Fair Game (55 page)

As soon as the car had stopped Shepherd handed his helmet to the rider and climbed off. He flashed the rider a thumbs-up and got into the back of the patrol car. ‘Hi, guys,’ he said. He pointed ahead. ‘Follow that truck.’

The car edged into the traffic again, and then moved smoothly into the middle lane. Shepherd took out the Glock and checked the action. ‘I’m Dan,’ he said.

‘Alistair,’ said the driver. He was grey-haired and in his early fifties, probably close to retirement. ‘Pleasure to have you on board.’ He seemed totally unfazed by what was going on.

‘Brian,’ said the officer in the front passenger seat. ‘What’s going on?’ He twisted around in his seat and his eyes widened when he saw the gun. He was in his early twenties with a rash of old acne scars across both cheeks.

‘Nobody told you?’ said Shepherd, putting the gun back in his holster.

‘We were just told to keep an eye on that truck ahead, the one with the green container, and that somebody would be joining us,’ said Alistair. He looked at Shepherd in the rear-view mirror. ‘Someone from the Home Office, they said, which covers a multitude of sins.’

‘We need to stop the truck and get the two men out with as little fuss as possible,’ said Shepherd.

‘That explains the Glock, then,’ said the driver, with only the slightest trace of irony in his voice.

‘We’re going to make it seem like a regular traffic stop,’ said Shepherd. ‘Softly, softly, and I’ll approach them on my own.’

‘What do you need us to do?’ asked the younger cop.

‘Absolutely nothing,’ said Shepherd.

Crazy Boy put his foot down on the accelerator and the speedometer needle pushed above fifty miles an hour. Two Knives held out the bag of khat and Crazy Boy took a handful of leaves. He was just about to put them in his mouth when a blue light flashed behind the truck and he heard the blip of a siren. Both men looked in their side mirrors.

‘Cops,’ said Two Knives.

The siren blipped again. The police car was directly behind them so there was no doubt that it was the truck that they were signalling to stop.

‘I’m going to have to pull over,’ said Crazy Boy.

‘What do they want?’

‘How the hell do I know what they want?’ said Crazy Boy. ‘We weren’t speeding. Maybe it’s a random stop.’

‘Do they do that?’

‘Who the hell knows?’ said Crazy Boy. ‘Maybe there’s something loose at the back. Just stay cool, we’ll be fine.’

Two Knives peered at the car in the mirror. ‘It’s a regular traffic car,’ he said.

‘Hide the khat,’ said Crazy Boy as he slowed the truck and indicated that he was pulling in.

‘Khat’s legal in England,’ said Two Knives.

‘Just do it,’ said Crazy Boy. ‘Let’s not give them any excuse.’

He pulled on to the hard shoulder as Two Knives shoved the bag under his seat. Crazy Boy watched in his side mirror as the rear door of the police car opened and a cop in a fluorescent jacket climbed out. The cop carefully put on his peaked hat and then walked towards the truck holding a clipboard.

‘Get the guns ready, just in case,’ said Crazy Boy.

‘You think we’ve got trouble?’

‘Let’s see what he wants. But give me my gun.’

Two Knives opened the glove compartment and took out two Smith & Wesson revolvers. He gave one to Crazy Boy and held the other one down at his side in his left hand.

The cop walked up to Crazy Boy’s window and motioned for him to wind it down. Crazy Boy did as he was told. ‘Yes, officer, is there a problem?’ He kept his gun down at the side of the door, his finger on the trigger.

Everyone in the room was looking up at the main screen, which was showing a live feed from a CCTV camera on the M25. They were looking at the truck from the rear, and even on full zoom they couldn’t make out much detail. They could see the truck and the police car behind it, its lights still flashing. And they could see a figure in a fluorescent jacket standing next to the cab of the truck, holding a clipboard.

Button was fingering the thin gold chain around her neck. ‘Please be careful, Spider,’ she whispered.

Shepherd looked up at Crazy Boy. ‘I need you to both step out of the vehicle, please, sir,’ he said, keeping his voice flat and emotionless as if he was just a bored traffic cop doing his job.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Crazy Boy.

‘I just need you at the rear of the vehicle. And your passenger. And bring with you any paperwork you have plus your driving licence and insurance.’

‘We weren’t speeding,’ said Crazy Boy.

‘Please, sir, if you would just get out of the cab we’ll get this sorted and get you and your load on your way.’

‘Get what sorted?’ asked Crazy Boy.

