Black Ops: The 12th Spider Shepherd Thriller (44 page)

‘You need to keep him as close to the perimeter of the park as you can,’ said Button. ‘The parabolic mics are good but the closer they are, the better. We’ll have mics within the park but they’ll be mobile and not guaranteed.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Got it,’ he said. He stood up and walked up and down. The shoes fitted perfectly. He pulled on the coat. It too was made to measure.

‘Very smart,’ said Button approvingly.

‘What if he takes the phone and the coat off me?’

Singh passed him a small key ring. It was a metal fob with the Danish flag etched into it. ‘Put your keys on that. As you leave the hotel, press it hard and that’ll activate it. It’s good for about twelve hours. The quality isn’t great but it’s okay within a few feet.’

Shepherd looked at his watch. There was fifteen minutes to go before the agreed meeting time. ‘I should be heading off.’

Button stood up. For a moment he thought she was going to hug him but she just smiled and held out her hand. ‘Good luck.’

Shepherd was caught by surprise; it wasn’t something she normally did. He shook hands with her.

‘Break a leg,’ said Singh. ‘But please don’t break any of my equipment.’

Shepherd let himself out of the hotel room and headed for the lift.

S
hepherd walked through the park, his hands in his pockets. It was a mild day, the sky was overcast and threatening rain but there was little wind to disturb the branches of the horse chestnut, plane and birch trees that dotted the park.

He saw Smit in the distance, and at the same time recognised four of the bodyguards from his house. Two of the bodyguards moved purposefully towards him and he stopped and waited. They said nothing to him but Shepherd knew the drill and raised his hands to be searched. One of the men quickly patted him down and removed his phone. ‘Wallet?’ asked the heavy.

‘I didn’t bring it,’ said Shepherd. ‘I figured it would save time.’

The man nodded. The other heavy stepped forward, pulling a portable metal detector from inside his coat. He quickly passed it over Shepherd’s arms and legs, his front and his back, then nodded when it made no sound.

‘Are we good?’ asked Shepherd.

The heavy nodded and put away the metal detector. The two men moved to stand either side of Shepherd and they walked together towards Smit.

Smit didn’t offer to shake hands with Shepherd. Instead he lit a cigar and waited until he had blown smoke before speaking. ‘This is very unprofessional,’ he said.

‘Really?’ said Shepherd. ‘Two words. Pot. Kettle.’

The Dutchman frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me about Rob Tyler?’

Smit frowned as if it were the first time he’d heard the name.

‘Don’t fuck me around, Smit,’ snarled Shepherd. ‘Rob Tyler. Former Delta Force. The guy who had the Putin contract before me.’

Smit swallowed. ‘He became unavailable.’

‘He was shot in the face at point-blank range,’ said Shepherd. ‘And two days ago someone tried to kill me.’

‘Who?’

‘A woman. An Israeli contract killer. Maya Katz. And some other guy we’ve yet to identify. They planned to make it look like suicide. Now you tell me, Smit, why anyone associated with this contract is being attacked? What the fuck is going on?’

‘I’ve heard of Katz, but I’ve never used her.’

‘So who was using her? Has to be the Russians, right? The Russians know you’ve got the contract and they’re killing anyone you give it to.’

Smit shook his head. ‘That can’t be right.’

‘Or are you in on it? Is this some sort of plan to take out contractors? Take out the competition so that your people get a bigger share of the work?’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Smit.

‘Then what the fuck is happening, because I’m not imagining what happened to me and Tyler is most definitely dead.’

Smit rubbed his hands together, his brow deeply furrowed. ‘I am shocked. Stunned. I don’t know what to say.’

‘It’s the Russians then. It has to be. Somehow they’ve found out that you have the contract.’

Smit shook his head. ‘Impossible. I deal only with people I know and trust.’

‘You dealt with me.’

‘But you have a track record. You are a known quantity. I don’t talk to strangers.’

‘Then maybe someone on your team.’ Shepherd gestured at the bodyguards. ‘Someone close to you.’

‘My men are hand-picked,’ insisted the Dutchman. ‘I trust them with my life.’

