
‘Those guys really are amateurs,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did you see the way they handled the Ingrams? I don’t think either of them had ever held a gun before. And they didn’t ask any of the questions they should have asked.’
‘Amateurs can do a lot of damage with guns like that,’ said Sharpe.
‘They won’t do anything until they’ve got the rest,’ said Shepherd.
‘Nice twist offering to take the guns to them,’ said Sharpe. ‘Weren’t you going off menu, though?’
‘Yeah, I didn’t think they’d go for it but they took the bait. We’ll see what Charlie says, but I think SO13 will want a chance to get a video of them with weapons on their own turf.’
Sharpe opened the briefcase of money. ‘Doesn’t look much, does it?’ he said.
‘It isn’t much,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s less than my estate agent’s charging me and not much more than I’ll pay my solicitor.’
They heard footsteps behind them and turned to see Button and Singh at the door. ‘Well done, gentlemen,’ said Button. She was wearing a dark blue blazer over a white shirt with pale blue Levis, and carrying a small transceiver in her right hand.
‘You got it all?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Sound and vision,’ said Singh.
Shepherd and Sharpe took off their jackets and shirts so that Singh could remove the transmitters and microphones. ‘What do you think?’ Shepherd asked Button.
‘Not the most professional bunch in the world,’ she said, ‘but you don’t have to be al-Qaeda trained to start blasting away in a shopping mall.’
Shepherd nodded at the knives and machete on the floor. ‘You’ll be able to get prints off those and I’m pretty sure they’re using their own vehicles.’
‘SO13 have them identified already,’ said Button.
‘I meant so we could get full IDs on them,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s an SO13 case,’ said Button. ‘We don’t need to duplicate their work. And I’m not sure we need you hotfooting it up to Birmingham.’
‘I thought it might help,’ said Shepherd.
‘Seems a bit over-keen,’ said Button. ‘Better we let them come down here.’
‘Yeah, let Muhammad come to the mountain,’ said Sharpe.
Button gave him a withering look. ‘Razor, you’re going to have to be careful with the racial epithets.’
‘It was a joke,’ said Sharpe.
‘I meant in general,’ she said. ‘Your language isn’t acceptable.’
‘I was in character,’ said Sharpe.
‘You can’t go hurling words like “Paki” around any more.’
‘With respect, ma’am,’ said Sharpe, ‘I’m using the slang appropriate to the legend I’ve been given. I can’t start talking like an Oxbridge graduate just because the Commission for Racial Equality might get on my back.’
‘I appreciate that, but the tape was running and if one day it gets to court the defence will have a field day. We don’t want another OJ, do we?’ Sharpe opened his mouth to reply but Button silenced him with a wave of her hand. ‘So, next time you feel like mouthing off, call him a prick or a moron, but don’t pick on racial characteristics.’
‘Heard and understood, ma’am,’ said Sharpe.
‘You’re grinning, Razor.’
‘It’s my sunny personality, ma’am.’
‘And stop calling me “ma’am”. I know you only do it to wind me up. Okay, today went well, all things considered. We’ve got them on tape with weapons, but I want to take it a step further.’
‘How?’ asked Shepherd.
‘According to SO13, the group is considering a suicide mission. I want you to offer them explosives and detonators.’
Shepherd stared at her, stunned. ‘You what?’
‘We need to ratchet it up a notch. When you call them about delivering the rest of the guns, let them know you can get explosives.’
‘They didn’t ask us for explosives, though, did they?’ said Shepherd.
‘Because you were put forward as an arms dealer,’ said Button. ‘They’ve accepted you, now it’s time to raise the stakes.’
Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Is this SO13’s idea, or yours?’ he asked.
‘Does it matter?’
‘It smacks to me of entrapment,’ said Shepherd.
‘They contacted you,’ said Button.
‘For guns. Now we’re suggesting that they set themselves up as suicide-bombers.’
‘We give them the option,’ said Button. ‘It’s up to them whether or not they take it. Spider, what’s the problem?’
‘No problem, I guess,’ said Shepherd.
She looked at Sharpe. ‘Razor?’
Sharpe grinned. ‘No problems here,’ he said.
Three loud bangs on the door jolted Mitchell out of a dreamless sleep. He groaned and rolled over. ‘Colin, stand by the wall, please.’ It was Kamil. Mitchell put a hand against it to steady himself as he got up. He had slept in some uncomfortable places but nothing compared with lying on a concrete floor with just a threadbare blanket.
He stood with his back to the wall, arms outstretched. A key rattled in the lock and the door opened. Mitchell caught a glimpse of a man holding a Kalashnikov, then Kamil was there with a paper plate and a plastic bottle of water. Kamil smiled. ‘I have food,’ he said, ‘and water.’
‘Thank you,’ said Mitchell.
Kamil gave him the plate. It was covered with a round slice of pitta bread on which lay a chicken leg, a chunk of feta cheese and a handful of green grapes. ‘Looks like you’ve got all four food groups covered,’ said Mitchell, ‘but a beer would be nice.’
‘To be honest, I’d happily give you one, but my colleagues out there are stricter than I am and they would not be happy if there was alcohol in the house.’
‘Tha
t’s okay. I was joking,’ said Mitchell. He sat down with his back to the wall and started to gnaw at the chicken leg. Kamil unscrewed the bottle top and handed the water to him. During the day it was stiflingly hot in the basement and Mitchell needed at least three litres of water to replace the fluid he lost through sweat. But at night it was so cold that even wearing his clothes and wrapped in the blanket he still shivered.
‘Have you been using the chess set?’ asked Kamil, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
For a moment Mitchell thought that the other man knew what he had been doing with the pieces, then realised he was only asking if he’d been practising. He nodded and popped three grapes into his mouth.
‘Do you want to play?’
‘Sure,’ said Mitchell. ‘How about we play for money?’
Kamil chuckled. ‘Muslims do not gamble, Colin. We can’t bet money in any form.’
‘Sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Kamil. ‘Where is the chess set?’
Mitchell pointed to The Da Vinci Code. ‘Under the book.’
Kamil crawled over to the paperback and moved it to the side. He picked up the magnetic chess set and opened it.
Mitchell chewed and tried to appear unconcerned. He had kept changing the pieces as he had worked on the screws in the socket so that they would all show the same wear and tear, but there was a chance that Kamil would notice the damage if he looked carefully.
‘Can I ask you a few questions about Islam?’ asked Mitchell.
Kamil seemed surprised. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know much about your religion,’ said Mitchell. ‘I’ve worked in Iraq for six months and I’ve seen the mosques and the men praying but I’ve never understood what the religion was about. What you were saying about there being just one God, it sounded like what I was told at church years ago.’
‘There are many similarities between our religions,’ said Kamil. He put the chess set on top of the book, ‘but we don’t believe that Jesus Christ was the son of God.’
Mitchell smiled. ‘I’ve always had trouble with that myself,’ he said. ‘I don’t see how a God could have a flesh-and-blood son.’
Hot Blood Page 13