Fair Game (22 page)

Her hand instinctively went up to her eye but she stopped herself and smiled. ‘Stupid accident,’ she said. ‘Stumbled getting out of the shower, almost knocked myself out.’ She hurried away and Shepherd watched her go. A slip in the shower might have explained the bruised eye but not the scratches on her arm.

He added a splash of milk to his coffee. One of the clerks appeared at his shoulder. It was Danny Kelly, a rabid Arsenal fan. ‘You play poker, Oliver?’ asked Kelly.

‘I’ve been known to,’ said Shepherd.

‘Tim’s putting together a game at his place. You up for it?’

‘Could be,’ said Shepherd. ‘Who’s playing?’

‘Group of guys from the office and a few friends of Tim’s.’

‘You’re not hustling me, are you?’

Kelly laughed and patted Shepherd on the back. ‘A quid to open, it’s not going to break the bank, Oliver.’

Shepherd headed back to his office, nodding hello to Annie Yorke, one of the women on Button’s list of suspects. She was in her early thirties and as far as Shepherd could tell there wasn’t a criminal bone in her body. A red flag had been raised because of a payment of twenty thousand pounds that had gone into her account but it had taken only a few minutes for Shepherd to find out that the money had been from the estate of an uncle who had died in Malaga. Annie was a pretty brunette who reminded Shepherd of Charlie Button, and she’d made it clear that she was interested in him, dropping hints about restaurants she wanted to try and films that she wanted to see. Shepherd was tempted but knew that as soon as the job was over Oliver Blackburn would have to vanish so he kept her at a distance.

He sat down at his desk and was just about to sip his coffee when his mobile rang. It was Button. ‘Are you busy?’ she asked.

‘Worked off my feet.’

‘When can you get away?’

‘Five thirty.’

‘You don’t have flexitime?’

‘I have an hour for lunch and I finish at five thirty.’

‘Sounds wonderful. Do they do luncheon vouchers?’

‘Sadly, no. What’s up?’

‘Best explained face to face,’ she said. ‘Let’s have a drink. Where’s quiet near you?’

‘Rose and Crown,’ he said. ‘Buckingham Street, around the corner.’

Charlotte Button was sitting at a corner table by the fruit machine, whose lights were flashing continuously. She had a bottle of Pinot Grigio in a stainless-steel bucket and two glasses. Shepherd walked up and sat down opposite her. ‘Is wine OK?’ she asked, holding up the bottle.

‘Wine’s fine,’ he said.

She sloshed some into his glass. ‘Had a good day at the office, dear?’

‘It’s doing my head in, frankly.’ He took a couple of gulps of wine. ‘That’s good,’ he said. ‘Someone’s knocking Candy around. Bruises on her face and scratches on her wrist.’

‘Well, she’s seeing a Somali guy, I can tell you that much. He lives in Ealing. He’s married with two kids but it doesn’t look as if Candy knows that. We’ve checked his phone records and he hasn’t called Crazy Boy but our surveillance boys are watching out for him.’

‘Maybe she’s just found out about the wife,’ said Shepherd. ‘So it looks as if she’s the mole?’

‘We need hard evidence so we’re putting a tap on her phone but it looks like it, yes.’

‘I’ll knock the poker game on the head, then,’ he said. He sipped his wine. ‘So that’s me out of the office, right? I have to say it’s about time. I don’t think I could have taken much more.’

‘To be honest I’d have been pulling you out anyway,’ said Button. ‘We’ve managed to get a bug into Crazy Boy’s house and we can monitor all his email and Skype communications and eavesdrop on anything that’s said in his study, so as soon as he targets a ship we should know about it.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘Anyway, everything’s changed. A yacht was seized by pirates three days ago sailing from Dubai to Sydney. Five people on board. They’re being moved to Somalia where they’ll be held until a ransom is paid.’

Shepherd frowned. ‘What does that have to do with us?’

‘One of Crazy Boy’s cousins seized the yacht. And one of the crew is the god-daughter of our own prime minister.’

Shepherd’s jaw dropped. ‘Wow,’ he said.

‘Yes, exactly,’ said Button. ‘Wow. She finished her degree at Oxford a while back and took a year off. She joined the crew sailing the yacht to its new owner in Australia.’

‘This hasn’t hit the papers, has it?’

Button shook her head. ‘We know about it because Crazy Boy’s uncle tipped him off. We only have the cousin’s first name, Roobie, but apparently he’s trying to make the big time now that Crazy Boy’s in the UK.’

