False Friends (32 page)

footage to see if we can spot anyone else. I’m as anti-profiling as anyone but we’re looking for young male Asians with backpacks.’

Shepherd got up and went to stand next to her.

‘Chaudhry and Malik are about to enter the station,’ said the commander.

‘We’ve got the van covered from the air, and it’s no longer a threat,’ said Button, her eyes on the screen.

Each of the screens showing the CCTV footage from St Pancras was divided into sixteen viewpoints, four across and four down. One of the shots was a view of the main entrance. Shepherd could see Chaudhry and Malik standing together.

‘If we move now we can take them down before they enter the station,’ said the commander. ‘But that window of opportunity is closing fast. If there are bombs in those backpacks . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished.

Shepherd stared at the screen. Chaudhry was looking straight at the camera, almost as if he was looking right at Shepherd; then he smiled thinly.

‘It’s okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no need to shoot.’

‘What do you mean?’ said the commander.

‘Spider?’ said Button.

‘It’s okay, nothing’s going to happen.’

‘How can you say that?’ asked Button.

‘His hood. The hood of his duffel coat. We agreed a signal: if he was in trouble he’d move his hood. His hood has been up since he got out of the van. He hasn’t done anything to it so it’s al good.’

Button and the commander turned to look at the screen. Chaudhry was looking right at them. His face was strained and he was biting down on his lower lip. ‘He’s stressed,’ said Button.

‘Of course he’s stressed. He’s stressed because he knows we’re fol owing him and the cops have a habit of shooting innocent people.’ He smiled at the commander. ‘No offence,’ he said.

‘We’re not going to get another chance like this,’ said the commander. ‘Once they’re inside we can’t use the snipers so that means we’l have to go in, and then it’s going to get very messy.’

Shepherd ignored the policeman and stared intently at Button. ‘Charlie, this is a rehearsal.’

‘Are you sure, Spider? Are you absolutely sure?’

Shepherd pointed at the screen. ‘Raj and I have a prearranged signal. If there’s a problem he’l pul down his hood. Or he’l bite his nails. If there was a problem that’s what he’d do. He’s not doing either. Harvey’s hood is up too.’

As they watched, Chaudhry turned and walked through the doors leading into the station.

‘What if he’s forgotten? What if in the heat of the moment he hasn’t remembered?’

‘He was looking at the camera,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was giving us a clear view of his face so that we can see it’s him.’

‘There’s a lot riding on this, Spider,’ said Button. ‘You have to be sure.’

Shepherd swal owed, his mind whirling. He wasn’t sure. There was no way that he could be. But if he admitted that to Button she’d give the order and the CO19 marksmen would start shooting.

‘We have a window of about two seconds,’ said the commander.

‘Spider?’ asked Button.

‘It’s okay,’ he said.

Button nodded and looked at the commander. ‘Stand your men down,’ she said. ‘We won’t be shooting anyone today.’

The commander scowled at Button as if he thought she’d made the wrong decision, but he relayed the order to his team.

Button looked back at Shepherd and he could see the apprehension in her eyes. He knew exactly what she was thinking. If he was wrong both their lives were about to change for ever. And a lot of people were going to die.

Chaudhry and Malik walked together towards the Eurostar departure area. A train had just arrived and passengers were pouring out of the arrivals hal .

‘What’s going to happen?’ asked Malik.

‘I don’t know,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Are we going to France? Are we doing something on the Eurostar?’

‘We can’t, we don’t have our passports.’

‘So why are we here?’

‘I don’t know, Harvey. Now just shut up, wil you?’ Malik flinched as if he’d been struck and Chaudhry felt suddenly guilty. ‘I’m sorry,’ whispered Chaudhry. ‘I don’t know what’s going on. But it’s not about bombs, I’m sure about that.’

‘So what, then?’

‘Wait and we’l find out.’

A fearful look flashed across Malik’s face. ‘Raj, what if it’s radioactive? What if there’s plutonium or something in the packs? It could be kil ing us now without us knowing.’

‘No one is going to kil us, Harvey. Remember what The Sheik said to us? We are Islamic warriors. Mujahideen. We are to fight and fight again, remember? We were never meant to be shahid. Only the stupid and ignorant kil themselves. That’s not us.’

‘So why won’t they tel us what’s happening? Have a look at the phone, wil you? Check it’s working.’

