‘And you checked with Immigration?’
‘He’s not known to them. Not under that name. And I got them to check under Khan using that date of birth. Nothing.’
‘That’s not possible,’ said Shepherd. ‘He had to have got into the country in the first place.’
‘He could have used any name for that. Or no name at all — he could have come in the back of a lorry from Calais.’
‘Sure, but at some point the name Khan or Sajadi must have come up during the asylum process.’
‘You’d have thought so, but he’s not on the Border Agency database and there’s no record of an immigration tribunal ever looking at either name. You’re sure the passport is kosher?’
‘The guy who checked for me would have known if there was anything wrong with it,’ said Shepherd. ‘The passport’s real and so is the driving licence. And presumably the traffic cops found nothing untoward.’
‘Other than the fact he wasn’t insured and is a bit heavy on the accelerator, he seems a fine upstanding citizen. He’s not even claiming benefits.’
‘He’s got a job?’
‘That I don’t know, but I ran a check with DWP and they’re not paying him. He’s responsible for his own council tax, too. Like I said, he’s an upstanding citizen.’
‘What about finding out where he works?’
‘I can’t do that without speaking to him, and that’s probably not a good idea, is it?’
‘Yeah, you’re right. Let me have the car registration, will you?’
Sharpe gave him the number and Shepherd promised to call him back about the drink. He looked at the clock on the screen of his phone. It was almost eleven o’clock. He was walking towards the house when Alina Podolski drove out of the garage on a bright green Kawasaki trail bike. She was wearing a black helmet and she flicked up the visor and grinned at him. ‘You not going home, Tony?’
‘I’m dog tired. What about you? You don’t sleep on the premises?’
She laughed, flashing perfect white teeth. ‘What, sleep down there with farting and belching men, you must be joking. I’ve got a flat in Camden.’
‘Yeah, Camden’s nice.’
‘Where do you stay?’
‘Not far. Near the Heath.’ He pointed off to the west. ‘That way.’
‘You run on the Heath?’
‘How do you know that?’
She brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I saw you running before. You were heading to the Heath, right? I pegged you for a runner. You’ve got a runner’s build.’
‘Yeah, I do some training there.’
‘We should run together some time,’ she said. She jerked a thumb at the house. ‘The guys, they’re all gym rats. I prefer my exercise outside with the wind in my hair.’
‘Bring your gear in whenever you want,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m always up for a run.’ She waved and drove towards the gate, which was already opening for her. As she turned into the road she beeped her horn and accelerated. Shepherd watched her go. She wasn’t heading towards Camden, he realised. She was going in the opposite direction.
He heard excited barking from the kennels and realised the Dobermans were about to be released for the night, so he hurried inside.
Shepherd was up at six the next day. He had brought an overnight bag with a washbag and several changes of clothes, so he showered and shaved and put on a clean shirt before heading to the control room. As he was checking the overnight log, one of Grechko’s male chefs turned up with a tray of bacon and egg rolls, freshly made porridge and a large bowl of fruit salad. He ate with Dudko, Volkov and Sokolov, and they were just finishing when Popov arrived. Popov grabbed a breakfast roll and poured himself a coffee. He sat down at the table. ‘We can do the morning briefing now if you want,’ he said to Shepherd, and Shepherd nodded. ‘Basically Mr Grechko’s in for the day. He’s taken to heart what you said about getting people to come to him, so he was going to see his designers today in Mayfair but they’ve agreed to come here.’
‘Designers?’
‘Mr Grechko has commissioned a new boat and a new jet and the designers are being briefed on his specifications. They were with Mrs Grechko in France last week but everything has to be cleared through him first.’ He grinned. ‘I was talking to one of our guys over there and apparently there’s a problem with having chandeliers on planes. Who knew?’
They all laughed and Shepherd sipped his coffee. He was warming to Popov. He ran a tight ship but he had an easy way with his men, working them hard but letting them have enough fun to stop them getting bored. And he had the same sarcastic sense of humour as policemen the world over.
