False Friends (27 page)

‘Which is best?’ asked Kettering.

Shepherd shrugged. ‘Six of one,’ he said.

‘Are you serious?’ asked Kettering. ‘You don’t know the best way?’

‘Truth be told, we don’t get much cal for grenades,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’re lucky I had a contact who had this.’

‘But you can get more?’ asked Kettering.

Shepherd exhaled through tight lips. ‘I’l be honest, it won’t be easy. Grenades aren’t like guns. Guns you can mess around with and nothing bad is going to happen. Even ammunition is inert unless you treat it real y badly. But grenades you’ve got to treat with respect. Plus, you’ve got to know that they’ve been looked after. You can’t mistreat them.’

‘Say I wanted a couple of dozen?’

‘Bloody hel , mate, two dozen grenades? What the hel would you want with that many?’

Kettering laughed. ‘Just want to have them around for a rainy day. Sel me twenty-four for four grand.’

Shepherd looked at Sharpe and Sharpe took the cue. ‘I guess we can do that,’ he said. ‘But transport’s the thing. We’l have to talk to our guys.’

‘Looks like we’ve got a deal,’ said Shepherd. ‘I guess for four grand we can let you have this one for free.’

‘Is it made in Yugoslavia?’ asked Kettering.

Shepherd shook his head. ‘Nope, but that’s where we’l be getting them from. We know a supplier there. They’re made by a Swiss company for the British but they sel them around the world. It’s an L109A1 and the British Army have been using them since 2001. It’s fil ed with RDX explosive and the steel shel does the damage. When it goes off it produces thousands of fragments that are designed to go through Kevlar body armour.’

Kettering took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ he said.

Shepherd took Kettering’s hand and showed him how to hold the grenade so that the lever was held in place. He pointed at the ring at the top of the lever. ‘When you’re ready, pul out the pin. So long as you hold the lever in place, nothing has changed; you can stay like that for as long as you want. But as soon as you release that handle the grenade is live. A non-reversible chemical reaction starts that culminates in an explosion after three or four seconds. So here’s the thing: once the handle is off there’s nothing can stop it. There’s no changing your mind.’

‘Understood.’

‘And don’t freeze. It can be quite stressful and you might find your hand tightens up, so stay focused. Check the direction you’re going to throw it, pul the pin, and throw. That counting to three is strictly for the movies. Pul , throw, count to three while you run and drop on three.’

‘And it can kil anything within a hundred feet, is that what you said?’

‘I said the fragments wil go that far, but they’re only deadly within about sixty feet. Further than that and they’re more like airgun pel ets. They’l hurt but won’t do much damage. The closer you are to the explosion, the more the damage. If it goes off while you’re holding it there won’t be much left of you, let’s put it that way.’

‘Got you,’ said Kettering. He took another deep breath and nodded. ‘Okay.’ He laughed nervously. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead and Shepherd hoped that his hands weren’t as sweaty because the last thing he wanted was a live grenade rol ing on the ground.

‘And as soon as it’s gone off, we’re in the cars and away,’ said Sharpe. ‘No hanging around.’ He slammed the Range Rover’s tailgate shut.

‘You’l cal when you have a delivery date?’ asked Kettering.

‘Yeah, and we’l be dealing with you direct from now on,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no need for Ian to be involved.’ Shepherd wanted Ray Fenby out of the loop so that there’d be less chance of Kettering and Thompson blaming him when the shit hit the fan. He pointed towards the slope. ‘Off you go, and whatever you do don’t try to see it go off. If you can see it the shrapnel can rip through your eyes. Remember that.’

‘Good luck,’ said Roger. ‘Rather you than me. And, if you don’t mind, I’l wait behind the Jag.’ He headed off towards the car.

‘Piece of cake,’ said Kettering, and he walked away.

Shepherd looked over at Thompson. ‘If he blows himself up we can stil sel the stuff to you?’ he said.

‘Sure, we don’t real y need him,’ said Thompson. Roger and Sean laughed out loud.

‘I heard that!’ shouted Kettering. He carried on walking and stopped about fifty yards away from them. ‘How’s this?’ he cal ed.

Shepherd gave him a thumbs up. ‘Go for it,’ he cal ed. ‘Just remember to throw it down the slope.’

‘Do we need to cover our ears or something?’ asked Thompson.

‘Not out in the open,’ said Shepherd. ‘In a confined space, maybe.’

