Live Fire (28 page)

‘I want to be a pilot,’ said Liam. ‘I want to fly jumbo jets.’

‘There’s a bigger plane now,’ said Shepherd. ‘The new Airbus.’

‘Do you think I could be a pilot?’

‘Sure, Liam. You can be anything you want. You just have to study hard and work hard.’

‘Or a footballer,’ said Liam. ‘I want to play for Arsenal.’

‘At least I won’t have to pay to send you to university,’ said Shepherd.

‘Or a rock star,’ said Liam, warming to the theme.

‘It’s good to have options,’ said Shepherd.

‘Can I have a guitar for my birthday?’

There were times when his son could be as transparent as a villain caught red-handed. ‘Sure,’ Shepherd said, laughing.

‘An electric one?’

‘We’ll go and buy it together when I’m back,’ he agreed. ‘Liam, is there a reason you phoned me, other than that you want me to buy you a guitar?’

‘Oh, yes. Katra called. She wants to talk to you.’

‘She’s still in Slovenia?’

‘Yeah. She sounded upset, Dad.’

‘Okay, I’ll call her now.’

‘She left her number for you.’ As Liam dictated, the digits stored themselves automatically in Shepherd’s filing cabinet of a memory.

‘Dad?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I miss you.’

‘I miss you too, Liam. I’ll be back soon. I promise.’ Liam cut the connection. Shepherd took a deep breath. He wanted to sleep but Katra wouldn’t have phoned Liam unless there was something important she wanted to discuss. He took a deep breath and tapped out her number. He figured that Thailand was probably three or four hours ahead of Slovenia. She answered almost immediately, and when she spoke it was obvious that she’d been crying. ‘It’s my father, Dan. He died last night.’

‘Oh, Katra, I’m so sorry.’

‘It was the chemotherapy. It just killed him.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Shepherd couldn’t think of anything else to say. It had been the same after Sue had died. Friends and colleagues had wanted to find the words to make him feel better, but there were none. When Sue had died she’d left an aching void in his heart that had never been filled, and never would be. And it would be the same for Katra. There was nothing he could say or do that would take away her pain. All he could do was show he cared.

‘Dan, it was horrible. He just got weaker and weaker and then he died. I don’t know what to do.’

‘Honey, I’m sorry. Are your brothers there?’

‘They’re with me and they’re taking care of everything, but I feel so alone even though they’re here. Do you know what I mean?’ She sniffed and he could hear her blowing her nose.

‘I do, Katra. I’m so sorry.’ He wanted to stop saying he was sorry, but the words kept tumbling out. He did feel sorry – sorry for her loss and sorry for his inability to help her – but the words meant nothing to her. After Sue’s death he had felt completely alone and it had been months before he’d been able to connect with other people again.

‘Are you still in Thailand?’ she asked.

‘Yes, a place called Pattaya.’

‘Dan, my father’s funeral is in two days. Can you come?’

Shepherd’s shoulders sagged and he put his hand over his eyes. His stomach churned. ‘Oh, Katra . . .’

‘I don’t want to be on my own . . .’ She sniffed and blew her nose again.

‘Katra, I’m sorry, I’m working.’

‘It’s just one day, Dan. I just need you with me when I say goodbye to him. That’s all.’

Shepherd took a deep breath. The combination of beer and stress was making him queasy. He owed it to Katra to be with her, but the operation was at a crucial phase. Ricky Knight was on the run and he’d only just arrived in Thailand. There was no reason for him to fly back to Europe. If the Moores found out, alarm bells would start to ring and the operation would be at risk. He had to stay in Thailand, no matter how hard-hearted that made him appear. He wanted to be with his son. He wanted to be in Slovenia to support Katra, but he had to stay in Pattaya. He had no choice. ‘Katra, I’m really, really sorry. This is just a bad time.’

‘It’s always a bad time, Dan.’ The line went dead.

Shepherd paced around the room. He understood how upset she was over the death of her father, but as much as he felt she was part of his family, he was only her employer. Katra knew little about his job and he couldn’t explain to her how important it was that he stayed in Thailand. He walked through the french windows and around the swimming-pool into the kitchen. He took a bottle of Evian water from the fridge and drank it as he went back to the sitting room. He hit redial on his mobile but Katra had switched off her phone. Shepherd groaned. She was right, of course. It was always a bad time. Working under cover meant working twenty-four hours a day, which left no time to be a father, a friend or anything else. Until the operation was over he was Ricky Knight, and Dan Shepherd had to take second place, no matter who got hurt. When the operation was over, when Mickey and Mark Moore and their team were behind bars, he’d do whatever he could to put it right. He just hoped it wouldn’t be too late.