‘Well, I hope you’ve made good choices because if you’re wrong …’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

‘You will carry out the contract as agreed?’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘No, not as agreed. Not after what has happened. If the Russians know about me then my career is over. I have to go underground for the rest of my life and that’s going to take a lot of money.’

The Dutchman sighed. ‘How much?’

‘An extra two million. And I want it now. Up front. Either that or we call the whole thing off.’

‘You can’t do this,’ said Smit. ‘That’s not how professionals work.’

‘I almost died, Smit. I almost died because you hired me. That gives me every right to walk away. If you want, I’ll do that, I’ll walk away now.’

He turned to go. The Dutchman reached out and grabbed his arm. Shepherd stopped and glared at the man’s hand. ‘Let go of me or I’ll break it,’ he said quietly.

Smit released his grip on Shepherd’s arm. ‘Look, I’ll see what I can do.’

‘You’ll have to do better than that,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s not up to me. It’s up to the client.’

‘How about this?’ said Shepherd. ‘We go and see him together. He’s here, right?’

‘I’m not sure where he is. Meeting the client is out of the question.’

‘What about this, Smit? What if the client is involved in this?’

The Dutchman shook his head, confused. ‘I don’t follow you.’

‘What if he’s a set-up? What if the Russians are using him to test the water, to find out which contract killers are willing to take a shot at Putin. He offers the carrot and the Russians kill anyone who takes the bait.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ snorted the Dutchman.

‘Maybe, but I’ll soon know once I look the guy in the eyes. I need to see him. I need to look him in the eyes to see that he’s serious.’

‘He is serious,’ said Smit. ‘As serious as cancer. His daughter died on that plane.’

‘Then he can tell me, to my face.’

‘That’s not going to happ—’ Smit’s face folded in on itself in a bloody mass and almost immediately brain and blood and bone fragments sprayed across the grass behind him. Shepherd didn’t hear the shot but that wasn’t surprising because it would have come from hundreds of yards away and from high up. Even without a suppressor the wind would have whipped away most of the sound.

Smit slumped to the ground. His right arm twitched and then went still. Smit’s two bodyguards started to run towards the body but realised immediately there was nothing to be done. They stopped and stared at Shepherd, obviously wondering if he was the one who had shot their boss. Shepherd held his arms out to the side, palms open, to show that he didn’t have a weapon. Then they started to look around, realising it was a sniper.

Shepherd stood where he was, his hands out. There was nowhere to run and no cover to hide behind. If there was a second shot it would already be on its way. He wouldn’t hear it, the round would just blast through his head exactly as it had done with the Dutchman. It would be a messy death but a quick one. He doubted that Smit had felt a thing. Alive one second, dead the next. Shepherd realised he was holding his breath, bracing himself for a bullet travelling faster than the speed of sound. He exhaled. A second passed. Then another.

Off to his right, a woman screamed. He looked over in her direction, wondering if someone else had been shot, but she was staring at the body of the Dutchman, her hands over her mouth. The bodyguards turned on their heels and walked away. Shepherd thrust his hands in his pockets and did the same.

‘
I
t had to be the Russians,’ said Shepherd. ‘Had to be.’ He took off his coat and threw it on to the bed. ‘Where the hell is Klimov?’ He was back in the hotel room. Button was there but there was no sign of Singh.

‘Debriefing his team.’

‘Like hell he is,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s on a plane back to Moscow, mission accomplished.’

‘He’s based in London,’ said Button.

Shepherd took off one of his shoes and kicked it across the room. It smacked into the wall and hit the carpet.

‘How can you be so bloody calm?’ said Shepherd. He kicked off the second shoe and it also hit the wall, harder this time.

‘I’m guessing it’s because a man wasn’t shot to death in front of me,’ she said. ‘It’s a shock.’

‘Damn right it’s a shock,’ said Shepherd. ‘One hell of a shock for Smit. Why didn’t you see this coming?’

‘Dan, we don’t know this has anything to do with the Russians.’

‘Oh, come on. Who else would have wanted Smit dead?’

‘He hires contract killers – can you imagine how many enemies he must have made over the years?’

‘And how many would have known he was going to be in Vondelpark today? And had enough time to get a sniper in place?’

‘I accept the Russians are a possibility,’ said Button. ‘But we’re going to need proof before we start slinging mud around. I’ll talk to Klimov.’

