‘Who the hell are you, exactly?’ asked Rosenfeld.
‘I represent the owners.’
‘Yeah, well I work for Carlos.’
He looked over at García, clearly looking for support, but García turned away and sipped his beer.
‘And Carlos works for them. Listen, I’m on your side here. I want to find out what happened and make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m guessing you don’t want another bullet in the leg.’
‘They won’t shoot me again,’ said Rosenfeld.
‘I wasn’t talking about the Russians,’ said Shepherd. ‘I mean that if you keep fucking me around like this I’ll put a bullet in your other leg myself.’
Rosenfeld looked surprised and glanced over at García. The Spaniard was studiously avoiding him.
‘So, what did you do to set them off?’
‘Look, I talked to him, told him that he had to pay. He refused. So I spoke to some people who collect debts.’
‘Serbs?’
‘Yeah. They’re based in Estepona, midway between here and Marbella. They collect debts for ten cents on the Euro. The guy I spoke to is called Goran Kolarac. He said he’d get our money back. Guaranteed it.’
‘So you were paying them what, twenty thousand Euros?’
‘That was the idea.’
Shepherd looked over at García. ‘You were happy at this?’
‘I didn’t know,’ said García.
‘You told me to do what was necessary, and that’s what I did,’ said Rosenfeld.
‘Those Serbs, you’ve used them before?’
Rosenfeld shook his head. ‘I was introduced to Kolarac through a friend of a friend. I thought it would help. Bazarov wasn’t going to pay. He said we could whistle for it.’
‘And the Serbs did what? Beat him up?’
‘Roughed him up a little, that’s all.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Jake, what did you think that would achieve?’
‘I thought if he knew we were serious, he’d pay back what he owes.’
Shepherd gestured at the man’s injured leg. ‘So much for your plan, hey?’
The American was clearly embarrassed.
‘So where are we with the Russian?’
‘In what way?’ asked García.
‘Is he done now? Or was he hoping for more than a bullet in the leg?’
‘You think he might hit us again?’ García looked nervous.
‘That’s what I’m asking you,’ said Shepherd. ‘And what about the Serbs? Are they now off the case?’
‘They’re in hospital,’ said Rosenfeld, quietly.
Shepherd squinted at him. ‘Run that by me again.’
‘They were shot. Three of them. The three that went around to see Bazarov. They got shot worse than I did.’
Shepherd stood up and paced over to the window. Navigation lights were twinkling on the boats in the harbour. Shepherd turned back to the room and glared at García. ‘So we’re in the middle of a gang war. Is that what you’re telling me?’
‘It’s over. It happened three days ago.’
‘Have you spoken to Bazarov since?’
García shook his head.
‘So how do you know it’s over? How do you know he’s not got a couple of guys sitting outside waiting to put a bullet in you? Or me? And what are we going to do about the money? The O’Neills want that money, Carlos. Do you understand me? They’re not going to take no for an answer.’
García and Rosenfeld looked at each other. ‘I don’t think he’s going to pay,’ said García, quietly.
‘Well, someone’s going to have to. How much do the brothers know about the technical side of what you’ve been doing?’
‘Not much,’ said García. ‘All they’re interested in is the bottom line. And we’ve been making money, hand over fist. If it hadn’t been for Jake getting shot … So what happens now?’
‘I’ll talk to the Serbs, make sure they don’t take it any further.’ He looked at Rosenfeld. ‘Have they been paid?’
‘They were going to keep their share when Bazarov paid them.’
‘Except Bazarov has no intention of paying. And if you ask him again, I’m guessing you’ll get more than a bullet in the leg.’ He turned back to the window and folded his arms. ‘The Serbs are going to need paying. That means you two are going to have to come up with the twenty thousand euros. You need to give me the cash, I’ll give it to them and, hopefully, they’ll see there’s no point in taking it any further.’
‘Twenty thousand?’ said García. ‘You expect me to hand over twenty thousand?’
‘They need paying, Carlos. And I’m not using my money. Plus, I’ll tell you now, if the Russian doesn’t come up with the two hundred grand, you’ll have to.’
‘You’re crazy!’ spat García.
