False Friends ss-9 Page 4

  ‘It’s a mess,’ said Shepherd. ‘But yes, we need to discuss a few things and the sooner the better.’

  ‘I didn’t know what was going to happen,’ said Button. ‘You know that if I had known I’d have told you.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m not sure that the fact they kept you in the dark inspires me with confidence,’ said Shepherd, as the taxi pulled up at a red light.

  ‘Be with you as soon as I can,’ said Button, ending the call.

  Shepherd’s flat had been supplied by MI5 as part of his cover. He was a freelance journalist and the flat was in keeping with a journalist’s lifestyle: a cramped one-bedroom flat in a side road off Hampstead High Street. The taxi dropped him outside and Shepherd paid the driver. The taxi drove off just as Shepherd realised that he hadn’t asked for a receipt and he cursed under his breath.

  The flat was in a block built during the sixties to fill the gap left when two mews houses were demolished by a stray German bomb during the Second World War. Shepherd’s flat was on the second floor with a small sitting room overlooking the street, a bedroom at the back, a small shower room and a kitchen that wasn’t much bigger than the shower room.

  He let himself in, tapped in the burglar alarm code and then dropped his kitbag behind the sofa before taking a quick shower.

  He was combing his still-damp hair when the intercom rang and he buzzed Button in. He had the door open for her when she came up the stairs, and as always there was the briefest hesitation when it came to greeting her. A handshake always seemed too formal but she was his boss and a kiss on the cheek always seemed somehow wrong. She made the decision for him, putting her right hand on his arm and pecking him just once on the cheek.

  ‘Good to see you back in one piece, Spider,’ she said, moving past him into the hallway. She was wearing a black suit and black heels and her chestnut hair was loose, cut short so that it barely touched her shoulders.

  ‘I’ve got wine,’ said Shepherd, closing the door. ‘Or are you driving?’

  ‘I’m being driven,’ said Button. ‘One of the perks. So anything white would be good, preferably without bubbles.’

  Shepherd went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. ‘I’ve got Frascati.’

  ‘No Pinot Grigio?’ asked Button.

  ‘Sadly, no. I’m a freelance journo, remember?’

  ‘Then Frascati it is.’

  ‘Screw top, I’m afraid.’

  Button laughed. ‘Corks are overrated.’ She took off her jacket and sat down in an armchair. It and the two-seater sofa were the only places to sit and there was no dining table. ‘Cosy, isn’t it?’ she said as he walked in from the cubbyhole of a kitchen.

  ‘It’s close to the Heath so I get to run whenever I want to. And it’s close enough to Stoke Newington so that I can be over there in a hurry if necessary.’

  ‘Have you fixed up a meet with them?’

  ‘I will do,’ said Shepherd, sitting down on the sofa with the bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘So, you had no idea that they were going to kill him?’ asked Shepherd. ‘No hint? No clue?’

  ‘How can you even ask that?’ said Button. ‘I was as much in the dark as you were. All I was told was that we could have one operative on the team. My understanding was that providing Bin Laden wasn’t armed he was to be held for interrogation and eventual trial.’

  ‘He was unarmed,’ said Shepherd. ‘They all were.’

  ‘There was no firefight? The Americans are saying they came under fire.’

  ‘The only shots fired were fired by the Yanks,’ said Shepherd as he poured wine into the two glasses. ‘They shot one of his wives and then they shot him. A double tap to make sure. Then they all cheered and did that stupid whooping thing. They shot an unarmed man and then act like they’re bloody heroes. Twats.’

  ‘I’m sorry it worked out that way, Spider.’

  ‘You know, it seems to me that we would have been better off sending in the SAS. I said at the time it was a mistake trusting it to the Seals. They like to go in with guns blazing, kill everyone and let God sort them out.’ He shook his head and sneered in disgust.

  ‘At least you’re back in one piece.’

  ‘Yeah, well, no thanks to the Yanks. You heard about the helicopter they crashed, right?’

  Button nodded.

