Dark Forces (29 page)

‘I’m sorry – I’m sorry!’

Omar knew he had gone too far and released his grip. Zack twisted around, rubbing his injured arm. ‘What the fuck was that?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Omar. ‘You caught me by surprise.’

‘What was it? Kung fu?’

‘I dunno. I wasn’t thinking.’

‘Bruv, are you okay?’

‘Of course I am. I’ve just got stuff on my mind, that’s all.’

‘Yeah? Like what?’

Omar’s mind raced. He needed a lie and a good one. He wouldn’t get away with the dental ruse again, but he needed some reason why he was leaving early. He had to take delivery of the fourth and final vehicle and had promised to pick it up at six.

‘I’ve got a problem with a girl.’

Zack frowned. ‘What girl?’

‘I met her a few months back. English girl.’

Zack’s face broke into a grin. ‘You fucking an English girl, bruv? You always said you weren’t into that.’ He punched Omar’s arm. ‘You sly fuck.’

Omar pretended to be embarrassed. ‘It’s not funny,’ he said. ‘Girl says she’s pregnant.’

‘You serious?’

‘Says she’s pregnant and swears it’s mine but I think she’s a slag, so who knows?’

‘What are you going to do?’

‘She says she wants to see me to talk it through. I thought I’d give her money to get rid of it.’ He put his hand on Zack’s arm, ‘Don’t tell Dad – he’ll kill me.’

‘I won’t. But be careful, bruv. She could be scamming you. Make sure you see her pee on a stick before you do anything. Bitches lie, you know that.’

‘I will, bruv. Thanks. So are you okay if I push off?’

‘Yeah, you go and take care of business. I’ll help Toby.’ He pointed a finger at Omar’s face. ‘And don’t forget. She pees on a stick before you do anything.’

Omar thanked him and rushed out. He felt nothing but contempt for his brother. Zack was weak and a fool, but lying was better than confrontation. If Zack found out what he was really up to he’d turn him in. Omar had no doubt about that. He was a bad Muslim, a traitor to Allah, and one day he would pay the price for his disloyalty. But not today.

Shepherd had the black cab drop him around the corner from the address on the business card Willoughby-Brown had given him. The company that Miles Davies worked for was in the Shard, the tallest building in London. Their offices were about halfway up and the views were spectacular, though Shepherd barely noticed. He wasn’t happy about having his psychological evaluation done by a new face. He’d always got on well with Caroline Stockmann and her no-nonsense approach. His evaluations with her had generally consisted of a chat over a few drinks in a pub. That didn’t mean she wasn’t professional: she was as sharp as a whip and didn’t let anything get past her, but she made it more of a social occasion than an official visit.

The company that Willoughby-Brown was sending him to was called Mind-Set and had a logo of a lightning bolt zigzagging through the outline of a skull. The lift opened into a minimalist reception area, as gleamingly white as an operating theatre, with a tall blonde girl, wearing a headset, standing behind a plinth with a computer screen on it. ‘Can I help you?’ she said, in a voice so flat and emotionless that he thought she might be mechanical.

‘I’m here to see Miles Davies.’ He couldn’t say the name without instantly being reminded of the jazz musician.

She smiled and tapped on a keyboard. ‘Your name, please?’

‘Dan Shepherd.’

‘Please take a seat, Mr Shepherd. I’ll let him know you’re here.’ She smiled again, and her face went professionally blank. It was very disconcerting, and Shepherd looked at her closely, just to check that she was a real, breathing, human being. Her skin was flawlessly white, her eyes were unnaturally blue and her hair glistened like plastic.

There was only one place to sit: a low white sofa that was just inches off the floor. When Shepherd sat down his knees were above his waist and he knew he’d have trouble getting up. He wondered if it was a psychological trick, a way of putting visitors off balance. If it was, it didn’t bode well.

‘Can I get you something to drink, Mr Shepherd?’ The blonde receptionist was smiling again. She had perfect teeth.

‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

The smile vanished and she tapped on her keyboard. Shepherd wondered if she was recording his refusal to accept a drink. A large screen on the wall to his left showed a constantly changing pattern of swirling colours that seemed totally random. He stared at it until he felt light-headed and had to tear his gaze away.

‘Mr Shepherd?’