‘And we won’t get hurt?’

‘Would I be standing here if there was even a chance of that?’ said Shepherd.

‘You’l be fine,’ agreed Sean. ‘Unless he fucks up and throws it the wrong way.’

‘Here we go!’ yel ed Kettering. He pul ed out the pin, threw the grenade in a high arc down the slope, then turned and ran up the hil . After three paces he dropped face down on to the grass and a second later there was a dul thud that Shepherd felt in his stomach and through the soles of his feet. There was a cloud of white smoke at the bottom of the slope and a brown patch about five feet wide that smouldered though there was no fire.

In a fraction of a second the smal metal globe had been transformed into thousands of smal deadly fragments.

Grenades were nasty weapons. Shepherd had never had to throw one in anger during his army days, and he was grateful for that. He’d shot men, and women, and on a few occasions he’d used a knife. He regretted none of the kil ings, but there was something basical y unfair about a grenade.

If you shot a man then there was a chance that he might fire first. In hand-to-hand fighting the more skil ed fighter won. But there was no defence against a grenade. If you had one and the enemy didn’t, and you threw it, then he was dead and you weren’t.

Kettering was already up, jumping up and down and punching the air enthusiastical y. ‘Did you see that!’ he shouted.

Thompson stared at the rapidly dispersing cloud of smoke. ‘Fucking awesome!’ He turned to look at Shepherd. ‘Was that fucking awesome or what?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, awesome.’

Kettering hurried up the slope. ‘That was amazing, Garry. My heart was pounding when I pul ed the pin out, it real y was.’ He shook his head. ‘I want to do it again.’

‘We need to go,’ said Shepherd. ‘The sound carries. No one’s going to mistake a grenade for someone out shooting crows.’

Kettering looked disappointed, like a child who’d been told his time at the funfair was over and that he had to go home.

‘Cheer up, mate,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once you’ve bought them you can throw as many as you want.’

‘I might do that,’ said Kettering. ‘You know what would be cool? Throwing one in the canal. I bet there’d be one hel of a splash.’

‘So we have a deal?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Fuck, yeah,’ said Kettering. He held out his hand and Shepherd shook it.

‘Cash on delivery,’ said Sharpe.

‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Kettering. ‘Give me forty-eight hours’ notice.’

‘Fancy a drink to celebrate?’

‘You know a place?’

‘There’s a decent pub a few miles from here. Don’t know if they have bubbly but we can give it a go.’

Kettering slapped him on the back. ‘Garry, lead the way. And you’re buying.’

The pub did have champagne. It was only Moët but it was cold and cost about a third of the price they’d pay in a London bar. Shepherd paid the barmaid and carried it and six glasses over to a table by a shoulder-high brick fireplace. They were the only customers inside, though half a dozen farm workers in overal s and heavy coats were standing outside drinking pints and smoking.

Shepherd popped the cork and poured the champagne. The men clinked glasses and drank.

‘So what do you think?’ asked Kettering. ‘A week? Ten days?’

‘Thereabouts,’ said Shepherd.

‘Excel ent.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Shepherd.

‘Anything but algebra,’ said Kettering. ‘I was always crap at algebra.’

‘Why do you need so many guns? And the grenades?’

‘Do you always ask your customers what they’re going to do with the stuff they buy?’ asked Kettering.

‘It’s not every day that I sel forty AK-47s.’ He shrugged. ‘If you don’t want to tel me that’s fine. I’m just interested, that’s al .’

‘Best you don’t know,’ said Thompson.

‘He’s right,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once we know, we’re accessories before the fact.’

‘You a lawyer, James?’ asked Kettering.

‘I’ve known a few in my time,’ said Sharpe.

‘You’re not planning a race war or something, are you?’ asked Shepherd.

Kettering stiffened and he stared at Shepherd with unblinking blue eyes. ‘What makes you say that, Garry?’ he said quietly.

‘Yeah, come on, that’s a bit personal, innit?’ said Sharpe.

Shepherd ignored his partner. He knew he was pushing it, but Button wanted to know what Kettering and Thompson were up to and the best way of getting that information was from the horse’s mouth. ‘We met you through Ian, and Ian’s as BNP as they come, isn’t he? Kil the blacks, gas the Jews and burn the Pakis. England for whites only and al that. So when he first said that you and Paul wanted a meet, we natural y assumed . . .’

‘That we were going out to shoot niggers and Pakis?’