Shepherd kept his face impassive and his tone neutral, concealing the growing tension that he was feeling. ‘We just have to check your tyre pressures, sir, they appear to be a little deflated.’

‘The tyres?’ he said. ‘This is about the tyres?’ He spoke in Somali to Two Knives and both men laughed.

Shepherd stood to the side and Crazy Boy opened the cab door and climbed out. Shepherd couldn’t see any sign of a weapon. ‘And the passenger too,’ he said.

He walked with Crazy Boy to the rear of the truck. Drivers were braking to see what was going on. Shepherd walked Crazy Boy around the back of the truck and on to the grass verge so that the vehicle was blocking the view of the passing traffic.

‘Please stay where you are, sir,’ said Shepherd, and he walked up to the passenger side. ‘Can you get out, please. I need to see you at the rear of the vehicle.’

Shepherd reached for the door handle and pulled open the door. He caught a glimpse of a revolver and stepped back, dropping his clipboard and reaching inside his fluorescent jacket. He heard Crazy Boy shout something but all Shepherd’s attention was focused on the man in the cab and the gun in his hand. He grabbed the butt of the Glock and pulled it out and fired twice just as Two Knives was swinging his weapon up. Both rounds caught Two Knives in the neck, just under the chin, and he fell back as blood sprayed across the dashboard.

Shepherd turned just in time to see Crazy Boy reaching inside his overalls. ‘Stay where you are!’ screamed Shepherd. ‘Let me see your hands!’

Crazy Boy stared at Shepherd with undisguised hatred, froze for a fraction of a second, and then started to pull out a gun. Shepherd shot him twice in the chest and Crazy Boy fell back on to the grass, shuddered once and lay still.

Shepherd took a deep breath, then holstered his gun. He walked back to the police car. Traffic was continuing to drive by; the truck had shielded the killings from view and he doubted that anyone had seen what had happened.

As he reached the car his mobile phone rang. It was Major Gannon. ‘Can you talk?’

Shepherd walked away from the car. ‘Sure.’

‘You done there with your secret squirrel stuff?’

‘All taken care of,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll fill you in when I get back.’

‘I’d rather that was sooner than later,’ said the Major.

‘Is something wrong?’

‘I need to see you in Hereford, now.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘It needs a face-to-face, Spider. I’m sending a chopper.’

‘I’m miles away from Battersea,’ said Shepherd. ‘On the M25.’

‘I know exactly where you are,’ said the Major. ‘I took the liberty of using your GPS. The chopper’s on its way to you.’

Shepherd heard the whop-whop-whop of a helicopter in the distance. He squinted up at the sky. It was a Eurocopter Dauphin. ‘It’s here,’ said Shepherd.

‘See you soon, then.’ The line went dead.

‘Spider, are you OK?’ asked Button in his ear. Shepherd removed the earpiece and the radio and gave them to the driver of the traffic car, along with his fluorescent jacket, then he walked over to the field adjacent to the hard shoulder to wait for the helicopter.

The Dauphin did a slow circle around the Stirling Lines camp and then came in to land a short distance from a bright orange windsock that was hanging limply from a pole. Shepherd jogged away from the helicopter, bending low as the rotor continued to turn above his head.

The Major walked over from the main administration building. He was wearing a dark green T-shirt and camouflage pants, his face set like stone. He was holding a manila envelope. ‘What’s happened, boss?’ asked Shepherd.

‘She put a bomb under your car, Spider. Lisa O’Hara. Tried to blow you to bits.’

‘Liam – is he OK? Katra?’

‘They’re OK, Spider. I wasn’t about to let anything happen to them.’ He jerked a thumb towards the assault course. ‘I’ve brought them here until we work out what you want to do.’

Shepherd felt relief wash over him. ‘A bomb?’

‘Nice little number, Semtex, with a detonator wired into the ignition system.’ The Major gave the envelope to Shepherd. Inside were several surveillance photographs showing a man in his forties approaching Shepherd’s car, lying under it, and then returning to a parked car, where a woman was in the driving seat. ‘The bombmaker’s name is Eamonn Foley, he’s back in Cork now. The woman’s the one I told you about. Lisa O’Hara. The bomb under your car is the twin of the one they put under my Jag.’

‘When was this, boss?’

‘Late last night. Two o’clock in the morning, to be precise.’

‘Then why the hell didn’t you tell me when you saw me this morning?’