‘It’s not crazy, it’s Plan A. The brothers will want their money so if the Russian doesn’t pay up you’ll have to. Plan B is that I put a bullet in your head and another in Jake’s. Because if the O’Neills find out what you’ve been doing they’re going to want you dead. It might be me they get to do it, it might be someone else, but as sure as I’m standing here, that is what’s going to happen if they don’t get their money.’
García wiped his face with a hand. He was sweating and there were damp patches on his shirt.
‘I want the twenty thousand now,’ said Shepherd. ‘I can give that to the Serbs. I’ll talk to the Russian and see how the land lies. Have you got the cash?’
The Spaniard nodded. ‘I can get it.’
‘I need it now.’
García looked at Rosenfeld. The American’s eyes widened. ‘Are you serious? You want my money?’
‘I don’t care who gives it to me but I’m not leaving here without the twenty grand.’
Rosenfeld glared at Shepherd, but then the fight went out of him and he sighed. ‘Fine,’ he said. He pushed himself up off the sofa and hobbled into the bedroom.
‘I’m sorry about this, Terry,’ said García.
‘You and me both,’ said Shepherd.
Rosenfeld returned with a bundle of notes, which he handed to Shepherd. ‘I’m not walking outside with that,’ said Shepherd. ‘Get me a bag or something.’
Rosenfeld limped back to the bedroom.
‘What do I do now?’ asked García.
‘Stay out of trouble and wait for me to call you,’ said Shepherd.
‘Thank you, Terry,’ said García. ‘I appreciate what you’re doing.’
‘Don’t thank me yet,’ said Shepherd. ‘This could still all turn to shit.’
Rosenfeld came back with a small washbag. ‘How about this?’ he asked.
‘It’ll do,’ said Shepherd.
Rosenfeld put the money into it, zipped it up and gave it to Shepherd. ‘You’re welcome,’ he said, bitterly.
Shepherd glared at him. ‘There’ll be time for please and thank-you when this is sorted,’ he said. ‘Until then your best course of action is to keep your mouth shut.’
The immigration officer who examined Mohammed al-Hussain’s passport was a Sikh, his head covered with a pale blue turban. Further along he saw a Chinese woman and beyond her a West Indian. The Sikh handed the passport back and motioned for al-Hussain to walk on. Al-Hussain smiled and moved away from the counter.
Sunny was at the next counter, saying something to the Chinese woman. He loved to talk. They had sat facing each other in business class and Sunny had talked incessantly for the first fifteen minutes. He had talked about sport, movies he had seen, girls he had been out with, food he had eaten. Al-Hussain had grunted occasionally but hadn’t replied. Nothing Sunny had said was dangerous. There had been no hint in his incessant rambling of who they were or why they were going to London, but al-Hussain had found it distracting and annoying.
They were served a meal and Sunny talked all the way through it, whether or not there was food in his mouth. Eventually, after their trays were taken away, al-Hussain was able to get some peace by pretending
to sleep. They had walked together along the platform at St Pancras and Sunny had followed him to the immigration checkpoint. He clearly intended to stand behind him and al-Hussain had to tell him to join another queue. It wasn’t a good idea to go through Immigration together and Sunny should have known that.
Al-Hussain walked out into the station and looked around. There didn’t seem to be anyone waiting for him, which meant he had to stay with Sunny. He didn’t like the Brit and would have walked away there and then, but he didn’t know where he was supposed to go so he stood where he was and waited. ‘All right, bruv,’ said Sunny, coming up behind him.
‘What happens now?’ asked al-Hussain.
‘Our ride’s outside.’ Sunny headed towards the exit and al-Hussain kept pace with him. On the pavement, Sunny looked around and spotted a grey Vauxhall Astra. ‘That’s us.’ He waved at the driver and the car edged towards them.
Al-Hussain climbed into the back and put his bag on the seat, then slammed the door. Sunny got into the front and twisted around. ‘This is Ash,’ he said.
Ash flashed al-Hussain a thumbs-up. Sunny grinned. ‘It’s all right, bruv, he speaks good English.’
‘Yeah? Is that right?’ said Ash.
‘Where are we going?’ asked al-Hussain.
