‘And you wanted an override circuit?’
Smit nodded.
Shepherd put together a separate circuit connecting the battery to a second mobile phone and the two light bulbs. ‘If I do it this way, a call to this mobile will detonate the bomb no matter what else happens,’ he said. ‘There’s no safety. I wouldn’t recommend doing it that way. Mobile phones can sometimes go off on their own and if that happens …’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Wiring the second phone circuit into the first one, so calling the second phone won’t have any effect unless the first phone has activated the circuit.’
‘Let’s do that,’ said Smit.
Smit and Dvorko watched as Shepherd modified the circuit. When he had finished he showed them how it would work. He called the first phone and the timer started. ‘At this point the bomb is in the car and is now active. One of two things will activate the device. You can either call the second phone in which case the bomb will explode immediately. Or if the car is in motion, if it accelerates quickly or brakes suddenly, the mercury tilt switch will activate the circuit.’ He twisted the mercury tilt switch, allowing the mercury inside to connect two prongs that then activated the circuit and the two bulbs winked on.
Smit looked over at Dvorko and the Croatian nodded.
‘Right, time to do it for real,’ said Smit.
‘Seriously? You want me to blow up the car?’
Smit grinned. ‘Walk the walk.’
Shepherd sighed and reached for a detonator. ‘Suit yourself,’ he said. ‘But it seems like a waste of perfectly good explosive.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I give you some room,’ said the Dutchman. He walked away and lit one of his small cigars.
Shepherd looked at Dvorko. ‘Are you staying?’ he asked.
Dvorko grinned. ‘Looks to me like you know what you’re doing.’
Shepherd removed the two bulbs and soldered in two detonators in their place. He put the soldering iron down. ‘I’d be happier connecting this to the explosive in the car,’ he said.
‘You and me both.’
Shepherd nodded at the black plastic case. ‘Bring two of the blocks, yeah?’
He carefully rolled up the circuit and placed it on one of the plastic lids and carried it over to the Volvo. He placed the circuit carefully on the roof and pulled open the rear passenger door. Dvorko came up behind him, a block of C-4 in each hand.
Shepherd took one of the blocks and inserted one of the detonators into it, pushing it in as far as it would go. He took the second block and pushed the remaining detonator in. He could feel his heart racing. Without the C-4 in place, the worst that could happen would be a loud bang. But now the device was capable of blowing the car, and them, to pieces. He carefully lifted the circuit off the roof and leaned inside the car. He placed it on the back seat, figuring that as it was only a test he didn’t have to go to the bother of concealing it. He closed the door gently and walked back to Smit’s car with Dvorko.
‘That was nice work,’ said the Croatian.
‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd.
They reached Smit, who was halfway through his cigar. ‘Done?’ he asked.
‘Done,’ said Shepherd.
Smit looked over at Dvorko for confirmation. The Croatian nodded. ‘Let’s do it, then,’ said Smit.
Shepherd took the first phone and made the call. He let it ring three times and then ended the call. On the far side of the quarry, the timer was now running. Shepherd put the phone down and looked at his watch. He waited until a minute had passed before nodding. ‘That’s it. The device is now active.’ He picked up the second mobile phone. ‘Do you want to do the honours?’
Smit took the phone from him.
‘Just press redial,’ said Shepherd.
Smit blinked, then made the call. Less than a second later the Volvo exploded and all three men ducked down behind Smit’s car. Pieces of metal rained down around the burning shell and a plume of thick black smoke rose into the air.
‘Nice,’ said Smit.
‘Happy now?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Yes, I think so,’ said the Dutchman. ‘It’s time to talk business.’
Smit and Shepherd travelled back to the airfield in separate cars, and during the flight back to Amsterdam Smit sat at the opposite end of the Gulfstream, smoking a cigar and studying spreadsheets on a laptop. They took separate cars back to the house in Amsterdam and Smit waited until they were back in the secure room before telling Shepherd what he already knew – that Vladimir Putin was to be the target.
