Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller

by Leather, Stephen

  ‘She told you that?’

  ‘She knew that locating Al-Farouq was the key to rescuing you. And she knew that an imam up in Bradford had links to Al-Farouq. The imam’s name was Mohammed Ullah, a Bangladeshi-born Brit. Al-Farouq had been sending money to Ullah, and Ullah had been sending out jihadists for training. Charlie tasked me with getting Ullah to tell me where Al-Farouq was.’ He sat back in his chair and pointed a finger at Shepherd. ‘She didn’t send a memo to her boss, she didn’t consult the director general, she didn’t stick her thumb up her arse and worry about right and wrong or what was legal and what wasn’t, she just called me up and told me to do whatever was necessary to locate Al-Farouq. And do you know what I did, Spider?’

  Shepherd shook his head. ‘No, and I don’t want to know.’

  Harper sneered and leaned forward again. ‘Well I’m going to tell you,’ he said. ‘You need to know what was done in your name. I beat the bastard black and blue and he wouldn’t tell me. I poured petrol over him and threatened to set him on fire, and he wouldn’t talk. He was one tough son of a bitch. So you know what I did?’

  Shepherd shook his head.

  ‘No, of course you don’t. Because Charlie didn’t want you to know. I picked up one of the imam’s friends. One of the jihadists that he’d sent for training. He was like a son to Ullah. Shakeel Usmani his name was. I killed him, in front of Ullah. I shot him three times. Bang, bang, bang. Groin, chest, throat. Then I watched him bleed out on the floor. Then I told Ullah that Usmani had told me all about Ullah’s three wives. One of them, the youngest, was six months pregnant. I told him that if he didn’t give up Al-Farouq I’d kill all his wives, all his kids. I’d kill them one by one and I’d do it in front of him.’ He sneered at the look of disgust on Shepherd’s face. ‘I would have done it, too, because I’d put your life above all of theirs. That’s how Charlie felt too.’

  ‘What happened? To Ullah?’

  ‘He told me what I needed to know.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Then I slotted him. What the hell do you think I did? He told us how to reach Al-Farouq and I shot him and buried him next to his little jihadist mate. And up until this moment I hadn’t given either of them a single thought. That’s what I did for you, mate. And it was Charlie who asked me to do it.’

  ‘For money?’

  ‘Sure I was paid, but I’d have done it pro bono if she’d asked. That’s what you do for your friends. The point is, she saved your arse by breaking the rules. And now you want to kill her for it.’

  ‘No one’s talking about killing her.’

  ‘You know what I mean. You need to back off, Spider. You owe her. She deserves better than this.’

  Shepherd sighed. ‘If I could, I would. But I’ve been given my instructions.’

  ‘By this Willoughby-Brown prick?’

  ‘If it hadn’t been him it would have been someone else.’

  Harper glared at Shepherd, then shook his head angrily. ‘I can’t believe you’re doing this. Where’s your loyalty?’

  ‘It’s not about loyalty, Lex.’

  ‘It is. You just don’t see it. What the hell does this Willoughby-Brown want me to do?’

  ‘To tell us what you’ve done for Charlie. Assignment by assignment.’

  ‘So that he can work out which ones were official and which weren’t?’

  Shepherd nodded. ‘And he says that if you do that, you walk. You get a free pass. For anything you’ve done. It’s a good deal, Lex.’

  ‘It’s not a good deal for Charlie, is it?’

  Shepherd didn’t say anything. He was still trying to understand what Harper had told him. He’d had no idea that Charlie had used Harper to help free him in Pakistan. Or the price that had been paid.

  ‘You have to tell this Willoughby-Brown to go fuck himself,’ said Harper.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s my job.’ He grinned. ‘You can, though. If that’s how you want to play it.’

  ‘Friends are more important than work, you know that,’ said Harper. ‘Hell, you were Sass, Spider. You know about loyalty. Or at least you did. You know I’m going to have to tell her, right?’

  ‘You can’t say a word to Charlie about this,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘I can do what the hell I want, I didn’t sign the Official Secrets Act. Maybe down the line we’ll laugh about this over a drink but right now I’m really pissed off at you as well as this Willoughby-Brown.’