‘Sheffield,’ said Ash.
‘You heard of Sheffield, bruv?’ asked Sunny.
Al-Hussain shook his head. ‘No.’
‘It’s a shit-hole,’ said Sunny, ‘but that’s where we have to take you.’
Shepherd couldn’t be bothered to arrange a rental car and he didn’t want to be seen driving around in García’s green Lamborghini. Rosenfeld had a Honda CRV parked in the basement of his apartment building so Shepherd took the keys and went down in the lift to the car park. As soon as he was in the vehicle he took out his mobile phone and tapped out a number. Amar Singh, one of MI5’s most able technicians, answered on the third ring. ‘Amar, can you talk?’
‘Give me a second.’
Shepherd heard footsteps then a door opening and closing. ‘Go ahead,’ said Singh.
‘I need a favour. Are you in the office?’
‘For the foreseeable future,’ said Singh. ‘I’m babysitting two bugging teams and overseeing a facial-recognition job that’s gotta be done PDQ.’
‘Can you grab a few seconds to check someone out for me?’ said Shepherd. ‘A Russian by the name of Stefan Bazarov. He’s living in Spain at the moment. I’ve never heard of him so see what you can dig up. From what’s gone down I’m thinking Russian Mafia.’
‘Okay, I’ll sit down at a terminal now. One thing, is this official or on the QT?’
‘You think I’d use you for an off-the-books operation?’
Singh laughed. ‘Do you really want me to answer that, Spider?’
‘I find your lack of faith disconcerting,’ said Shepherd. ‘Joking apart, it’s official but I don’t have time to go through channels. There’ll be no comeback. Willoughby-Brown’s running the operation.’
‘That must be fun for you,’ said Singh.
‘I’m going to be driving for a while. Can you send screenshots to this number?’
‘Not a problem,’ said Singh. ‘Soon as I can.’
It took Shepherd just minutes to leave Gibraltar. The last flight had long left so the barriers across the main road leading to Spain where it cut across the airport runway were up. There was no passport check leaving Gibraltar but he had to show his passport to a black-uniformed Spanish officer, who asked him to open the boot of the CRV. The officer took a quick look inside, presumably checking for cigarettes, which were much cheaper in Gibraltar than Spain, then motioned for Shepherd to be on his way.
The Spanish roads were good and it took Shepherd just over half an hour to get to the hospital where the injured Serbs were being cared for. The Hospital Quirón de Marbella was on the seafront, right next to the fishing port. The Serbs were in three rooms but Shepherd was interested in only one man, the one Rosenfeld had said was the leader, Goran Kolarac. There was one nurse on duty and a fifty euro note and a promise to keep his visit short got him Kolarac’s room number. Kolarac’s room was south-facing with a view over the Mediterranean but as it was now dark there wasn’t much to see. When Shepherd walked in, Kolarac was watching cartoons on a wall-mounted TV. He was a hefty guy with bulging forearms and a square jaw that looked as if it could take a punch or two. His left leg was bandaged and raised in the air on some sort of trapeze device, presumably to keep the pressure off it. There was a drip on a rack at the side of his bed and a tube leading into his left arm.
Kolarac’s eyes widened when he saw Shepherd and he reached over to grab his water jug. Shepherd held up his hands, palms outward. ‘I come in peace, Goran,’ he said.
‘Who the fuck are you?’ growled Kolarac, still ready to throw the jug.
‘I work with Jake Rosenfeld,’ said Shepherd. ‘I want to talk about what happened.’
‘I got shot, that’s what fucking happened,’ said the Serb, putting the water jug back on the bedside table. ‘You tell Rosenfeld I want to talk to him.’
‘He’s been shot, same as you.’
‘Yeah? Serves him right.’
A blonde nurse appeared. ‘Is everything all right, Mr Kolarac?’ she asked.
‘I just brought him some grapes,’ said Shepherd. ‘I won’t keep him long.’
‘It’s all right, Sandra,’ said Kolarac. ‘It’s just a brief visit. He’s going soon.’
‘You need to rest,’ said the nurse. She looked at Shepherd. ‘Mr Kolarac is a very lucky man. He almost lost his leg.’