‘So, we have the designers arriving at ten. He was due to see his bankers at Canary Wharf for lunch but they have agreed to come here, though considering the vintages in Mr Grechko’s wine cellar I don’t think they needed much persuading. And he was due to go to Claridge’s for dinner with friends but he’s asked them to come here for eight.’
‘The friends?’
‘Three. He’s known them all for ten years or more. They’ve been to the house before.’
‘Do they have security?’
Popov shook his head. ‘One is a writer, one is an actor who’s going to be starring in a movie Mr Grechko’s production company is due to film in Canada, and his accountant is coming.’
‘We’ll be checking their vehicles?’
‘Of course. But as I said, they have all been here before, they’re trusted friends.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Shepherd. ‘I think I’ll probably pop off home this afternoon, then. If you need me, I’m at the other end of the phone.’
Popov grinned. ‘We’ll try to get by without you, Tony,’ he said. ‘It’ll be a struggle but hopefully we’ll manage. You enjoy your day off.’
Shepherd and Popov were at the entrance to the house when the designers arrived, a middle-aged blond woman with the chiselled looks of a former model, a plump Asian girl with a briefcase and a long plastic tube on a shoulder strap, and an effeminate man in tight Versace jeans who kept batting his eyelids at Popov.
As Popov ushered the team into the house, Shepherd gave the driver and his car the once-over. ‘Anywhere I can get a coffee, pal?’ asked the driver, a fifty-something man in a grey suit and a yellowish pallor that suggested liver problems.
Shepherd called Volkov over and asked him to take the driver to the kitchen and to stay with him. He was uneasy whenever outsiders were in the house, but the design team were harmless and the driver didn’t have the look of a professional assassin.
The meeting lasted just over an hour and a half and then they left, with the male member of the design team blowing Popov an exaggerated kiss through the car window before they disappeared through the gate.
Half an hour later, a black top-of-the-range Mercedes prowled through the gates and disgorged two fifty-something men in Savile Row suits. They adjusted their silk ties and expensive shirt cuffs and blinked in the sunlight like vampires emerging from their coffins before following Popov inside. The Mercedes headed back to the gate.
Shepherd waited until the gate had closed before walking over to the garage. He pressed his thumb against the sensor and tapped out his four-digit code. He walked inside and down the ramp to the car parking area. He waved up at a CCTV camera, knowing that Molchanov would be watching him in the control centre. He climbed into his X5 and drove out.
He parked in an underground car park in Park Lane and put on a black raincoat before walking outside. The sky was a leaden grey and it looked as if it wouldn’t take much for the heavens to open. He was ten minutes early but Harper was already sitting at a table at the cafe overlooking the Serpentine, smoking a cigarette, his face half hidden by the hood of his parka. ‘How’s it going, mate?’ he asked.
‘All good,’ said Shepherd. He gestured at the empty coffee cup in front of Harper. ‘Another?’
‘Yeah, go on,’ said Harper. Shepherd went over to the counter and returned with two cappuccinos. He sat dow
n next to Harper and looked out over the water. Half a dozen swans were trying to persuade people to part with chunks of their cakes and sandwiches. ‘They’re keeping you busy?’ asked Harper, flicking ash on to the ground.
‘As always.’
‘I suppose if I asked what you’re working on you’d say that you could tell me but then you’d have to kill me?’
‘It’s not like that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Most of what I do is more like police work than spook stuff.’
‘But classified?’
‘Sure, but then pretty much everything I work on is.’
‘Terrorists?’
‘Mainly. But big-time crims, too.’
‘Drug dealers?’ asked Harper, with a sly smile.
‘Some,’ said Shepherd. ‘But most of the resources are now targeted at home-grown Muslim terrorists, for obvious reasons. Back in the old days it was old Cold War stuff, then the IRA, but when the Soviet Union imploded and the peace process kicked in, they had nothing to do for a while. That’s when they started looking at organised crime, but that went on to the backburner after 9/11.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s an ill wind, they say.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘From your standpoint, sure.’