He hadn’t heard the woman walk up to him. She was a near-twin of the blonde behind the lectern, though this girl was a brunette. She was tall and model-thin, wearing a black suit and high heels that put her pretty much on tiptoe. Like the blonde, her eyes were dull and flat, though she had a toothpaste-commercial smile.

‘Yes?’

‘I’ll take you through to Dr Davies,’ she said, and motioned towards two glass doors at the far end of the room.

Shepherd grunted as he pushed himself up off the sofa, and followed her through the doors. It was as minimalist and impersonal as the reception area, with white walls, steel bookcases and leather and stainless-steel chairs. Miles Davies was sitting behind a desk with only an Apple computer and a steel Newton’s cradle on it. Davies’s head was as smooth and shiny as the steel balls on the desk ornament, and the skin glistened in the sunlight streaming through the window behind him. It was only when he stood up and walked around the desk that Shepherd discovered how tall the man was – well over six feet. He had a slight stoop, as if he was ashamed of his height, and several inches of bare wrist stuck out of his jacket. He was in his forties, with ears like mug handles and deep creases across his forehead.

‘Miles, good to meet you,’ said Shepherd, holding out his hand.

‘Thanks for coming, Mr Shepherd,’ said Davies. ‘I’m Dr Davies in the office. It prevents any confusion.’ He waved Shepherd to the chair facing his desk. ‘Please, take a seat.’

Shepherd sat down, wondering why the psychologist was so averse to using first names. Caroline Stockmann had always been Caroline. And all the psychologists he’d met before her had used their first names.

Davies sat in his chair, which was several inches taller than Shepherd’s. ‘So, we’ll have a quick chat and then I’ll run you through some tests,’ he said. He had the bland, featureless accent of a BBC newsreader.

‘Tests?’

Davies held up his hands. ‘There’s no need to be worried,’ he said. ‘Just a few profiling programs that we’ve developed.’

‘I wasn’t worried,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just interested. In the past the interviews have always been oral.’

‘We take a more scientific approach here,’ said Davies. ‘But don’t worry, it’s quite painless. So, you’ve been undercover for how long now?’

‘On my present case, or as a career?’

‘Well, both, I suppose.’

‘The present case, going on six months. As a career, well, I started working undercover for a Home Office unit in 2000, moved to SOCA, and then to my present position.’

‘Always undercover?’

‘Pretty much. Though sometimes I’m running teams rather than being undercover myself.’

‘And would you say it’s getting easier or harder as the years go by?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘The same, I suppose.’

‘And has the nature of your targets changed over the years?’

‘Of course,’ said Shepherd. ‘We only heard of al-Qaeda after Nine Eleven and Islamic State is a recent phenomenon. But organised crime and overseas agents have always been with us.’

‘Do you do much undercover work in the fight against jihadists?’

Shepherd smiled. ‘I’d stick out in a mosque, wouldn’t I?’

Davies didn’t smile. If anything his eyes became a little colder, and Shepherd saw his attempt at levity wasn’t appreciated. ‘But, yes, in jihadist cases I tend to be running agents or helping in undercover operations.’

Davies nodded slowly. He wasn’t taking notes and Shepherd wondered if the conversation was being recorded.

‘Tell me a bit about your current task,’ said Davies.

‘It’s the long-term penetration of a South London crime family,’ he said. ‘Drugs, extortion, fraud. They’re a close-knit team, which is one of the reasons they’ve been so successful for so long. I’m posing as a hired killer and, if all goes to plan, they’ll invite me into their inner circle.’

‘It sounds dangerous.’

‘It can be.’

‘You sound confident.’

‘I’ve been doing it for a long time.’

‘Familiarity breeds contempt?’

‘No. I’m never complacent about the danger I’m in. But I’m a professional and I minimise the risks at all times. Wherever possible I’m around other people, or there’s back-up close by.’

‘What if these criminals asked you to walk with them down a dark alley?’

‘A lot would depend on what had happened up to that point,’ he said. ‘I’d be reading their body language, trying to get a handle on what was going on. Is the walk down the alley logical? Do they go ahead of me? Are they carrying? I’d be tapping into my subconscious feelings. Am I worried? Tense? Or does it all feel okay? It’s a dark alley but do I have back-up close by? If there’s doubt, I might test them. Lag behind to see how they react. Take out my phone, see if that provokes a reaction.’

Davies smiled without warmth. ‘Must make for quite a bit of tension.’

‘Tension is a good thing,’ said Shepherd. ‘It keeps you on your toes.’

