Dark Forces (27 page)

She looked up at him. ‘You know I love you.’

He smiled. ‘I love you, too.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean it.’ She moved her head closer to his and before he knew what was happening she was kissing him. For a second or two he resisted, but then he reached up and stroked her hair as he kissed her back. Then it was Katra who broke away, red-faced and flustered. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ she said.

He laughed. ‘Why?’

‘I’m so stupid.’

‘I told you, you’re not.’

She stood up. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Shepherd stood up and tried to put his arms around her but she stepped back, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘Please just go, Dan,’ she said.

‘Katra, there’s nothing to be sorry about.’

‘I’m so confused.’

Shepherd laughed. ‘You and me both.’

‘Now you’re laughing at me.’

‘I’m not. Really. Look, we need to talk, but I have to get back to London. Once my job’s done I’ll come back and we’ll talk it through.’

‘Okay.’

He held out his arms. ‘Hug?’

She let him take her in his arms. As he held her she turned her face up to him and this time he kissed her without hesitation.

‘How did it go?’ asked Liam, when Shepherd walked back into the kitchen.

‘It went okay,’ said Shepherd. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to go.’

‘You always have to go, Dad,’ said Liam. ‘It’s what you do.’

Shepherd’s Terry Taylor phone rang as he was driving past Swindon. He took the call on hands-free. It was Howard Wedekind. ‘Where are you?’ he asked.

‘Just out doing some shopping. What’s happening?’

‘Got a job for you, if you’re interested.’

‘For you or the brothers?’

‘Would that make a difference?’ asked Wedekind.

Shepherd faked a laugh. ‘I just want to know who’s paying the bill.’

‘It’s company business,’ said Wedekind.

‘What do you need doing?’

‘Not on the phone, Terry. Never on the phone.’

‘Where and when?’ asked Shepherd. He was still some fifty miles away from London.

‘I could come around to your place this evening,’ said Wedekind.

‘My place?’

‘Is that a problem?’

Shepherd frowned. Wedekind had always chosen to meet in public places before. He hoped it was a sign that he was now trusted and not something more sinister. ‘Of course not. What time’s good for you?’

‘Six? I’ve got a meeting at four thirty in the City and I could drop by on the way home.’

‘Perfect,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll get some wine in.’

‘It’s not a fucking date, Terry. There’s some stuff I need to show you so I want a bit of privacy, that’s all.’

‘All good, Howard,’ said Shepherd.

The line went dead. Shepherd used the hands-free to call Willoughby-Brown. ‘Wedekind is coming around to the flat this evening.’

‘Why?’

‘Good question,’ said Shepherd. ‘He could be checking me out. Thing is, I didn’t give him my address and he didn’t ask for it.’

‘You think that’s a worry?’

‘We set the legend up so it would check out,’ said Shepherd. ‘I would have thought he’d ask me for my address, though.’

‘Maybe he wants you to know that he knows,’ said Willoughby-Brown. ‘Playing mind games.’

‘It’s possible,’ said Shepherd. ‘If he was going to do me any harm he’d hardly do it where I live. He could just as easily invite me to somewhere isolated. Anyway, he says he wants a private chat so I’ll take him at his word. The good news is that we can get him on video.’ Amar Singh and two other MI5 technicians had wired the Battersea flat for sound and vision before Shepherd had moved in. It could be monitored live, with everything recorded.

‘So what time will he be there?’

‘Six.’

‘We’ll be watching. Check in before to make sure there are no technical issues.’

‘Will do,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call.

Shepherd arrived back in Battersea at just after two o’clock that afternoon. He had called ahead and asked Amar Singh to arrange to return the Audi but as he drove down the road to the apartment block he spotted the grey Toyota, which had been following him, parked at the side of the road. Shepherd cursed under his breath and turned his head away as he went by. Singh was standing in front of the building, his hands in the pockets of his pale blue Ted Baker suit. Shepherd made a left turn and found a parking space, then phoned Singh.

‘Bit of a problem, Amar,’ he said. ‘I’ve parked around the corner. The guys who were tailing the BMW are across the road from you. Walk away and I’ll call you later.’

‘Do you need back-up?’

‘Terry Taylor wouldn’t have back-up,’ said Shepherd. ‘I could do with a gun, mind.’

‘Can’t help you there,’ said Singh. ‘There’s an Uzi pen in the glovebox of the Audi, though.’

