Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies Read online

  The helicopter was directly overhead now, the rotor wash buffeting them and sending sea spray over the boat.

  ‘It’s over, Frankie!’ shouted Bell.

  ‘Like hell it is,’ shouted Rainey. ‘I’m not going to prison again!’ He aimed the gun over the heads of the Border Force team and pulled the trigger. Nothing happened. Rainey’s jaw dropped. He pulled the trigger and again nothing happened.

  Rainey looked over at Bell, his mouth wide open. The young boy slipped from his grip and ran towards his mother.

  Bell reached into his pocket with his right hand. He held up the ammunition clip from the gun.

  Rainey cursed and almost immediately disappeared under a scrum of fluorescent jackets.

  Bell looked over at Coatsworth, who was holding on to the outboard motor to keep his balance as the downdraught from the helicopter rocked the rib from side to side. Coatsworth frowned as he tried to work out what had just happened. He looked up at the helicopter and was immediately blinded by its searchlight. He put his hands up to shield his eyes, lost his balance and fell over the side into the water. It was only waist deep so he was soon on his feet and staggering through the waves to the shore.

  Three large figures ran over to Bell. One of them was the woman who had tried to talk to Rainey. She was as tall and heavyset as the men on either side of her. They were both holding big Magnalite torches. The man on her left was ginger-haired and had a crop of freckles across his nose and cheeks. ‘Hands behind your back,’ he growled in a West Country accent.

  ‘I’m on your side, pal,’ said Bell. ‘I’m with MI5.’

  ‘Yeah? And I’m James bloody Bond,’ said the man. He brought his flashlight crashing down on Bell’s head and he dropped like a stone.

  ‘Spider? Can you hear me?’ The voice sounded muffled, and far away. Dan ‘Spider’ Shepherd groaned and opened his eyes. The voice was that of a woman but the face looking down at him had a greying goatee. It was a paramedic in a fluorescent jacket. ‘Thank goodness for that, you had me worried for a moment.’ The voice was definitely female and the paramedic’s lips hadn’t moved.

  Shepherd realised that Charlotte Button was standing behind the paramedic. She was wearing a wool beanie hat and a North Face fleece-lined jacket. ‘Charlie?’

  The paramedic shone a small torch into Shepherd’s eyes and he flinched. ‘You’re not going to hit me with that as well, are you?’ he said.

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ he said. ‘It’s superficial.’

  ‘Superficial enough to knock me out cold,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I can take you in for an MRI if you want,’ said the paramedic.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s not the first time I’ve been hit and I’m sure it won’t be the last.’ He put his hand up to his head and felt a dressing just above his right ear.

  ‘There was some bleeding and some swelling,’ said the paramedic. ‘Are you allergic to aspirin?’

  ‘No, I’ve got no allergies, but I’m not partial to Magnalites at the moment.’

  ‘He’ll be fine,’ said Button, patting the paramedic on the shoulder. ‘He’s got a thick skull. Can you do me a favour and give me a minute or two?’

  The paramedic nodded and climbed out of the back of the ambulance. Shepherd struggled to sit up. ‘How long was I out?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes or so,’ she said.

  ‘He could have killed me.’

  ‘I think that’s a slight exaggeration,’ she said.

  ‘Why the hell did he hit me?’ asked Shepherd, touching the dressing again. ‘Didn’t he know who I was?’

  ‘He was a late addition, a replacement for a guy who called in sick,’ said Button. ‘Seems there was a breakdown in communication and he wasn’t told that you’d be on one of the boats.’

  ‘And why was no one there armed?’

  ‘They didn’t tell the police. I gather they were worried that they’d take the credit.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I wish I was. I understand it was discussed but there’d been no indication from you that anyone in Coatsworth’s gang was armed so they decided to do it without an armed police presence.’

  ‘They’re blaming me? Are you serious?’

  ‘Not exactly blaming you, just pointing out that you hadn’t mentioned firearms so they didn’t consider it necessary to ask for armed police support.’ She grimaced. ‘But I think you know as well as I do that it’s probably more that they wanted to keep the arrests in-house. Once they call in the armed police it becomes a police operation.’

