Live Fire

by Stephen Leather

  Kundi knelt down and tapped it. ‘It’ll cut like butter,’ he said.

  ‘And can you weld something in there to hold the piece until we need to remove it?’

  ‘I think I can run a metal rim around the bit I cut out and then it’ll sit back in place. I can’t guarantee it’ll be waterproof.’

  ‘That’s not a problem. We won’t be taking it out in the rain.’ He held the ladder steady as Kundi climbed down.

  The two men walked to the back of the van and pulled down the tailgate. Talwar, Chaudhry and al-Sayed were waiting by the oxyacetylene equipment they would use to cut the hole.

  Bradshaw pulled himself up onto the tailgate, then helped Kundi climb inside. They peered up at the inside of the roof. Bradshaw mimed holding the missile launcher on his shoulder and showed Kundi where he should stand, close to the back of the van. ‘This is how we do it,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Jamal will be in the back, sighting through the hole in the roof. Samil will be with him, in case a problem arises. They’ll have limited vision, so I’ll be nearby, watching the approaching planes from a vantage-point. As soon as I’ve selected a target, Rafee and Kafele are to lower the tailgate, allowing the backblast to escape. Jamal will fire the weapon, and I will video it. Once the missile is fired, Jamal is to drop the remains of the launcher, rush with Samil to my car and we drive off. Rafee and Kafele torch the van, then run to the second car and drive in the opposite direction.’

  ‘Why does Jamal fire the weapon?’ asked Chaudhry.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who fires it. We’re doing this together,’ said Bradshaw. ‘We’re a team.’

  ‘If it doesn’t matter, why can’t I be the one to fire it?’

  ‘Jamal is older,’ said Bradshaw. ‘That’s the only reason.’ Chaudhry’s enthusiasm was admirable, but had to be tempered with deliberation. ‘This will be the first of many attacks, brother,’ he said. ‘We are not shahid, not killing ourselves, we’ll live to fight again and again. There will be other occasions when you will pull the trigger.’

  Chaudhry nodded. ‘I’m sorry, brother,’ he said. ‘You are right.’

  Bradshaw smiled. ‘Allah is right, brother. I am just His servant.’

  As soon as he got back to his villa, Shepherd phoned Charlotte Button. ‘It’s on,’ he said. ‘We leave tomorrow. I’ll be told then what flight, but we’re going through Amsterdam so I don’t think there’ll be too many options.’

  ‘The target?’

  ‘They’re still playing Secret Squirrel.’

  ‘Do you think there’s a trust issue?’

  ‘I think it’s the way they are, that’s all.’

  ‘I don’t want you doing this without any back-up,’ she said. ‘I want some form of electronic surveillance if nothing else. I need to get a GPS locator to you.’

  Shepherd knew she was right. ‘The Dublin to Holyhead ferry would be the best bet,’ he said. ‘We’re flying from Bangkok to Amsterdam, amsterdam to Dublin, and taking vehicles over on the ferry. You could slip me the locator there and get the cars tagged.’

  ‘I’m on it,’ she said.

  ‘How far do you want me to run?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘There are no lives at risk, the way I understand it.’

  ‘Straight in through the wall, grab the cash and off over the fields. They’ll be armed but they’re not expecting trouble. Yates and Black are already in the UK – I assume they’re travelling under different names. They’ll be picking up the RPGs. Wilson is in Dublin, arranging transport.’

  ‘And have they said what they’re doing with the money? One assumes they don’t take it with them back to Thailand.’

  ‘They’re giving it to the Indian laundryman to put into the banking system.’

  ‘Any idea who this financial wizard is?’

  ‘Need-to-know,’ said Shepherd. ‘And I don’t need to know. All I know is that he’s Indian and they’ve used him before. They haven’t let slip with a name and I haven’t been able to push it.’

  ‘Let it run all the way then,’ said Button. ‘We can’t afford to let them get back to Thailand but I would like to pick up whoever it is that’s doing their laundry. Are you okay with that?’

  ‘Makes my life easier,’ said Shepherd. ‘When will you pull them in?’

  ‘Are they leaving the same way they arrive? On the ferry?’

  ‘I assume so,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Then we’ll take them as they’re about to leave the country. I’ll have people at Holyhead and we’ll have the airports covered too, just in case.’