‘You checked up on me, right?’ Shepherd didn’t say anything and Harper grinned mischievously. ‘What, do you think you can go rooting around the PNC for me and that I wouldn’t find out?’
‘It wasn’t me,’ said Shepherd.
‘Whoever it was they were clever enough not to leave their fingerprints,’ said Harper. ‘They went in under the log-in of a young PC who obviously thought he could leave his terminal unattended while he went for a coffee.’
‘You’ve got someone in the Met on your payroll?’ said Shepherd.
Harper faked indignation. ‘How dare you suggest that I would do anything as illegal as paying a member of Her Majesty’s Constabulary for information!’
‘No offence,’ said Shepherd.
Harper grinned and took a long pull on his cigarette. ‘Well, come on, tell me what you found out about me.’
‘Not much, as it happens.’
Harper’s grin widened. ‘Told you,’ he said.
‘You’ve done a good job of staying below the radar. The consensus seems to be that you’re in Spain.’
‘Yeah, well, as long as they think that, I’m a happy bunny.’
‘How did you find me, Lex?’
‘It wasn’t difficult. For a start you weren’t hiding, plus I knew you back in Afghanistan, I knew your name and your date of birth and that you were married to Sue and that you had a kid, Liam.’ His face fell. ‘Shit, sorry.’
‘Sorry?’
‘About the wife. The car crash. I only just found out. Sorry.’
‘It was a long time ago.’
‘I know, but I’m sorry. I never met her, but you were always talking about her.’ He sipped his coffee and then wiped the foam from his upper lip with his sleeve. ‘Always nagging you to leave the Regiment, remember?’
Shepherd chuckled. ‘Yeah. She got what she wanted after I got shot. I left a few months later. Out of the frying pan into the fire, as it happens.’
‘Yeah?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah. They never had me walking a beat, they put me straight into an undercover unit and the work was every bit as dangerous as Afghanistan. High-level crims, drug dealers, hitmen, gangsters. She was soon nagging me to leave the cops.’
‘To join Five?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘Nah, I moved to SOCA, but that was after she died.’
‘SOCA? Now that was a great idea, wasn’t it? The British FBI? They couldn’t find their arse with both hands.’
‘You’ve come up against them, have you?’
‘There’s half a dozen of them in Pattaya but they don’t know me. I’ve sat opposite two of them in a go-go bar and they’ve looked straight through me.’
‘How come?’
‘Because they’re tossers. Like your mate, what was his name, Razor? In and out of the massage parlours like bloody yo-yos. If ever they started to get busy about me I’ve more than enough to get them pulled back to the UK. SOCA was never going to work. You can’t shove cops, customs officers and taxmen into the same organisation and expect them to work together. They form their own little kingdoms and start plotting against each other.’
Shepherd raised his eyebrows. ‘You seem to know a lot about SOCA.’
‘I know a lot about a lot, mate. Knowledge is power. End of.’ He took a long pull on his cigarette. ‘Still, if they were any good they’d have been giving me a hard time, wouldn’t they, so thank heaven for small mercies. I just hope this new mob, the National Crime Agency, isn’t much better. Doubt it will be. It’s like renaming the Titanic just before the iceberg hits.’
‘How did you get my number, Lex? And how did you know I worked for Five? Because that sort of info wouldn’t be accessible by your average cop.’
Lex smiled as he blew a plume of smoke at the floor and watched it disperse. ‘You think because your phone’s unlisted that it’s not listed somewhere? Come on, you’re in the business. If a phone’s got a contract then there’s a trail. The only safe phone is a public landline and the powers that be are doing all they can to cut down on those. They want everyone on mobiles because they can track them.’
Shepherd nodded but didn’t say anything. Harper was right, of course. Mobile phones had made the job of surveillance much easier. If you had a target’s phone number you could follow the phone around the world, listen to every phone call made and see every text. And with the latest technology, all that could be achieved even if the phone was switched off.
