‘Things change,’ agreed Shepherd.
‘Yeah, well, I don’t believe that one-man’s-terrorist-is-another-man’s-freedom-fighter bullshit. The IRA were terrorists. Now they’re terrorists who no longer kill people. But I don’t understand why the organisation you work for thinks it’s a justifiable use of your time to keep former terrorists alive.’
‘You and me both, as it happens. But ours not to reason why.’
‘The Charge of the Light Brigade mentality. The problem is that if you’re following orders issued by morons, it’s going to end in tears.’
‘What exactly do you want me to do? What are you offering me?’
‘As we’re sitting here drinking and chewing the fat, men and women all over the world are planning to kill and maim innocent civilians. Now, I don’t care what their motives are, I don’t care if they’re freedom-fighters or terrorists. All I care about is stopping them before they commit whatever carnage they’re planning.’
‘Pre-emptive strikes?’
‘Killing cancer cells before they form tumours,’ said Yokely. ‘Taking them out with surgical precision.’
‘You’re doing this already?’
Yokely nodded. ‘We started in Afghanistan and Iraq, but we’ve expanded our operations. Don’t get me wrong, we’re not some sort of vigilante group. Our operations are sanctioned at the highest level. But we’re not signed off by judges or district attorneys, there’s no paper trail, no recordings. Everything we do is deniable by those who sanction it.’
‘I thought assassination was specifically outlawed in the US? Didn’t Ronald Reagan sign Executive Order 12333 back in 1981?’
‘You and your trick memory,’ sighed Yokely.
‘It’s a gift,’ said Shepherd. ‘According to Executive Order 12333, “No person employed by or acting on behalf of the United States Government shall engage in, or conspire to engage in, assassination.” And then it goes on to say that “No agency of the Intelligence Community shall participate in or request any person to undertake activities forbidden by this Order.” Am I right?’
‘You are right,’ said Yokely. ‘But let’s not forget that Bill Clinton himself gave the CIA carte blanche to kill bin Laden.’
‘Which, really, he shouldn’t have done,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s a grey area, Dan. An executive order isn’t a law, it’s more a statement of political policy.’
‘Actually, it’s not,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s black and white. Assassination is illegal. It’s murder.’
‘So is crashing a plane into an office block,’ said Yokely. ‘But it happens.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not here to argue politics or law with you. The world has changed since Nine Eleven. It’s like George W said back then – you’re either with us or you’re against us. If a country or an individual chooses to stand against us, they have to deal with the consequences.’
‘Let’s say I did work for you. Who would I . . .’ He hesitated. ‘What word do you use?’
‘“Kill” sounds good to me, Dan. Providing no one’s listening.’
‘So, who would I kill?’
‘You’d kill individuals who are working to kill others. Look, your own head of MI5 said a while back that there were some three hundred terror cells in the UK, all beavering away at getting guns, explosives or poisons, all preparing to kill for a place in Heaven. Your security services keep them under observation, but when it’s time to move in they have to hand over to the cops. And then what happens? The cops go charging in, local communities are up in arms about the heavy-handed response, and more often than not there isn’t even enough evidence to get a conviction. It’s a lose-lose situation. You might have averted one catastrophe, but the bad guys are still free to plot again. And, believe me, they will.’
‘And why me?
‘Because you’re good at what you do – you’re one of the most professional operatives I’ve ever met. You’re capable of looking down the barrel of a gun and pulling the trigger.’
‘You must have hundreds of men with those qualifications in the States,’ said Shepherd.
‘Agreed,’ said Yokely. ‘But there are times when it would be useful to have a Brit. And you’ve got undercover skills that most of the American special-forces guys don’t. They’ll allow you to get up close and personal in situations where a gung-ho former Navy Seal would be spotted a mile away.’
Shepherd snorted softly. ‘And how would I be expected to get up close and personal with Islamic fundamentalists?’
‘Not all our enemies are Arabs and Asians,’ said Yokely. ‘But that’s not the point. There’s a hundred different roles you could play that would get you in, roles that would be more believable because of your accent. Trust me, Dan, I want you on my team.’