  Shepherd tapped his chest. ‘Well, I nearly bought it when it came close to crashing into the chopper I was in. Missed us by feet. I tell you, if it had hit us it would have been thank you and good night.’

  ‘What happened?’ She picked up her glass, sniffed the wine, then sipped it.

  ‘The pilot got too close to the compound wall and the rotor blast got deflected back. Instant loss of lift and down they went. Lucky no one was hurt. I tell you, Charlie, from start to finish it was a disaster. The plan was to lower us by rope inside the compound. The chopper crashes so we’re on the wrong side of the wall. They tried to break down the gate and when that didn’t work they had to use C4 to blow it. By the time we got into the compound every man and his dog for miles must have heard us.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry. It just pisses me off how badly organised they are. And after all that they still start shooting unarmed men and women. They killed Bin Laden’s son and he didn’t even have a gun. For all I know he could have been surrendering. It was an assassination, nothing less.’

  ‘There are those that might say it’s better they didn’t take him alive. Can you imagine what al-Qaeda might have done to try to force the Americans to give him back? At least this way that’s not an option.’

  ‘Yeah? You think there won’t be repercussions? Because I’ll take any bet you want to place. If Bin Laden had come out firing an AK-47 there might have been an argument for shooting him, but he was unarmed and they put a bullet in his chest and one in his head.’ He forced a smile. ‘At least they didn’t shoot me. I guess I should be thankful for small mercies.’ He toyed with his wine glass. ‘So what now?’

  ‘Business as usual,’ said Button. ‘I need you to hand-hold Chaudhry and Malik. Especially after what’s happened.’

  ‘I’ll check in by phone tonight and arrange a meeting.’

  ‘How do you think they’ll react?’

  Shepherd grimaced. ‘They’ll be pleased he’s dead; they both hated him for what he’d done. But they’ll wonder why I didn’t give them a heads-up about what was going to happen.’

  ‘Smooth their feathers,’ she said. ‘Say whatever’s necessary to keep them on track.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie to them, Charlie.’

  She swirled her wine around the glass. ‘No one’s asking you to lie, or even bend the truth. But they’re amateurs doing a very dangerous job and they need the kid-gloves treatment. For instance, probably best not to tell them you were in Pakistan.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to,’ said Shepherd. ‘They don’t know about my SAS background.’

  ‘That’s the way to play it,’ she said. ‘You’re a regular MI5 intelligence officer with undercover experience pretending to be a freelance journalist,’ she said. ‘Anything else will just overcomplicate it.’

  ‘Let me ask you something,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do you think killing Bin Laden makes it more likely now that Raj and Harvey are going to be put into play?’

  ‘They were already in play. They’ve been trained in Pakistan; they met with Bin Laden; they’ve been groomed to commit a major terrorist atrocity. It has always been a matter of when and not if. I’m surprised it’s taken as long as it has.’

  Shepherd sipped the last of his wine and then refilled their glasses. ‘I just can’t help thinking that killing Bin Laden is like a red rag to a bull. Especially the way they did it. Shooting him in cold blood and dumping his body at sea. If I was a radical Muslim I’d be getting ready to make my point.’

  ‘But as the Americans are taking the credit, they’ll be the ones suffering the consequences,’ said Button. ‘No one knows of our involvement and the Americans certainly won’t be publicising that you were with the Seal t
eam.’

  ‘But if al-Qaeda does lash out at the UK, Raj and Harvey could be at the forefront.’

  ‘We’ll be listening for chatter and the Border Agency is on alert,’ said Button. ‘I think if anything it’ll subdue al-Qaeda for a while. They’ll retrench and regroup.’

  ‘Would you like a bet on that?’

  ‘I never gamble, Spider. You know that.’ She raised her glass to him. ‘And seriously, I’m glad you’re okay. I was never convinced that sending you to Pakistan was a good idea but my bosses wanted one of ours on the team. Word had come down from Number Ten.’

  ‘What, to demonstrate that the special relationship is still there?’

  ‘Who knows how our masters think?’ said Button. ‘It was probably just to get one over on the French.’ She sipped her wine again. ‘While we’re waiting for Chaudhry and Malik to be put into play there’s another job coming up, if you’re interested.’