She smiled at Kolarac and left.
‘Of course, if I’d been really lucky I wouldn’t have been shot in the first place,’ Kolarac growled.
Shepherd reached inside his jacket and Kolarac tensed. Shepherd smiled. ‘Chill, Goran. I’m on your side, remember?’ He pulled the washbag from his pocket and tossed it onto the bed. ‘There’s twenty thousand euros,’ he said. ‘That’s what you’d have been paid if you’d got the money from the Russian.’
Kolarac frowned. ‘You’re paying me?’ He unzipped the washbag and ran a finger over the banknotes.
‘Rosenfeld is.’
‘He should have told me who the Russian was.’
‘He didn’t know.’
‘How could he not?’
‘He was just a client.’
‘He’s a fucking Russian gangster.’
‘You know that for sure?’ asked Shepherd.
‘The son of a gangster, anyway. His father’s a big shot in Moscow. Drugs. Extortion. Prostitution.’
‘What’s the son doing here?’
‘He got into an argument with some hoods in Moscow. His father sent him here until things cool off. That’s what I was told. But that was after they did this to me.’
‘Did Jake know this?’
‘If he did, he didn’t tell me. I found out yesterday.’
‘And what happened? How did you get shot?’
‘I was walking to my car after a night out. Two guys pulled up on a motorbike, both with full-face helmets. The passenger had a gun. One shot. Then off they went.’
‘Did they say anything?’
‘They didn’t have to.’
‘And your other guys?’
‘Two of them. Same. One got shot twice.’ He grinned. ‘Dragan is a big fucker and when they shot him he charged at them. Almost made it but then they shot him in the stomach.’
‘Is he okay?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Like I said, he’s a big guy and the shooter was using a .22. He’ll be fine.’
‘Same shooter, you mean?’
‘No, we were all shot at about the same time. It was coordinated. A professional job.’
‘But no one was killed, right?’
‘It was a warning.’
Shepherd sat on the edge of the bed. ‘You understand why he did what he did, right? You roughed him up for a debt he reckons he didn’t owe.’
&n
bsp; ‘He had me shot.’
‘True. But not killed. If he’d wanted you killed he could have had it done. You sent him a message and he sent you a message back. The question is, what happens now?’
‘If he wants a war, I can give him one.’
‘I’m sure you can. But what do you think the father will do if you kill the son?’
‘I’m not scared of a Russian gangster.’
‘That’s good to know, but it’s not about who’s scared of whom. It’s about who does what and next time it might not be a few flesh wounds. What happened was an error of judgement on Jake’s part, but he’s learned his lesson. What we need now is for everyone just to take a deep breath and assess where you are. You roughed up the Russian. He fought back. And, let’s be honest, you’d have done the same. If the Russians had burst in and roughed you up, you’d have hit back.’
‘Damn right.’
Shepherd gestured at the washbag. ‘You’ve got your money. Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll talk to the Russian and make sure this doesn’t go any further. You and your guys put this down to experience. No one seems too badly hurt.’
‘I’m in fucking hospital,’ said Kolarac.
‘Flesh wounds,’ said Shepherd.
‘I got shot in the thigh. They could have severed an artery – I could’ve died.’
‘Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve,’ said Shepherd. ‘They were obviously pros. They could’ve crippled you if they’d wanted. Or worse. And, if they come back, you won’t be so lucky the second time.’
Kolarac opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He lay down. ‘I hear what you’re saying.’
‘Good,’ said Shepherd.
‘But this hospital isn’t cheap,’ said Kolarac.
‘I’ll make sure it’s taken care of.’
Kolarac frowned. ‘How much did Rosenfeld know about the Russian?’
Shepherd shrugged. ‘Not much. He thought Bazarov was a rich client who’d defaulted and that was all. I doubt Bazarov would broadcast that he was Russian Mafia.’
Kolarac nodded slowly. ‘He’s an idiot, the American.’
‘He should have checked, I agree, but he won’t be making the same mistake again, I can promise you that.’ He pointed at the bag of money. ‘So are we good?’
[Spider Shepherd #13] - Dark Forces Page 14
