True Colours ss-10

by Stephen Leather

  Shepherd walked quickly, jogged across the road, and by the time Harper walked into the Whiteley’s shopping centre, Shepherd was only twenty feet behind him. As Harper walked towards the escalator, Shepherd turned towards a shop selling leather jackets and used the reflection to watch Harper go up the escalator. Shepherd’s photographic memory enabled him to effortlessly remember every person who followed Harper up the escalator, and not one of them followed him back down when he made the downward journey a few seconds later. Nor did anyone follow Harper out of the shopping centre.

  Shepherd crossed Queensway and followed Harper back up to Hyde Park. As Harper entered the park Shepherd stayed on the pavement, pretending to make a call on his mobile. Over the next five minutes a dozen or so people walked into the park, but it was clear that none was involved in surveillance. Shepherd put his phone away and walked over to the bench where Harper was sitting and smoking a cigarette. ‘Clean as a whistle,’ said Shepherd, sitting down next to him.

  ‘I’ve never understood what that meant,’ said Harper. ‘People are always blowing in whistles so they’re not especially clean, are they?’

  ‘I think it goes back to the days of steam engines,’ said Shepherd. ‘They were made of brass and were always well polished.’

  Harper grinned. ‘You and your trick memory,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, but just because I remember it doesn’t mean it’s true,’ said Shepherd. ‘Anyway, there’s no one following you. Not today, anyway.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You could be marked for occasional surveillance. If they’ve nothing else on. High-priority targets are followed twenty-four-seven but there are plenty of low-priority targets who get followed as and when.’

  ‘Shit. So we have to go through this every day?’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘I think you’re OK. If they had spotted you at a mosque they’d be all over you for the first few days just in case you were an imminent threat. But from now on, no more hanging around outside mosques.’

  ‘But walking around Fulham and Hammersmith is OK, right?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘I don’t see why not.’

  ‘Thought I might visit a few of the Asian shops, check out the restaurants from that part of the world.’

  ‘Afghan cuisine?’

  ‘You’d be surprised, mate,’ said Harper.

  ‘Seriously, Lex, keep your head down. Let my guy do his thing first. Let’s work the databases before we start prowling the streets.’

  Harper flicked ash on to the grass. ‘You’re right,’ he said.

  ‘I know I’m right. It’s what I do for a living.’

  Harper shivered. ‘Why’s it so bloody cold?’ he asked.

  ‘The weather’s been funny all year,’ said Shepherd. ‘We had snow right through March.’

  ‘So much for global warming.’

  ‘They call it climate change now,’ said Shepherd. ‘And there’s no doubt that there’s something funny going on with our weather.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I’ll be glad to get back to Thailand.’ He winked at Shepherd. ‘You should come.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. How is it these days?’

  ‘Full of Brits,’ Harper said. ‘And the Russians are moving in big-time. They pretty much run Phuket already and they’re taking over Pattaya.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Russian mafia, mate. They’re vicious bastards. They’ve even got clubs with Russian go-go dancers and the cops just let them get on with it.’ He grinned. ‘The best police force money can buy. But they’re moving into property, big-time. Drugs. Counterfeit medicines, counterfeit anything. The Thais are terrified of them. Get into an argument with a Russkie and …’ He made a gun with his hand. ‘Bang, bang.’

  ‘But not a problem for you, right?’

  ‘I get on with everyone, mate. You know that. But it’s changed a lot since you were there.’

  ‘Everything changes,’ said Shepherd. ‘The weather, people, places. Nothing stays the same.’

  ‘More’s the pity.’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘Life does seem to get more complicated, doesn’t it? Back in Afghanistan, everything was black and white, pretty much. We were the good guys, the Taliban were the bad guys. They tried to kill us and we tried to kill them. You knew where you stood. Now we’ve got a Taliban killer living in London and I’m protecting a Russian mobster from a professional hitman.’