‘You know I spoke to Charlie about this, the first time you raised it?’
Yokely’s eyes tightened a fraction. ‘I didn’t, but of course that’s your prerogative.’
‘She said you weren’t in a position to issue me with a get-out-of-jail-free card. That if I did work for you and something went wrong, I’d be left swinging in the wind.’
Yokely nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let me see if I can find some way to reassure you that you’d be fully protected.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Trust me, Dan, I’ve got friends in high places.’
‘I bet you have,’ said Shepherd. ‘And some pretty low places, too.’
Yokely laughed and stamped his foot on the floor. ‘Ain’t that the truth,’ he said.
Shepherd sipped his whiskey. ‘I’ve got a question for you,’ he said quietly.
‘Sure.’
‘You knew that Salih had my home address, right?’
‘Merkulov had your home phone number so it would have been easy enough for him to get the address.’
‘But my question is, why did Salih think I was a target?’
‘I don’t follow you,’ said the American.
‘If all Salih had was my name, address and phone number, why did he attack me? Why did he send the guy with a gun?’
‘I still don’t follow you.’
‘He didn’t know I worked for Button. All he knew was that Charlie had been in contact with me. But she must have been in contact with dozens of people. Why did he single me out?’
‘He must have known you were with SOCA.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘And that worries me,’ he said. ‘I don’t see how Merkulov could have found out that I worked for SOCA. Unless someone told him.’
‘Someone?’
‘SOCA is pretty much leakproof,’ said Shepherd.
‘I guess the fact that you were in Belfast suggested you were working with her.’
‘That’s a hell of a leap.’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘I guess it’ll remain a mystery.’
‘I guess so.’ Yokely frowned. ‘Something on your mind, Dan?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’
Shepherd walked out of the lift. A sign that read ‘Intensive Care Unit’ pointed to the left. His shoes squeaked on the gleaming linoleum as he headed for the glass cubicles that housed the seriously ill patients. In the centre cubicle Button was lying on a bed, her eyes closed. A nurse appeared in front of Shepherd and raised her clipboard as if she was going to hit him with it. ‘Can I help you?’ she said, in a tone that suggested helping him was the last thing on her mind.
‘I’m here to see Charlotte Button,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s her there.’
‘It’s nearly midnight. Are you a relative?’
‘No, I work with her.’ Shepherd took out his ID card and held it out to her, but she glared at him over the top of it.
‘I don’t care who you work for. You can’t go in there.’ She pointed down the corridor. ‘Please talk to Reception. They can tell you when she’s allowed visitors.’
‘I don’t want to talk to Reception. I want to talk to her.’
‘That’s not going to happen,’ she said.
Shepherd pointed a finger at her. ‘Look
, sweetheart, I’ve already shot one arsehole today. I don’t want to have to do it again.’ He pushed past her and went into the ICU. He closed the glass door in the nurse’s face and held it shut.
Button smiled at him. She was ashen and there were dark patches under her eyes. Her right hand was bandaged, there was a drip into her left arm, and a heartbeat monitor beeped in the background. ‘I can see you’re winning friends and influencing people,’ she said. She gestured with her bandaged right hand at the glass window. On the other side the nurse was talking angrily to the doctor and pointing at Shepherd.
‘She didn’t want you disturbed,’ said Shepherd.
‘Didn’t you tell her that you were my knight in shining armour?’ She grimaced.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I said I didn’t want them to go over the top on the painkillers and they took me at my word. I’ll be interviewed soon so I need a clear head.’
‘IPCC?’The Independent Police Complaints Commission investigated all police-related shootings.
‘Home Office,’ she said. ‘Plod’s been squared away. They’re not even sending in a SOCO crew. So far as the police are concerned, it never happened. The nine-nine-nine call you made has been wiped and the paramedics have been briefed.’