‘It can also result in high blood pressure, which in turn can lead to heart attacks and strokes.’

‘I have a yearly physical. Everything was just fine last time.’

‘The body can cope with increased levels of stress for long periods, then suddenly snap,’ said Davies. ‘Like putting a rope under pressure. Everything seems okay until one day the rope breaks.’

‘And you think that’s my situation?’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m reaching my breaking point?’

‘You sound defensive, Mr Shepherd.’

‘I’m just trying to get a handle on your thought process here,’ said Shepherd. ‘Physically I’m fine. I can handle any stress that the job throws at me, but you make it seem like I’m about to implode.’

‘I don’t mean to give that impression,’ said Davies. ‘I’m trying to get a handle on your thought processes, too, and the best way of doing that is to ask you questions. I’m sorry if it upsets you.’

Shepherd smiled. ‘It doesn’t upset me,’ he said, but even as the words left his mouth he knew he’d sounded defensive. He put up his hands, but that was a defensive move and he lowered them. ‘Ask away,’ he said.

‘Oh, I think we’re done,’ said Davies.

‘That’s it? That’s all?’

‘No, I mean we’re done with the verbal questions. I’d like you to work through our programs now. They’ll let us know what’s going on in there.’ He stood up, walked around the desk and showed Shepherd to the door. He took him back through Reception and along a corridor where he opened the door to a small, windowless room. There was a table with a computer on it against one wall, and a high-backed orthopedic chair. Shepherd sat down in front of the screen. The firm’s logo featured in the centre of a pale blue background.

‘It’s all done through the mouse,’ said Davies. ‘As soon as I’ve left the room, click on the logo. There’s no rush, no time limit. Just answer the questions and perform the tasks presented to you. Any questions?’

‘How long does it normally take?’

‘That’s up to you,’ said Davies. He left and closed the door behind him. Shepherd sighed, then stretched. He felt the tension in his neck and moved his head from side to side. He looked around the room. There was no sign of any camera and the walls were bare, but Shepherd was sure he was being watched. It wouldn’t just be the way he performed on the tests that would count, but how he approached them. He took a breath, then clicked on the logo. A note filled the screen. He would be given two choices and he was to click on the one that most applied to him. Did he understand? YES or NO? He wondered what would happen if he clicked NO but he just smiled and clicked YES. The first question was simple enough. DO YOU PREFER TO GO FOR A WALK OR READ A BOOK?

Shepherd tilted his head to one side. He was quite happy doing either activity, and it was rarely a decision he had to make. Sometimes he’d do both, go for a walk, then read. It was a pointless question, except he doubted that Dr Miles Davies would waste his time on questions with no point. The answer would give a clue to Shepherd’s character and state of mind. Reading a book was more cerebral. Going for a walk suggested he favoured physical activity, which was probably how he felt. Was there anything wrong with that? Probably not. He clicked GO FOR A WALK.

The second question was equally bland. DO YOU PREFER TO EAT ALONE OR GO FOR A MEAL WITH FRIENDS? Obviously the sociable alternative was the preferable answer, even though Shepherd was perfectly happy eating on his own. He rattled through fifty or so either- or questions, then stopped as he stared at the screen. DO YOU PREFER TO READ A BOOK OR GO FOR A WALK? It was the first question he’d been asked, this time in reverse. He smiled to himself. The program was obviously checking to see how consistent his answers were but, considering his photographic memory, it wouldn’t be a problem. He rushed through the questions on autopilot.

The next part of the test was more complex. He was shown a series of photographs and asked to choose from a number of options as to what the photographs showed. The first was of a man standing in front of a crying woman. There were four choices. THE MAN HIT THE WOMAN. THE MAN IS COMFORTING THE WOMAN. THE WOMAN IS THE MAN’S WIFE. THE WOMAN IS ASKING THE MAN FOR HELP. Shepherd frowned. The test appeared to be asking for a judgement based on emotion rather than fact. He stared at the photograph, then saw that both the man and the women were wearing wedding rings. And there was no reddening of the skin or marks that suggested she had been hit. The man was reaching out to the woman in a gesture that was definitely not threatening. She wasn’t looking at him so Shepherd figured she wasn’t asking him for help. He was trying to comfort her. He clicked that option and a second photograph flashed up. There were more than two dozen in all, and Shepherd spent several minutes on each, trying to use logic rather than gut feeling to choose the best option each time.