Chaudhry took the phone Harith had given him out of his pocket. He showed the screen to Malik. ‘See? When they cal , it’l ring.’

‘Yeah? And maybe the phone is the trigger. Maybe when it rings the packs wil explode or spew anthrax into the air.’

‘Harvey, wil you look at the bloody phone? It’s a phone, ful stop. It’s not connected to anything. It’s not a detonator. Okay?’

Malik shuddered. ‘I can’t take this much longer, brother. It’s doing my head in, innit?’

Chaudhry wasn’t listening to his friend. He was scanning the area, his eyes narrowed. ‘It’s a rehearsal,’ he said quietly.

‘What?’

‘A dry run.’ He gestured with his chin. ‘Take a look around, Harvey.’

Malik looked to his left. He saw two young Asians standing by a coffee shop. They both had backpacks similar to the ones that he and Chaudhry were carrying. Then he looked over at the entrance to the tube station just as two more Asians walked out. He saw they also had backpacks.

Timberland backpacks. ‘Are they with us?’ asked Malik. ‘I don’t recognise them.’

‘You don’t recognise them because they’re not from our mosque,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Khalid has been recruiting from al over London. Maybe the country.’

The two Asians who had come out of the tube station were deep in conversation. One of them was holding a mobile phone.

‘I don’t understand, brother. What are you saying?’

‘Nothing’s going to happen today. If it was going to happen it would have happened already.’

‘You mean it’s a test, right?’

‘I think so,’ said Chaudhry. ‘They wanted to check that we’d do as we’re told.’

As two more Asians walked from the direction of the Pancras Road taxi rank, Chaudhry’s mobile rang and he jumped. The cal er had withheld his number. Chaudhry took the cal .

‘Wel done, brother,’ said Khalid. ‘You can make your own way home now. Someone wil cal to col ect the backpacks and the phone. Al ahu akbar.’ Khalid ended the cal .

Chaudhry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘We go home,’ he said to Malik.

‘It’s over?’

‘If anything it’s just beginning,’ said Chaudhry

‘They’re walking towards the exit,’ said Button. ‘Did you see that? He took a cal on his mobile and now they’re heading towards the Midland Road taxi rank.’

‘Some of them are walking towards the tube,’ said the commander. ‘Maybe it’s the tube they’re after.’

‘No, they’re al leaving,’ said Shepherd. He pointed at another CCTV feed. Two Asians with backpacks were walking towards the Euston Road exit. ‘And here, look.’ A tal Asian was walking slowly to the Pancras Road exit, while a fat Asian hurried after him. Both were carrying backpacks.

‘He’s right,’ said Button. ‘They al got phone cal s and they’re al leaving. It was a dry run. A rehearsal.’ Button patted Shepherd on the shoulder.

‘Wel done, Spider. You cal ed it right.’

‘And if I hadn’t, Charlie? What then? Would have you kil ed them al ?’

‘If I was convinced that they were carrying bombs, and if I was convinced that they were going to use them, then of course.’

Shepherd nodded slowly but didn’t say anything.

Shepherd was just about to put the key into the lock of his front door when his John Whitehil phone rang. It was Chaudhry.

‘John, it’s okay,’ he said. ‘Were you watching? It was a test. It was just a test.’ His words were coming out so quickly that they were running into each other. ‘We were scared shitless, I can tel you. Harvey thought they were going to use anthrax or something. Then Khalid cal ed and said we were to go home.’

‘I know,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just give me a minute.’ He let himself into the flat and closed the door behind him before switching off the burglar alarm.

‘Where are you?’

‘Home,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Is Harvey with you?’

‘We’re both here. It was a dry run. A rehearsal.’

‘I know,’ said Shepherd again. ‘We were watching you. I told you, MI5 has professionals. They watched you al the way from Stoke Newington and we had you on CCTV at the station.’

‘Did you see the others? There were other brothers there.’

‘We saw them,’ said Shepherd. ‘Did you recognise them?’

‘Just one of them. The one who was driving the van we were in. Harvey had played footbal with him. But they al had the same backpacks. So you think we’re going to attack the station? Is that what it was about? Next time they’l give us guns?’

‘I don’t know, Raj. It’s possible. Did they say anything to you?’

‘They just told us to go home and that they’d talk to us soon. Someone is going to col ect the bags and the phone.’

