The heavy who had met Shepherd at the airport motioned for him to follow him up the stairs. The second floor was a room that ran the full length of the building, with book-lined walls and works of art that looked real and expensive, and there was a white grand piano by a window overlooking the canal. There were three dark green leather sofas and a lot of antique furniture.
The third floor had four rooms leading off a central hallway. The heavy knocked on one of the doors, opened it, and motioned for Shepherd to go inside.
The room was windowless and the walls, ceiling and floor had been lined with a grey foam material. On top of that was a wire mesh that effectively created a cage that filled the whole room. There was a wooden raised floor on which stood all the furniture – an ornate Regency desk, four winged leather chairs and a coffee table that matched the desk, piled high with reading material. The only electrical equipment in the room appeared to be a laptop sitting on the desk.
Lucas Smit was sitting in one of the winged chairs. He was a small man with swept-back white hair and cheeks flecked with broken veins. He studied Shepherd with pale blue eyes framed by eyelashes that had greyed with age. He was in his sixties, maybe older, and his hands were dotted with brown liver spots. He smiled, showing yellowing teeth.
‘Please sit, Mr Olsen,’ he said, waving to one of the chairs. ‘This is not the most attractive room in the house, but it is the most secure.’
Shepherd sat down. He had been in secure communication rooms in various embassies around the world and this was on a par with the best. The design meant that all eavesdropping methods were rendered useless.
Smit settled back in his chair and watched Shepherd like a snake contemplating its next meal. ‘You’re very successful at what you do, Mr Olsen,’ he said quietly.
Shepherd shrugged. ‘I get by.’
‘You’re very modest. You don’t sound Danish, I have to say.’
Shepherd shrugged.
‘My English is good. Some would say perfect. But most people would realise that I am not a natural-born speaker and quite a few would know that I was Dutch.’
‘Your accent sounds good to me,’ said Shepherd.
Smit smiled without warmth. ‘You flatter me, Mr Olsen. But that’s not your real name, is it? Any more than you are Danish.’ His eyes bored into Shepherd’s for several seconds, then he smiled. ‘That’s very clever. You make the world think you are Danish so they start off on the wrong track. That’s why no one really knows who you are, or where you come from. And why you’ve never been photographed.’
‘There are advantages to having a low profile, obviously,’ said Shepherd, and Smit chuckled. ‘But you approached me, remember? These days I don’t tout for work. Work finds me.’
Smit nodded. ‘I appreciate that, but whenever I work with someone for the first time, I am obviously somewhat apprehensive.’
‘That’s understandable. But you have to appreciate that I can hardly supply references.’
Smit put up an apologetic hand. ‘I’m sorry if I come across as suspicious. It’s the nature of our business. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’
‘Not if you don’t mind if I don’t answer them.’ Shepherd smiled. ‘Go ahead.’
‘How many kills have you made?’
‘Twenty-seven as a freelance contractor.’
‘Do you care about the nature of your targets?’
Shepherd frowned. ‘In what way?’
‘Men, women, children?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘A target is a target.’
‘Do you care why a target has been selected?’
‘These are very strange questions,’ said Shepherd.
‘Some men are choosy about which contracts they accept.’
‘I’m not. If I had reservations, I couldn’t do the job.’
‘What about collateral damage?’
‘It’s messy and best avoided. But if the only way to take out a target is to involve others, then sometimes it’s necessary. But as I said, best avoided.’
‘Suppose you were asked to shoot a friend?’
‘Is that what this is about? You want me to kill someone I know?’
Smit laughed dryly and put up a hand. ‘No, the contract I have in mind for you is not a friend of yours. I am just trying to get a feel for your mindset.’
‘I’m a professional. I’m good at what I do and I’m paid a premium price for my skills. Would I kill a friend?’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘It would depend on the price, I suppose. But then, I don’t have many friends.’
Smit nodded and smiled, as if he approved of the answer. ‘What’s your longest kill?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘I try not to go beyond five hundred metres. You rarely get the chance for more than one shot and beyond that distance it’s a bit problematical.’
Smit nodded. ‘Tell me about the problems with long-range shots.’
‘Are you serious? You’re testing me?’
‘I just want you to confirm that you are a professional. I don’t think that is too much to ask for before I arrange a contract worth three million euros. Now my question is simple – what are the extra problems with long-range shots, beyond a thousand metres?’
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I assume you’re not talking about windage or bullet drop because that’s important no matter what the distance. Beyond a thousand metres two other factors kick in, the Coriolis effect and bullet drift.’
Smit smiled. ‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘Now how about you explain those to me.’
Shepherd shook his head dismissively. ‘This is ridiculous,’ he said.
‘Humour me,’ said Smit.
‘The Coriolis effect is when the earth’s rotation pulls the round either left or right, depending on where the shooter is and the direction of fire. The closer you are to firing east–west or west–east the less the effect.’
‘And bullet drift?’
‘Rounds spin as they move through the air. Up to three thousand times a second. The round will tend to move in the direction it’s spinning. It’s a very small deviation and up to a thousand metres you can pretty much ignore it.’