  ‘What shall I tell Razor?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘As soon as you leave, he can pull out,’ said Button. ‘Tell him I look forward to seeing his expenses claim.’ Shepherd laughed. ‘Yours too,’ said Button.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve been keeping receipts.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’

  Shepherd screwed up his face. He hated lying to his boss but if he told her what he’d learned from Richard Yokely she’d never forgive him. And neither would Yokely. ‘Sort of,’ he said. ‘But it’s off the case.’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  Shepherd gritted his teeth. Then he took a deep breath. ‘Remember I mentioned the Brits who’d been buying the Grail from Kleintank?’

  ‘Vividly.’

  ‘I was talking to Mark tonight and apparently he’d been chatting to Kleintank while Mickey and I were giving the Grail the once-over. He’d got a name from Kleintank. Paul Bradshaw. Former army.’

  ‘Why would Kleintank open up to Mark Moore?’

  ‘They were just chatting,’ said Shepherd, cringing because he knew how weak his story was. ‘Kleintank also said Bradshaw had been to see an arms dealer in Nice by the name of Marcel Calvert. I only found out tonight.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll get Bradshaw checked out. And this Calvert. Did Moore tell you anything else?’

  Shepherd wanted Button to check the phone Bradshaw was using, but there was no good reason for him to have the number. ‘That’s all, pretty much. Mark likes to talk when he’s had a few, and we did a lot of drinking tonight.’

  ‘All right, Spider, you take care of yourself. Call me as soon as you know what flight you’re on and I’ll have surveillance ready.’

  Shepherd ended the call. Guilt formed a hard knot in his stomach and he knew his relationship with Button would never be the same again.

  Bradshaw sounded the horn of the Ford Mondeo he was driving. Three short blasts followed by a slightly longer one. The metal door rattled up and al-Sayed stepped to the side to give him room to drive in. He eased the Mondeo past the removal van and parked behind it, followed by Kundi in a Volvo. They had bought the Volvo for cash at a south London auction. Like the Mondeo it was less than two years old and he had pronounced it in good condition. They had filled the tank at a petrol station on the way back to the self-storage depot, and Kundi had checked the engine oil and tyre pressures. Al-Sayed brought the door down while Talwar and Chaudhry walked over to the Volvo.

  ‘It’s nothing special,’ said Chaudhry. He unwrapped a stick of gum, folded it in half and popped it into his mouth.

  ‘They don’t need to be special,’ said Bradshaw. ‘They need to be nondescript. They need to blend. Once we’ve carried out our task, we won’t be driving away at high speed. We’ll be driving at a regular speed obeying all the rules of the road, and we’ll hide among the thousands of other cars that’ll be on the road.’

  Chaudhry pulled a face. ‘Volvos are boxy,’ he said. ‘They’re a housewife’s car.’

  Bradshaw laughed. ‘Then you can be in the Mondeo with me, Samil.’

  Mark and Mickey picked Shepherd up in their Range Rover and drove him to the airport. They spent ninety minutes in the KLM business lounge before boarding their flight to Holland. Mickey and Mark drank two bottles of champagne between them but Shepherd stayed with mineral water. He told them he didn’t want to risk an upset stomach. After the food service, the brothers slept but Shephe
rd stayed awake. It wasn’t the robbery that was preying on his mind, it was Paul Bradshaw and the Asians, and what they planned to do with their surface-to-air missiles. If they launched a terrorist attack at one of the country’s airports and brought down a plane, the responsibility would lie at Shepherd’s door. In a perfect world he’d simply tell Charlotte Button everything he knew and let her pass the information to the relevant agencies. With luck, the police and the security services would be able to track them down and neutralise the terrorist cell before they were able to launch an attack. But it wasn’t a perfect world. Richard Yokely had made it clear that Shepherd was not to divulge the source of his information and the American was not a man to be crossed. Shepherd had told Button about the missiles, Bradshaw’s involvement and the arms dealer in Nice, and just hoped that would be enough for her to put the rest of the puzzle together. If she didn’t Shepherd would have no choice but to tell her everything, and if he did that his job would be on the line and Richard Yokely on his case. Neither option would have a pleasant outcome.

