Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller (36 page)

The discussion with the Russian had been full and frank but she was sure that he hadn’t told her everything. That was fair enough because Button hadn’t told him everything, either. She hadn’t mentioned Alex Harper and she certainly hadn’t told the Russian what Harper was doing in Germany. She had been more forthcoming about the plot to assassinate Putin, although she had insisted that at no time had the Russian president been in any danger, and nor would he be. Everything would be done and dusted long before he set foot on British soil.

Klimov had pretty much confirmed that the Russians were responsible for the killing of Rob Tyler in the States without actually saying the words. He was a lot more hesitant about discussing the attack on Shepherd in Battersea.

‘You know I can’t say anything about that,’ he had said, smiling grimly. ‘An attack on a British citizen on British soil. That could not possibly be condoned.’

‘Let’s talk about her without talking about Russia,’ Button had pressed. ‘She was former Mossad?’

‘Israeli Army followed by Mossad where she became by all accounts a very skilled assassin. One of their best, especially when a honey trap was needed. Her speciality was the Black Widow thing, sex followed by death. Then she went freelance. She’s in quite some demand. Female contractors are few and far between. I’m surprised you haven’t come across her. She has no political affiliations, she will work for whoever pays.’

‘Why, Alexei? Why on earth would a British civil servant have need of a hired killer?’ she had asked in mock astonishment. It took him a couple of seconds to realise that she was joking, and he laughed along with her.

His laughter turned into a coughing fit and for a few moments he was close to choking, but he banged himself hard on the chest, recovered and smiled. ‘Charlotte my dear, one day you’ll be the death of me, I swear.’

S
hepherd left Sharpe in the car while he went into the Leeds police station. He asked to see DS Drinkwater and had to wait almost an hour in reception before the door opened and DC Allen beckoned to him.

‘Sorry, we’ve had a targets meeting that went on for ever.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘But you’ll be glad to know that overall, recorded crime in Yorkshire is down twelve per cent, year on year.’

‘Well done you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Will they give you a gold star?’

Allen grinned. ‘The key word there is recorded. The trick to getting the stats down is to just record fewer crimes. Turn break-ins into insurance claims and don’t bother to charge shoplifters.’ He held the door open for Shepherd. ‘We’ll be using the second interview room on the left.’

The door to the room was open and DS Drinkwater was sitting at the table, engrossed in his smartphone. He didn’t look up when Shepherd entered, nor when he sat down opposite him. Only when DC Allen came in and closed the door did the detective look up from his phone.

Shepherd knew that the man was being deliberately rude but he didn’t rise to the bait and smiled politely. He had a black leather document case with him and unzipped it and took out the results of his surveillance on the minicab office, a dozen photographs in all. He placed them in front of Drinkwater who looked at them but made no move to touch them. Shepherd also had a printout with the names, addresses and dates of birth of the Yilmaz brothers.

‘These are the guys that Aidan Flynn buys his drugs from. They run a kebab shop and a minicab business that they use to shift the drugs around town.’ He tapped one of the photographs. ‘This is Yusuf Yilmaz, the older brother.’ He tapped another of the photographs. ‘This is Ahmet. It’s a tight operation, which is probably why they’ve stayed under the radar. All their drivers are Turks and from the look of it a lot of the drivers are related, by marriage if not blood.’

‘How do you know they’re Flynn’s suppliers?’ asked Drinkwater, his eyes on the photographs.

‘I just know,’ said Shepherd, figuring it best not to go into details.

‘That’s it?’ said Drinkwater. ‘That’s all you have?’

‘You’ve got details there of a major drug distribution network.’

‘No, what I’ve got here is a load of photographs of taxi drivers and allegations about two brothers who run what appears to be a legitimate business. Two businesses. A takeaway restaurant and a minicab firm. There’s no evidence of any wrongdoing.’

‘I bought an ounce of cocaine off them.’

Drinkwater’s eyes narrowed. ‘And where is this cocaine now?’

‘It can’t be used as evidence in any case, there’s no chain of custody, not one that would stand up in court, anyway. But take my word for it. You call that number and ask for Yusuf and within the hour the drugs will be on your doorstep.’