  ‘Don’t go shooting the messenger, Lex.’

  Harper laughed harshly. ‘If I shoot anyone, it’ll be Willoughby-Brown,’ he said. ‘He’s no idea of the danger he’s put me in. I’m in the middle of a life-or-death operation. He presumably knew that and didn’t care. Not only that, he let you come here with Russian spies on your tail. Have you any idea how much shit I could have been in if they had followed you to me? And now he wants me to turn grass and spill my guts to bring down Charlie? That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I figured you’d say that,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘But you still came?’

  Shepherd shrugged. ‘A rock and a hard place,’ he said. ‘Just don’t take it personal.’

  Harper raised his glass. ‘We go back a long way, you and I,’ he said. ‘But this, it’s pissing me off.’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘You don’t have a plan? The great Spider Shepherd has nothing? All those years playing secret squirrel and you haven’t got a wizard wheeze tucked up your sleeve?’

  ‘Is there any way you can tip her off, through a third party? So that she doesn’t know it’s come from me or you?’

  ‘Anonymous, you mean?’

  ‘Anonymous wouldn’t work. But someone else who’s worked for her. Tip them off and get them to feed it back to her.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe she runs? Maybe she does a deal? I’m just testing the water here, Lex. You know more about what she’s done than I do.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll run,’ said Harper. ‘She’s smarter than that. She’ll protect herself.’

  ‘So find a way of tipping her off. And maybe warn anyone else that’s done work for her that MI5 will be on their cases.’

  ‘And what about you?’

  Shepherd raised his glass. ‘I’ll tell Willoughby-Brown that you told us all to go fuck ourselves, and that if I go near you again you’ll put a bullet in my head.’

  ‘Think he’ll buy it?’

  ‘Frankly, I’m getting to the stage where I don’t care one way or another.’

  ‘You know, mate, you do have options.’

  ‘Dropping off the grid? That’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I mean in the private sector. Fuck the secret squirrel stuff. Fuck the cops. Come and work with me.’

  ‘Smuggling drugs and killing people? I don’t think so.’

  ‘Private intelligence, mate. Knowledge is power and these days people pay a lot for the right sort of intel. You think it’s only the security services and the cops who run undercover operations? I could introduce you to some very heavy hitters who would pay you big bucks to do pretty much what you’re doing now. Without the back-stabbing.’

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘No you won’t,’ said Harper. ‘You’re too attached to your white hat and sheriff’s badge.’

  Shepherd grinned. ‘You say that like it’s a bad thing.’

  Shepherd arrived at the airport an hour before the next BA flight to London but it was full and he couldn’t get on board for love nor money. There was a flight to Manchester shortly after that and a couple of flights that would get him to London with a connection, but eventually he decided to wait for the next direct flight. He helped himself to a beer and a sandwich in the business class lounge, then found himself a quiet corner and phoned Jamie Brewer.

  ‘What’s up, Spider?’ asked Brewer.

  ‘I need a favour.’

  ‘Ask and ye shall receive.’


  ‘I’m flying back to Heathrow from Berlin in a couple of hours and I want you to check for a tail.’

  ‘Something spooked you?’

  ‘Just a feeling,’ lied Shepherd. ‘Can you get someone to take a look when I arrive? Watch me all the way back to my flat in Battersea.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Brewer. ‘Give me the address.’

  Shepherd gave him the address of the flat and his flight number. ‘Can you keep this off the books, Jamie?’

  ‘No sweat, I’ll call you once you get home.’

  Shepherd ended the call and sipped his beer thoughtfully. The Russians knew where he lived, that was almost certain. They’d been following him in London before he flew to Berlin, so they had to know about the apartment in Battersea. The problem was that he couldn’t tell Button that he knew he was being followed without telling her that he’d been in Berlin, and that was out of the question. He didn’t want to tell Willoughby-Brown either. This was turning into a nightmare and just at that moment he had absolutely no idea how he could get out of it.

  Shepherd didn’t see any watchers at the airport, nor did he spot Brewer’s men, but his phone rang five minutes after he’d unlocked the door to his Battersea flat. It was Brewer. ‘You’re all good,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, Jamie.’