  Shepherd felt as if he’d been backed into a corner with no way out. And while his mind went around in circles, trying to come up with a solution, he knew that the clock was well and truly ticking. Having got his missiles into England, Bradshaw wouldn’t wait long to use them – the longer he waited, the more likely it was he’d be caught. There could only be one possible target, and that was a passenger jet. But without knowing where he intended to strike, preventive measures were out of the question – there were simply too many airports, too many planes and too many passengers.

  Andy Yates scanned the horizon with his binoculars. ‘There’s a dozen boats out there,’ he said. ‘How the hell are we supposed to know which one we’re looking for?’

  ‘Just keep an eye out for a fast boat heading this way,’ said Davie Black. They were sitting in a black Jeep Cherokee on a beach on the Northumbrian coast. He tapped the TomTom GPS unit sitting on the dashboard. ‘They’ll come right to us.’

  ‘I don’t understand why they’re doing this in broad daylight.’

  ‘Because it’s a busy stretch of water, and even with night-vision goggles it’s dangerous at the speed they travel at,’ said Black. ‘Stop worrying.’ He studied the sudoko puzzle in the newspaper in front of him.

  ‘What is it with you and those puzzles?’ said Yates.

  ‘Exercise for the brain,’ said Black. ‘Same as you like to exercise your mouth.’

  Yates lowered the binoculars. ‘You’re turning into a grumpy old poofter.’

  ‘And you’re a boring old fart,’ said Black.

  ‘But you love me, really.’

  Black shook his head in disgust and looked at his watch. ‘They’re late,’ he said.

  ‘If they don’t come, we’re screwed.’

  ‘If they don’t come we find someone else to come up with the RPGs and we do the job somewhen else.’

  ‘Somewhen?’ said Yates, grinning.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s no such word.’

  ‘You know what I mean, and that’s all that matters,’ said Black.

  Yates put the binoculars back to his eyes and gazed out over the sea again. ‘Here we go,’ he said. He handed them to Black and pointed to the right. Black saw a needle-shaped boat heading their way, carving through the water like a knife. ‘Bloody move those things, don’t they?’

  ‘Mickey says even the navy doesn’t have anything that can keep up with them on the water,’ said Yates. ‘Only thing that can match them is a helicopter.’

  Black climbed out of the Jeep and checked the beach. It was just after dawn and no one was around. The wind coming off the North Sea was bracing even in the summer months, and other than the occasional insomniac dog-walker the beaches were usually empty at this hour. If there had been anyone to pay any attention to the Jeep, the plates were false and both men were armed.

  The boat streaked towards them, and Yates joined Black. They were both wearing fleece jackets, wellington boots and leather gloves, with woollen hats that could be pulled down as ski masks if necessary. They walked across the firm sand to the water’s edge.

  The hard bottom of the rib boat meant it could come right up onto the beach, providing the rotor was swung out of the water. It slowed as it got nearer the shore, but its onboard GPS kept it heading directly for them. As it came closer Yates could see two men in dark blue weatherproof jackets standing behind the windshield. The figure on the right waved and Yates waved back. There was a third figure in the back of the boat, and as it roared into the shallows he swung the outboard motor towards the front so that the rotor lifted out of the waves. The boat’s momentum carried it forward and it scraped along the sand.

  ‘Quickly! Quickly!’ shouted the man holding the motor.

  Yates and Black waded into the surf. One of the men at the front of the boat moved back and helped Yates to drag one of four wooden boxes over the side. He and Black carried it to the sand and put it down carefully, then hurried back. In less than five minutes they had unloaded all four and the boat was speeding towards Holland.

  Shepherd managed a few hours’ sleep but he didn’t feel rested when the lights came on in the cabin and the crew began serving breakfast. He didn’t want to eat but he drank three cups of coffee. They landed on time and spent two hours at Schiphol airport in Amsterdam before catching an Aer Lingus flight to Dublin. Mickey, Mark and Shepherd travelled separately on the Irish plane and didn’t meet up until they had passed through Immigration, where overweight plainclothes Garda Síochána officers barely glanced at their British passports.

  Barry Wilson was waiting for them outside the terminal in a long-wheelbase Land Rover Defender with Irish plates. Mickey climbed into the front, Shepherd and Mark into the back. ‘Everything sorted?’ asked Mickey.