‘Yes, but a reasonably small amount. And you’ve given nothing to me that shows that the Yilmaz brothers are behind this. For all we know, they might be totally unaware of what’s going on.’

‘I spoke to Yusuf.’

‘In person?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t see a photograph of you talking to him.’

‘On the phone.’

‘So not in person. There’s no evidence that it was Yusuf Yilmaz you spoke to. And you can’t even produce the cocaine you say you bought from him. You’ve got nothing here, Mr Shepherd.’

‘Aidan Flynn buys his drugs from the Yilmaz brothers. That’s a fact.’

‘So you say. But I doubt that he’ll go into a witness box and confirm that. Look, I do appreciate you bringing this information in and I’ll be sure to pass it on to our drugs squad.’ He began gathering up the printed sheets and photographs.

‘Whoa, hang on a bit,’ said Shepherd. ‘What about Liam?’

‘What about him?’

‘Does this mean you’ll be dropping the charges?’

‘Mr Shepherd, all you’ve done here is given me rumour and supposition. I’ll pass it on to the relevant department but that doesn’t change the fact that your son was caught in possession of a Class A drug.’

Shepherd held up his hands. ‘What is it you want from me, DS Drinkwater? What do I have to do to get you to drop the case against my son?’

The detective placed the papers and pictures back on the table. ‘I need a real case, Mr Shepherd. Something I can take to my bosses with all the ducks lined up in a row. A case, open and shut.’ He gestured at the papers and pictures in front of him. ‘This is supposition. I want real hard evidence and I want it against a serious villain, not the owner of a pissy little kebab shop.’

‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. He picked up the papers and put them back in his pocket. ‘Just give me some time,’ he said.

‘To do what?’ asked the detective.

‘To put something together.’

‘I can’t wait for ever,’ said Drinkwater. ‘The Crown Prosecution Service is already snapping at my tail.’

Shepherd doubted that was true. In his experience the CPS rarely went looking for work, it was all they could do to keep up with the files that kept hitting their desk. But there was no point in calling the detective on a lie. ‘Can you give me a couple of weeks?’

‘I’ll give you one week,’ said the detective, folding his arms. ‘Five working days. Then I’ll send your boy’s paperwork to the CPS.’

Shepherd had to fight the urge to launch himself across the table and grab the man by the throat, but he forced himself to smile. ‘Okay, I’ll see what I can do.’

He stood up and gathered the papers and pictures up. Drinkwater left the room leaving Allen alone with Shepherd.

‘He’s a bit curt, I know,’ said the detective.

‘Must be a pleasure to work with,’ said Shepherd.

‘He’s a stickler for the rules and doesn’t have much of a sense of a humour, but he never puts a foot wrong,’ said Allen. ‘You know that if you’re on an investigation with Paul then every box will get ticked and every base will be covered. The CPS love him. Every case he gives them is airtight. He has a one hundred per cent conviction record and pretty much everyone he charges pleads guilty eventually.’

Shepherd put the paperwork in his pocket.

‘I’m sorry about your lad,’ said Allen. ‘If it were down to me …’ He shrugged.

‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd.

The detective showed Shepherd out. As he said goodbye at reception he gave Shepherd his business card. ‘If there’s anything I can help you with, give me a call,’ he said.

‘He’s serious about the week?’ asked Shepherd.

The detective looked pained. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Better pull my finger out, then,’ said Shepherd. He headed out of the police station.

‘How did it go?’ asked Sharpe as Shepherd climbed into the Mondeo.

‘Not great,’ said Shepherd.

B
ack in her office in Thames House, Button sipped a cup of tea and took out the photo of the passport that Klimov had given her. It was definitely a photo of Shepherd, and a recent one by the look of it. She wrinkled her nose as she stared at the photograph. ‘What the hell are you playing at, Spider?’ she whispered.

The fact that Shepherd had been in Berlin at the same time as Alex Harper was clearly no coincidence. But if it had been in any way connected to the ongoing case, he would have cleared the trip with her first. The fact that he hadn’t set all sorts of alarm bells ringing in her head.