‘I’ll give that a go,’ said Shepherd. He ended the call, opened the glovebox and found the pen. It was made by the people who manufactured the renowned submachine-guns. The heavy-duty lightweight aircraft aluminium was so strong that the pen could pierce wood if wielded with enough force, and on the end there was a durable carbide glass-breaker. He slipped it into his jacket pocket, climbed out and locked the Audi. It was a chilly day but that wasn’t why the hairs were standing up on the back of his neck. Who were they? And were they tailing Dan Shepherd or Terry Taylor? He doubted they were cops because MI5 had access to all the Met’s databases and would have picked up anyone running the plates of the BMW. It was more likely to be someone checking up on him on behalf of the O’Neills, and Wedekind clearly knew where he lived. But if they were working for Wedekind, why sit outside the block on the day that Wedekind himself was going to visit?

The bigger question was, how should he react? As Dan Shepherd, his best course of action was to note that he was being followed but not to show he knew they were there. But if Terry Taylor didn’t spot a tail, he’d look like an amateur, and that would be bad for his reputation. The even bigger question was what they thought had happened to them on the motorway. Had they realised he’d called in the cops, or did they think being pulled over was simply bad luck? There was only one way to find out and that was to confront them.

Shepherd walked to Tesco Express where he bought a bottle of milk, bread, a jar of Gold Blend coffee, lighter fluid and a cigarette lighter. He headed back towards his apartment building, swinging the carrier bag as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

He came up behind the car, taking the pen from his pocket. The man in the passenger seat was reading a newspaper. The driver was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. They both had their seatbelts on, which would hinder any movement.

He transferred the can of lighter fluid and the lighter into the right-hand pocket of his jacket. As he drew level with the rear of the car, he dropped the carrier bag and slammed the glass-breaker into the corner of the rear passenger window. There was a dull crack and the window exploded into a shower of cubes. Both men jumped. Shepherd shoved the pen into his pocket and pulled out the can of lighter fluid. He unscrewed the cap and squirted the contents over the men, concentrating on their faces, then tossed it into the car and pulled out the lighter. They were wiping their faces and the air was thick with fumes. The passenger grabbed for his seat belt buckle but Shepherd hit him on the back of the head.

‘If I flick this lighter you’ll both go up in flames, so put down your hands and sit quietly,’ said Shepherd.

‘Get the fuck away with that!’ shouted the passenger.

‘What the fuck are you doing?’ shouted the driver.

‘Shut up and listen!’ hissed Shepherd. ‘If you don’t want to spend the next week in a burns unit, sit the fuck still.’

They quietened but they both stared nervously at the lighter.

‘Who are you working for?’ asked Shepherd.

‘We’re just sitting here,’ said the driver. ‘We don’t work for anyone.’

Shepherd flicked the lighter and both men yelped. ‘Okay, okay!’ shouted the passenger. ‘Howard sent us to keep an eye on you.’

‘Howard who?’

‘Howard Wedekind.’

‘Since when?’

‘Two days ago,’ said the passenger. ‘Now put that lighter away.’

‘Why did he want you to follow me?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Fuck that! He must have told you something!’ Shepherd flicked the lighter again.

‘I swear!’ said the passenger. ‘He just said he wanted to know where you lived, where you went, who you met.’

‘What are you? Private detectives?’

The passenger shook his head. ‘We do due diligence checks, that’s all, mainly on companies but individuals as well. Please, just take the lighter away.’

‘Listen to me and listen to me good,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I see you anywhere near me again, I’ll do more than splash you with lighter fluid. Do you understand?’

Both men nodded.

‘Now get the hell away from me. And don’t come back.’

He straightened, the lighter still in his hand. The driver started the engine and the car sped off. Shepherd put the lighter back into his pocket and picked up his carrier bag. He went into the building and made himself a cup of coffee. He had drunk half of it when his phone rang. It was Howard Wedekind. ‘We should talk, obviously,’ said Wedekind.

‘The sooner the better,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’ll cancel my meeting and come around now, if that’s okay with you.’

‘I’ll be waiting,’ said Shepherd.

Ash drove all the way from the Peak District to Sheffield in silence. The first time he spoke was when they were turning into the supermarket car park. The florist’s van was parked in the same bay it had occupied that morning. ‘What do I tell the brothers?’ he asked. ‘They’ll want to know where Sunny is.’

‘Tell them nothing.’

