‘Can I come in?’
‘Of course you can,’ she said, pulling the door open. ‘I’ve just opened a bottle. Would you like a glass?’
‘I’m driving,’ he said.
She closed the door and took him along to the kitchen. ‘Coffee then? I’ve got one of those coffee machines that George Clooney uses.’
‘Coffee, then. Please.’
He stood by the kitchen island as if unsure where to sit.
‘Pull out a stool,’ she said. ‘Are you hungry? I’ve just thrown a salad together.’
He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I do hope this is personal and not official,’ said Button.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean …’ She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
Shepherd frowned. ‘You thought someone might have sent me? To do what?’
‘I said it doesn’t matter. Pull out a stool and sit down. I’ll get your coffee.’
Shepherd pulled a copy of the Daily Mail from his pocket and tossed it on to the kitchen island. ‘Did you read that?’
‘The paper? Of course. I read half a dozen papers a day. Personally, I prefer the Telegraph.’
‘Don’t play games with me, Charlie. You’re better than that. You know exactly what I mean. Max Jansen killed himself. The guy who wanted Putin dead hanged himself yesterday in his garage. Hanged himself and left his car engine running, just to make sure. Except we both know that he didn’t kill himself.’
Button turned her back on him and busied herself at the coffee machine. ‘I’m not sure what you want me to say,’ she said.
‘The Russians killed him. Just like they killed Lucas Smit. And you didn’t lift a finger to stop them.’
‘They both died in Holland,’ she said flatly. ‘Not my jurisdiction.’
‘That’s a cop-out and you know it. And there’s more than that. You set up Smit. Worse, you used me to set him up.’
He sat in silence while she made his coffee. When she’d finished she handed him the mug and sat down on the other side of the kitchen island with her wine.
‘You know I’m leaving?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘And Jeremy Willoughby-Brown is taking your job. I can’t tell you how happy I am about that.’
‘He’s a little shit.’
‘You know he was using me?’ asked Shepherd.
She smiled over the top of her glass. ‘Of course I know. I know he sent you to Berlin to talk to Harper. You should have come to me then.’ She shrugged. ‘But I understand why you didn’t.’
‘Rock and a hard place,’ he said.
‘You can’t ever trust him, you do know that?’
Shepherd nodded and sipped his coffee. ‘Yeah, I know.’
She sighed. ‘Smit and the father, they were the price.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, as if she were in the confessional baring her soul to a priest.
‘The price?’
‘The price for you to stay alive. The Russians were going to kill you for what you did to their men in Berlin.’
Shepherd opened his mouth to argue – he hadn’t killed the Russian agents in Berlin, that had been Harper’s work. But he realised that he had led them there so the Russians would hold him responsible.
‘The only way to get them off your back was to give them Smit and the father,’ Button continued. ‘I’m far from happy about it, but I did it. To be honest, they would have done it with or without my help, so at least this way you’re safe. They’ve called off the dogs.’
‘I suppose I should be grateful for that.’
She shrugged. ‘You’re welcome.’ She took a big gulp of wine.
‘So they’re firing you?’
‘It’s a mutual decision. I get to keep my pension.’
‘That’s it? No comebacks?’
‘Comebacks? What do you mean? Prison time? You thought they’d put me on trial?’
‘After what you did, yes. Maybe. I suppose they couldn’t afford the publicity, right?’
She smiled. ‘It’s more complicated than that.’
Realisation dawned and Shepherd nodded. ‘You know where the bodies are buried?’
‘Figuratively and literally,’ said Button.
‘And they let you walk?’
‘Like I said, it’s more complicated than that. Why are you here, Spider? What do you want from me?’
‘I want to know what happened. I want to know why you did what you did.’
She looked at him, her eyebrows arched. ‘Seriously?’
He waved his hand dismissively. ‘I understand, of course I do. They killed your husband, you wanted revenge.’
‘It’s the most visceral of urges,’ said Button. ‘Someone hurts you, you hurt them back.’
‘Sometimes you forgive and forget.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘Screw you, Spider.’
He put up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean I expected you to do that. I’m just saying, not everyone exacts revenge.’
‘How did you feel when your wife died?’
‘Angry. Hurt. Lost.’ He shrugged. ‘That hasn’t changed over the years. She was the love of my life.’
‘And Sue died in a senseless accident, right? No one to blame. Except herself, perhaps? She lost concentration and went through a red light. Now imagine there had been someone to blame. Worse, what if someone had deliberately murdered your wife?’
‘That’s not what happened.’
‘I know that. I’m talking hypothetically. Suppose someone had killed Sue, wouldn’t you have lashed out?’
‘I can’t answer that,’ said Shepherd.
‘Can’t, or won’t?’
‘How many people did you have killed, Charlie? As revenge?’
‘A handful. And every one of them deserved it, Spider. I was sure, I was a thousand per cent sure in every case. There were no innocents. Every one of the bastards deserved what they got.’
‘If you knew for sure, why not have them arrested, put on trial? Let the authorities deal with them?’
Button put down her mug and stared at him. ‘Dan Shepherd, whiter than white, always wearing his heart on his sleeve, always taking the moral high ground. You think I don’t know, Spider? You think I don’t know what you did? You and the galloping major? Back in 2011?’
Shepherd’s jaw tightened but he said nothing.
Button smiled. ‘You work for me, Spider. You’ve worked for me for a long time. I know everything there is to know about you. Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break.’
Shepherd stared at her, trying not to show any emotion but knowing that she knew that every word had struck home.
