False Friends (40 page)

‘Just take us back. You can talk to the cops there,’ said Shepherd. He waved the gun at Thompson. ‘Back downstairs,’ he said.

He fol owed Thompson down the stairs into the cabin. ‘Down on your knees and put your hands behind your neck,’ he said. ‘While you’re at it, cross your ankles. See how you like it.’ Thompson obeyed sul enly.

Shepherd looked over at Sharpe. ‘Razor!’ he shouted.

Sharpe groaned.

‘Can you get up?’

Sharpe groaned again.

Shepherd kept the gun aimed at Thompson’s face as he fished his mobile out of his jacket. He tapped out Charlotte Button’s number with his thumb. The boat continued to make a sweeping turn to the right. Klaus stopped moaning. He crawled into a foetal bal and sobbed quietly.

Shepherd knew that he’d done a lot of damage with his fingers and that Klaus would be losing at least one of his eyes.

The phone rang and Button answered. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Al good,’ he said. ‘One dead, two under control and one who’s going to need medical attention. We’re heading back to shore.’

‘There’s a police boat heading your way. You’re sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. He looked over at Sharpe, who was starting to come round, moving his head and moaning. ‘Razor’s going to have a sore head for a few days.’

‘Wel done, Spider. I have to confess that my heart was in my mouth for a while there.’

‘I was worried myself,’ admitted Shepherd. ‘I’m just glad he didn’t go for a head shot. And tel Amar I owe him a drink. His vest was a lifesaver.’

He ended the cal and went over to Sharpe, keeping his gun trained on Thompson. Sharpe struggled to sit up. He put his hand against his temple and it came away bloody. He groaned loudly and looked up at Shepherd. ‘Who am I?’ he said.

‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd.

Sharpe grinned. ‘Had you going,’ he said, getting unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at Kettering. Blood was pooling around him on the polished wooden decking. ‘Was it him that hit me?’

Shepherd gestured at Thompson. ‘It was him.’

Klaus sobbed and his whole body shuddered.

‘What’s his problem?’ asked Sharpe. ‘Did you shoot him?’

‘Clawed his eyes out,’ said Shepherd. ‘He started it.’

Sharpe walked slowly to the gal ey, picked up a tea towel and pressed it against his wound. He looked out of a window and pointed. ‘There’s a launch heading this way with four guys in it. I hope they’re on our side.’

‘They are,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you okay to cover Thompson while I go up to the bridge?’

‘Now you trust me with a gun?’

Shepherd chuckled and handed the Glock to Sharpe. He picked up the gun that Klaus had been using. It was a 9mm Beretta and he checked that it was loaded and that the safety was off. ‘I figure you’d have trouble with the stairs,’ he said. ‘If he gets off his knees, shoot him.’

‘Wil do,’ said Sharpe.

Shepherd went up the stairs to the bridge. He was fairly sure that Thompson hadn’t been lying about the captain being unarmed but he felt more comfortable with the Beretta in his hand. He needn’t have worried. The captain had both hands on the wheel and they were heading straight for the marina. In the distance Shepherd saw a smal launch. There were four men in casual clothes standing at the prow and as the wind whipped at their jackets he caught glimpses of guns in shoulder holsters.

‘I had no idea what was going on,’ said the captain. ‘You’ve got to believe me.’

‘Tel that to the cops,’ said Shepherd. ‘I need you to cut the power.’ He pointed at the launch. ‘Those guys are going to board us.’

The captain did as he was told and the boat slowed.

‘I didn’t do anything. I just drive the boat.’

‘What did they tel you was going to happen to me and my friend?’

The captain swal owed but didn’t reply.

‘You knew they were going to kil us, right?’

‘I’m just the captain.’

‘And you knew there was a body down there?’

The captain nodded.

‘Wel , that’s the body of a cop, mate. So maybe you should just keep quiet until you’ve got a lawyer.’

Chaudhry was walking down the Strand to King’s Col ege when he first suspected that he was being fol owed. It wasn’t any of the signs that he’d been taught to watch out for, it was much more subtle than that. It was a feeling, a sense that he was being looked at that actual y made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. It happened first as he walked out of Charing Cross tube station and the feeling was so strong that he turned and looked behind him, but he didn’t see anyone who was obviously tailing him.

