False Friends (46 page)

‘You can’t say that,’ said Chaudhry. ‘You don’t know.’ He put his hands over his face and swore vehemently.

Shepherd said nothing. He had to wait for the anger to subside.

Chaudhry turned his back on Shepherd and started walking down the path. Shepherd walked after him. For two or three minutes there was only the sound of their shoes squelching on wet leaves.

‘I need to see him,’ said Chaudhry eventual y.

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.

‘Today.’

‘Not a problem.’

Chaudhry turned to look at him. ‘That’s your technique, is it? Agree with everything I say? That’s your way of handling me?’

‘It’s not about handling you. I think you should see Harvey. I think he’d want to see you.’

Chaudhry started walking again, his arms folded, his head down. Every now and again he would shake his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.

They reached the old church in the centre of the graveyard. Abney Park Chapel had been an impressive building in its time, built when churches were meant to stand for centuries. The wal s were made of blocks of grey granite and the roof tiles were slate. The chapel had been closed for years and most of the lead flashings had been stolen. Vandals had also damaged many of the slates, with the result that water had seeped inside and caused so much damage that the chapel would almost certainly never again be opened for worship, especial y as the percentage of Christians in the area was declining year by year.

Chaudhry stopped and looked up at the spire. ‘How many people have died because of religion?’ he asked quietly.

‘A lot,’ said Shepherd. ‘A hel of a lot.’

‘Why is that? What it is about religion that makes people go out and kil ?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘That’s something else that’s above my pay grade,’ he said.

Chaudhry’s shoulders began to shudder and for a moment Shepherd thought that he was crying. Then he heard a throaty chuckle that grew into a ful -blown bel y laugh. Chaudhry turned round, laughing and shaking his head. ‘Pay grade,’ he said. ‘You’re a funny man, John.’ He pul ed his hood down and rubbed his eyes.

‘Just trying to lighten the moment, Raj.’

Chaudhry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘You real y are a piece of work,’ he said. ‘You know, I stil can’t think of you as anything other than John Whitehil , freelance journalist. You did a good job with that.’ He sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m ready. Talk.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘I need you to be there at five. I need you to get into the van so that we can fol ow you.’

‘They’l want to know why Harvey’s not there.’

‘You can just say his phone’s off and that you couldn’t reach him.’

‘And what if they don’t believe me? Or what if they know something’s wrong? What if it’s a trap?’

‘It’s not a trap.’

‘You don’t know that, John. Not for sure.’ He bit down on his lower lip, then shook his head. ‘I can’t get into that van on my own,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t.’

Shepherd said nothing for several seconds, then he took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Maybe there’s a way round this.’

‘Here he comes,’ said Charlotte Button, pointing at one of the twelve LCD screens on the wal . Chaudhry was walking along the pavement towards the restaurant where the van was due to col ect him. He had the hood of his duffel coat up, his head down, his hands in his pockets. He walked slowly and purposeful y.

Button looked at the clock on the wal . It was five minutes before five. They were in the operations room on the top floor of Thames House and more than a dozen officers were bent over computer screens and talking into Bluetooth headsets. Commander Needham was at his desk, talking animatedly into a headset. He turned, gave Button a thumbs-up and held up four fingers. Four more ARV units on the way. She smiled back at him and mouthed ‘Thank you.’

‘Luke, what do we have in place?’ she asked.

Luke Lesporis looked up from his terminal. ‘Two black cabs in Stoke Newington Church Street; two bikes in paral el streets; two delivery vans, each facing a different direction. I’ve got an outer perimeter with two more bikes and four black cabs al within half a mile. The other vans we identified at St Pancras are al covered too.’

An LCD flickered into life and they had an overhead view of the street. Then the screen went black and al they could see were greenish figures and red spots marking car engines. ‘We have hel y tel y,’ said a blonde woman in a dark-blue suit.

‘Thanks, Zoe. Tel them we don’t need infrared,’ said Button. ‘And to keep high – no tipping them off.’

‘Wil do,’ said the woman.

‘Luke, please tel me that we have eyes on Khalid.’

‘He’s in a terraced house in Tower Hamlets with three other men,’ said Lesporis. ‘Spent a lot of time washing his arse this morning but we had a dozen men on him so we stayed with him.’

‘Has anybody heard from Shepherd?’ asked Button. She sighed when there was no reaction. ‘Wel , somebody try his mobile again. And keep trying.’