  Harper turned to look at him. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Can’t talk about it,’ said Shepherd. ‘Well, I can, but then I’d have to kill you.’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go. Duty calls.’

  Shepherd got back to his Hampstead flat at just after eight o’clock in the evening. He put the kettle on and had a quick shower while it boiled. Grechko was staying in all night and it was clear that security was tight at the mansion so there was nothing to be gained by Shepherd sleeping on the premises. He changed into a clean polo short and chinos, made himself a coffee and then called Charlotte Button. He apologised for calling so late but she cut him short. ‘I’m always on duty, you know that,’ she said. ‘And I guess it’s difficult to call when his security team are around.’

  ‘I wanted a chat about the attack on Grechko,’ he said. ‘It wasn’t investigated by the cops, was it?’

  ‘They weren’t informed until well after the event,’ said Button. ‘They drove the bodyguard who was hit to a private hospital and Grechko called the PM before the police were informed. To be honest it wouldn’t have made any difference, the sniper was a pro so he would have been long gone.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was out there for a look-see with his security team.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And there’s something not right. If as you said the guy is a pro, then I don’t see how he could have missed Grechko. As he came out of the stadium, he was a sitting duck.’

  ‘Snipers sometimes miss,’ said Button. ‘You must know that, what with your sniping experience and all that.’

  ‘Except he didn’t miss, he hit a bodyguard in the leg. The bullet wasn’t recovered, was it?’

  ‘The bullet went in and out. There was a search of the area carried out, but it was two days after and it didn’t turn up.’

  ‘That’s a pity. It might have given us a better idea of the type of weapon used. I’m not sure if it was a long-distance shot or not. There were plenty of vantage points within a mile, but it could have been done from a parked vehicle and that would have been a much closer shot.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘The bodyguards didn’t hear a shot so that suggests that the gun was some distance away. But it could have had a suppressor on it, and then I started thinking about that sniper in Baltimore, the one who made his shots from the boot of a car.’

  ‘Why does it matter where he was?’ asked Button.

  ‘If he was a mile away then it’s understandable that he might have missed. There’d be big variations on air speed from high up to low down, plus updraughts from the stadium. It’d be a complicated shot so a miss wouldn’t be unexpected. But the thing is, professional killers don’t usually make shots when there’s a chance they might miss. Makes them look less than professional. But if he was closer then he shouldn’t have missed.’

  ‘Where are you going with this?’ asked Button.

  ‘The stadium was behind them and there were two cars in the road. The bullet hit the bodyguard in the back of the leg, so the cars being where they were, the sniper could only have fired from one direction. When he fired, Grechko was getting into the car and the bodyguard was in the way.’

  ‘So it was an accident. Grechko was lucky.’

  ‘If the sniper had made the shot earlier, the bodyguard wouldn’t have been in the way.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  Shepherd sighed. ‘I’m not sure. There’s just something not right about this. He hit the bodyguard in the leg. Are we supposed to believe that he
was trying for a kill shot at Grechko and he missed by, what, five or six feet? And why did he wait until the bodyguard was between him and the target when if he’d fired earlier, he’d have had a clear shot?’

  ‘Are you saying that the sniper deliberately missed?’

  ‘Either that or he wanted to shoot the bodyguard. He hit the target he was aiming for.’

  ‘For what reason?’

  ‘That’s the question, isn’t it? And I’m afraid I don’t have the answer. But what’s the alternative, the world’s worst sniper is on Grechko’s case?’

  ‘What do his security team think?’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t think thinking is in their skill set. They’re not the brightest and I’m having to put a lot of work into getting them up to speed on the personal protection front. Look, how do we move forward on this? Presumably someone is trying to catch the sniper, right?’

  ‘We’re liaising with the Russian intelligence services and cross-referencing names with the immigration people,’ said Button. ‘We’re on the case.’

  ‘Because I really don’t want to spend the rest of my life babysitting a Russian oligarch,’ he said.

  ‘You won’t, I promise,’ said Button, and she ended the call.