A young doctor with receding hair and red-framed spectacles appeared at the glass door, the nurse at his shoulder. Shepherd held up his SOCA card. The doctor read it through the glass, then held up a hand, fingers splayed. ‘Five minutes,’ he mouthed.
Shepherd nodded, and the doctor ushered the nurse away. Shepherd went back to the bed and took Button’s left hand. ‘Charlie, I’m so sorry,’ he said.
‘For what?’
‘I should have taken you inside the house. I should have gone in with you.’
‘If you had he’d have killed you straight away. You saw what he did to Graham. He’d have killed you and then he’d have tortured me. We’d both have died, Spider. There’s no question about that.’
‘Maybe,’ said Shepherd.
‘Spider, you saved my life and that’s the end of it. I’m just grateful you turned up when you did.’
‘What about your daughter?’
‘She doesn’t know yet. I’ll wait until I can tell her myself. I don’t want her finding out over the phone.’
‘I can drive you when you’re ready.’
‘Thanks.’ She lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘I need a cigarette.’
Shepherd chuckled. ‘I think it’s an arrestable offence, these days, smoking in a hospital.’
‘You’re probably right.’
Shepherd sat down on a chair next to the bed. ‘What will you tell the Home Office people?’ he said.
‘Not much,’ said Button. ‘My old firm’s on the case. I’m a SOCA employee but MI5 takes precedence. They’ll cite national security and take over the investigation. There’ll be a full D Notice on everything that happened at the house. As far as the world’s concerned, it never happened.’
‘Two men died, Charlie.’
‘No one’s going to care about what happened to the assassin or how he died. His body’ll be disposed of by some very clever people at MI5. The damage to my house is being repaired as we speak.’
‘And your husband?’
‘A stroke or a heart-attack. It’s better that way – better all round. I wouldn’t want Zoe knowing her father was stabbed to death. No one will ever know what happened. Except the two of us. And a few select people at MI5. The gun you used, where is it?’
‘Taken care of.’
‘It wasn’t your SIG-Sauer, was it?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘It was something special.’
‘I sense the hand of Major Gannon in there somewhere.’
‘It’ll never be traced,’ said Shepherd. ‘Is that going to be a problem because I’m not prepared to go into details with any investigators.’
‘Playing hardball, Spider?’
‘I asked the Major to do me a favour and I’m not going to let him down.’
‘And I respect that,’ said Button. ‘They won’t be here to investigate. They just want to know what happened and what, if anything, is needed in the way of damage limitation.’ She winced. ‘Damn it.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘Just my shoulder. It was a deep wound but I can’t be in any other position because of the other cuts. You knew, didn’t you?’
‘Knew what?’
‘That someone was after me.’
After what O’Brien had told her, Shepherd knew there was no point in lying. ‘I had a hunch,’ he said, which wasn’t quite a lie but wasn’t exactly the truth.
‘Must have been a pretty strong hunch to have Martin O’Brien tailing me.’
Shepherd sat back and folded his arms, then realised he was adopting a defensive pose. He unfolded his arms and rested his hands on his knees. ‘Was he easy to spot?’
‘Give me a break, Spider.’
‘Not long, obviously.’
‘The thing is, O’Brien and his pals were tailing me before I got the nod from my former colleagues at MI5,’ said Button, ‘so that must have been one hell of a hunch. I know you’ve got a photographic memory, but I didn’t realise you also had supernatural powers.’
At least he hadn’t actually lied to her, Shepherd thought.
‘Was Richard Yokely involved in your hunch by any chance?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Spider, Yokely is one dangerous son-of-a-bitch.’
‘I know.’
‘He knew I was under threat? O’Brien said you told him there was a contract out on me.’
‘He thought it possible.’
‘Possible enough for you to assign me protection? But not possible enough for you to mention it to me?’
Button winced again, and Shepherd knew that this time it wasn’t because her shoulder was hurting. ‘Yokely thought it best you weren’t told,’ he said.
‘Because?’
‘It’s complicated,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Charlie.’
‘You dance with Yokely, you dance with the devil,’ said Button.
‘I know that,’ said Shepherd.