  ‘Yeah, well, there’s a reason they call it Border Farce,’ said Shepherd. ‘You know, these days it’s more likely that it’ll be law enforcement hurting me than villains. It wasn’t that long ago that I was tasered by cops, remember?’

  ‘I remember. It was regrettable. As was what happened tonight.’

  ‘Regrettable? Armed cops tasered me while I was doused in petrol. I could have gone up like a Roman candle. And tonight I got walloped over the head when I was in the process of surrendering.’

  ‘Luckily you’ve got a thick skull.’ She smiled. ‘I’m sorry, I know it’s not a laughing matter.’

  ‘Damn right it’s not. Charlie, even if I was a bad guy, he was still out of order belting me the way he did. I had my hands up. I was no threat to him.’

  ‘You can make an official complaint if you want,’ said Button.

  ‘What’s the point?’

  ‘Exactly,’ she said. She looked at her watch. ‘Look, I’m sure you’re tired. I’ve got us rooms booked at a local hotel. Nothing fancy but I’m told they do a good breakfast. You should get some sleep and we’ll do a debrief later.’

  The hotel was surprisingly good considering it was well away from any main road and had only a dozen rooms. Shepherd showered and then slipped naked under a duvet and was asleep within seconds. He woke to the sound of the phone ringing next to the bed. He groped for it. ‘It’s a quarter to ten and they stop serving breakfast at ten,’ said Button. ‘What would you like?’

  ‘Coffee. Eggs and bacon.’ He ran a hand through his hair and winced as he touched the dressing.

  ‘They do a wonderful full English, I’m told.’

  ‘OK, fine. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ll order it now,’ she said.

  Shepherd rolled out of bed and pulled on his clothes from the previous night. There was a small washbag by the sink containing a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a disposable razor and a small can of shaving foam. He shaved, brushed his teeth and hurried downstairs. Button was sitting at a table by the window. Two other tables were occupied – a suited businessman reading the FT sat at one and a middle-aged couple sat silently at another. Button had changed into a grey suit and had her chestnut hair clipped up at the back, and she smiled at him over her cup of tea. ‘Sleep well?’

  He dropped down on to the seat opposite her and picked up his coffee. ‘I was dog-tired,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t be easy, driving one of those ribs.’ She raised her cup in salute. ‘Anyway, job well done. You’ve closed down a people-trafficking route and a drug-trafficking route in one fell swoop. Two birds with one stone, to complete the avian theme. Plus you saved that young boy’s life.’

  ‘Rainey was panicking, I don’t think he would’ve killed the kid.’

  ‘Spider, he held a knife to the boy’s throat. Anyway, you didn’t give him the chance. How’s the head?’

  ‘Still hurts,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Worse than before? Do you want to swing by the hospital?’

  ‘It’ll be OK,’ said Shepherd. ‘Like I said, I’ve been hit before.’

  A waitress arrived and put a plate of eggs, bacon, sausage, tomato, black pudding and beans in front of Shepherd, along with a full toast rack, before serving Button with a small portion of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon. She caught him looking at her food and smiled. ‘I’m on a bit of a diet,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t need to be,’ he said. He lau
ghed and picked up his knife and fork. ‘And I’m not just saying that.’

  ‘I’m on that eat for five days, fast for two days,’ she said. She picked up her fork. ‘Not a real fast, I just have to cut back to five hundred calories on a fast day.’ She nodded at her plate. ‘This is about it, I’m afraid.’

  Shepherd tucked into his breakfast while Button took small mouthfuls and chewed slowly.

  ‘That turned out to be one of your longer cases, didn’t it,’ she asked. It was a statement rather than a question.

  ‘Four months, on and off,’ he said, as he buttered a slice of toast. ‘It wasn’t easy getting them to approach me. Softly, softly. I had to get close to Rainey and then wait for him to introduce me to Coatsworth. It took time. And a lot of trips on the boat.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘You know, I was on a similar case seven years ago, when I was with the cops. That’s when I learned to drive a rib.’

  Button nodded. ‘That’s what made you the perfect choice for this job.’

  ‘Yeah, but here’s the thing. Seven years ago they were using ribs to dash across the Channel. My case back then was counterfeit currency, but it was clear the same boats were being used for drugs and for people. Seven years later nothing has changed.’