‘Do they know about the PM connection?’

‘Not yet. As far as they’re concerned they’ve got an expensive yacht and the crew. They’ll be contacting the owner and asking for a ransom.’

‘But Crazy Boy’s not involved? Not personally?’

‘He’s talked to his uncle about it so if nothing else we can already get him on conspiracy.’

Shepherd sighed and sat back in his chair. ‘The shit’s going to hit the fan when it gets out who their VIP prisoner is,’ he said.

‘Hopefully not,’ said Button. ‘Downing Street has contacted all the editors and everyone’s playing ball, but I agree, it’s going to get out eventually.’

‘And when it does, what then? Presumably the price goes up?’

‘Presumably,’ agreed Button.

‘So what’s going to happen? Will they pay the ransom?’

‘Who? Most of the crew are regular sailors. The girl’s parents own a farm but I doubt they’ve got five million pounds.’

‘The owner of the yacht?’

‘That’s where it gets complicated, unfortunately. The yacht was being delivered to the new owner in Sydney. It’s a twenty-million-dollar yacht but he’s only paid a deposit. He’s sympathetic but doesn’t see that it’s his problem.’

‘Nice guy.’

‘You can see his point, Spider. The yacht isn’t his until it arrives in Sydney. You can’t expect him to pay a five-million-dollar ransom for something that doesn’t belong to him.’

‘What about the builders?’

Button nodded. ‘They’re in Turkey and they’ve got cash-flow problems. The yacht was being built for a Russian oligarch who ended up in prison, and a broker in Dubai did a deal with the guy in Sydney. The builders are depending on the Australian’s money to keep their business afloat.’ She smiled. ‘No pun intended.’

‘So neither the builder nor the owner is prepared to pay a ransom?’

‘The intended owner won’t and the builder can’t. The kidnappers don’t know that, of course. And they mustn’t.’

‘So what happens? Is the PM going to put up the money?’

‘The PM doesn’t have Tony Blair’s money,’ said Button. ‘Not yet, anyway. But there are political considerations.’

‘There always are.’

‘There’ve been other British citizens seized by pirates over the years and the government has always taken the view that we can’t negotiate.’

‘Yeah, like they said they’d never negotiate with the IRA,’ said Shepherd bitterly. ‘It seems they only refuse to negotiate when it suits them.’

‘I hear you, but in this case the PM really is caught between a rock and a hard place. His god-daughter is an only child, he can’t let anything happen to her. But he can’t be seen to be giving her favourable treatment either.’

‘So what happens?’

Button sipped her wine. ‘We’ve been asked if there’s anything we can do. Unofficially.’

‘Five?’

Button shook her head. ‘No, I’ve been asked unofficially. It’s bloody awkward, actually.’

‘You mean the PM wants you to do this off the books?’

‘It wasn’t the PM who approached me, obviously. But that’s the way it is, yes.’

‘It’s a poisoned chalice,’ said Shepherd.

‘That’s one way of looking at it,’ said Button. ‘The request was made behind closed doors and that’s the way it’s going to stay. We’re going to see if we can find the crew.’

‘And if we can?’

‘One step at a time,’ said Button. ‘But we’ve been asked if we can facilitate a rescue.’

‘An unofficial rescue? With what? Mercenaries?’

‘It’s been done before,’ said Button. ‘SAS members have been given compassionate leave for one reason or another while they’ve gone off to places where they shouldn’t be.’

‘That’s the plan? To use off-duty members of the SAS?’ Shepherd shook his head. ‘That could get very messy.’

‘Like I said, we take this one step at a time.’ She took another sip of her wine. ‘What would be helpful is to have you on board the ship that Crazy Boy is planning to seize. First we need to know which ship that is. If you were there when the ship is taken, you could give us intel on what’s going on. We can then follow the pirates back to shore and that should lead us to Crazy Boy’s uncle and hopefully the hostages.’

‘Two birds with one stone?’

‘If it works, yes. No one is going to query the government putting resources into protecting one of our ships, and no one is going to complain if the crew of the yacht is rescued at the same time.’

‘And you want me on board this ship? As what? A stowaway?’

‘As a member of the crew, obviously. With the officers. We’ll talk to the shipping company and clear it with them but no one on board will know who you are, not even the captain.’

‘And I let myself be taken? Bloody hell, Charlie, you’re not asking much, are you?’