A man and a woman appeared at the door, and Shepherd turned to look at them through the glass. They were both wearing dark coats. The man was grey-haired with steel-rimmed spectacles, tall and thin with the sombre face of an undertaker consoling the recently bereaved. The woman was a decade younger, with short blonde hair framing a sharp face and inquisitive eyes. The man knocked on the door with a gloved hand.
‘Time for my debrief,’ she said.
‘What will you tell them about me?’
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘They’ll want to know, surely.’
‘Screw them,’ she said. ‘The gun can’t be traced, right?’
‘Everything identifiable has been destroyed and the weapon is back where it belongs.’
‘So I’ll tell them my husband was murdered, the bastard was about to kill me and someone got to him first. I was out of it, didn’t see who it was, et cetera et cetera.’
‘They won’t believe that.’
‘Screw them. I’m going to quit anyway.’
Shepherd’s jaw dropped. It was the last thing he’d expected to hear. ‘You can’t,’ he said.
‘I can do what the hell I want,’ she said flatly. ‘My husband’s dead and my daughter’s going to need all the support she can get.’
‘You’re good at what you do,’ he said.
‘That’s not true,’ she said. ‘I don’t have what it takes. I’m not hard enough.’
‘It’s not about being hard,’said Shepherd. ‘It’s about caring. It’s about giving a damn.’ The man knocked on the door again but Shepherd ignored him. ‘I might not know much, Charlie, but I know one thing for sure. The world would be a much kinder and safer place if it was run by women.’
Button smiled tightly. ‘Not the sort of women I know,’ she said.
She smiled, this time with warmth. ‘You should go, Spider.’ Shepherd stood up. Button reached for his hand and squeezed it gently. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
Shepherd winked at her, then opened the door. ‘She’s all yours,’ he said, and walked past the two visitors. The nurse glared at him with undisguised loathing as he passed her on the way to the lifts. He gave her a friendly wave and blew her a kiss.
Othman bin Mahmuud al-Ahmed smiled as the hawk slammed into the dove and ripped off the bird’s head. What was left of it tumbled to the ground, its white feathers spattered with blood. The smile was for his host’s benefit. The Kuwaiti prince who had arranged the trip into the desert was proud of his hawks. Othman did not want to offend him, but they were of poor quality and the prince thought it acceptable to have them hunt caged birds. The prince’s falconer was also incompetent. The hawks were not hungry enough and two had refused to fly. Othman’s manservant stood behind him, shading the old man with an umbrella. The two American bodyguards stood by the cars that had been provided by the prince, their eyes, as always, hidden behind wraparound sunglasses. The prince’s bodyguards were Gurkhas, wiry men with leathered faces. Othman didn’t like the way they whispered to each other in their own language. He hadn’t enjoyed his three-day trip to Kuwait and was looking forward to returning to Saudi Arabia.
The trip had been forced on him by one of his longest-standing Saudi patrons, who had set his heart on acquiring a top New York hotel owned by the Kuwaiti prince. Money was no object but the Kuwaiti had been reluctant to sell, mainly because one of his favourite mistresses was ensconced in a penthouse suite there. Othman knew the prince well so he had been sent to broker a deal. It had been hard work. The Kuwaiti was a renowned womaniser and, on the second night, had invited Othman to a party at his palace where there had been more than fifty girls, all young and pretty. There had been blondes, brunettes, Africans, Asians, Orientals, though noticeably no Arabs. The Kuwaiti had kept asking Othman to choose, but he had politely declined, citing his inflamed prostate. The truth was that the old man had long since lost interest in sex as anything other than a means of procreation and had no intention of allowing a prostitute to bear his child. At one point during the party one of the prince’s servants had walked round with a huge silver tray piled high with Rolex and Cartier watches. The squealing girls had been told to help themselves. Othman had smiled serenely, privately disgusted by the ostentatious display. As far as he was concerned, money should be treated with respect. Like power and love, it was not to be squandered.
Dead Men ss-5 Page 38
