‘I’m not looking for personal glory, Razor.’
‘Exactly. You’re the guy in the white hat, the good guy, the Jimmy Stewart of law enforcement. You always try to do the right thing.’
‘And that’s a problem?’
Sharpe grinned. ‘You tell me.’
Shepherd was in the Hampstead flat when his phone rang. It was Button.
‘There’s someone you need to meet,’ she said. ‘Can you come to the Freemason’s Arms in about half an hour?’
‘No problem.’
‘It’s a date then.’
The line went dead and Shepherd frowned at his phone. She hadn’t asked him where he was, which meant that she probably knew he was in London. Did she have him under surveillance? And why hadn’t she told him who he was meeting?
He grabbed his coat and headed out. Button was already at the pub, sitting on the terrace with a big man who was wearing a black overcoat over a dark suit. Shepherd had a feeling he was Russian – a feeling that was confirmed when Button introduced him.
‘Mr Klimov works for the Russian Federal Protective Service,’ said Button. ‘Specifically for the Presidential Secret Service.’
Klimov stood up and the two men shook hands. The Russian had surprisingly soft hands for a man so large. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said. There was a hint of an American accent, thought it was still easy to tell that he was Russian.
They sat down. Button hadn’t introduced Shepherd, which meant either she didn’t want the Russian to know his name or he already knew who Shepherd was.
‘We thought we’d sit outside, it’s a bit crowded in there and I for one could do with some fresh air,’ said Button. ‘I’ve been stuck in the office all week.’
There was an opened bottle of Pinot Grigio on the table and two glasses, one empty and one half full. Klimov had a brandy glass in front of him and from the look of it Button and Klimov had been at the bar for some time. They had almost certainly been together when Button had called Shepherd. He wondered what they had been talking about and why she hadn’t forewarned him that he was meeting a Russian agent. Button poured some wine into a glass for him.
‘I’ve brought Mr Klimov up to speed, and he’s happy with the way we are handling things,’ said Button.
‘That’s good to know,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ve explained that we are close to apprehending all the people involved, and that everything will be wrapped up before President Putin arrives.’
‘That’s the plan,’ said Shepherd, nodding.
‘Now for the sensitive bit,’ said Button. ‘The attack on you in the Battersea flat was, how should we describe it …?’
‘Almost fatal?’ suggested Shepherd.
She flashed him a tight smile. ‘Unfortunate,’ she said. ‘It was a misunderstanding. If anything it demonstrated how successful we were in establishing your legend.’
‘So Katz was working for the Russians.’
‘That cannot ever be officially admitted,’ said Klimov. ‘But I do offer you my apologies. Without any admission of guilt.’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘Well, I apologise for killing your agent,’ he said.
‘She wasn’t our agent,’ said the Russian coldly.
‘Semantics,’ said Shepherd. He sipped his wine and stared at the Russian over the top of his glass.
‘As I said, it was a misunderstanding and one that will not be repeated. Mr Klimov is now fully in the loop and will stay there until the current operation is concluded.’
The Russian nodded in agreement.
‘Anyway, what happened can actually be used to our advantage,’ said Button. ‘Maya Katz killed the first assassin who took the Putin contract. Then she attacked you. That would be a good reason for you to make contact with Smit and to insist on a meeting.’
‘But that was a week ago. Won’t he ask why I waited so long?’
‘Lie. Tell him it just happened. Tell him you’re in the firing line, which means someone must have talked. You know you didn’t talk so it has to be him. You’re angry, you want an explanation, and if you don’t get one you’re pulling out and keeping the deposit. You say you don’t trust him so you want to meet on neutral territory, somewhere away from his house. He won’t like an outdoor meeting but you stick to your guns.’
‘And I ask for more money?’
‘More money and an assurance that Smit’s organisation didn’t betray you.’
Realisation dawned. ‘And we bug the conversation?’
‘We’ll fix you up with state-of-the-art equipment.’
‘Smit will have jammers, guaranteed. He’s not an amateur.’