Shepherd feigned surprise. ‘It can’t be done,’ he said.
‘Of course it can,’ said Smit. He lit a cigar. ‘Anyone can be killed.’
‘He’s one of the most protected men on the planet,’ said Shepherd.
‘Yes, but even he has to go out sometimes. And you are one of the best snipers in the world. He has to move around by car and any vehicle is vulnerable.’
‘You think I’ll be able to plant a bomb in Putin’s car?’ He shook his head. ‘Cloud cuckoo land – that’s where you live.’
‘Of course you won’t get anywhere near any of his cars,’ said Smit. ‘But a man like Putin has a schedule drawn up months in advance. So if you know where he is going to be, you can make plans.’
‘And where is he going to be? You obviously have something in mind.’
‘London. In three weeks’ time. He will be attending the G8 meeting.’
‘Three weeks? That’s not long enough. Something like this, it’ll take months of planning.’
‘The planning has been done. All we need is for someone to execute it.’
Shepherd frowned. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Whose plan?’
‘This has been in the works since last year. We know the hotel he will be staying at and have been able to plan accordingly. We had someone lined up but it fell through.’
‘Fell through how?’
‘That doesn’t matter,’ said Smit. ‘But the plan is a good one. It will still work. And you are just the man we need.’
‘You keep saying “we”. Who is “we” exactly?’
‘The client,’ said Smit. ‘You don’t need to know his name. But the money is in place. Three million euros. One million when you agree to proceed, two million when the task is completed.’
‘This isn’t how I work. Normally I do the planning, I decide where and when.’
‘I understand that. But that’s one of the reasons why the contract is of such high value.’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘No, the reason the contract is expensive is because of the target. It’s a career-finisher. A last hurrah.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Whoever kills Putin will have to disappear for ever. The Russians won’t forgive or forget, they’ll be on his trail for ever.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Smit. ‘Putin is a dictator and dictators are never loved. Once he is dead he will be swiftly replaced. And I doubt his replacement will be out for revenge.’
‘The king is dead, long live the king?’
‘Exactly,’ said Smit. He flicked ash into a crystal ashtray. ‘So you will take the contract?’
‘I will,’ said Shepherd. ‘But the fee is five million euros. Two million up front.’
Smit’s eyes hardened. ‘The fee is three million.’
‘Then find someone who is prepared to do it for that. If you want me it’s five. And from where I stand, it doesn’t look to me as if you have too many options.’
‘You are not the only contract killer out there.’
Shepherd smiled. ‘I know that. But how many are available right now? And how many would be prepared to accept a target like Putin? And how many of those would be prepared to step into someone else’s plan?’
Smit stared at him with unblinking eyes.
‘And let’s not forget all the money you’ve paid to get to this point. If you don’t find someone to do the job, all that money will have
been wasted. You’ve got three weeks to find someone. And you know you need a pro. I’m here. I’m available.’
‘But you are expensive.’
‘You get what you pay for.’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘Look, it’s your call. I’m not haggling, I’ve told you my price. If you can pay it then we can move forward. If not, then it’s been nice knowing you.’
‘Except that now you know who the target is.’
‘But that’s all I know. And trust me, I’m not the sort to go running to the cops.’
Smit’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is not how I normally do business.’
‘I guess not. But this is a bit of a special case, isn’t it?’
Shepherd flew back to London late on Sunday evening. As he passed through immigration his mobile beeped to let him know he had received a text message. It was Button. I’M OUTSIDE.
She was waiting for him at the wheel of a white Audi. ‘I thought I’d debrief you and give you a lift,’ she said as he climbed in.
‘It’s on,’ he said. ‘Smit has confirmed that Putin is the target. And he already has a plan. The problem is, he won’t tell me what it is yet. He says he’ll give me the information closer to the time.’
‘But it’s definitely London?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘For sure. In three weeks, he said.’