  ‘No worries,’ said Wilson. ‘Chopper called to say they’d got the gear from Holland and were driving down to the meet.’

  ‘I love it when a plan comes together.’ Mickey took out a cigar and lit it.

  Wilson drove them to the long-stay car park where there was a second Land Rover Defender. Wilson gave a set of keys to Mickey. ‘Do you know where the ferry terminal is?’

  ‘Near the sea, right?’ said Mickey. He blew a cloud of smoke out of the window. ‘I’ll follow you.’ Wilson reached under the dashboard and pulled out a printout of an Internet booking for an afternoon ferry sailing and a parking ticket. Mickey took it and climbed out of the car. ‘Come on, Ricky, you can ride shotgun,’ he said.

  Shepherd took his holdall with him and walked over to the second Land Rover. Mickey got into the driving seat and Shepherd sat next to him. Wilson headed out of the car park and Mickey followed. He grinned when he saw a GPS unit mounted on the dashboard. ‘Cheeky bugger – do I know where the ferry terminal is!’ He patted the GPS. ‘If I don’t, this gizmo sure as hell does.’

  The journey took forty-five minutes. Men in fluorescent jackets pointed the way to the waiting area where they joined queues of cars, horseboxes, trucks and caravans preparing to board. After a half-hour wait, the two Land Rovers drove separately onto the ferry and parked on different levels. The four men met up in the spacious lounge close to the restaurant. A member of staff with a heavy Polish accent issued what were probably safety instructions, but as her voice was barely intelligible none of the passengers paid her any attention.

  ‘Wanna eat?’ asked Mickey. He took his cigar case out of his pocket, then saw a sign that said smoking was permitted only outside on deck so he scowled and put it away.

  ‘Just coffee,’ said Shepherd.

  Mickey and Mark went over to the cafeteria while Wilson and Shepherd sat at a table by a large picture window. Shepherd flicked through his copy of the Irish Times. As he looked up he saw a young Asian man in a brown leather jacket and Armani jeans walking away from the cafeteria with a bottle of water. It was Amar Singh, one of SOCA’s technical experts. Shepherd had worked with him for more than five years, initially on a
police undercover team and latterly with SOCA. Singh studiously avoided eye contact as he went towards the men’s toilets in the middle of the ship.

  Shepherd put down his paper. ‘I need a leak,’ he said.

  ‘Have one for me,’ said Wilson.

  He found Singh checking that the two stalls were empty. When he had satisfied himself, he took a Nokia mobile from his pocket and handed it to Shepherd. ‘Long time no see,’ he said.

  ‘Been busy?’ asked Shepherd, taking his own phone from his jacket pocket. He had already removed the Sim card. He gave the phone to Singh and took the replacement.

  ‘Same old,’ said Singh. He indicated the phone in Shepherd’s hand. ‘The GPS locator will give us your position around the clock. It still functions whether or not it’s switched on and it looks the same as the regular phone so only an expert will be able to tell that it’s been modified.’

  ‘What if the battery loses its charge?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Then you’re screwed, so keep it charged,’ said Singh, slipping Shepherd’s phone into his jacket. ‘Have you got the details of the transport?’

  ‘Two Land Rover Defenders, Irish plates,’ said Shepherd. Singh took out a small notebook and Shepherd gave him the registration numbers.

  ‘Passengers aren’t allowed on the car decks while the ship’s at sea, but I need you to keep an eye on the guys in case they decide to go walkabout,’ said Singh.

  ‘No problem,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Message from Charlie about that army guy you mentioned. He almost certainly killed the arms dealer in Nice – he had hi-tech micro cameras all around the house and there’s video of an IC One male sticking a knife into him in the hallway. Could well be Bradshaw. Charlie wants to know if you’ve any other info because he’s gone off the radar.’

  ‘Not much more I can tell her,’ said Shepherd. ‘What’s she found out?’

  ‘He was a tank gunner based at Abu Naji camp during his last tour. If he did convert to Islam he kept it a secret from his army buddies. Got an honourable discharge and enrolled on an engineering course at South Bank University. Was a model student during his first year but no one’s seen him for the past two weeks. Charlie fears the worst.’