  ‘One of my guys was right behind you in the black cab queue. And I’ve had a man outside your place from the moment your plane landed.’

  ‘You’re a star.’

  ‘What do you want me to do? I can keep the team on you overnight.’

  ‘Nah, it’s good,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘So how was Berlin?’

  ‘Bloody cold,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘Used to be a fun city before the wall came down, I’m told. Okay, I’ll stand my guys down.’

  ‘And mum’s the word?’

  ‘I’ve put it down as a training exercise.’

  ‘I owe you,’ said Shepherd.

  ‘We’re quits if you’ll forget about me farting in the van.’

  Shepherd laughed. ‘Done deal,’ he said. He ended the call and made himself a cup of coffee before phoning Willoughby-Brown. ‘He isn’t up for it,’ he said. ‘Said he’d kill me if I went near him again.’

  ‘Empty threat,’ said Willoughby-Brown.

  ‘He was pretty pissed off. But yeah, I don’t think he meant it. But it shows his depth of feeling.’

  ‘The guy’s an idiot. I make one phone call and he and his team get picked up by the Berliner Polizei.’

  ‘He probably figures HMG won’t risk the bad publicity. British assassins planning to kill Irish terrorists on German soil. The Guardian will have a field day.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone gives a shit what the Guardian thinks these days,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘But point taken.’

  ‘Now what?’ asked Shepherd.

  ‘Let me give it some thought, I’ll get back to you,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘And remember what I said. Mum’s the word.’

  Shepherd spent an hour on the sofa watching Sky Sports but as the sky outside darkened he figured he could do with some exercise. He changed into sweat pants and an old T-shirt and went for a run around Battersea Park. The street lights had come on and other than a few dog walkers the park was quiet. He did a couple of slow laps and then a series of sprints, and by the time he’d finished his shirt was soaked and he was panting like a sick dog. He spent a few minutes stretching before doing a series of press-ups and sit-ups and then heading back to his flat. After showering and changing into clean clothes, he dropped down on to the sofa and flicked through the TV again but realised there was nothing he wanted to watch. One of the downsides to working undercover was that it involved spending long periods with absolutely nothing to do. He had to avoid friends and family and his usual haunts, because being recognised by the wrong person at the wrong time could spell the end of months of work.

  He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. He needed to be around people, he realised. He needed the buzz of conversation, he needed to be able to see and hear other people and not just on a television screen. He picked up his coat and headed out, walking through the streets towards the river. Ahead of him he saw a pub called the Lighthouse and he decided to go in. He took off his coat and sat at the bar. He ordered a Jameson and soda with ice and nibbled at peanuts while he waited for it to arrive.

  He heard a girl to his left curse and turned to look at her. She was in her late twenties or early thirties, pretty with dark skin and near-black eyes that suggested Asian heritage. She had short curly black hair and was wearing a brown leather bomber jacket over tight Versace jeans; a Louis Vuitton bag was slung over her shoulder. She was glaring at an iPhone and as Shepherd watched she cursed again and banged it face down on the bar. The barman placed Shepherd’s drink in front of him and asked the girl what she wanted.

  ‘A new bloody phone,’ she said. She sighed and then flashed him a smile. ‘A Kir royal, please.’ The barman went off to make her drink and she sighed again. ‘Bloody phone,’ she muttered.

  Shepherd couldn’t place her accent, but there was a hint of American in there somewhere. ‘Problem?’

  ‘I’m supposed to meet a client here but he hasn’t shown up and my phone has packed up. I don’t think it’s the battery, I charged it up this morning.’ She tilted her head and smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you’d let me make a call on yours, would you? It’s local. I’ll reimburse you.’

  Shepherd laughed and took out his phone. ‘Have it on me,’ he said, handing it to her.

  ‘Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver,’ she said. She put her bag on the bar and took out a matching purse. Then she took out a dozen or so business cards and flicked through them, selected one and carefully tapped in a number. She mouthed, ‘Thank you so much,’ as she waited for the call to be answered. She slipped off her stool and walked away as she began talking. ‘It’s Julia, I’m here, where are you?’