‘I didn’t know. I’d put four of our counter-terrorism guys watching your house. Two of them followed the car and the other two removed the device. I wasn’t informed until after you’d flown to London.’

‘You’ve had people watching my house?’

‘It had to be done, once I knew that O’Hara was interested in you.’

‘I never saw them.’

The Major grinned. ‘They’re professionals, Spider. There would have been something very wrong if they had stood out.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Now what?’

‘Now I know who the bombmaker is, I’ll take care of it.’

‘And the woman?’

‘That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’ He put his arm around Shepherd’s shoulder. ‘Come and say hi to Liam. He’s a demon on the overhead bars.’

Shepherd heard the click of a key being inserted into a lock and then the front door opened. He stayed where he was, sitting in the chair behind the door. There was no way that she would be able to see him until she was in the room and by then it would be too late for her to do anything. He doubted that she would be carrying a gun, and even if she was there would be no time for her to pull it out. He looked down at the Glock in his hand. The Major had given him the gun. It had come direct from the manufacturers and had only been fired on one occasion, during testing at the indoor range, and once Shepherd had done what he had to do it would be disassembled and destroyed.

He was wearing dark clothes and black leather gloves and was sitting in the dark. He had been in the room for six hours without moving.

He heard footsteps walking down the hallway to the kitchen and then the sound of bags of shopping being placed on the counter followed by the click of an electric kettle being switched on. More footsteps back into the hall and then the rustle of a coat being removed. Then the door was pushed open and she walked into the room. She was wearing a knee-length black skirt, a pale blue shirt and a dark blue jacket, and looked more like a bank cashier than a Republican enforcer with blood on her hands. ‘Shit,’ she said. She was about to take a step back to the door when she saw the gun in his hand.

Shepherd waved the Glock at the sofa by the fireplace. ‘Sit down,’ he said.

She did as she was told. He could see her looking around for something to use as a weapon, which told him that she wasn’t carrying a gun. It didn’t matter either way; now that she was sitting she wouldn’t have time to do anything.

‘Cross your legs at the ankles,’ he said.

She obeyed him.

‘It wasn’t personal,’ she said.

‘I’m not sure that’s true.’

‘You attacked us. You killed two of our people. I’m sure you’d say that wasn’t personal either.’ Her voice was calm and measured with hardly any trace of the stress that she was under. Shepherd knew that her adrenal glands would have gone into overdrive and that she’d be geared up for flight or fight, but that wasn’t going to happen. And with her legs crossed she wouldn’t be able to spring at him.

‘OK if I smoke?’

‘Where are your cigarettes?’

‘Right-hand jacket pocket.’

‘Knock yourself out,’ said Shepherd. ‘But move very slowly and if you pull out anything that looks remotely like a weapon you’re dead.’

She nodded and slowly took out a packet of Rothmans. ‘I’ve a lighter in my pocket, too. Gold.’

‘Gold?’

‘Gold plated. It was a gift from my father.’

‘Take it out nice and slowly,’ said Shepherd. ‘No sudden movements.’

O’Hara took the lighter out, flashed him a tight smile, and then lit a cigarette. She put the lighter back in her pocket and blew smoke at the ceiling, her green eyes fixed on Shepherd.

‘You attacked my family,’ said Shepherd. ‘That’s as personal as it gets.’

‘I’m a soldier in the Real IRA,’ she said flatly. ‘We’re at war with the occupying forces, of which you form a part.’

‘You attacked my son and my au pair. You put a bomb in my car knowing that they would use it.’

‘Thousands of Irish citizens have been killed in the fight for independence,’ she said. She took another pull on her cigarette and held the smoke deep in her lungs.

‘My son has nothing to do with any of this, but you made him a target,’ said Shepherd. There was no anger in his voice, he was simply stating a fact.

‘You drove the X3. It was your car. The au pair used the Honda and we left that alone. We put the bomb in the X3 and didn’t go near the Honda.’

‘And I’m supposed to be grateful for that?’

‘I’m just telling you the facts. You’re making it sound as if I was deliberately trying to kill your son, and that’s not what happened. I can understand why you want to believe that.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Because it makes it easier for you to do what you’ve come here to do. It gives you the moral high ground.’

‘And you think I need that?’

‘I do what I do because I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in a united Ireland. I believe that Britain is an occupying power that has no right to be in my country and I will do whatever is necessary to drive them out. I have a cause, and I believe in that cause. But you, Shepherd, why do you do what you do? Why did you kill those two men in Belfast? For four thousand pounds a month plus expenses.’