He took another long draw on his cigarette, and this time his smoke ring stayed together for a second or two before dispersing. ‘Even before Gibraltar, HMG knew it had to get the shoot-to-kill operations off the books. With the SAS in charge, the state was liable, and the state could be sued. HMG needed plausible deniability, it needed to be able to say, hand on heart, that the British government was not in the assassination business. That meant setting up a funding system that was totally independent of the state. And back in 1997, when we first met, that’s what I was tasked with. I didn’t know the full story, back then. I was just a small cog in a big machine.’
‘The diamonds,’ whispered Shepherd.
‘Yes, the diamonds. You never let me forget about those diamonds, do you? I’m sure you thought that I’d pocketed them myself.’
‘The thought had crossed my mind,’ said Shepherd.
‘I was under orders to return the diamonds to London,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘But obviously I couldn’t tell you that. At the time even I didn’t know what they were to be used for. It was a need-to-know operation and apparently I didn’t need to know. The diamonds were sold and the money placed offshore in secret accounts. Over the years that money has been used to fund the assassinations that HMG wants to be distanced from.’
‘And who decides who gets killed?’
‘The people who care most about what happens to this country.’ He grinned. ‘Which rules out the politicians, obviously. It happens at a very high level, but behind closed doors.’
‘And whose idea was this?’
‘To set it up? I don’t know. But you have to remember where we were back in 1997. John Major was on the way out and Tony Blair was on the way in. The heads of Five and Six could see the way things were going. They knew that our enemies would see a Blair government as a weak one and that there had to be something put in place to maintain our security. But it had to be something that could be plausibly denied by everyone involved. The director general has to be able to stand up in front of parliament and deny that MI5 carries out assassinations. The prime minister has to be able to assure parliament that the British government does not assassinate its enemies. Under the system put in place, that can happen and there’s no comeback.’
‘Does it have a name?’
‘Not officially. Insiders call it The Pool.’
‘Because?’
‘No one seems to know. Could be because one of the first guys they used was based in Liverpool. Could be because there was a pool of killers that could be drawn on. All freelancers, all experts in their fields.’
‘And they knew who they were working for?’
Willoughby-Brown shook his head. ‘It was all done at arm’s length. The decision would be taken, the name would be passed to whoever was running The Pool, and the contract would be placed. There was no paper trail, no money trail, nothing written down.’ He took another pull on his cigar and blew a tight plume of smoke up into the air. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Danny boy,’ he said. ‘The Pool wasn’t on the rampage. Most years it wasn’t used. But every now and again when it looked as if the security of the country was at risk, The Pool would take care of it.’
‘I’m really not buying any of this,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m not selling it,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘But the fact that the DG bothered to haul himself out of his nice warm office to come and talk to you should demonstrate that this is all very real.’
Realisation finally dawned on Shepherd. ‘Charlie is running The Pool?’
‘Yes. She has been for the last two years. The Pool has been more active recently with what’s been going on in Syria. There’s a real danger that returning jihadists will wreak havoc here in the UK, so it’s sometimes felt appropriate to make sure that they don’t return.’
‘So they’re assassinated?’
‘The legal and political boundaries are blurred, Danny. Our enemies have blurred the conflict. IEDs, terrorist attacks, flying planes into towers. You can’t fight enemies like that and follow the Geneva Convention. The old rules don’t apply to modern warfare, and this is a war, make no mistake about that.’
‘And how come Charlie is handling this?’
‘She asked for the job. Well, that’s not actually true. You can’t just apply to run The Pool, because it doesn’t officially exist. But now, looking back, it’s clear that she manoeuvered herself into the position where she was the obvious choice when her predecessor retired. It seems they actually had to persuade her quite strongly to take the job but again, with hindsight, it’s what she was after all the time. You know her husband was murdered, obviously.’
Shepherd watched Willoughby-Brown’s face carefully, trying to assess how truthful he was being. Shepherd had been in Button’s house when her husband had been murdered by an al-Qaeda assassin, a Palestinian by the name of Hassan Salih. Salih had been hired to kill Button and had come perilously close to achieving his objective. In the process, he had knifed Button’s husband to death and managed to stab Button herself before Shepherd had stepped in to end it. ‘I’m guessing you know full well that I was there when it happened, Jeremy,’ he said.
Willoughby-Brown grinned. ‘It’s not generally known, obviously. Everyone was very impressed with the way Charlotte dealt with it. Straight back to work after the funeral. She was offered counselling and all that new age nonsense but she turned it down. Nose to the grindstone, not easy when you’re a single parent.’ He waved his cigar at Shepherd. ‘As you know, of course.’
‘Get to the point, please,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m assuming there is one.’
‘Charlotte wanted the job so that she could abuse The Pool. She’s been using freelancers to take out anyone and everyone involved in the murder of her husband.’
‘I find that hard to believe. Seriously. No one spotted what she was doing?’
‘No one knew. Not until recently, anyway. There’s no fiscal supervision of the accounts. There can’t be, the accounts are totally outside the government’s sphere of influence. It’s not as if they can send in Ernst & Young to carry out an audit, is it? And there’s no paper email trail of Pool operations. It’s all done face to face. A couple of people have a chat and they talk to Charlotte and Charlotte gets the ball rolling. There are no checks and balances.’