  She frowned as she listened. ‘I know, I know, I’m so sorry, my phone just died. Where are you?’

  She turned her back on Shepherd but he could just about make out what she was saying. Whoever she was supposed to be meeting wasn’t going to be turning up but had left several messages. She rescheduled for the following day before apologising again for her phone not working.

  Shepherd sipped his drink as she came back. She slipped on to the stool next to his and put the phone down in front of him. ‘I can’t thank you enough,’ she said. ‘He had to cancel. If I hadn’t called him I’d have been waiting all night.’

  ‘Happy to help,’ said Shepherd, putting the phone into his pocket.

  The barman placed her drink in front of her and she nodded her thanks. ‘To be honest, I’m happy to have the night off. It’s been work, work, work ever since I got here.’ She held out her hand. ‘I’m Julia,’ she said.

  ‘Harry.’ They shook hands.

  ‘Like Prince Harry?’

  ‘The same. Though obviously I’m a few years older than him.’

  ‘So what do you do, Harry?’

  ‘Marketing,’ said Shepherd. ‘Promoting energy companies mainly.’

  ‘Sounds interesting.’

  ‘It’s not. What about you?’

  ‘Website design, mainly. If you’ve got a website and you want to get more traffic from the various search engines, I can get you all the traffic you want. There’s a team of us over from Brazil working on a project with a large electronics retailer.’

  ‘You’re Brazilian?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, but we’re based there. The owner of the company is Brazilian and he doesn’t like to travel. So he stays put and sends his team out.’ She drained her glass. ‘Can I buy you a drink? It’s the least I can do.’

  Shepherd looked at his watch. It was just after nine and he had nothing else planned. And it had been a long time since an attractive woman had hit on him.

  ‘Oh shit,’ she said, putting her hands up to her face.

  ‘What?’
>
  ‘You think I’m a hooker.’

  ‘Of course I don’t!’

  She shook her head. Her cheeks had flushed red. ‘You do, I saw it in your eyes. A woman on her own in a bar offers to buy you a drink, of course you’re going to think I’m a prostitute.’

  ‘Julia, I swear the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was just thinking it’s getting late.’

  ‘You have to be somewhere?’

  He smiled. ‘Actually I don’t. So yes, please. A whiskey and soda would be great.’

  ‘You know what, I haven’t eaten yet and I’m famished. I was going to take the client for dinner on the company credit card – why don’t I take you?’

  ‘Are you allowed to do that?’

  She laughed. ‘If it makes you feel any better we can split the bill. Have you eaten?’

  Shepherd hadn’t. He’d been planning to microwave a Marks and Spencer ready meal when he got back to the flat. He had the choice of sausages and mash with onion gravy, fish pie or Thai green curry. ‘I haven’t, and yes, I’d love to.’

  She smiled. ‘I’ll even let you choose the restaurant.’

  She held his look a second or two longer than necessary, and alarm bells began to ring in Shepherd’s head. He was realistic enough to know that he was a good-looking guy but the girl was a good ten years younger than he was and pretty enough not to have to be picking up guys in pubs. The phone conversation had been good but had sounded staged and he was pretty sure there had been no one else at the other end of the line.

  Shepherd had decided on the Gaslight Grill, a trendy steak restaurant at the back of the Lost Angel bar, a short walk from his apartment. He’d been there a few times and always enjoyed the food. The maître d’ recognised him and complimented him for finally bringing a pretty girl with him. ‘Mr Cartwright usually dines alone,’ he said to Julia.

  ‘It’s because I promised to split the bill,’ she laughed.

  He showed them to a corner table. The next hour went quickly. The steaks were as good as ever, she chose a Chilean red wine that complemented the food perfectly, and by the time their coffee arrived the restaurant’s mirrored doors had been opened up to combine the dining area with the cocktail bar. She was funny, smart as a whip and several times she reached over and touched his arm or the back of his hand. She laughed easily, and despite his reservations about being set up, she made him smile, too. But the more she flirted with him, the more certain he became that her meeting him in the pub hadn’t been an accident.