‘And how do you account for it when making your shot?’
‘You don’t,’ said Shepherd. ‘Okay, you can use a ballistic computer but in my experience you’re better making a shot and then compensating. Which is why if it’s a job, I keep to well below a thousand metres.’ He flashed Smit a tight smile. ‘Happy now? Did I pass?’
‘You passed,’ said Smit. ‘But all you have done is shown that you understand the technicalities of sniping. You can talk the talk, as the Americans say, but can you walk the walk?’
The same two heavies who had picked Shepherd up at the airport dropped him off at the Intercontinental Amstel hotel and returned his phones. Smit had booked a palatial suite overlooking the river and given him the business card of a local escort service. The Dutchman said he had an account with them and that Shepherd could order as many girls as he wanted. Shepherd took off his coat and tossed it on the bed, then phoned Button.
‘He wants to see me in action,’ he told her. ‘Gave me some crap about walking the walk.’
‘I suppose that’s only to be expected,’ she said. ‘You’re an unknown quantity. When and where?’
‘He says he has a place in Croatia. Tomorrow.’
‘Can’t you persuade him to do it in the UK? We could set something up.’
‘He’s worried about it being a fit-up. The plan is for me to stay here overnight. He’s booked me into the Intercontinental Amstel.’
‘That’s a lovely hotel,’ she said. ‘You should try the restaurant. La Rive. It overlooks the river and has a Michelin star. Graham and I …’ She left the sentence unfinished. Graham had been her husband; he had died a few years previously.
‘Thanks, but I’m not here for the fine dining,’ said Shepherd.
‘Well it’s your call, obviously, as to whether you go or not.’
‘It’s not the safest of place
s, Croatia.’
‘I could arrange some sort of backup.’
‘You could. But that might be the test. To see if I’m being followed. We can’t take the risk. If I go, I have to go alone.’
‘As I said, it’s your call.’
Shepherd closed his eyes and tapped the phone against the side of his head for several seconds. ‘I’ll do it,’ he said eventually. ‘I don’t see that I’ve got a choice.’
‘You’ve always got a choice.’
‘Yeah, but if I pull out they’ll find someone else.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll do it.’
‘What do you need from me?’
‘I don’t think I can go in with any backup – human or technological. If they search me and find a bug or tracker then it’s all over. And there’ll be no cavalry in Croatia.’
‘What about the phone that Amar gave you?’
‘They didn’t give it a second look. But they took it off me. And ran a metal detector over me.’
‘How are you getting to Croatia?’
‘Private jet to Zagreb, he said. Back tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully.’
‘And assuming you pass the test, he’ll give you the contract?’
‘Apparently. One third of the money up front, transferred to an account of my choosing.’
‘We’ve already set an account up in the Cayman Islands in the name of Harry Cartwright. That account feeds into accounts that lead eventually to Frederik Olsen. It’s likely that Smit will run checks.’
‘That should do nicely,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ll text you the details. Look, the Smit side is going well but we need something concrete to tie in Jansen.’
‘Like what? Smit on tape saying that Jansen is the client? Because I don’t see that happening at the moment.’
‘Ideally a face to face with Jansen,’ said Button.
‘How the hell am I supposed to do that?’
‘I’m just saying. In a perfect world …’
‘Yeah, well the world isn’t perfect,’ said Shepherd.
‘Just play it by ear, that’s all I’m saying. See what you can do.’
Shepherd ended the call and lay down on the bed. He put his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling.
The Range Rover turned off the main highway and drove down a single-track road for a mile before turning again. They stopped at a gate set into a wire fence. A second Range Rover pulled up behind hem. Two armed guards cradling AK-47s walked towards the car but the driver wound down the window and said something to them in Croatian and they nodded and waved them through. The road dipped down and Shepherd realised they were in a quarry. It seemed to be disused as there was no equipment and no one appeared to be working.
Shepherd had been picked up at his hotel by two men in a Mercedes and driven to a private airfield where Smit was waiting inside a Gulfstream jet. They had flown to a small airfield in Croatia where two more heavies had been waiting with two black Range Rovers. Shepherd had climbed into the back of one and had expected Smit to join him. In fact Smit got into the second car and it was one of the heavies who sat next to Shepherd. The heavy had said nothing on the drive from the airfield to the quarry. He had turned his head away from Shepherd and just stared out of the window.
There were three SUVs parked in a line at the entrance to the quarry and the Range Rover pulled in behind them. Smit climbed out and Shepherd joined him. Shepherd looked around at the granite walls. ‘This isn’t the best place for a long shot,’ he said.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said the Dutchman.
‘I thought I was here to show you my sniping skills,’ said Shepherd.
‘You clearly are an expert sniper, the way you answered my questions was proof of that. I need you to show me your competence with explosives.’
‘Who is the target?’ asked Shepherd.
‘You’ll be told that once we have confirmed that you are the man for the job,’ said Smit.
‘And how do I do that?’
Smit walked over to one of the SUVs, a black Toyota. A heavyset man in a black leather jacket pulled open the rear door and stepped back. Smit took Shepherd over and showed him what was in the back.
‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd. The rear of the SUV was filled with boxes of electrical equipment and C-4 explosive. ‘You want me to build a bomb?’
‘Not just a bomb, my friend,’ said Smit. ‘An IED that is remotely primed and detonates either on a timer or when the car is in motion.’
‘I can tell you how to do it, why run the risk of building one?’
‘As I said, it’s not about talking the talk, it’s about walking the walk. And if you truly know what you are doing, there is no risk.’
‘There is always risk,’ said Shepherd. He took off his coat and handed it to the man in the leather jacket.
‘This is Dvorko,’ said Smit. ‘He’ll be watching you.’
Shepherd nodded at Dvorko. ‘You know IEDs?’
Dvorko grinned, showing a large gap between his two front teeth. ‘Some.’ His head was shaved and there was a thick rope-like scar above his left ear; his left cheek was pockmarked with scars that looked like they might have been caused by shrapnel.
‘Do me a favour and shove that in the car while I see what we’ve got here,’ said Shepherd.
Dvorko opened the front passenger door and tossed the coat in while Shepherd ran an eye over the plastic boxes in the back of the vehicle. There were several types of detonators, mercury tilt switches, a range of batteries, half a dozen mobile phones, and handfuls of integrated circuits.
Smit flipped open a black plastic case and waved his gloved hand at the contents. ‘You are familiar with C-4, of course?’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘But the British version is PE-4. C-4 is ninety-one per cent RDX – Research Department Explosive – five per cent dioctyl sebacate as the plasticiser, two per cent polyisobutylene as the binder and just under two per cent mineral oil.’ He picked up one of the blocks. It weighed about half a kilo and was just under a foot long in an olive-coloured wrapping. ‘This is military grade C-4, packaged as a demolition block. They call it an M112.’ He gestured at the case just as Dvorko rejoined them. ‘They put sixteen of the M112 blocks into this carrying case with four priming assemblies and sell it as a demolition charge assembly.’ He put the C-4 block back into the case and took out one of the priming assemblies. ‘This is the detonating cord capped with a booster at each end. It’s good kit this. The best.’
Dvorko nodded. ‘We get it from the military.’
‘What about you?’ Smit asked Shepherd. ‘Where do you get your explosive from?’
Shepherd tapped the side of his nose. ‘Trade secret, Lucas.’ He looked over at Smit. ‘What is it exactly you want me to do?’
Smit pointed over at a car on the other side of the quarry. It was a rusting white Volvo with its engine hood propped open. ‘Prepare an IED that can be remotely primed. Have it set up so that it will explode when the car is in motion. But have an override trigger so that it can be remotely detonated.’ Smit smiled. ‘Obviously we cannot have someone driving the car.’
‘Obviously,’ said Shepherd. ‘Lucas, what’s going on here?’
‘We need to be sure that you are able to use an IED, should that be necessary.’
‘It would be a big help if I knew who the target was.’
‘We need to know first that you have the requisite skills.’
‘And blowing up a car will prove that?’
‘Of course.’
Shepherd shrugged carelessly. ‘Fine. How big an explosion do you want?’
‘Enough to be sure of killing the occupants.’
‘You’ve got it,’ said Shepherd.
He took a deep breath, composed himself and reached for a roll of wire. He worked quickly and efficiently, initially putting together a simple circuit of a mobile phone and a battery, hooked up to a test bulb. He used a battery soldering iron and had to choose between three types of solder, which
he figured was a test because he saw Dvorko nod his approval when he picked up the Kester brand. When he had finished he tested the circuit by calling the number. After one ring the bulb glowed. He smiled to himself. That was the easy part. He put together a second circuit, this one with a battery and a timer. He removed the bulb and replaced it with the second circuit. He checked the circuit, then rang the phone gain. This time as soon as the phone began ringing the timer began to tick off the seconds.
Shepherd stepped back so that Smit could see the circuit, then he switched the timer off. His third circuit would contain the two detonators but for testing purposes he replaced them with bulbs. He assembled the circuit, set the timer for one minute, and called the number. The timer started immediately the phone rang, and exactly one minute later the two bulbs winked on.
Shepherd rubbed his chin as he looked through the various components that were available. There were several makes of reed switch that were activated when a magnet came into the vicinity, and mercury tilt switches that were activated by movement. He looked over at Smit. ‘We could do this a number of ways,’ he said. ‘A lot depends on how much access I would have to the car.’
‘Explain?’ said Smit.
‘Well, if I could have some time with the car, then the best way would be just to wire the main circuit into the car’s ignition system. That way the bomb will only go off when the engine is running. If I’ve only got limited access then some sort of motion-activated component would be best. Say the mercury tilt switch. The bomb could then be placed on the chassis or under a wheel arch.’
Smit nodded. ‘Let’s assume you have access. But go for the movement option.’
‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. He took one of the mercury tilt switches and soldered it into the detonator circuit. When he had finished he stepped back so that Dvorko could check his work.
‘It’s good,’ said Dvorko.
Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller Page 17