Chaudhry had reached the Indian restaurant and stood with his back to it, looking down the street.

‘The van’s on its way,’ said Lesporis. ‘The same one as last time. The plumber’s van.’

‘Right, everyone, here we go,’ said Button. ‘We need to stay on top of this. Al the signs are that this is the real thing.’

Commander Needham raised a hand. ‘Two more ARVs en route,’ he said. Button thanked him. She had a strong feeling that they were going to be needed.

The van pul ed up at the kerb. Harith was in the front passenger seat, bundled up in a thick cloth coat and with a white wool scarf wound twice round his neck. ‘Salaam, brother,’ he said. ‘Where’s Harveer?’

‘He’s not feeling so good,’ said Chaudhry.

‘What do you mean?’ said Afzal, leaning across from the driver’s seat. ‘Is he not coming?’

‘No, he’s coming, but he was just on the toilet. He’s got the shits.’

‘Nerves,’ said Harith. ‘Probably nerves.’

‘No, he’s picked up a bug.’ He looked down the pavement. ‘Here he comes now.’

A figure in a green parka was hurrying towards the rear of the van, the fur-lined hood up, his hands deep in the jacket pockets.

‘Get in the back, brother,’ said Afzal. ‘And make sure that Harveer doesn’t throw up. This is my uncle’s van and there’l be hel to pay if I return it stinking of vomit.’

‘I’l watch over him, brother,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Make sure you do,’ said Harith, winding up the window.

Chaudhry went to the rear of the van and opened the door.

‘What the hel is going on?’ asked Charlotte Button as she saw the man in the green parka walk up to Chaudhry. Chaudhry got into the van and the man in the parka fol owed him. ‘Who is that?’ she said, pointing at the LCD screen. ‘Is that Malik? Malik’s stil in hospital, right?’

Nobody answered and other than the police commander everyone in the room avoided eye contact with her.

‘Wil somebody please find out if Harveer Malik is stil in hospital? If he is then we need to know who is wearing his parka.’ The words had barely left her mouth before she realised that there was only one person who could possibly have stepped in to take Malik’s place. ‘Has anyone managed to get through to Dan Shepherd?’ She was faced with a dozen or so shaking heads. ‘I think we now know why,’ she said.

Shepherd sneaked a look at his watch. They had been in the back of the van for just over half an hour and without windows he had no idea in which direction they were heading. When they first got into the van they had headed south but there had been a number of turns and a roundabout and now with no indication of the speed of the van he couldn’t even calculate how far they were from Stoke Newington, never mind in which direction they were going.

He was sitting on the floor at the rear of the van, facing the double doors. He was about the same height and build as Malik and provided he stayed in that position, with his hood up, the driver and front passenger couldn’t see his face. He’d found a pair of wool gloves in Chaudhry’s flat and he was wearing them to conceal his hands.

Chaudhry kept talking to Harith to keep his attention away from Shepherd, mainly asking questions about what was going to happen. Harith kept tel ing him to wait, that al would soon be explained.

During a lul in their conversation Afzal looked over his shoulder. ‘Harvey, brother, are you okay? You’re quiet.’

Shepherd grunted and shrugged.

‘He’l be okay. He’s just got a tummy bug,’ said Chaudhry, leaning forward to get between the driver and Shepherd. ‘So where’s Khalid?’

‘The control room,’ said Afzal.

Harith held up a mobile. ‘He cal ed me on this just half an hour ago,’ he said. ‘This time it’s for real, brothers. This time we change England for ever. From today onwards they wil treat us Muslims with the respect that we deserve.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘It is time,’ he said.

‘Time?’ repeated Chaudhry.

‘Brothers, it’s time for you to learn what it is that you are to do,’ said Harith. ‘Today wil be a glorious day. Today the British government wil learn what it means to betray its Muslim population. Today is the day we strike back. Today we teach them to respect us. And to fear us.’ He reached into his jacket and pul ed out a sheet of paper. ‘We are going to Westfield shopping mal . There wil be more than a dozen brothers there. This is where you need to go.’

He handed the paper to Chaudhry. The sheet was folded in half and Chaudhry opened it, then leaned over and tapped Shepherd’s shoulder with it. Shepherd took it and stared at the hand-drawn map. It was marked ‘First Floor’. There were two crosses by doors that led to a car park.