  Shepherd finished his coffee and then picked up his laptop and placed it on the coffee table. He booted it up and launched Skype. He smiled when he saw that Liam was online. He started a call and after a few rings Liam answered and his face filled the screen. ‘Hi, Dad,’ he said. He was growing his hair long and he flicked it out of his eyes.

  ‘Hey. Please tell me you’re doing homework on the computer and not playing around on Facebook or Twitter or whatever.’

  ‘Sure, if that’ll make you happy,’ said Liam. He grinned. ‘Only joking, Dad. We do a lot of our maths homework online now, I was just finishing it.’

  ‘Good lad. Everything OK?’

  ‘Sure. I’ve got a match on Saturday against a team from Rugby. That’s ironic, isn’t it? Football against Rugby?’

  ‘Good luck with it.’

  ‘Is there any chance you could get to see it?’ asked Liam.

  ‘I’d love to, Liam, but I’ve got a job in London. I’ve got to be there every day.’

  Shepherd’s stomach lurched when he saw the look of disappointment on Liam’s face. ‘Soon as the job’s done, I’ll come and see you.’

  ‘It’s OK, Dad. No problem.’

  ‘I’ve got to be here twenty-four-seven pretty much,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Really, it’s OK. Hey, there’s something I want to ask you.’

  ‘Sure. Go ahead.’

  ‘What would you think if I wanted to join the army?’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘You’re only sixteen.’

  Liam raised his eyebrows and looked at him with the withering contempt that had become a feature over the past year or so. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I meant when I finish school.’

  ‘I was sort of hoping you’d go to university.’

  ‘You didn’t go.’

  ‘I went. I just didn’t finish.’

  ‘You studied economics at Manchester University. But you never sat your finals because you joined the army.’

  Shepherd couldn’t help but smile. Liam would make a great interrogator. ‘Things were different when I was a teenager,’ said Shepherd. ‘These days employers expect you to have a degree.’

  ‘OK, I could sign up after I go to university. In fact the army will pay for me to get my degree.’ He looked excited and he was nodding as he spoke, trying to encourage Shepherd to agree with him.

  ‘What’s brought this on?’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ve never mentioned this before.’

  ‘We had a careers talk today from a captain in the Royal Marines and it got me thinking, that’s all.’

  ‘Why was a Royal Marines captain talking at your school?’

  ‘He’s an old boy. But he was there as part of our careers talks. We’ve had all sorts of people in, trying to persuade us that they’ve got the best job in the world.’

  ‘You know that the Marines are part of the navy, not the army.’

  Liam rolled his eyes again. ‘Yes, Dad, I’m not a complete moron.’

  ‘No, I’m just saying, a military career is one way to go, but you need to give some thought to what branch of the service you want to go into. But it’s a tough life, Liam. It’s bloody hard work.’

  ‘But it’s fun, right? And you get to travel.’

  ‘Most of the travel these days is to Afghanistan and Iraq,’ said Shepherd. ‘And trust me, there’s not much fun in those places.’

  ‘But what else am I going to do, Dad? Sit in an office? Or more likely sit on the dole. At least in the army I get to have a career.’

  ‘It’s not as secure as it used to be. They’re letting a lot of people go.’

  Liam pulled a face. ‘I thought you’d be more enthusiastic.’

  ‘Like I said, you’re only sixteen. You’ve plenty of time ahead of you.’

  ‘Not that much time, Dad. I have to start deciding about university next year. And the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of being in the army. Maybe flying helicopters.’

  ‘Again, they’re cutting back on the number of helicopters.’

  ‘God, you’re being so negative.’ Liam threw up his hands and sat back. ‘I knew it’d be a waste of time talking to you.’

  Shepherd took a deep breath. He always found it difficult talking to his son over Skype. ‘I’m not trying to be negative,’ he said. ‘I just don’t think you want to rush into something like this.’

  ‘I’m not rushing, I’m considering my options. That’s what the careers teacher says we should be doing. Dad, you were a soldier. Why are you so against me doing the same?’