She needed to get the passport checked but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be straightforward. She called up the departmental staff list and went through it, looking for someone who had never met Shepherd and who knew their way around the agency’s computer system. She smiled when she got to the name of Liz Calder. She had joined from university and was still at the enthusiastic stage, working long hours without complaint and always keen to take on extra tasks. Her degree was in computer science and she was near fluent in French, German and Italian. Button called her extension and asked her to pop along for a chat. Five minutes later Calder was sitting in front of Button, a yellow legal pad on her lap and her pen poised. She was a brunette with porcelain skin and wearing a grey suit and what Button was fairly sure were Gucci heels. Button had read Calder’s positive vetting report, which she had passed with flying colours, but what she was going to ask her to do wasn’t about loyalty to her country.

‘I need you to do something quite sensitive for me,’ Button began. She passed over the photocopy of the passport. ‘I need you to check him out. Criminal record, school, university, travel, birth certificate, the full Monty. But I need you to be careful. Very careful. I think there might be something a bit special about the paperwork.’

Calder frowned. ‘Special?’

‘Just a feeling,’ said Button. ‘So I need you to do all the checks once or twice removed. Use proxies, whatever you can do so that none of the checks can be traced back to you.’

‘That’s easy enough to do,’ she said.

‘You’re going to have to be really careful, Liz,’ said Button. ‘If I’m right then there could be all sorts of flags, visible and hidden. Softly, softly. For instance I’d really like to know how many passports have been issued in that name and who countersigned the original application. Also the passport is supposed to have been manufactured three years ago. I doubt that’s true.’

Calder nodded and made a note on her pad. Computer files on government databases could be flagged so that when anyone opened them, their details would be sent to whoever had flagged the file. Sometimes the flags were clearly marked but flags could also be hidden so that the file could be read without the reader ever knowing that they had been identified and noted.

‘I can’t emphasise how delicate this is, Liz,’ said Button. ‘Anything you find out is for my ears only, nothing in writing and please tread carefully.’

‘I won’t let you down,’ said Calder, nodding enthusiastically.

Button smiled and thanked her and tried to remember if she herself had ever been so young and enthusiastic. If she had, it was in another life.

‘
I
’ve got to be honest, I don’t see this working,’ said Sharpe. He and Shepherd were sitting in the Mondeo, down the road from the kebab shop. ‘He’s going to want to see the cash up front. And I don’t know about you but I can’t get my hands on the sort of money he’s going to want to see.’

‘You never know, maybe they’ll take a liking to us.’

‘Yeah, and maybe we can hitch a ride on a flying pig.’

‘I don’t have much choice, anyway. The cops say that Liam stays in the frame unless I come up with a bigger fish and they don’t think that the Yilmaz brothers fit the bill.’ Shepherd shrugged. ‘What’s the worst that can happen? He says no. And at least we’ll get a look around inside.’

Sharpe gestured at the kebab shop. ‘Then let’s get to it.’

The two men got out of the Mondeo and walked across the road. The kebab shop was fairly busy with three customers lined up at the counter and half a dozen schoolboys sitting at Formica tables as they munched on their kebabs. A heavyset Turkish man in stained chef’s whites was slicing lamb off a rotating vertical spit with a knife the size of a machete and heaping it on to pitta bread. Sweat was dripping down his face and arms and he wiped his forehead with his sleeve as he worked.

‘I could go a kebab right now,’ said Sharpe.

‘Focus, Razor,’ said Shepherd. They went over to the door leading up to the minicab office. There was a metal intercom to the left of the door with the word MINICAB written in felt-tip pen on a single button. Shepherd pressed it. There was a small CCTV camera staring down at them.

‘Where are you going?’ asked a tinny voice.

‘We’re here to see Yusuf,’ said Shepherd.

‘You want a cab?’

‘No, we want to talk to Yusuf. Or Ahmet if Yusuf’s not about.’

‘This is a cab firm.’

‘Yeah, I know. Look, we did business with Yusuf last week. Bought an ounce of Charlie off him. We really don’t want to be talking about this with me on the street, do we?’ He stared up at the CCTV camera and flashed it a sarcastic grin. After a few seconds the door buzzed and Shepherd pushed it open.

The door opened into a small hallway. There was a big Turkish man in a scuffed leather jacket standing halfway down the stairs glaring at them. ‘What the fuck do you want?’ he said. He had a gold front tooth and his cheeks were pockmarked with old acne scars. He was the size of a large refrigerator.