Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller (30 page)

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Yeah, well we’ve got time.’

‘And it’s an MI5 operation.’

‘Mate, I think I’ve earned the right to know what the hell’s going on,’ Harper said. ‘It’s a bit late to be getting coy with me.’

‘Between you and me, right? Don’t let me down.’

‘Fuck me, Spider, it’s me you’re talking to. Who am I going to tell? I just need you to put me in the picture so I can protect myself and my team.’

Shepherd took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Harper was right. If it wasn’t for him, Shepherd wouldn’t have known about the tail. ‘This Frederik Olsen is a contract killer. They call him The Dane. No one knows what he looks like; he’s the original mystery man. Very choosy about his jobs, never misses, all that crap. He screwed up in the Gulf and is behind bars. I’m pretending to be him to entrap a guy who’s intent on having Putin killed.’

‘He’s in good company,’ said Harper. ‘That guy has enemies around the world.’

‘This is very much personal,’ said Shepherd. ‘He blames Putin for shooting down that passenger jet over the Ukraine. His daughter was on board. The guy’s mega rich and is prepared to pay whatever’s necessary to get his revenge.’

‘Is that right? He blames Putin for shooting the plane down?’

Shepherd nodded.

Harper grinned as he stamped down hard on the accelerator. ‘He couldn’t be more wrong.’

‘What, you think the Ukrainians did it again?’

‘It was never the Ukrainians. And it wasn’t a missile.’

‘You know something, Lex, or is this one of your conspiracy theories?’

Harper’s grin widened. ‘Saying something is a conspiracy theory doesn’t mean it’s not true. Some theories are true, some aren’t. Sometimes conspiracies happen and sometimes they don’t. Did you see the photographs of the wreckage? Along with those lovely shots of the local peasants looting through the luggage?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then you’ll have seen that the damage to the cockpit was side on. You could see the holes.’

‘Sure. Shrapnel damage from the missile.’

‘Except that an SA-11 anti-aircraft missile doesn’t strike side on or from below. It arcs above the target and then homes in from above. You know that as well as I do. They’re designed to target fast-moving fighter jets, so they don’t target the cockpit or the engines, they zoom in and explode about twenty metres above the target, blasting out red hot metal everywhere. The whole plane would have been peppered with holes – but it wasn’t. The damage was focused on where the pilot was.’

‘But the plane was blown apart.’

‘It was pressurised. You shoot a pressurised plane and it explodes. Bang! But the only place showing shrapnel damage was the cockpit. So how come there were holes in the cockpit? I’ll tell you why. Machine-gun fire. From a jet. Thirty-millimetre calibre, probably.’

‘Lex, why would a fighter shoot down a passenger jet?’

‘Who installed the Ukrainian government?’ Harper took his right hand off the wheel and held it up to stop Shepherd before he could answer. ‘Obama, that’s who. America pulls the strings.’

‘So the Ukrainians shot the plane down for the Americans?’

Harper put his hand back on the wheel and shook his head. ‘It was a CIA plane, but flying out of the Ukraine. The Yanks run the Ukraine and can do what they want in the country’s airspace. A CIA jet went up and Bob’s your uncle. The plane is shot down and before the wreckage even stopped smouldering the US was accusing the Russians of supplying the Ukrainian rebels with a Buk system. They get to damn the rebels and the Russians at the same time. Turned the whole world against them. It was the perfect black flag operation.’

‘And do you have proof?’

‘The damage pattern on the fuselage of the jet for one. And contacts.’

‘Contacts?’

‘I’ve a pal in the Foreign Intelligence Service. He says he knows for a fact that the CIA did it.’

‘Lex, mate, of course a Russian spook is going to say that.’

‘He’s a pal, Spider. There’s no reason for him to lie to me.’

‘Maybe he’s not lying. Maybe he believes it. But that doesn’t make it true.’

‘Suit yourself,’ said Harper. ‘There’s none so blind as those that will not see. Mate, the CIA are a law unto themselves. Just because they do something doesn’t mean the president told them to. Hell, the CIA kills America’s presidents.’

‘Your Kennedy conspiracy theory?’

‘Not just Kennedy, mate. They were full-on to kill Nixon as well.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘Okay, I’ll bite. Why did the CIA want to kill Nixon?’

‘Nixon wanted American troops out of Vietnam, he wanted to up the SALT talks with the Soviet Union, and he wanted to build bridges with China. The CIA wanted none of it so they hatched a couple of plots to assassinate Nixon and install Spiro Agnew as president.’