‘I tell you, mate, Big Brother is already here.’
Shepherd turned to look at him. ‘You still haven’t answered my question, Lex.’
‘How did I get your number? And your address in Hereford? I paid for it. Cold hard cash and a lot of it. There’s a whole industry out there geared up to providing information. And a lot of the guys doing it are former cops and former spooks. They still have access. But don’t worry, all they could find out was that you worked for MI5, their database is as secure as it gets. I don’t ask how they get their intel, and they don’t say. The money does the talking.’
‘OK, so here’s the big question. If you’ve got access to all that information, how come you needed me to check up on Khan? You found me, why couldn’t you find him?’
Harper nodded as he drew on his cigarette and held the smoke deep in his lungs before exhaling. ‘Because you’re in the system. You’ve got a passport and credit cards and a driving licence and you pay your council tax like a good citizen. And like I said, I already had your basic details. Easy peasy. But Khan was a whole different kettle of fish.’
‘You tried under his real name?’
‘Real name doesn’t really apply, does it? We knew him as Ahmad Khan in Afghanistan but who’s to say that’s his real name? A guy can use any name he wants out there, most births aren’t even registered. That’s why when they do come over here they get to stay. You can have fingerprints, DNA, iris scans, the works, but they’re no bloody use if you’ve nothing to compare them with.’ He dropped what was left of his cigarette on the floor, stamped on it, then picked up the flattened butt and put it into his pocket. He leaned across the table. ‘So, time to shit or get off the pot, Spider. Did you find him?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, I found him.’
Harper grinned. ‘I knew you would. Hammersmith? Near the court?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Family?’
‘Not that I know of. He’s not known as Ahmad Khan any more. Now he’s got a British passport under the name Farzad Sajadi.’
‘That’s interesting.’
‘What’s your plan, Lex? What do you want to do?’
‘What do you want to do?’ Lex’s eyes bored into Shepherd’s. The two men stared at each other for several seconds. It was Spider who looked away first. There was some
thing different about Lex’s eyes, a coldness that hadn’t been there when he’d been Shepherd’s spotter in Afghanistan. The relationship between a sniper and a spotter was as tight as any relationship could be. It was all about trust. A sniper had to concentrate on his target with every fibre of his being, and that meant the spotter had to be watching his back. A sniper had to be able to trust his spotter completely, and in Afghanistan Spider had trusted Harper, literally, with his life. But the Lex Harper sitting next to him on the bench in Hyde Park wasn’t the same man who’d partnered him in Afghanistan. But then Shepherd had changed, too. Everyone changed. Time and events made sure of that.
Shepherd rubbed his right shoulder as he thought back to the day that Khan had shot him. He had nearly died that day in 2002. And the officer he was with, Captain Harry Todd, had died as he lay in Shepherd’s arms, shot in the head and throat. He shuddered as the memories flooded back. Khan had shot Todd twice but either of the wounds would have been fatal. And if the round that had slammed into Shepherd’s shoulder had been an inch to the left, Shepherd would have died too.
‘Spider?’ Harper was looking at him with concern in his eyes.
‘Yeah, sorry,’ said Shepherd. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.
‘You thinking about Captain Todd?’
‘Yeah.’
‘That bastard Khan ambushed him. And you. You weren’t even shooting when you came out of that building, you were no threat to him.’
‘What do you want to do, Lex?’
Harper leaned towards Shepherd. ‘Remember what the captain wanted? That French phrase?’
‘Droit de seigneur?’
That’s the one. The right to be in at the kill. That’s what I want, Spider. I want to see the bastard die.’
‘You’re talking about murder.’
Harper shook his head fiercely. ‘I’m talking about justice, and you more than anyone should know how important that is. He killed the captain. He shot three of my mates in the back. And he damn near killed you.’
Shepherd nodded. Everything Harper said was true. But that didn’t make what he was suggesting the right thing to do.
‘Well?’ said Harper.
True Colours ss-10 Page 20