‘Then it’s a bloody stupid system,’ snapped Shepherd.
‘It was based on trust,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘No one ever thought that someone would use The Pool for their own ends.’
‘And your proof is what?’
‘Five of the men involved with the group behind her husband’s death met untimely ends. Two were medical, but The Pool is expert at making deaths look like natural causes. One was a car accident but again The Pool contractors are proficient at death by car. The other two were up-front shootings and that’s what opened the door.’
‘So it’s circumstantial?’
‘No, Danny boy, it’s not circumstantial. Give us some credit. Some of the contracts have to be briefed overseas and we’ve matched her travel arrangements to several of the deaths. We’ve also gone through her phone and computer records with a fine-tooth comb. She’s bloody adept at covering her tracks, obviously, but we’ve got enough to prove what she’s up to. The first killing was a Moroccan who supplied Salih with the French passport that he used to get into the country. That was one of the road accidents. Found dead behind the wheel of his car after it had crashed into a tree. Allegedly. The medical one was here in the UK. The Pool always has to be careful on its home turf, obviously. Button used one of her regulars, former SAS as it happens. I doubt you know him, long before your time. They call him The Doc. He was a medic in the regiment and now he puts his medical knowledge to good use. He killed a Palestinian who was given citizenship in the late nineties. Guy by the name of Hakeem. He should never have been allowed in but there was a bit of a rush back then. Turns out he was a bombmaker in Israel, responsible for dozens of civilian deaths. We’re fairly sure that Ha
keem helped Salih and Charlotte found out. And bang, another one bites the dust. Supposedly a heart attack but we dug up the body and we’re fairly sure it was induced. That’s The Doc’s speciality.’
He blew another half-reasonable smoke ring before continuing. ‘There was another killing in the UK. An RTA. Ran off the road and into a ditch. The passenger drowned. Apparently. The guy was a British-born Muslim, name of Mazur. His pal, Tariq, was killed trying to attack Button. We believe that Salih used Mazur and Tariq and that Charlotte found out. Mazur and Tariq were no great loss, it has to be said, they’d both been in al-Qaeda training camps in Pakistan and had been groomed as Shahids. Suicide bombers.’ He forced a smile. ‘Can’t help wondering if the two of them are up in heaven now with their forty-two sloe-eyed virgins.’
‘I think you’ll find it’s seventy-two,’ said Shepherd.
‘Whatever, I don’t see it happening, do you?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘All this, it’s still circumstantial,’ he said.
‘Which is why you and I are having this conversation,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘One of the freelancers she used was Alex Harper. She sent him to kill a Dubai cop by the name of Mohammad Aslam. It was a shooting, made to look like a carjacking. Aslam died and so did one of his wives.’
‘You’re sure it was Harper?’
‘No question,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘He flew into Dubai a week before the killing and flew out that afternoon. He used a different name and was on an Irish passport. But we’ve seen the picture in the passport and it’s Harper.’
‘Lex isn’t a hired killer,’ said Shepherd.
‘He is,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘I can understand you don’t want to believe it, but it’s the truth. He’s out in Germany as we speak on an operation for The Pool.’
‘A legitimate operation? Sanctioned?’
‘This one is, yes. Two Irish terrorists who’ve been planning a spectacular in the UK for some time.’
‘Now we’re assassinating the IRA?’
‘Not the IRA, a splinter group of the Real IRA. Real bastards. HMG can’t afford to have all the work that’s been put into the peace process going to waste. If there were to be a Republican bombing campaign on the British mainland, or even in Ireland, it would be catastrophic to the economy, to the political structure. Which is what the bastards want, of course. So don’t shed any tears for them. They don’t deserve it.’
‘But this isn’t a rogue operation? Charlie was given the job and she’s hired Lex?’
‘That’s right. The present operation isn’t an issue. But we need you to go out and talk to Harper. He needs to come in and tell us everything he’s done for Charlotte. If he does that, if he cooperates fully, then he won’t be charged with any offence. He gets an absolute get-out-of-jail card.’
‘And if he refuses?’
Willoughby-Brown flicked away what was left of his cigar. It spun through the air with a shower of sparks. ‘Then we’ll pass on the details of the Dubai killing to the authorities there and won’t resist extradition.’
‘He lives in Thailand.’
‘Well I think you’ll find the Thais will resist extradition even less than HMG would. Either way he’ll be taken to Dubai in chains and probably never see daylight again.’ He shrugged. ‘But it won’t come to that, I’m sure. You just have to explain that Charlotte was acting without the required authority and that he was compromised as a result. He doesn’t owe her anything. Neither do you.’
‘He might not see it that way.’
‘Then it’ll be his call. Look, Charlotte is going down for this. Harper can either help or hinder.’ He stood up. ‘I need you to go to Germany and talk to Harper. And not a word to Charlotte.’
Shepherd nodded.