  ‘I get a choice?’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s a change.’

  ‘It means a secondment to the Met.’

  Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m not investigating cops again,’ he said. ‘I told you after the last time, that’s not what I’m about.’

  ‘Heard and understood,’ said Button. ‘No, it’s run-of-the-mill bad guys being targeted. And it’ll mean you meeting up with someone from your past. Sam Hargrove.’

  It was the last name that Shepherd had expected to hear and he raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Sam’s found a home in the Met’s Covert Operations Group and needs a hand on an undercover job,’ continued Button. ‘He’s a DCS now. He was still a superintendent when you were with his unit, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Shepherd. ‘Good to see him doing so well. Did he ask for me specifically?’

  Button shook her head. ‘The Met is stretched, SOCA’s in disarray and the head of Covert Policing Command knows my boss at Five so I think it got discussed over lunch at the Garrick and I was asked to put someone forward. With your police background you were the obvious choice.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Shepherd hesitantly.

  ‘Problem?’

  ‘No, it’s not that. It’s just, you know, the past is a different country. You can’t go back, can you? I left the Met to join SOCA and left SOCA to go to Five. It’s going to feel strange going back to where I started.’

  ‘It wasn’t that long ago. But if you’ve any reservations, any reservations at all, let me know.’

  ‘No, it’s all good.’ He nodded. ‘Really. It’ll be interesting to see how the Met’s been getting on without me.’ Shepherd smiled. He wasn’t worried about working with Sam Hargrove again. In fact he was looking forward to it. He’d enjoyed working for Hargrove in the Met’s undercover unit in the days before it had been taken over by SOCA, and there had several times over the past few years when he’d considered giving his former boss a call.

  ‘Why don’t you sleep on it and if you’re not keen you can let me know tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t need to,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’ll be fine. It’s not as if I’m rushed off my feet, is it?’

  ‘There’s a lot of waiting, that’s true,’ said Button. ‘But I’ve made it clear to Sam that if you are co-opted your Five work takes absolute precedence. If Chaudhry or Malik need you, you drop everything.’

  Shepherd nodded and sipped his wine, watching her over the top of his glass. She almost always referred to the men by their family names, almost never as Raj and Harvey. He wondered if it was deliberate and that she was distancing herself from them. And that made him wonder how she referred to him when he wasn’t around. Was he Dan? Or Spider? Or Shepherd?

  ‘What?’ she said, and he realised that he must have been staring.

  He grinned. ‘Nothing, I was just wondering if Jimmy Sharpe would be involved. I haven’t seen him for months but the last I heard was that he was doing some undercover work with the Met.’

  ‘Well, if he is, give him my best.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be going, I’ve a stack of emails that need answering and I’ve a conference call with Langley in a couple of hours.’

  Shepherd slapped his forehead. ‘Damn, I knew I’d forgotten something. I was supposed to Skype Liam.’ He groaned. ‘They’re not allowed to use their laptops after eight. I’ll have to call him tomorrow.’

  ‘How’s he getting on at boarding school?’

  ‘Loves it,’ said Shepherd. ‘His grades are improving and he’s really into all the sports. He’s started rock climbing, and that’s something I used to do as a kid so hopefully we’ll get in a few climbs together at some point.’

  ‘It’s funny how quickly they adapt,’ said Button. ‘My daughter always wanted to go to boarding school. There were a few tears the first week she was away, but these days she can’t wait to get back. It’s a teenage thing, I guess; they’d rather be with their friends.’

  ‘It works out really well for me,’ said Shepherd. ‘I can take him out any weekend if I want and they’re very relaxed about midweek visits. I try to Skype him every evening but this whole Pakistan thing has meant that I haven’t spoken to him for a week.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘I spoke to him just before I went away, but obviously I didn’t say where I was going, just that I was working and that I probably wouldn’t be able to use my phone or computer. The Yanks were so paranoid they took everything off me as soon as I got to their airbase. They didn’t give me my phone back until I was boarding my plane this morning and by then the battery was dead.’