Chaudhry usual y cycled to col ege but it had been raining when he left the flat so he’d taken an umbrel a and made the journey by tube instead.

The rain had died down by the time he arrived at Charing Cross and it was barely spotting so he’d left his umbrel a in his backpack and made do with pul ing up the hood of his duffel coat.

He shivered again as he passed McDonald’s, then he remembered what he’d been taught about doubling back so he did a quick U-turn and headed back to the entrance. As he reached McDonald’s door he made eye contact with an Asian man in his twenties wearing a dark-blue Puffa jacket and brown cargo pants. The man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened a fraction but then he clamped it shut, looked away and thrust his hands into his pockets.

Chaudhry forced himself to show no reaction. He went inside, joined the queue and bought himself an Egg McMuffin and a coffee and sat down at a table by the window. He pushed down the hood of his duffel coat and pul ed his tablet computer out of his backpack. As he took a sip of coffee and switched on the tablet the man in the blue Puffa jacket walked back on the other side of the road, talking into his mobile phone.

Chaudhry’s stomach was churning and he didn’t feel like eating but he forced himself to take a bite of his McMuffin, then chewed slowly as he pretended to read. The man in the blue Puffa jacket didn’t return. When he’d finished the coffee and the McMuffin he cleared his tray and headed out of the door. He stood on the pavement and looked around casual y as he pul ed up his hood again. The street was busy but there was no sign of the Asian man. He was starting to wonder if he’d imagined it. The hairs were no longer standing up on the back of his neck. Perhaps the guy had just been startled by eye contact with a stranger; maybe Chaudhry was being oversensitive.

He started walking towards the col ege, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Part of him wanted to do another double-back but he knew that would be too obvious. He checked reflections in the shop windows but the angles were wrong and he couldn’t get a clear view directly behind him.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the entrance to King’s that he had the opportunity to glance to his right, but he could do it casual y for only a second or two and there were simply too many people to register them al .

He walked inside, showing his student ID, and then took out his mobile phone. Standing with his back to the wal he pretended to make a cal .

Through the window he watched businessmen and shoppers walk to and fro, al of them moving purposeful y, getting from A to B as quickly as possible. Jobs to get to, shopping to be done, appointments to be kept. Then he saw him. His hands stil in his Puffa jacket, walking slowly and looking around as if trying to work out what went on inside the building. Chaudhry turned away and went up to the canteen, his heart pounding, the silent phone pressed tightly against his ear.

Shepherd had just returned from a run on the Heath when his John Whitehil BlackBerry rang. It was Chaudhry. ‘Yes, Raj, what’s up?’ he said, tossing his weighted rucksack on to a kitchen chair.

‘I think I’m being fol owed,’ said Chaudhry.

Shepherd was about to open the fridge door and grab himself a bottle of chil ed water but he stopped, his hand outstretched. ‘Tel me what happened,’ he said.

Chaudhry explained what had happened in the Strand and at the col ege. ‘What should I do?’ he asked.

‘First, you need to take it easy,’ said Shepherd. He could hear the stress in the man’s voice, the clipped words and the ragged breathing. ‘You’re safe where you are, so even if there is a tail nothing can happen while you’re at King’s. What about Harvey?’

‘I don’t know. He’d already gone when I left the flat.’

‘I’l talk to him,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have you got lectures al day?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘So what time would you normal y leave?’

‘Five-ish. What are you going to do?’

Shepherd sat down and took off his boots. ‘I’m going to sort this out, Raj, don’t worry. Stay where you are and just carry on as normal. I’l put together a team to watch over you when you go home tonight, then we’l know for sure.’

‘But what if they . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

‘What, Raj? Spit it out.’

‘I don’t want to end up dead,’ said Chaudhry. ‘What if this is al-Qaeda? What if they know what I’m doing? Maybe it’s time to cal it a day.’

‘Raj, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You need to relax. If there’s a tail that’s al it is, a tail. If they wanted to take you they’d have done it as you left the flat. Or lured you somewhere quiet. If you are being fol owed then you’re not in any danger.’

‘What do you mean “if”? Don’t you believe me?’

‘You’re under quite a lot of stress at the moment, Raj; you might be a bit oversensitive, that’s what I’m saying. But by this evening we’l know for sure. Until then you need to carry on as usual.’