‘And you know this how?’

Harper leaned towards him and dropped his voice to a whisper. ‘Contacts, mate. Guys who know.’

‘More Russians?’

‘Can’t tell you, mate, but these are guys who were in the loop back then. They were all geared up to fire a missile at Nixon’s vacation home in Key Biscayne, down in Florida, until someone got cold feet. And they planned to stage a gunfight and have him shot in the crossfire.’

Shepherd laughed. ‘Oh, come on, Lex.’

‘I’m serious, mate. It was all set up to take place at an anti-war convention in Miami back in 1972. The CIA had the gun ready; they had a guy ready to do the job, but he pulled out when he found out who the target was.’

Shepherd shook his head and sat back. ‘You make me laugh sometimes.’

Harper shrugged. ‘Fine. Don’t believe me. But you’ve seen governments do enough shitty things to know that anything is possible. Look at all the lies that were told to get us to go to war with Iraq. And for what? Oil, mate. Pure and simple. That was the only reason we toppled Saddam. He had the oil and the Americans wanted it and Tony Blair did what he had to do to get us to back Bush. Shooting down a passenger jet is small fry compared to invading a country. So the guy who wants to kill Putin is after the wrong guy. If anyone, he should be after Obama.’

‘I’ll be sure to tell him.’

Harper indicated a left turn. ‘My hotel’s straight on,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m not going to drop you at the door, mate,’ said Harper. ‘Just in case the Ruskies are mob-handed. I know a quiet little bar near here where we can have a chat and you can get a taxi back to the hotel.’

‘I don’t need to go back,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll go straight to the airport.’

‘Probably best,’ said Harper. ‘What about your bag?’

‘Nothing in it I need,’ said Shepherd. ‘I travel light.’

Harper grinned. ‘You and me both.’

T
he bar was little more than a concrete windowless bunker set at the end of a car park big enough for a couple of dozen cars. There was a line of Harley-Davidson motorcycles near the entrance and a couple of battered BMWs. There was a flickering neon sign over the door with the name of the bar but Shepherd’s German wasn’t good enough to translate and he didn’t want to ask Harper.

‘It’s a bit rough and ready but at least there’s no chance of you being recognised here,’ said Harper as they climbed out of the Audi. ‘Locals only.’

‘How come you know Berlin so well?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I’ve been here quite a lot over the last couple of years,’ said Harper.

‘For Charlie?’

‘Sometimes.’

Harper pushed open the door and rock music spilled out, so loud that he felt his stomach tremble. AC/DC. ‘Highway to Hell’. They stepped inside. There was a long bar in front of them where a barman the size of a small tank was polishing a glass in shovel-sized hands.

‘Bloody hell, he’s big,’ muttered Shepherd.

‘That’s why there’s never any trouble here,’ said Harper. He waved at the barman. ‘Hey, Klaus,
Wie geht es dir
?’

‘
Es geht
,’ replied the barman dourly. He had jet black hair tied back in a ponytail and a goatee that glistened as if it had been oiled. He was wearing a black T-shirt that showed off his bulging forearms and tight black jeans. Shepherd quickly decided that ‘the bigger they are, the harder they fall’ really didn’t apply to Klaus. It would take a small army to take him down.

‘Jameson?’ asked Harper.

‘Yeah. Ice and soda.’

‘What is it with you and Irish whiskey?’

‘I got a taste for it working undercover in Ireland.’

‘North or south?’

‘Both. East and west, too.’

Harper grinned. ‘Grab a seat and I’ll get the drinks in.’

There was a pool table at the far end of the bar and the bikers had gathered around it. The youngest was in his sixties but they were all dressed like Hell’s Angels, leather jackets with a leering flaming skull on the back. Only one was drinking beer from the bottle, two appeared to be on water and the rest were drinking from coffee mugs. They looked over at him uninterestedly and Shepherd smiled, nodded, and headed for a corner table, sitting down under a framed Black Sabbath poster.

There were only two other customers in the bar: two middle-aged women in short leather skirts who looked as if they charged for their company by the hour. One had badly dyed frizzy blonde hair and the other seemed to be wearing a wig that had slipped to one side. They both smiled hopefully at him but he pointedly ignored them.

The AC/DC song came to an end. There was an old-fashioned Wurlitzer jukebox and one of the old bikers went over and chose another track. Aerosmith. He did a little soft-shoe shuffle as he went back to his friends.