  ‘Your point being?’

  Shepherd smiled thinly. ‘I’m not sure there is a point,’ he said. ‘In fact the whole exercise seems pointless. Anyone can go out and buy a rib and a GPS and set themselves up as a smuggler.’

  ‘And we stop them. That’s how it works.’

  ‘But we’re not stopping them, are we? We stopped Coatsworth, sure. But how many others are there?’

  ‘You’re saying that because so many people are breaking the law we should just stop what we’re doing? That’s like saying we should let everyone drive at ninety miles an hour because so many people break the speed limit.’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘I just think there has to be a more efficient way of handling it. Make ribs harder to buy, for instance. Or have them all chipped so that they can be tracked by satellite. That way if one keeps running back and forth to the Continent, someone can knock on the captain’s door and ask him what he’s up to. How hard would that be?’

  ‘Fitting a tracker would be easy enough, but so would disabling it. But it’s a good idea, I’ll raise it with the relevant authorities.’

  ‘Not Border Farce, please.’

  Button chuckled. ‘You really must stop calling them that. I’ll end up picking up the habit and that really won’t do.’

  ‘Charlie, with the best will in the world, their incompetence nearly got me killed last night.’

  ‘You got a bump on the head.’

  ‘No, I had a Magnalite torch smashed down on my skull. If he’d hit my temple, I could have died. And that whole business with the kid wouldn’t have happened if there had been armed cops to take care of the situation.’

  ‘As I said last night, there had been no mentions of a gun so the Border Force commander didn’t think an armed response was necessary.’

  ‘The commander would be that woman who was on the beach, right? She seemed to be running things. Though by the size of her, I doubt she does much actual running.’

  ‘Spider! Please. That’s uncalled for.’

  ‘OK, I take it back. But you can understand why she’s not my flavour of the month just now.’ He gestured with his knife at the dressing on his head.

  ‘Anyway, she wasn’t the commander. The commander wasn’t on the scene, but she was his number two. She’s very experienced, Spider, she was ten years with Revenue and Customs investigations.’

  ‘She let the situation get out of control, way out of control.’ He buttered another piece of toast.

  ‘And you rescued it,’ said Button. ‘She knows that, and I will take it up with her commander. But really, all’s well that ends well.’ She refilled her cup from a white pot. ‘Now, let’s look ahead. I’ve nothing pressing for you and you put in more than enough hours on the Coatsworth case, so why not take a couple of weeks off. Have a holiday.’

  ‘I’m not a great one for beaches or swimming pools. But yeah, I could do with some downtime.’ He put down his knife and fork. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was but he’d cleaned his plate and eaten half the toast in the rack. He looked over at Button’s plate. She’d barely touched her scrambled eggs and salmon. ‘I’ll head back to Hereford, if that’s OK with you. I’ll need transport.’

  ‘There’s a car and driver outside ready to take you wherever you want to go,’ she said. ‘Where’s the Andy Bell vehicle?’

  ‘Up north. In the Seahouses harbour car park. I left it there when I took the rib over to France.’

  ‘I’ll get it collected,’ said Button. ‘And I’ll arrange for the cottage in Seahouses to be cleared. Is there anything there you need?’

  ‘It’s all legend stuff,’ said Shepherd. He took off his wristwatch, a battered TAG Heuer, and put it down in front of her. ‘That has to go back, too.’ He reached for another slice of toast, buttered it and covered it with marmalade.

  ‘Do you always eat like that?’ she asked.

  ‘Only when I’m ravenous,’ he said.

  ‘You must have a high metabolic rate.’

  ‘Piloting the rib takes a lot of energy,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re on your feet all the time and fighting the wheel. What’s happening with Coatsworth and the rest?’

  ‘They’ll all be charged with human trafficking, and the importation of Class A drugs. There were eight kilos of high-grade Afghan heroin in Rainey’s backpack. We’ll try to get him to tell us where the drugs were headed.’

  ‘And cut him a deal?’

  ‘That’s how it works.’

  ‘But no deal for Coatsworth?’

  ‘Not on the drugs. He’s denying all knowledge of the heroin.’

  ‘I don’t think he knew, Charlie. He never mentioned drugs to me.’