‘We’ll use solid state recording, we’ll video him from afar with parabolic mics. And we’ll have a team on the ground. Our people and Mr Klimov’s.’
‘A joint UK–Russian operation?’
‘We need to have the Federal Protective Service on board,’ said Button. ‘We’re in this mess because we didn’t keep our lines of communication open.’
‘We will not be in the way,’ the Russian said to Shepherd and flashed him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile but resembled a shark about to attack.
‘You have every right to demand a face-to-face meeting after what’s happened,’ said Button. ‘And any professional would be looking to increase his fee. Smit will understand. And the time pressure means that he will have no choice other than to agree.’
The Russian was nodding. ‘You must insist on a higher price. He will have to confirm that with the man paying the money. We will record that call and then we will have a case against them both.’
Shepherd nodded at the Russian, then turned to look at Button. ‘Parabolic mics, you said. That means outside?’
‘Again, you can play on your paranoia. You can say you don’t trust him any more so you don’t want to go to his house. It has to be outside. Somewhere public, somewhere with lots of escape routes, but somewhere where there aren’t too many people. You can let him choose but really it isn’t much of a choice. You tell us as soon as he suggests the place and we’ll get it staked out. You tell him you’re thinking of pulling out and he’ll try to talk you out of it. His attempts to persuade you to continue should convict him. You can press him for details of the assassination, you can tell him you need to know exactly what the plan is before deciding if you will go ahead.’
Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. It made sense. There was a logic to what Button was saying, and if he handled the meeting just right, Smit would talk himself straight into a prison cell. He would also implicate the father who was paying for the contract. ‘Sounds good,’ he said.
‘You need to talk to Smit as soon as possible,’ said Button. ‘I’ll start work on the surveillance team.’
‘As will I,’ said the Russian, flashing Shepherd another shark-like smile.
After the Russian had gone, Button ordered another bottle of wine.
‘How much does Klimov know about the attempt on my life?’ asked Shepherd.
‘He thought you were an assassin planning to kill Putin, so in a way you were fair game.’
‘Assassination is okay now, is that what you’re saying?’
‘I’m just looking at it from his point of view.’
‘So it was him who gave the order?’
She shook her head. ‘He’s a cog in the machine – a fairly important cog but still a cog. I don’t think he even knew about it until I raised it. He spoke to Moscow and then confirmed it.’ She smiled. ‘Not in so many words, of course. They’ll never admit to ordering a killing on UK soil. And I doubt that Klimov would have personally hired the assassins.’
‘No, but somebody did.’
‘And it won’t happen again, not now that the FPS is involved. Klimov will report back that he met you and that he has been fully briefed. There won’t be any more attempts on your life. Not from the Russians, anyway.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ he said. ‘But I’m not convinced.’
Harper and Maggie May picked up O
’Brien and Walsh from their hotel at five o’clock in the morning. Walsh was carrying a black nylon holdall. The two men climbed into the back of the SUV.
‘You won’t mind if I check the money,’ said Harper from the front passenger seat.
‘You’re not getting paid until we’ve seen the rockets,’ said O’Brien.
‘That’s not a problem, but can the dog at least see the rabbit, as you English say?’
‘We’re fecking Irish,’ growled O’Brien.
‘My apologies,’ said Harper. ‘A slip of the tongue. I sometimes realise my English is not as good as I think it is.’
Walsh unzipped the holdall. Harper twisted around and reached inside, pulling out a wad of bank-fresh €500 notes. He flicked through the wad then pulled out a single banknote and checked it carefully.
‘They’re real enough,’ said O’Brien.
Harper nodded, gave the notes back to Walsh, and twisted around in his seat. Maggie May drove off. Harper dozed during the drive but woke with a start when Maggie May slapped him on the leg. ‘We’re here,’ she said.
Harper opened his eyes. Ahead of them were the marshalling yards. There were hundreds of flatbed and boxcar rail wagons on the maze of branching lines and sidings, all waiting to be shunted into packages so that they could be distributed around the various other rail yards all over Germany.
‘Where do we go?’ asked Maggie May.