‘I’m serious. You’ve signed the Official Secrets Act and it covers everything the DG and I have said today. You pass one word of it to Charlotte and you will go to prison, I promise you.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, Jeremy. It’s good to know you’ve got my back.’
‘I have, actually. It just might not look that way at the moment. I’ll get a ticket and a hire car arranged for you, along with details of Harper’s whereabouts. I’m sure you can fix up your own hotel arrangements. Okay, I’ll bid you good night. Call me as soon as you get back.’ He handed Shepherd a crisp white business card with just his name and mobile phone number. ‘I know this has come as a shock to you, but believe me, it’s for the best.’ He flashed what he obviously thought was a comforting smile, then turned and walked away, heading in the same direction as the director general.
Shepherd watched him go. ‘Prick,’ he muttered under his breath.
Harper had a brief meeting with O’Brien and Walsh over a breakfast of black bread, cheese and sausage washed down with coffee. ‘So,’ he said. ‘Are you guys ready to move to phase two?’
O’Brien nodded. ‘We want two Katyushas.’
‘Good man,’ Harper said. ‘When can you give me the advance payment?’
‘Not so fast,’ said O’Brien. ‘We’ll be wanting to inspect one to make sure it’s still viable before any more money changes hands.’
‘Of course, that’s easily arranged,’ Harper said nonchalantly, while privately praying that Zelda would be able to carry out her end of the bargain.
‘When?’ asked O’Brien.
‘I’ll see what I can do. But it will cost you.’
‘Cost me what?’
‘Fifty thousand. Euros.’
‘Feck that.’
‘That’s how much it’ll cost to set up an inspection. It shows you’re serious. Don’t worry, the money will go towards the final purchase price.’ He shrugged. ‘Take it or leave it.’
‘We’ll have the money. Now when can we see the goods?’
‘In a day or two,’ said Harper. ‘It’s going to take some arranging, you realise that? We can’t just go down a dark alley and let one off.’
‘So you’re saying you can’t do it?’
‘No, I’m saying it’ll take time. You two should book into a hotel in Berlin. Set up the money and I’ll contact you as soon as I’m ready. You’re sure you’ll have the money?’
‘Don’t worry about the cash,’ said Walsh.
‘By the way,’ Harper said, ‘it’s none of my business, I know, but that chain on the briefcase? It’s a serious mistake in my view. All it does is draw attention – from police and/or criminals – to the fact that you’re carrying something of high value.’ He paused. ‘And a chain wouldn’t deter me or any serious criminal from taking the briefcase. I wouldn’t even bother cutting the chain, I’d just cut your hand off instead.’
After O’Brien and Walsh had left for the train station, Harper’s team removed all the office equipment and every other trace of the building’s temporary occupants, including the half-empty bottle of schnapps and the glasses that had been used. They went into rubbish bags that they would be dumping in a bin or skip somewhere on the other side of town as they drove away. When they shut the door on the building after a last careful check, the building looked exactly the same as it had done before they had moved in.
Shepherd was eating a bacon sandwich and watching Sky News when his intercom buzzed. He checked the monitor by the door. There was a motorcycle courier standing outside, holding a large manila envelope. The courier took off his full-face helmet and smiled for the camera. ‘Delivery for Mr Shepherd.’ He was in his mid-twenties with ginger hair and slab-like teeth.
Shepherd buzzed him up and waited by the open front door. He signed for the package and opened it as he sat down in front of the television again. There was a UK passport and driving licence with his photograph and his date of birth minus one year, in the name of Peter Parkinson. There was a printout with details of Lex Harper’s movements over the past week and a copy of the passport he was using. He had booked into the Hotel Adlon close to the Brandenburg Gate. There were several surveillance photographs of Harper in Germany meeting with different peo
ple, and another printout detailing their names and backgrounds.
His main intelligence guy was Hans Hirsch, who had a German father and English mother. Hirsch had spent most of his childhood in the UK and joined the army at twenty-one. He had lost both hands when he picked up an IED in Bosnia but the prosthetics he had been given meant he could still do pretty much anything an able-bodied person could do. He was a member of the anonymous collective who carried out pro-bono hacking activities around the world when he wasn’t being paid by people like Harper. He wasn’t at all inconvenienced or shy about the loss of his hands, going so far as to adopt the nickname Hansfree.
There was considerably more information about a woman called Sally Sheldrake, who for some unexplained reason often went by the name Maggie May. It was probably her Security Service background, thought Shepherd, as he read her file.
Another former intelligence expert on Harper’s team was Billy Walker. He had worked for 14 Int in Northern Ireland in the latter stages of the Troubles. He was a linguist and was fluent in several European languages as well as Russian and Arabic. When he wasn’t working he lived like a hermit in an isolated cottage on the Yorkshire moors.
The final member of Harper’s team was another Billy – Billy Hall. He was ex-SRR, which was based in Hereford like the SAS, but after he had left, Walker had relocated to the Dominican Republic with a wife half his age.
Shepherd automatically memorised the facts and photographs and when he’d finished reading the files he burnt everything in the kitchen sink and washed the ashes away.
His phone rang an hour after the courier had delivered the files.
‘All good?’ asked Willoughby-Brown.
Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller Page 20