‘They’ll want to know. They’ll wonder why he didn’t come back with us.’

Al-Hussain shrugged. ‘Tell them he was needed on another operation. People move around. He moved. It’s not a big thing.’

Ash parked next to the white van. He popped the boot and climbed out. Al-Hussain watched in the wing mirror as Ash took out the rifle case and passed it to Jay, who disappeared inside the van and slammed the rear door as Ash got back into the car.

‘Did they ask?’

Ash started the engine. ‘No.’

‘So all is well,’ said al-Hussain. ‘
Inshallah
.’

Ash didn’t speak again until they were passing the Madina Masjid. Men were queuing to go inside, wearing traditional clothing and skull caps. ‘Do you know when it will happen?’ he asked.

‘Soon,’ said al-Hussain.

‘Do you know where?’

‘It is better that I don’t,’ he said. ‘The fewer people who know, the fewer people can betray us.’

‘Does that mean we aren’t trusted?’

‘It’s not about trust. Say the intelligence agencies were looking at you. They will read your emails, listen to your calls, monitor your text messages. They will bug your car and your home. If you say or write anything they will know. But if you know nothing, they will discover nothing. If we were caught today and interrogated, tortured, even, there is nothing of any use that we can tell them.’

‘That makes sense,’ said Ash.

‘Of course,’ said al-Hussain. He folded his arms and looked out of the side window.

‘I’m not like Sunny,’ said Ash, quietly.

Al-Hussain said nothing.

‘I get that he talked too much,’ said Ash. ‘And I told him he should stay off social media. He wouldn’t listen.’

Still al-Hussain was silent.

‘Are you sure you’re not going to kill me?’ Ash asked, his voice trembling.

Al-Hussain turned to him slowly. His eyes were as dull and lifeless as those of a dead fish. ‘Why do you say that, brother?’

‘You killed Sunny. I saw you do it. That makes me a witness.’

‘Are you going to tell anyone what you saw?’

‘No. Never. Of course not.’

Al-Hussain shrugged. ‘So you have nothing to worry about.’

‘I am loyal, brother. I will happily die for Islam. And I will do nothing to jeopardise our mission.’

‘I know that, brother. You are thinking too much.’

‘I’ve never seen a dead body before. Not close up. Not for real.’

‘Not when you were training in Pakistan?’

‘We trained with weapons. We studied. We didn’t actually kill anyone. I mean, I’ve seen videos and shit but never in the flesh.’

Al-Hussain nodded. ‘Killing a man is a big thing,’ he said. ‘Especially a Muslim. But sometimes it has to be done. For the greater good.’

‘Can I ask you a question, brother?’

‘Of course.’

‘What does it feel like? To take a life?’

‘It depends,’ said al-Hussain. ‘I took no pleasure in killing your friend. He was a Muslim, he was a jihadist. But he was a fool, and a dangerous one. Killing him was a necessity so I feel no guilt but I am sad for having taken the life of a Muslim. Before, in Syria, I was killing our enemies and I took pride in that. But not pleasure. I do not kill because I enjoy it, brother. I kill because we are fighting a war against the crusaders who want all Muslims dead. I am fighting to protect our people and killing is part of that.’

‘Do you feel guilty about taking lives?’

‘Why should I? The Koran is clear that all Muslims must fight those who fight against us. The West is our enemy. They are killing our people around the world. In Afghanistan, in Iraq, in Syria. And when Muslims are not being killed, they are being oppressed. It is our duty to fight back. So, no, I feel no guilt. And neither should you, brother.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you having second thoughts? About what we have to do?’

‘No, definitely not,’ said Ash, hurriedly. ‘We have to kill the infidels, we have to show them we are strong.’

‘Good man,’ said al-Hussain, patting Ash’s leg again. ‘You are a good Muslim. Allah will reward you.’

They arrived at the house. Ash drove up to the garage, climbed out and opened the door, then got back into the car and drove slowly inside. Al-Hussain got out and shut the door, then the two men went through to the kitchen. ‘Are you hungry, brother?’ asked Ash. ‘I can cook.’

‘That would be good, brother, thank you,’ said al-Hussain. ‘I shall bathe first.’ He went upstairs and retrieved his mobile phone from under the mattress. He tapped out the number he had committed to memory. A man answered and they spoke in Arabic. ‘The weapon is ready,’ said al-Hussain. ‘And so am I.’