Shepherd shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why are you defending him, Charlie? He’s already tried to have me killed and he’s just murdered a man in public.’

‘I hardly think he pulled the trigger,’ said Button. Shepherd opened his mouth to reply but she held up a hand to silence him. ‘I’ll find Klimov and talk to him,’ she said. ‘You stay here until Amar comes for his equipment then head back to London. The job’s over. Done. Finished. Putin’s visit can go ahead as planned.’

‘So all’s well that ends well,’ said Shepherd, sarcastically.

‘Don’t start giving me grief over this,’ said Button as she headed for the door. ‘I’ll talk to Klimov, I’ll make enquiries, and we’ll talk again when our heads are clearer.’

‘My head is perfectly clear,’ said Shepherd. He pulled open the minibar and grabbed two whiskey miniatures.

‘You need to talk to Caroline Stockmann.’

‘I’m fine,’ said Shepherd. He twisted the tops of the bottles and poured them into a glass.

‘Fine or not, your biannual psych evaluation is due. I’ll arrange it.’

Shepherd shrugged but didn’t say anything. He turned his back on her and drank as he looked out over the street below. Button let herself out.

C
harlotte Button walked out of the lift, across the reception area and through the revolving door that led outside. It was almost eight o’clock and home was at least an hour’s drive away. She stood on the pavement trying to decide whether she should go straight home and cook or if she’d be better off grabbing a bite to eat in London. Lunch had been a Marks and Spencer sandwich at her desk. With the threat level at critical, long lunches were few and far between.

‘Ms Button?’

She looked around, frowning. There were two men standing behind her, big men with the look of former soldiers. Close-cropped hair and rugged jaws but with thickening waistlines that their large coats couldn’t conceal, which suggested it had been a few years since they had left the military.

‘Yes?’

‘You’re to come with us,’ they said.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

The man who’d spoken looked pained. ‘Please don’t make this difficult for us, Ms Button,’ he said. ‘We really don’t need any grief.’

The two men had made no attempt to identify themselves, which meant they weren’t police officers, or even Special Branch. But she didn’t recognise their faces so they almost certainly didn’t work out of Thames House.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

‘Somewhere quiet where we won’t be disturbed,’ said the man.

There were two CCTV cameras covering the area and Button looked up at one, wondering who was watching her being picked up. ‘And under whose orders is this happening?’

‘The DG,’ said the man. He took out a mobile phone. ‘I’m under orders to call him if you prove uncooperative.’

Button looked into his eyes. They were blue and ice cold and he had no problem meeting her gaze. She nodded slowly. ‘If this is going to take some time, I’d be grateful if we could pick up a coffee and something to eat,’ she said.

‘That won’t be a problem, ma’am.’ He gestured for her to walk along the pavement. ‘We have a car waiting.’

‘I don’t suppose you can tell me what this is about.’

‘I don’t know, ma’am. I’ve just been told to deliver you.’

She forced a smile. ‘You make me sound like a package.’

The man didn’t smile back and Button started walking. The two men fell into step either side of her.

The car was a black Vauxhall Insignia with darkened windows. The only man who had spoken opened the rear door for her and then climbed in next to her. A driver sat at the wheel and the other man got into the front passenger seat. The engine was already running and the driver edged the car into the evening traffic.

The man held out his gloved hand. ‘Your mobile, please.’

Button knew there was no point in arguing so she pulled it out of her pocket and gave it to him.

The house they took her to was in Hampshire. Their route took them along unnamed roads and a single track that cut across farmland and was several miles from the nearest street lights. It was a large Georgian building set in several acres. There were three other cars parked in front of it. The man who had taken her phone escorted her out of the car to the front door. It was opened just as they reached it by a stern-faced woman in a grey trouser suit who had a holstered Glock on her hip. The man gave the woman Button’s mobile phone and then went back to the car.

The woman took Button down a hallway lined with framed landscapes to a study lined with leather-bound books. ‘You’re to wait here,’ she said.

Button smiled and thanked her. The woman left and closed the door behind her. There was a desk and several overstuffed leather armchairs. French windows overlooked a terrace, and beyond that were formal gardens.