  ‘Why would he, you’re the new guy on the team.’ She leaned towards him. ‘Seriously, Spider, you did well. Coatsworth’s operation has brought over hundreds of illegals and heaven knows how much heroin.’

  ‘Ally always said the great thing about smuggling people was the penalties were so much lower.’

  ‘Ally?’ She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Just because I use his first name …’

  ‘The drugs were on his boat, Spider.’

  ‘No argument there, I’m just saying that he probably didn’t know what Rainey was doing. It was just a backpack. We all had gear with us.’

  ‘Yes, but you didn’t have eight kilos of almost pure heroin in your backpack, did you?’

  ‘So Coatsworth is going to be charged with drugs smuggling as well?’

  ‘That’ll be a CPS decision,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not fair.’ He held up his hands. ‘I know, life’s not fair.’

  ‘Spider, he ran a smuggling operation and the day we busted him there were eight kilos of heroin on his boat. If Rainey wants to stand up in court and say that Coatsworth didn’t know about the drugs, then that’s all well and good. But it’s not your problem.’ She picked up the TAG Heuer and put it in her handbag, then looked at her own watch, a slim gold Cartier. ‘Right, I’ve got a debrief with the Border Force commander at noon. I’ll be sure to bring up the matter of you being belted over the head. Let me know what you decide holiday-wise. Oh, and your biannual is due. Caroline Stockmann will be in touch.’

  ‘My favourite psychologist,’ he said. Six-monthly psychological evaluations were a nuisance but he liked Stockmann as she had the knack of making them seem like friendly conversations.

  ‘You love your little chats with her, you know you do.’ Button laughed. ‘And she can check that the torch didn’t do any lasting damage.’

  The instructor’s name was Hammad. He was thirty-seven years old, a former captain in the Afghan National Army, and a jihad warrior who believed with all his heart that his mission in life was to kill those who did not agree that Allah was t
he only God and that Muhammad was his prophet. Hammad knew the Qur’an by heart and his favourite verse was ‘I will cast terror into the hearts of those who disbelieve. Therefore strike off their heads and strike off every fingertip of them’.

  Hammad fervently believed that Muslims who didn’t join the fight against the infidel were hypocrites that Allah would surely send to Hell. He had joined the Taliban as a teenager and six years later had cheered and praised Allah when the Twin Towers had been attacked and destroyed. Like many of his compatriots he had gone to ground when the Americans had invaded Afghanistan, dumping his weapons and passing as a struggling farmer until the Americans had decided to rebuild the Afghan army. Hammad had joined using a false name and had been trained by the Third Special Forces Group in a Soviet-built camp on the eastern side of Kabul. In 2004 he was promoted to captain and three months later he left his barracks with an M-16 and half a dozen grenades and killed three Americans and twenty-three Afghan soldiers before disappearing over the border into the badlands of Pakistan.

  He was a short, stocky man, his skin dark brown and leathery from a lifetime lived mainly outdoors. There was a jagged scar on his left cheek, a hearing aid in his left ear and he was missing two fingers on his left hand, the result of an improvised IED exploding prematurely. He was wearing a grey salwar kameez – a long shirt over baggy trousers that flapped in the wind and stirred up the dust around his sandals. On the table in front of him was a ground-to-air missile and standing around him were six men, all in their twenties, who were hanging on his every word. They had been up since dawn. After a breakfast of circular sweet flatbreads, dried apricots, yogurt and green tea flavoured with cardamom, the men had been taken for a two-kilometre run followed by an hour of physical exercises and unarmed combat training.

  Three of them were wearing salwar kameez and one was wearing an ankle-length thawb of rough cotton. The other two wore combat trousers, T-shirts and Nike trainers. There was no dress code at the training camp, it was the quality of the men that mattered, not their clothing. At just before midday they had all retreated to a goatherd’s cottage. An American spy satellite was due to pass overhead and would be photographing the area for at least twenty minutes before it passed out of range. Hammad had a notebook that contained the dates and times that satellites passed overhead and several times each day training had to be interrupted. There was now a five-hour window before the next satellite was due and Hammad planned to use the time to introduce the young jihadists to the ground-to-air-missile that was central to al-Qaeda’s plan to unleash havoc in the United Kingdom.