  ‘He’ll be okay. He’s used to your absences.’

  ‘It’s not him I’m worried about,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m the one that misses him, not the other way round.’ He drained his glass. ‘At least I don’t have to nag him to do his homework; the school’s doing a better job of that than I ever did.’

  He stood up and showed Button to the door.

  ‘I’ll get Sam to call you, then,’ she said, heading downstairs before he had time to worry about whether to shake her hand or accept a peck on the cheek.

  Shepherd watched the battered black Golf GTI pull into the car park and drive slowly around before parking in the bay furthest away from the M1 motorway. London Gateway services, between junctions two and four north of the capital, was perfect for clandestine meetings. It was a place full of transients: everyone was a stranger and everyone was on the way to somewhere else. London Gateway was just a stopping-off point for a coffee, a toilet break or an expensive and badly cooked meal. Businessmen with mobile phones glued to their ears, chav housewives shepherding unruly broods towards the bathrooms, bald-headed white-van drivers chewing gum and knocking back cans of Red Bull, they all remained the centre of their own universes and showed little if any interest in the people around them.

  Miles to the south, moored on the Thames in the centre of the city, was the museum warship HMS Belfast. Shepherd had read somewhere that the warship’s guns were aimed so that their shells, if fired, would fall directly on to the service centre. It was a nugget of information that his perfect memory kept locked away for ever, but for the life of him he had no idea why the centre had been targeted, and could only assume it was a comment on the drab architecture. Or maybe someone had once eaten a bad sausage roll there.

  Shepherd climbed out of the Volvo, a three-year-old model from the office pool. He locked the door and walked over to the Golf, whistling softly to himself. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and he kept his head down. He tapped on the rear window of the car and the two men inside jumped as if they’d been stung, then they relaxed as they recognised him.

  Shepherd opened the rear door and got in. ‘Harvey, when are you going to get yourself a decent motor?’ he asked, clapping the driver on the back.

  ‘This, it’s a classic, innit?’ said Malik. It was cold in the car and both men were bundled up, Chaudhry in his duffel coat and Malik in his green parka jacket.

  Shepherd pulled on the handle to close the door and it threate
ned to come away in his hand. ‘It’s a piece of shit,’ he said.

  ‘So how about your bosses pay for a new motor, then?’ said Chaudhry. ‘There was a reward for Bin Laden, wasn’t there? Twenty-five million bucks. How about sending some of that our way, John?’

  John Whitehill was Shepherd’s cover name. It was the only name they would ever know him by. ‘I’ll ask, but the Yanks are taking the credit,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but they know the information came from us, right?’ said Malik, twisting round in his seat.

  ‘What do you think, Harvey? You think we’ve been shouting your names from the rooftops?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ said Malik, his cheeks reddening. ‘But Obama knows, right?’

  ‘Of course Obama doesn’t bloody well know,’ said Shepherd. He ran a hand through his hair, trying not to lose his temper. He forced himself to smile. ‘If the President knew then at least a dozen other people would know, and Washington leaks like a bloody sieve. All the politicians are hand in glove with the media so it wouldn’t take long for the info to go public and then the two of you would be well fucked. I presume you don’t want your names splashed across the New York Times.’

  ‘But someone knows, right?’ said Malik. ‘We get the credit, right?’

  ‘We know, Harvey. That’s what matters.’

  ‘And who is “we”, exactly?’ pressed Malik.

  Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘I’m fine,’ said Malik. ‘I just want some reassurance here that someone else isn’t taking credit for what we did. We found Bin Laden. We found the man the whole world was looking for. And we told you and then the Americans went in and killed him. And nowhere do I hear that it was anything other than an American operation.’

  ‘Which is what we want. That sort of disinformation keeps you safe. What do you want, Harvey? You want to go and shake hands with Obama in the White House and have him tell you how proud he is?’

  ‘What I want, John, is a piece of the twenty-five-million reward that the Americans promised.’

  ‘That was up to twenty-five million,’ said Shepherd. ‘If they do pay it then it’ll be split among everyone involved.’