Harper returned, smiling at the two middle-aged hookers as he sat down. He raised his beer mug to Shepherd. ‘Good to see you, mate.’

‘You too, Lex,’ said Shepherd. He picked up his glass and clinked it against Harper’s. They both drank, then Harper waited for Shepherd to get to the point.

Shepherd took a deep breath, knowing it wasn’t going to be easy.

‘There’s a problem, with Charlie,’ he said.

Harper’s eyes tightened fractionally, but he didn’t say anything.

‘She’s been doing some wet work off the books, pursuing a personal agenda, and she seems to have involved you.’

‘Bollocks,’ said Harper dismissively.

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about Charlie,’ said Shepherd.

Harper grinned. ‘Back at you, in spades.’

‘She’s been using you, Lex.’

Harper laughed out loud, then leaned forward and lowered his voice. ‘She’s been paying me, mate. And she pays well. I do the dirty little jobs that HMG doesn’t want you to do.’

‘Off-the-book jobs, that’s what she told you?’

‘She was always up front, Spider. The jobs I do can never be traced back to HMG.’

‘Dubai, two years ago. You killed a cop by the name of Mohammad Aslam. It was a shooting, made to look like a carjacking. You killed Aslam and one of his wives.’

Harper’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now how the hell do you know that?’ he asked. ‘Not that I’m admitting anything, of course.’

‘How do you think I know, Lex? She lied to you. The government had no issues with Aslam. He was no threat to the UK, he didn’t appear to be active in any terrorist organisation. He was a husband and a father.’

‘He was al-Qaeda, she said.’

‘He was a cop and a bent one, but he wasn’t a terrorist. Charlie sent you to kill Aslam because he was involved in the death of her husband.’ Shepherd saw the look of surprise flash across Harper’s face. ‘You didn’t know about Charlie’s husband?’

‘Her personal life is nothing to do with me,’ said Harper. ‘She hires me, she pays me, end of story.’

‘Her husband was a civilian but he was butchered by an al-Qaeda assassin. I know because I was there. I couldn’t do anything about her husband but I saved Charlie and killed the guy. She was using you to get revenge, Lex. She wanted Aslam dead because he helped facilitate an operation that ended with her husband being killed.’

‘So he was a bad guy?’ Harper shrugged. ‘No one’s going to give a shit.’

‘That’s bollocks and you know it. You could go down for murder, Lex. They could turn you over to the Dubai cops and you’d never see the light of day again.’

‘And by “they” who do you mean, exactly? You?’

‘It wouldn’t be me, Lex.’

‘Five? The Home Secretary? The PM? Who exactly is going to grass up an assassin hired by the British government?’

‘You weren’t hired by the government, Lex. You were hired by Charlie. She paid you with government money, sure, but it wasn’t an official operation. It was personal.’

‘Do you know why I’m here, Spider? Did they tell you what I’m doing?’

‘Taking out a couple of Irish terrorists.’

‘Who have been designated as valid targets, right? Targets for assassination.’

‘It’s a grey area.’

‘Fuck that,’ said Harper. ‘The government wants them dead and they’ve tasked me to do the dirty work. And the lovely Charlie was the conduit. Do you think they’re going to let me stand up in court and explain exactly how that cosy little relationship worked?’

‘We’re going around in circles here, Lex. The fact is that Charlie has been using you to exact revenge. Any protection you thought you might have had is gone. She’s in big trouble and unless you come clean now, you’ll go down with her.’

Harper grinned and shook his head. ‘Mate, you have no idea how the world works.’

‘This is from the top, Lex. The Director General of MI5 wants her gone.’

‘Yeah, well good luck with that. And who’s going to be sticking the knife in? Who’s running you?’

‘A guy called Willoughby-Brown. MI6.’

Harper nodded. ‘He’s the prick that got you in that jam last year, right? When you got caught on the Pakistan–Afghanistan border?’

‘He wouldn’t be my first choice, but you play the hand you’re dealt.’

‘I need another drink,’ said Harper. He went to the bar and ordered another Jameson and soda and a beer. A new track started on the jukebox. Bon Jovi. ‘Living on a Prayer’.

Shepherd knew that Harper was playing for time but there was no point in rushing things. He waited until he’d set the fresh drinks on the table and sat down before leaning forward. ‘You’re going to have to give evidence against her, Lex. That’s the only way you’re going to get out of this clean.’