Bradshaw walked with his shoulders hunched, the hood of his sweatshirt over his head. Kundi was on his right, Chaudhry on his left. They followed the path towards the café in the centre of the park, close to the children’s playground. Two West Indians in security uniforms were watching a group of Kosovans playing a coin-tossing game against the wall of the changing rooms.

Talwar and al-Sayed were already at the café, sitting with drinks at an outside table. ‘Get me a coffee, and whatever you want,’ Bradshaw said to Kundi, handing him a ten-pound note. He went to the table, embraced Talwar and al-Sayed in turn and sat down. Chaudhry pulled up a chair next to him. He opened a pack of Wrigley’s chewing-gum and offered it around, but no one took a piece. He unwrapped a stick and slotted it into his mouth.

‘How did it feel?’ asked Talwar in a hushed voice. ‘When you cut the dog’s throat, how did you feel?’

‘It was just like that,’ said Bradshaw. ‘Of no more significance than taking the life of a dog. Less than that. It was like stamping on a cockroach. Or an ant.’

‘I’ll never forget the blood,’ said Chaudhry. ‘It pumped and pumped, even after the head was off.’

‘The body tries to live even when there’s no hope,’ said Bradshaw. ‘It’s the nature of the animal.’

‘We should do it again,’ said al-Sayed. ‘Did you see the newspapers today? The whole world is talking about what we did.’

‘No,’ said Bradshaw. ‘It’s time to move on.’

‘But it was so easy,’ said Kundi. ‘We should take a policeman next. Or a politician. We could take an MP. They have almost no security when they do their surgeries.’

Chaudhry nodded enthusiastically. ‘I’ll slit his throat next time, brothers. I’ll do the deed.’

The two black security guards walked by, talking in their own language. The men fell quiet until they were out of earshot. Kundi came over to the table with three coffees. He put the cups down and handed the change to Bradshaw.

‘Brothers, there are others who will continue what we have started,’ said Bradshaw, pocketing the change. ‘But we’re leaders, not followers, and we’re about to take the next step.’

‘We’re with you, you know that,’ said Kundi, sitting down between al-Sayed and Talwar. He lit a cigarette, using his left hand to shield it from the wind blowing across the park.

‘We’ve proved ourselves, haven’t we?’ said Chaudhry.

Bradshaw put his arm around Chaudhry, his fingers digging into his shoulder. ‘Of course you have, brother, of course you have. You all have. You’ve done everything I’ve asked of you. No man could ask for better allies in the struggle for
jihad
. I would die for you, brothers, and I would die happily.’ He smiled as Chaudhry added his usual five spoonfuls of sugar to his coffee.

‘I have a sweet tooth,’ said Chaudhry, defensively.

‘Brother, it is a small vice,’ said Bradshaw. He sipped his coffee and smacked his lips appreciatively. ‘You know, brothers, that they used to call coffee the “Muslim Drink”? It was discovered in the ninth century when shepherds in Ethiopia saw their goats dancing after they had eaten coffee beans. From Ethiopia coffee spread to Yemen and Egypt and on to the Middle East and north Africa. From there it was taken by Muslim traders to Italy and then to the rest of Europe.’ He raised his cup. ‘And now the Muslim Drink is the most popular drink in the United States. Half the infidels killing our brothers in Afghanistan and Iraq start the day with the Muslim Drink. I wonder if they know that.’ He sipped his coffee again, then wiped the foam from his upper lip. He looked around to check that they couldn’t be overheard, then put down his cup. ‘We have the funding, brothers. And I’m confident we can get the equipment we need. Now let us prepare for battle. Let us show the infidels what we can do.’

Shepherd was doing sit-ups by the pool when his mobile rang. ‘What are ya doing?’ asked Mickey Moore.

‘Just killing time until the bars open,’ said Shepherd, mopping his face with a towel. ‘What’s up?’

‘Something we wanna show you,’ said Mickey. ‘We’ll be around in ten minutes.’

The line went dead. Shepherd wondered what the brothers wanted. They were obviously already on their way because their compound was a good half-hour’s drive from his villa. As he walked around the pool to the french windows that led to the master bedroom, he called Jimmy Sharpe. ‘The brothers are on the way over,’ he said.