Harper pulled out his mobile and called Zelda. ‘We’re here,’ he said. ‘Where are you?’
In the distance, headlights flashed twice. Before Harper could say anything, Maggie May was already heading towards Zelda’s Audi.
The SUV parked next to the Audi and Harper and O’Brien climbed out. ‘Where’s the truck?’ asked O’Brien, looking around.
Harper went over to talk to Zelda. ‘The truck is about half a mile down the road,’ she said. ‘Billy Big and Hansfree are in a black Mercedes parked next to it.’
O’Brien came up behind Harper. ‘Where is it? Where’s the fecking truck?’
‘Not far,’ said Harper. ‘We’ll drive down.’
O’Brien shook his head. ‘Nah, Michael can stay here with the money. I’ll check the equipment. If it’s okay you come back and get the cash.’
‘If that’s what you want …’ said Harper.
‘That’s the way it’s going to be,’ said O’Brien emphatically. ‘We’ll use her car,’ he said, pointing at the Audi.
‘Fine,’ said Harper.
O’Brien went over to tell Walsh what was happening, then hurried back and got into the front of the Audi next to Zelda, leaving Harper to climb into the back. Zelda drove slowly around the cinder tracks in the freight yard towards a loading ramp. Towards the far end of the yard they could see railway workers coupling and uncoupling wagons and shunting engines clanking to and fro, but the centre portion of the complex seemed almost entirely deserted.
In the distance Harper saw a large grey truck with the name of a bakery firm on the side and a cartoon of a loaf of bread. Next to it was a black Mercedes.
The Audi parked alongside the truck. O’Brien looked over at the Mercedes. ‘Who are those guys?’ he asked.
‘Two of my team, keeping an eye on the truck,’ said Harper. ‘That’s a very valuable cargo,’ he said.
‘You’re telling me,’ said O’Brien. ‘Tell them to piss off. I don’t want them looking over my shoulder.’
Harper got out of the car. He waved for Billy Whisper to get out of the cab of the truck and to join Billy Big and Hansfree in the Mercedes. O’Brien waited until the Mercedes had driven off before getting out of the Audi and walking over to the truck with Harper. Harper pulled open the truck’s rear doors. Inside were the launchers, wrapped in green canvas held down with ropes. Either side of the launchers were green metal containers which held the rockets.
‘I’m going to need to open some of the containers,’ said O’Brien.
‘Help yourself, I’ll give you a hand.’ Harper turned his back on O’Brien and took the biker’s knife from his pocket. He pulled out the blade and in one smooth movement turned and slashed O’Brien across the throat. It was the most efficient way of doing the job. The thick coat meant that a stab to the heart would have been problematic at best, and by cutting the throat he was able to simultaneously ensure that there were no cries or screams.
Blood spurted down the front of O’Brien’s coat. His eyes were wide and staring but the life was already draining from them. Bloody froth began to ooze from the gaping wound in his throat and then he sank to his knees, his arms loose at his side. Harper dropped the knife as he waited for O’Brien to die. It took no more than ten seconds. O’Brien pitched forward, twitched, and then went still.
Harper knelt down, taking care to avoid the pool of thick blood that was soaking into the ground. He took the Makarov from his holster and pressed O’Brien’s lifeless fingers all around the gun. He ejected the clip and pressed that to O’Brien’s fingers, then removed the first three rounds and one by one pressed them to his fingers before putting them back in the clip and slotting the clip back into the gun. He rubbed the handle of the gun roughly against O’Brien’s palm to maximise the DNA transfer, then he carefully slipped the man’s index finger on to the trigger. He slid the gun back into his underarm holster, then took out the Ziploc bag containing the hair he’d pulled from the head of the unconscious biker. He put the hair into O’Brien’s right hand and made it into a fist. He stood up and surveyed his handiwork for several seconds, then carefully rolled the body over so that it was lying on top of the knife.
It wasn’t a perfect crime scene by any means, but it would do.
He checked that he hadn’t picked up any of O’Brien’s blood, then went over to the Mercedes and climbed into the back.