‘We wil drop you at the car park. In the crate next to you are two backpacks. They contain your weapons, ammunition, a chain and a lock. There are also ski masks so that you can cover your face. At exactly six o’clock you are to run the chain through the handles of the doors and use the lock to fasten it.’

Shepherd slowly pul ed down the zip of his parka. Underneath he was wearing his leather jacket. The Glock was in his shoulder holster, snug under his left arm.

‘Al the doors wil be locked and there wil be brothers on every level, at every entrance and exit. Then you are to begin shooting. In the backpacks are guns and pre-loaded clips. You are to shoot as many kaffirs as you can, avoiding brothers and sisters wherever possible. Do you understand?’

Chaudhry nodded. So did Shepherd.

‘You wil be on the first floor. You are to go straight inside and chain the door shut. And then begin shooting. After ten minutes you are to make you way to Marks & Spencer. You can use the internal escalator to reach the ground floor. It has its own exit, separate from the mal . As you move through the store you can drop your weapons and remove your masks and disappear into the crowds. Once outside you can make your way to the tube. There are Oyster cards in the backpacks.’

Chaudhry smiled. ‘It is a good plan, brother.’

‘Are you al right, Harveer?’ asked Harith.

Shepherd waved his gloved hand and grunted.

‘You should look at the map.’

‘I told him not to order the prawn vindaloo,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Never a good idea to go with the prawns. Get a bad one and you’re as sick as a dog.’

‘But you can do this, brother? You’re not going to let us down, are you?’ Shepherd didn’t react. ‘Harvey?’ said Harith.

‘He’l be fine,’ said Chaudhry.

Harith stared at the hood of the parka. ‘Harveer?’

Shepherd grunted again and waved his hand.

Harith’s eyes narrowed. He reached inside his coat and pul ed out a gun.

‘Gun!’ shouted Chaudhry, and he lunged forward, trying to grab it.

Shepherd grabbed for his own Glock as Chaudhry seized Harith’s wrist. Afzal looked over at Harith, his mouth wide open. Harith lashed out with his left hand and smacked Chaudhry across the nose. Blood spurted down Chaudhry’s chin but he refused to let go of Harith’s wrist.

‘What are you doing?’ shouted Afzal. ‘What’s happening?’

Shepherd pul ed the Glock from its holster and slipped his finger on to the trigger.

Harith pul ed the gun towards himself and screamed at Chaudhry to let go even though they both knew that as soon as Chaudhry released his grip Harith would fire.

Chaudhry managed to get his left hand on the gun and he wrenched it up, but as it jerked it went off and a bul et ripped through the thin sheet-metal roof of the van. The shock made Chaudhry release his grip on the gun and Harith roared and brought the gun down, aiming it at Chaudhry’s face.

Shepherd leaned back and fired two quick shots that both hit Harith in the face. The bul ets erupted out of the back of the man’s skul with enough force to smash the windshield. Blood and brain matter splattered across the dashboard.

Chaudhry sat back on his crate, gasping for breath.

Shepherd pointed the gun at Afzal’s head. ‘Pul over,’ he said. ‘Pul over now or I’l put a bul et in your head. Your choice.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Afzal, trembling. ‘I’m doing it.’

He indicated to the left, ignored the blare of a horn from behind them and stopped at the kerb. Shepherd handed the Glock to Chaudhry. ‘Keep that pointed at his head. If he moves, shoot him.’

Chaudhry nodded nervously as Shepherd pul ed out his mobile phone.

‘What just happened?’ shouted Button, frowning at the LCD screen showing the view from the police helicopter. ‘Why did they stop?’

On screen they saw a motorcycle dispatch rider pass the van and a few seconds later Lesporis twisted round in his seat.

‘The front passenger has been shot. There’s blood al over the windscreen,’ he said.

‘I have an ARV thirty seconds away,’ said Commander Needham.

‘Hold off on that, Commander,’ said Button. Her mobile phone rang and she picked it up. It was Shepherd cal ing. She took the cal and held the phone to her ear. ‘What the hel is going on, Spider?’

‘The target is Westfield shopping mal , the one in Stratford. They’re using guns, not explosives. The attack is due to happen at six p.m. They’l seal al the exits and start shooting. The plan is for the attackers to escape through the department stores because they have exits leading to the outside.’