‘Then the options are limited. Putin is flying in solely for the G8 meeting. He’ll fly in, be driven from the airport to the hotel, then spend the day at the meeting before flying out later that night.’
‘They tested me on sniping and explosives. It’s only a hunch but I wondered if they plan to use an explosion to change his route, send him down a street where I’ll be waiting with a rifle. Smit said they know the hotel Putin will be using which means they can work out possible routes.’
‘That still leaves a lot of possibilities. When will he fully brief you?’
‘He didn’t say. He said he’d pay the deposit into my account. Maybe that’ll be traceable?’
‘I seriously doubt it,’ Button said, driving out of the airport and joining the main road into London. ‘We’ll try, obviously. But I doubt the money will come from a Lucas Smit account marked “payment for Putin assassination”. We need something tangible, Spider. A recording. Proof.’
‘My word isn’t good enough?’
She laughed. ‘You know as well as I do that we don’t want you in court. Especially not a court in Holland.’ She tapped the steering wheel as she drove. ‘Let’s see what he does next,’ she said.
‘He won’t say anything over the phone, Charlie. He’s as paranoid as hell. Wouldn’t travel in the same car as me and the only time he’d say anything was in this secure room in his house.’
‘I’ll talk to Amar to see if he has any bright ideas.’ She flashed him a sly look that he pretended not to notice. ‘How did you get on with Faith?’
‘She was good. Very professional.’
‘Pretty girl.’
He looked across at her. ‘I’m assuming that’s why you used her.’
‘It was,’ she said. ‘Most definitely.’
O’Brien and Walsh arrived in Paris expecting to be met by Harper. Instead, they were greeted by a car service driver. He was one of Harper’s ex-para mates, now working on the Circuit, and picking up a very nice pay packet for five minutes’ work – holding a placard with O’Brien’s cover name on it, handing them two train tickets to Berlin and telling them to look out for another driver with a similar message there. It was almost a nine-hour train journey and on arrival in Berlin, the man waiting for them handed them a new pay-as-you-go mobile phone with one pre-programmed number, and two more rail tickets on a local stopping train to the grimy East German town where Harper was waiting. Tired, hungry and frustrated, O’Brien looked ready to explode with rage, but the bearer of the message merely shrugged and then vanished into the crowds. The two men made their bad-tempered way to the platform for their train, and as they were about to discover, it was a journey that took two more hours, in an outside temperature that was well below freezing. They didn’t see the two Billys behind them, making sure that they weren’t being followed or accompanied by heavies.
As soon as O’Brien boarded the local train, he phoned the pre-programmed number and launched into a foul-mouthed tirade at Harper.
Harper didn’t apologise. ‘It’s a necessary security precaution so don’t get your knickers in a twist. Your security is normally your own concern but I need to reassure myself that I’m not jeopardising my own security by doing business with you. Okay?’
‘I hate feckin’ trains,’ said O’Brien. ‘If you’d wanted me in Berlin I could have just flown to Berlin.’
‘My men have been making sure that you are not being followed. If you were, we would not be having this conversation. I’m now happy to go ahead with our business and once you reach your destination, I assure you that you will find that your little bit of discomfort has been worthwhile. But if you’re that unhappy you can just fuck off back to Ireland.’
He broke the connection before O’Brien could reply.
Two minutes later and O’Brien called back. ‘Okay, okay, we’ll be there,’ he said.
‘I’m here, ready and waiting,’ said Harper.
While awaiting their arrival, Harper gave the heavies their final briefing, with Zelda translating for him. ‘All I need you to do,’ he said, ‘is stand outside the steel doors and look menacing. Don’t speak even if spoken to, and don’t let anyone near the building unless I give the okay.’
Paying cash, he had booked the two men a twin room at the best hotel in town – though that wasn’t saying much. Hansfree had already installed listening devices in it so they could monitor the New IRA men’s conversation. Harper’s last preparation before they arrived was to slip the Makarov into his shoulder holster, under his jacket. He wasn’t expecting trouble but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be prepared for it.