  ‘I think you need to go to university. It was different when I was a kid, not everyone went. It wasn’t unusual to start work at eighteen. Hell, some of my friends started work at sixteen. But these days a degree is the norm and you’ll be left behind if you don’t have one.’

  ‘But having a degree doesn’t mean you’ll get a job. There are plenty of graduates on the dole.’

  Shepherd nodded. His son was right, of course. But with all that was happening to the country’s armed forces, he didn’t think a military career would be a smart move for Liam. And like any father, he didn’t like the idea of his son being in the firing line. ‘This captain, what did he say that made it sound so attractive?’

  Liam wrinkled his nose. ‘He said it was a worthwhile career. That you were doing something for the country. Something to be proud of. Most people work for themselves, they do a boring nine-to-five job just to have money. But if you’re serving your country you’re doing something important.’

  ‘Well, that’s certainly true,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘He said that every day was different, that you never got into a routine. That the job challenged you and stretched you.’

  ‘Again, that’s true. But there’s a lot of waiting around. But he’s right, every day is different.’

  ‘And you get to travel.’

  ‘You don’t need to be in the army to travel,’ said Shepherd. ‘But OK, if you’re really interested then I can put you in touch with people in different branches of the services. And next time we’re in Hereford you can come into Stirling Lines and talk to some of the guys there.’

  ‘I don’t want to be in the SAS, Dad.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I don’t think I’d be good enough.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you want to be a soldier I’ll make sure you’re the best darn soldier there is.’

  Liam laughed. ‘I’m not running around with a rucksack full of bricks on my back,’ he said.

  ‘It builds stamina,’ said Shepherd. ‘But seriously, if you’re thinking about it then let’s go and talk to some people, see what your options are. But I want you going to university first. That way if the army thing doesn’t work out you’ve got somethi
ng to fall back on.’

  ‘That’s cool,’ said Liam. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ve got to finish this maths.’

  ‘You take care,’ said Shepherd. ‘And good luck with the match.’

  He ended the call and closed his laptop. He lay back on the sofa, picked up the television remote and flicked through the channels, looking for something to watch. Part of him was pleased that Liam wanted to follow in his footsteps, but he was very aware of what his mother would have said if she had been alive. Sue had been no great fan of the army and there was no way that she would have agreed to Liam signing up. The Royal Marines captain had been right about military service — it was worthwhile and it was exciting, and Shepherd had relished the buzz he’d always had in combat, the knowledge that it was kill or be killed and that every breath could be your last. But it was one thing to experience the adrenalin rush for yourself and quite another to know that your child was in mortal danger. Shepherd wasn’t sure how he’d be able to cope with the knowledge that his son was in a combat zone and that at any moment there could be a knock on his door and two men in uniform would be there to break the bad news. He shuddered. For the first time in his life he had an inkling of what it must have been like for Sue when he was away. Time and time again she’d begged him to quit the SAS and get a job where he’d be closer to home and where she wouldn’t be lying awake at night fearing the worst. He’d told her that it was just a job and that it was no more dangerous than driving a cab or stocking shelves in a supermarket. That had been a lie, of course, and she’d known it. Shepherd had loved being in the SAS, though it was only once he’d left that he was able to admit to himself that he had been addicted to the adrenalin rush of putting his life on the line. He closed his eyes. ‘I’m sorry, Sue,’ he whispered.

  In Monte Carlo on the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix even the super-rich sometimes struggled to find a berth for their yachts in Port Hercules, the tiny principality’s main harbour. First priority was notionally given to citizens and permanent residents of Monaco, and there were such long waiting lists that applications from non-residents were supposedly not even considered, yet somehow Russian oligarchs and other billionaires always found a way to secure a berth for their yachts, while the eye-watering cost of such rentals, like the revenues from the casino, disappeared into the capacious pockets of officials serving ‘His Serene Highness, the Prince of Monaco’.