‘I’m shitting myself here,’ said Chaudhry.

‘I know you are, Raj. But there’s no point in counting chickens. I’m on the case so you’l be fol owed every step of the way from col ege to your flat and if there’s any hint of a problem we’l pul you out.’

‘You swear?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘Raj, mate, there’s no way I’l put you in harm’s way. I promise. Now get on with being a student and keep your phone on. I’l fil you in once I’ve got everything sorted. And don’t leave the campus, for any reason, until you hear from me.’

Shepherd ended the cal . He dial ed Malik’s number but it went straight through to voicemail. Shepherd didn’t leave a message. He shaved, showered and put on a blue polo shirt and black jeans, then tried Malik’s number again. It went through to voicemail again and this time Shepherd left a message asking him to cal back.

Malik returned the cal as Shepherd was in the back of a black cab heading towards Thames House.

‘Where are you, Harvey?’

‘University,’ said Malik. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Probably nothing,’ said Shepherd. ‘But Raj thinks someone might have been fol owing him this morning.’

‘Oh fuck,’ said Malik.

‘It might be nothing – it’s easy to start jumping at shadows when you’re under pressure,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m going to get some of our people to fol ow Raj home and then we’l know one way or another. What about you, Harvey? Did you notice anything today?’

‘No, but I wasn’t looking for it. What should I do?’

‘Can you stay where you are until later this evening?’

‘I was planning to hit the library anyway, so yes.’

‘How about you stick to that? Stay put until you hear from me this evening. If we find that Raj does have a tail we’l put a counter-surveil ance team on you as wel .’

‘This is bad, isn’t it, John? We could be fucked.’

‘Or it could be nothing. We’l take it one step at a time. But if you see anything that worries you over the next few hours, you cal me straight away.’

‘Bloody right I wil ,’ said Malik.

‘Harvey, it’s going to be just fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I give you my word that nothing bad’s going to happen.’

He ended the cal as the taxi pul ed up in front of Thames House, wishing that he felt as confident as he sounded.

‘So, you a spy, then?’ asked the taxi driver.

Shepherd had been deep in thought so he missed the question. ‘Sorry, what?’

The driver jerked his thumb at the building. ‘MI5. You a spy?’

Shepherd took out his wal et and handed the driver a twenty-pound note. ‘I could tel you but then I’d have to kil you,’ he said.

‘They al say that,’ said the driver. ‘Everyone I drop here pretends to be James bloody Bond.’

‘He was MI6,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at the note. ‘Keep the change,’ he said. ‘And can I have a receipt?’

The driver laughed. ‘See, that James Bond, you never see him asking for receipts, do you?’

There was no name on the door, just a number, but Shepherd knew that it was the office of Luke Lesporis and he knocked twice before opening it.

Lesporis looked up, pushing his wire-framed designer spectacles up his nose as Shepherd came in.

‘You sounded rushed on the phone, Spider, what’s up?’ The jacket of his Hugo Boss suit was draped over the back of his chair and he’d rol ed up the sleeves of his shirt.

‘Remember the two guys I took to Reading, the ones you helped arrange the training exercise for?’

‘Sure, Raj Chaudhry and Harvey Malik, right? The guys we fol owed to St Pancras.’

‘Yeah. I need to run counter-surveil ance on Raj. He’s a student at King’s Col ege in the Strand. That’s where he is now.’

‘What’s the story?’ asked Lesporis, picking up a pen.

‘He thinks someone fol owed him from the tube station. Asian man, blue Puffa jacket, brown cargo pants.’

‘Professional, you think?’ asked Lesporis as he scribbled on a yel ow legal pad.

‘I’m tempted to say no because Raj is a complete amateur. But he might just have been lucky. He did a backtrack and almost stumbled over the guy.’

‘How long have we got?’

Shepherd looked at the clock on the wal . It was just before ten. ‘He’s got lectures al morning. We could send him home at lunchtime, or I could get him to stay in the building al day. Whatever works best for you.’

‘The latter,’ said Lesporis. ‘I’m real y pushed today. We’ve got three ongoing operations and I’ve just had to put together a rush job on a Saudi diplomat who’s arriving at Heathrow in an hour with a mil ion euros in a suitcase.’

‘If it makes it any easier he’s going to be travel ing home on the tube so we won’t need vehicles.’