‘Generally the pirates don’t kill their hostages, Spider, not if they think there’s a payout at the end of it.’

‘Just so long as you have my back.’

‘As always,’ said Button. ‘Just one more thing.’

‘Oh dear.’ Shepherd sighed. ‘I guess the other shoe is about to drop, isn’t it?’

‘I need your help putting the team together.’

‘What happened to one step at a time?’

‘If we do need to go in it’ll be at short notice, so we have to get the team primed now.’

‘And you want to share the poisoned chalice with me, is that it?’

Button smiled and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ve no right to ask, I know that. But you do know people who can help.’

‘Sure, I know people. But this is more than a favour for a friend. They’re going to need paying.’

‘I have a budget,’ said Button.

‘Off the books?’

‘It’s complicated,’ she said. ‘But I can put it through the expenses for the piracy investigation.’

‘So why not just pay the ransom and put it through as expenses?’

Button laughed harshly. ‘If only life was that simple,’ she said. ‘See who you can bring on board.’

‘No pun intended, again?’

‘I was thinking your pal Martin.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘So was I.’

‘And I’ve fixed you up with a briefing from a naval intelligence officer who’s been out in the Gulf of Aden with the multinational task force that’s fighting the pirates. Just so you know what you’re letting yourself in for.’

Hoop reached out to steady Katie as she stepped off the skiff and on to the walkway that led to the harbour wall. She was so weak that she could barely stand, never mind walk. ‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

Katie glared at him. ‘No I’m not fucking OK,’ she said, and pulled her hand away.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Katie felt suddenly ashamed for snapping at him but she knew that what she and Joy were going through was far, far worse than what was happening to the men. She’d lost count of the number of times that she’d been raped on the boat, and it had been clear from the screams and cries from Joy’s cabin that she was being attacked just as often. All the men had to put up with was the bad food and the lack of washing facilities. So far as she could tell they weren’t even being beaten, whereas the men who came to her cabin seemed to get as much enjoyment out of hitting her around as they did raping her. ‘I just want to go home,’ she said.

‘We all do,’ said Hoop.

Roobie pulled Joy along the walkway. Her hair was matted with what looked like dried vomit and her shirt and shorts were spotted with blood.

Two teenage pirates jumped out of the skiff and jabbed their AK-47s at Hoop and Katie, screaming at the top of their voices.

Katie and Hoop stepped off the walkway on to the sandy beach. In the distance there were a dozen or so single-storey cement buildings with corrugated-iron windows. Farther down the beach was a much larger jetty made of scaffolding and wooden planks where two small fishing boats with peeling paintwork were moored. The sky above was cloudless and the sun was blisteringly hot.

Katie shaded her eyes with her hands. ‘Where are we?’ said Joy, joining her. Beyond the beach was a strip of road where half a dozen pick-up trucks were parked, and on the other side of the road was a line of market stalls tended mainly by women with colourful dresses and black headscarves.

‘Puntland, probably,’ said Hoop. ‘That’s where most of the Somali pirates are based. There are hundreds of fishing villages all down the coast.’

A second skiff roared up to the wooden jetty and then settled back into the water as the engines cut out. Huddled in the middle of the boat were Eric and Andrew, surrounded by half a dozen AK-47-toting pirates.

They had been taken off the fishing boat at gunpoint and forced on to the skiffs. Joy had tried to get into the same boat as her husband but had been slapped across the face and pushed into the boat with Hoop and Katie. The two boats had roared across the sea at full pelt, heading west, for the best part of two hours until they’d seen land. Roobie had a hand-held GPS unit which had helped guide them to the jetty.

He walked over to them, cradling his AK-47.

‘Where are you taking us?’ Katie asked Roobie. ‘Have they paid the ransom?’

‘No, no ransom,’ said Roobie.

‘But you’re letting us go?’

Roobie pointed his AK-47 at a truck parked next to a steel-sided warehouse. ‘In truck,’ he said.

‘Where are we going?’ asked Katie, but she flinched as Roobie raised the Kalashnikov as if he was going to strike her. ‘OK, OK,’ she said.

Joy put her arm around Katie’s shoulder and the two of them headed for the truck. The rusting wings were flecked with reddish mud and there was a piece of rope holding the bonnet shut. The rear of the truck was covered with a dirty green tarpaulin that flapped in the breeze that blew off the sea. There were two gleaming black SUVs parked to the left of the truck. The teenage pirates fell into step either side of the two women, laughing and talking in their own language.