Hansfree drove back to Zelda’s Audi.
‘All done?’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ said Harper.
‘Seems a lot of trouble just to kill a man,’ she said as he climbed into the car.
‘It’s about telling a story,’ said Harper. ‘It’s not just about the man, it’s about wrecking his organisation.’
‘Best I don’t know the details,’ said Zelda.
She drove him back to the waiting SUV and parked some distance away. The Mercedes was by the entrance to the yards, its engine running. ‘I won’t be long,’ he said as he got out. Zelda kept her hands on the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.
Harper walked slowly over to the SUV. Maggie May gave him a wave and he waved back. Walsh wound down the window as Harper walked up to the SUV. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
‘All good,’ said Harper.
‘Where’s Declan?’
‘He’s staying with the gear. I think he’s frightened I might take it off him.’ Harper nodded at Maggie May. ‘You can head back to the hotel with the guys. It’s been a pleasure, as always.’
Maggie May climbed out of the SUV and blew Harper a kiss. ‘You’ve got my number.’
‘Damn right,’ said Harper. He waved her goodbye and she jogged over to the Mercedes and climbed into the back. Harper leaned through the window of the SUV and held out his left hand. ‘Give me the bag and I’ll be on my way,’ he said.
‘Not until I’ve spoken to Declan.’
‘You are the suspicious type, aren’t you?’ laughed Harper. ‘Okay, you can use my phone.’ He reached into his jacket, pulled out the Makarov, and shot Walsh in the face. Blood splattered across the rear window of the SUV and what was left of Walsh’s head slumped back against the seat. Harper grabbed the bag with his left hand and pulled it from Walsh’s lifeless grip. ‘Pleasure doing business with you,’ he said.
The Mercedes drove off. Hansfree would already be making the anonymous call to the authorities, tipping them off that he had heard a gunshot at the Michendorf Bahnhof yards. As Harper walked away from the SUV he tossed the gun into a clump of bushes. Even a cursory search would turn it up, leading the German police to the obvious conclusion that
Declan O’Brien had shot his partner and had then been killed by a neo-Nazi biker who would no doubt proclaim his innocence loudly and often. It would be messy but the cops would be keen to tie it up as quickly as possible.
It was a short walk to where Zelda was waiting in her Audi. He climbed into the front and unzipped the bag to show her the money inside. She grinned. ‘Nice,’ she said.
‘I’ll leave it all with you,’ he said. ‘Transfer my share to my Singapore account.’
‘I love it that you trust me,’ she said.
He zipped the bag up and tossed it behind her seat. ‘Where would life be without trust?’ he said.
‘It does seem a shame giving up perfectly good weaponry for no obvious reason,’ she said.
‘The cops will need the evidence,’ said Harper. ‘Plus you got a good price. A very good price.’
She sighed wistfully. ‘I suppose so. Now where do you want me to drop you?’
‘The airport,’ he said. ‘I’m out of here.’
Zelda put the car into gear and pulled away from the kerb. ‘You’re going to have to keep your head down for a while,’ Harper said to her.
‘I know.’
‘I’m hoping the cops will think it was neo-Nazis who were selling the rockets. But there probably aren’t too many dealers who can get their hands on them.’
‘Don’t worry, Lex, I’ve plenty of friends in the Bundespolizei. I’m safe.’
‘And in future, be careful who you deal with.’
‘Dangerous men like yourself, you mean?’ She flashed him a sly smile.
Harper chuckled. ‘I mean terrorists,’ he said. ‘Guns you can get away with, but explosives and heavy-duty stuff like the Katyushas, that’s a whole different ball game. They’re not going to let you sell stuff like that to the jihadists.’
‘Who do you mean by “they”, Lex?’
‘The Americans. The Brits. The Europeans.’
‘Are you telling me something officially here, Lex? Are you warning me off?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m just a friend offering advice. This operation has been for the greater good; at the end of the day we’ve saved lives and made the world a slightly safer place.’
Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller Page 34