‘I’l arrange a tail,’ said Shepherd.

‘Do you think I should open the backpack, see what’s inside?’

‘Best not,’ said Shepherd. ‘It might be part of the test.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘We wait and see what happens next,’ said Shepherd. ‘And wel done, you handled yourself bril iantly. Tel Harvey from me, you guys did a great job.’

‘I just did what they said. I don’t know what I would have done if they’d given me a gun.’

‘Let’s meet tomorrow and we’l talk it through,’ said Shepherd. ‘And wel done with the hood.’

‘The hood?’

‘Letting me know that everything was okay by leaving your hood up.’

Chaudhry didn’t say anything for several seconds.

‘You forgot, didn’t you?’ said Shepherd eventual y.

‘I’m sorry, John. I was just so caught up in what was happening.’

Shepherd laughed softly.

‘What?’ asked Chaudhry. ‘What’s so funny?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Shepherd. ‘Al ’s wel that end’s wel .’

‘Did I do something wrong?’

‘You did just fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘Let’s meet tomorrow. We can talk about it then.’

Ray Fenby used his remote to flick through the channels of his TV and sighed at the stream of dross that made up daytime television: endless repeats, banal talk shows and rol ing news. There was nothing at al worth watching. He pushed himself up off the sofa and padded over to his poky kitchen in his bare feet. The worst thing about working undercover was that for most of the time he was doing absolutely nothing. Pretty much al of the people he came in contact with had jobs, in which case they were tied up al day, or they were criminals, in which case they were usual y asleep.

Fenby’s days were spent watching television, catnapping and waiting for the phone to ring. The fact that he was based in Birmingham just added to his misery because he had no friends or family in the city. At least when he’d been working in London he could drop round and have a beer with his mates. He opened the fridge. He’d run out of milk and there was nothing there that he wanted to eat, but there were half a dozen cans of Carlsberg Special. He sighed and wondered whether it was a good idea to start drinking at three o’clock in the afternoon, final y deciding that it probably wasn’t but that he was old enough to make bad decisions. He took out a can, popped it open and took it back to his sofa. He flopped down and drank.

His doorbel rang and he frowned. His flat was on the third floor with a door-entry system at the main entrance, and he hadn’t buzzed anyone in.

He figured it was either Jehovah’s Witnesses or a cold cal er wanting him to change his electricity supplier so he ignored it. His bel rang again, more insistently and for longer this time. He put the Carlsberg can on the floor and went to his front door. He looked through the peephole. It was Kettering. And Thompson. Fenby frowned. Kettering and Thompson had never been round to his flat before, though they had dropped him off outside the building. He took a deep breath and mental y switched himself into Ian Parton mode before opening the door. He forced a smile.

‘Hey, guys, what’s up?’

‘We’re on the way to the pub and thought we’d swing by and see if you wanted a pint,’ said Kettering.

‘Yeah, sure, I’l get my coat,’ said Fenby.

He moved down the hal to get his jacket, but as he did so Kettering and Thompson fol owed him. As he turned round to look at them, a third man stepped into the hal way. He had close-cropped hair and a strong chin with a dimple in the centre. He was wearing a long dark-brown leather coat and as he reached up to scratch his head Fenby caught a glimpse of a heavy gold identity bracelet.

‘This is Mickey. He’s an old mate from London,’ said Kettering.

Mickey nodded at Fenby but didn’t say anything. He clasped his hands over his groin and studied Fenby with cold blue eyes.

‘Haven’t got any bubbly, have you?’ asked Kettering.

‘Afraid not,’ said Fenby. ‘Just lager.’

‘Not real y thirsty anyway,’ said Kettering. He took out a leather cigar case, tapped out a cigar and lit it. He blew smoke slowly up at the ceiling and smiled. ‘Can’t beat a Cuban,’ he said.

Fenby wasn’t sure what to say. Something was wrong, he was certain of that, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out what it was.

‘How about we sit down and have a chat?’ said Kettering.

The three men bundled Fenby into his sitting room and pushed him down on the sofa. Kettering sat down in an armchair while Mickey stood by the door, glaring at Fenby. Thompson went over to a bookcase by the window and began flicking through the books there.

‘So how are things?’ asked Kettering.

‘Good. Al good,’ Fenby said, nodding.

‘Spoken to James and Garry at al ?’