By the time the two men drew up in the taxi that Harper had sent to collect them from the station, they had been travelling for over sixteen hours and O’Brien in particular was in an even filthier mood that was only partly eased by the large glass of schnapps that Harper thrust into his hand. Walsh looked grey with cold as he clutched the briefcase he was holding protectively to his chest. A steel chain connected the handle to his wrist. Night had long since fallen, plunging the temperature even lower and Harper could see the American trying to suppress his shivers.
‘We’re very hungry,’ Walsh said. ‘We’ve been travelling for ever.’
Harper nodded, putting on a sympathetic expression. ‘We’ll have some food shortly, but let’s take care of our business first.’
Instead of leading them down the stairs at the back of the office, he steered them back out of the front door and made them walk up the narrow, cobbled street at the side, into the teeth of the wind-driven snow flurries that stung their skin like handfuls of grit. Thick icicles hung from the gutters above them and their footsteps rang like iron on the frozen ground. Harper hid a smile as he heard Walsh slipping and sliding on the ice in his expensive, leather-soled shoes and finally taking a crashing fall. He picked himself up, cursing, and dabbed at blood seeping from a graze on his hand with his handkerchief. The two hulking bodyguards loitering by the steel doors, stamping their feet against the cold, stood to attention as Harper and the two men approached, but as instructed, they remained silent and made no move to help Walsh as he struggled the last few yards.
The two Germans stepped aside only enough to let them through in single file, once more blocking the view of the inside of the storeroom from anyone passing by, though only the most desperate need would have brought anyone out on to the streets on such a freezing night. The bodyguards swung the steel doors shut behind them as Harper led the others into the weapons store but the temperature was barely any warmer inside.
Harper gestured towards the crates at one side of the room. ‘Those are yours,’ he said.
O’Brien was about to pick
up one of the AK-47s when Harper grabbed his arm. ‘I thought you said you were professionals,’ he said. ‘If that ever falls into the wrong hands, one fingerprint will be enough to earn you twenty years in jail.’ He held the box of disposable gloves out to him. ‘Wear a pair of these.’
O’Brien glared at him, but did as he was told. He checked several of the weapons and nodded with approval.
Walsh had also pulled on a pair of disposable gloves and while O’Brien showed off his skills with an AK-47 by stripping it down and then reassembling it, Walsh checked the contents of the crates, counting the rifles, grenades and slabs of plastic explosive.
‘I hope you’re not going to want to count the ammunition as well,’ Harper said, ‘or we’ll be here all night. Trust me, it’s all there. I’m hardly likely to be trying to cheat you on this when we have a much bigger deal in the offing.’
O’Brien was just finishing reassembling the AK-47, but as he snapped the breech shut, his expression changed as he realised he had caught the forefinger of his disposable glove in the breech. As he tried to jerk it free, there was a tearing sound and the glove ripped.
‘If that finger has touched the breech,’ Harper said, ‘you’d better get polishing because if the shipment gets intercepted, even a partial print could be enough to get you banged up.’
O’Brien pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and began rubbing frantically at the breech and barrel.
‘I hope there’s no DNA on that handkerchief,’ Harper added, maliciously twisting the knife. ‘And while you’re at it, you’d better check that there isn’t a bit of the glove still trapped in the breech, because that might be carrying a partial of your forefinger too.’
Despite the cold, beads of sweat were now standing out on O’Brien’s forehead and he directed a look of pure evil at Harper, but did as he said. It took him another minute before he could work the breech open and remove the fragment of rubber glove that was indeed trapped there.
Walsh was now so cold that his teeth were chattering and he shot Harper a grateful look when he suggested completing their business somewhere warmer. He led them back to the office, sat them down and poured them both another glass of schnapps.
Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller Page 18