Button smiled. ‘Lisa O’Hara. Real IRA enforcer. A right bitch, as they say.’
She waited for him to speak, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what to say. Or how to react. He had never suspected that Button knew about Lisa O’Hara.
‘Major Gannon remained outside in his car while you did the dirty deed,’ said Button. ‘Of course it only needed one man because O’Hara would never in a million years have expected to be shot in her own home. Not by a serving MI5 officer, anyway. Did she say anything, Spider? Did she beg for her life when she saw you standing there with a gun?’
Shepherd took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘She didn’t believe I’d do it.’
‘Well she read you wrong, didn’t she? Two shots. One in the chest, one in the head.’
‘She put a bomb in my car. She could have killed Liam and Katra and she didn’t care. She targeted my family.’
‘That’s right,’ said Button. ‘She did. And you killed her. Without a second thought.’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘Actually I thought long and hard about it.’
‘But you still killed her.’
Shepherd flashed her a thin smile. ‘Yes. Yes, I did.’
‘And no regrets?’
‘No, I’ve got regrets. But she deserved to die and it was only right that I was the
one to pull the trigger. I’m not proud of what I did. But she looked me in the eye and said that she was a soldier in the Real IRA and that she was at war with the occupying forces, of which I formed a part.’ He shrugged. ‘She was a soldier and she died like a soldier.’
‘We know that’s not exactly true, is it?’ said Button. ‘You ambushed her in her own home and shot her while she was kneeling on the floor, unarmed.’
Shepherd looked away, too embarrassed to lock eyes with her, knowing she was right.
‘Don’t get me wrong, Spider,’ said Button quietly. ‘I understand why you did it. I empathise. In your place I would probably have done the same. But at least give me the respect of understanding why I did what I did. And perhaps even offer me a little empathy. Because at the end of the day, we’re not that different, you and I.’
Shepherd sipped his coffee. She was right. He had killed Lisa O’Hara in cold blood. It wasn’t something he thought about much. Immediately afterwards he’d disposed of the weapon and the clothes that he’d been wearing, and he’d never spoken of what had happened to anyone, not even the Major. Shepherd’s memory was pretty much infallible but that didn’t mean he couldn’t lock things away. What had happened to Lisa O’Hara was in a part of his memory that he rarely visited.
‘Don’t worry,’ said Button. ‘Your secret is safe with me.’
‘I’m not worried,’ said Shepherd. ‘Knowing and proving are different things.’
‘Exactly,’ said Button. ‘But you’re assuming I don’t have proof. A video of you entering the cottage and leaving several hours later. And being driven off by Major Gannon.’ She shrugged. ‘But maybe there is no video. And maybe the gun was never recovered.’
Shepherd stared at her, his heart pounding. ‘What gun?’
‘The hypothetical Glock that you might or might not have used.’
‘I doubt there would be any prints on this hypothetical gun.’
‘I’m sure there wouldn’t be. But if there was a video showing you disposing of the weapon that killed Lisa O’Hara, that would be fairly conclusive, wouldn’t it?’ Button smiled and raised her wine glass. ‘Anyway, this is all hypothetical, isn’t it? All I’m saying is that you and I are similar in many ways. We believe in right and wrong and the greater good and all that, but we both know that sometimes you have to do things for personal reasons. That’s what I did, Spider, and I’m not apologising for it. A line has been drawn and now it’s time to move on.’
Shepherd sipped his coffee and said nothing. He was trying to come to terms with the fact that for the past four years, Button had known that he had killed Lisa O’Hara. She had known and said nothing. But did she have proof? Had there been someone watching the cottage, someone that neither Shepherd nor the Major had seen? Someone who had been able to follow him when he’d disposed of the gun?
‘Oh come on, Spider,’ chided Button. ‘Relax. It’s all good. It’s probably for the best, anyway. I wouldn’t want to be in the hot seat when the shit hits the fan in the UK, and it will eventually. I’ll be better off in the private sector. And frankly, so would you.’
Shepherd raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you offering me a job, Charlie?’
‘Why not? It pays a darn sight more than government work. There’s no pension, but no tax either, so swings and roundabouts.’
‘You think this is funny?’ asked Shepherd.
Button’s eyes hardened. ‘No, I don’t. We’re playing big boys’ games here, we both know that. I’m moving on, and yes, I’m a bit concerned that I’ll be in uncharted waters. But I’ll survive. Maybe even prosper. The question is, Spider, what are you going to do? Willoughby-Brown is no great fan of yours, you know that?’
‘I’d gathered as much, yeah.’
‘So do you want to work for him? Do you want him watching your every move, waiting for you to slip up so that he can haul you over the coals?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘I could always go back to police work,’ he said.
‘The National Crime Agency? That’ll go the same way as SOCA. Too many cooks, too many pencil-pushers.’
‘So what are you saying? I should leave MI5 and become a professional assassin?’
‘Would that be so bad, Spider?’
‘Killing for money? Are you serious?’
‘Most of the work is government-sponsored,’ said Button. ‘We’re not criminals. We’re doing the work that governments need to be distanced from. Terrorists, mainly. The sort of people the world is better off without. And it isn’t just about killing individuals, it’s about destroying networks. We’re at war, Spider. And in that war, some soldiers wear uniforms and some don’t. But they’re doing the same job – trying to make the world a safer place. If you work for me, you’d be making a difference. A real difference.’
Shepherd took another sip of his coffee, then nodded slowly. ‘Let me think about it,’ he said.
Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller Page 37