Shepherd shrugged again. ‘You can see why,’ he said. ‘But then we saw you with Conteh at the boxing and we didn’t know what to think.’

‘Leave me out of this,’ said Sharpe. ‘I couldn’t care less what you’re doing with the guns, so long as your money’s good.’ He flashed Shepherd a warning look but Shepherd pretended not to notice.

‘Let me get this straight,’ said Kettering. ‘You don’t think I should have said hel o to John Conteh, one of the biggest characters in the world of boxing, because he’s black?’

‘No, I’m not saying that,’ said Shepherd. ‘But Ian said you were, you know, in the EDL and al that.’

‘Yeah, I’m a patriot, Garry. We al should be. Family, friends and country, that’s real y al that matters in life. But being a patriot isn’t about colour.

It’s about country. You heard Conteh speak that night; he’s as Liverpool as they come and as British as you and me. I’ve plenty of black friends, Garry. And I’ve been with my share of black birds.’

Thompson smirked. ‘I can vouch for that.’

Sean and Roger nodded. ‘He is a sucker for that old black magic,’ said Roger.

‘So none of that racist nonsense, okay?’ said Kettering. ‘I know Ian’s ful of it and that’s why we don’t hang out with him too much. He’s a good guy and that and we have a laugh but he’s not one of us and never wil be.’

‘Message received and understood,’ said Shepherd.

‘Now don’t get me wrong,’ said Kettering. ‘The ones that are flooding into this country, they’re the ones that should be sent packing. I get as annoyed as anyone at these families from the arse end of nowhere who are given mansions to stay in and benefits and LCD TVs and al the trimmings. Them I would put up against a wal and shoot. But it’s not them that’s the problem. It’s the bastards that are ruining our country that are the ones to blame.’ He drained his glass and Shepherd refil ed it for him.

‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Shepherd. ‘The politicians?’

‘You know who I mean, Garry,’ continued Kettering. ‘They want to control us al , they want us to be passive consumers, obedient taxpayers, working our whole lives to pay for their bloated lifestyles.’

‘What the hel are you talking about?’ asked Sharpe. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘You don’t see it, do you? You real y don’t see what’s happening to this country? To the whole of Europe? Do you think this recession was an accident?’ Kettering shook his head. ‘It’s al part of the great plan,’ he said. ‘They want to take our savings, our pensions, our assets, because then we have no choice other than to work for them.’ Sean and Roger nodded in agreement.

‘Them?’

‘The faceless bureaucrats who run our lives. The unelected elite. The men and women who control the money and make us dance to their tune.

It’s slavery, that’s what it is.’

‘An international conspiracy? Is that what you’re saying?’ asked Sharpe, leaning forward.

‘The biggest conspiracy that the world has ever known,’ said Kettering. ‘With the aim of producing a one-world government with a single currency ruled by a very smal elite while everyone else spends their whole lives being control ed and told what to do.’ He waved his glass around. ‘It’s happening already. That’s what the EU is al about. The EU and the United Nations. They’re just steps on the way to a world government. And the bastards that are running this country, Labour and Conservative alike, are helping them, working towards the destruction of Western civilisation. By mass immigration. By destroying the trade unions. By weakening the state education system to produce a population with IQs lower than that in most Third World countries. By ruining the healthcare system. By destroying our faith in the Church.’

Kettering’s eyes were wide and flecks of saliva sprayed from his mouth as he spoke.

‘They want the population compliant, like cattle. And they’ve pretty much done it. They push us and prod us and control every second of our lives, from the cradle to the grave. Someone has to bring the people to their senses, to tel them that they have to stand up and fight before it’s too late.’

‘Is that what the guns are for?’ said Shepherd quietly.

Kettering didn’t appear to have heard him. ‘We have to show the world what’s real y going on. We have to open people’s eyes. Look at Nine-Eleven. No one gave the Muslims a second thought before the Twin Towers were attacked. They were getting on with their lives, not making a fuss.

Bin Laden could see how that would be the end of his religion. If people don’t fight for something they don’t value it and they don’t complain when it gets taken away from them. So he ignited a fire that has continued to burn. And when Bush and Blair invaded Afghanistan and Iraq they fanned the flames. Now look just how strong and united the Muslims are. The world is scared of them. Look at how our own government bends over backwards to accommodate them. Wel , it’s time for the British people to stand up and inspire that same fear. It’s time that the world respected us again.’