‘What’s occurring?’ asked Sharpe.

‘They didn’t say. Need to know.’

‘Problem, do you think?’

Shepherd pulled a grey polo shirt off a hanger. ‘I don’t know. Nothing’s happened that could have spooked them.’

‘Nothing you know about.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’

‘Do you want back-up?’

‘Just checking in,’ said Shepherd. ‘If they were going to do me harm I don’t think they’d have called me first. What are you doing?’

‘Watching some pirate DVDs I bought on the street.’

‘Wouldn’t have thought you were a Johnny Depp fan.’

‘Pirate as in counterfeit, you idiot, not
Pirates of the Caribbean
.’

‘You do know that’s against the law, right?’

‘Hey, they’re all over the place. When in Rome . . .’

‘Just make sure Charlie doesn’t find out.’

‘I won’t tell her if you won’t. Seriously, if you need me, you know where I am.’

‘Yeah, I know. Lying in your room watching counterfeit videos.’ Shepherd cut the connection, put on his shirt and a pair of black Levi’s and went back to the pool. He heard the horn of Mickey’s Range Rover, slipped on his Reeboks and walked quickly down the path to the main gates. He used his remote control and they grated open. Mickey and Mark were both wearing impenetrable Ray-Bans. Mickey was wearing a Singha beer sweatshirt and Mark had a black T-shirt with ‘
NO MONEY
,
NO HONEY
’ written across it in white.

‘Get in,’ said Mark.

Shepherd climbed into the back and slammed the door. ‘What’s up, lads?’

‘A magical mystery tour,’ said Mark. He pressed a button on the stereo and a Rolling Stones song pounded out through the speakers, making further conversation impossible. The brothers bobbed their heads back and forth in time with the music as they drove away from Shepherd’s villa. Shepherd settled back in his seat, an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. The road behind was clear but that didn’t mean anything because there were two of them and one of him, and if there was a problem they probably had guns.

They drove along a main road and a couple of times Shepherd saw signs for Bangkok but then they turned onto a lane and drove through dusty farmland for about ten minutes. Dogs scratched themselves in the sun, chickens pecked at the ground and old women peered at the car from beneath spreading hats as they swept the areas in front of their wooden houses. They left the paved road and drove along a track. They passed a wooden shack on stilts with a rusty corrugated-iron roof that seemed deserted, then a line of half-completed shop-houses that were little more than concrete and metal skeletons open to the elements. Shepherd took a quick look over his shoulder. There was nothing behind them other than a cloud of dust being kicked up by the Range Rover.

Three Rolling Stones tracks later they pulled up in front of a metal-sided warehouse surrounded by a chain-link fence. A black Cherokee Jeep was already parked by the entrance and behind it Davie Black’s Suzuki Intruder and Andy Yates’s Harley.

Mickey switched off the engine and twisted around in his seat. ‘Someone I want you to meet, Ricky,’ he said.

‘I’m not really up for a blind date,’ said Shepherd.

Mark climbed out and opened the door for him. Shepherd jumped out and stretched, trying to appear casual and unperturbed by what was going on, but his heart was racing.

Mickey headed for the main door. ‘Come on, mate,’ he said.

Mark was grinning at Shepherd, waiting to see what he would do. Shepherd smiled back thinly and followed Mickey. He doubted they had brought him to the middle of nowhere to attack him but that didn’t make him any less apprehensive.

Mickey pushed open the door and held it for Shepherd. The warehouse was empty, except for three stray dogs sitting in a corner scratching themselves. ‘What’s going on?’ asked Shepherd.

Mickey pointed at an office unit in the far corner of the building. ‘Over there,’ he said.

The office door opened and Davie Black waved.

‘Everything ready?’ asked Mickey.

‘All sorted.’

Mickey put an arm around Shepherd’s shoulders and guided him towards the office. ‘Mickey, this cloak-and-dagger is starting to piss me off,’ said Shepherd. He felt Mickey’s arm tighten around his shoulders.

Black nodded at Shepherd and stepped to the side. Mickey took his arm off Shepherd’s shoulders and gave him a push. Shepherd stumbled into the office. Yates was standing in the middle of the room. He was holding a large revolver, pressed close to his leg. He smiled at Shepherd. ‘How’s it going, Ricky?’ he asked.

‘Been a funny old day so far,’ said Shepherd. Yates didn’t have his finger inside the trigger guide but it was the first time Shepherd had seen a gun around the Moores and it was unsettling.