Rough Justice (27 page)

‘To watch,’ said Liam. ‘It’ll be good exercise.’

‘Providing she stays on the lead,’ said Shepherd. He stood up and shouldered his rucksack. ‘And clean your room before I get back.’

Liam saluted. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said sarcastically.

Shepherd drove to the SAS barracks. He showed his SOCA identification to a uniformed guard, who checked his name against a printed list and waved him through. The Major’s Jaguar was parked at the side of the indoor firing range. Shepherd left his rucksack on the passenger seat and pushed through the double doors. He flinched at the crack-crack-crack of a carbine. The Major had the weapon to his shoulder, aiming at a paper terrorist target. He fired another three quick shots and Shepherd wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell of cordite.

The Major lowered his weapon and faced Shepherd. He grinned as he took off his bright orange ear protectors. ‘Spider, good to see you.’

‘Good to see you too, boss,’ said Shepherd. The Major transferred the carbine to his left hand and the two men shook hands.

The Major was wearing a black Adidas tracksuit and well-worn Puma running shoes. He grinned when he saw Shepherd’s boots. ‘Old habits die hard, huh?’

‘I figure the times in my life when I’ve really needed to run I’ve always been wearing shoes or boots,’ said Shepherd. ‘Makes sense to train that way.’

‘Rather you than me,’ said the Major. He handed the carbine to Shepherd and picked up a similar one. ‘What do you think?’ he asked.

Shepherd hefted the weapon. ‘Looks like an HK416,’ he said.

‘Well spotted,’ said the Major. ‘But it’s not out of Oberndorf. That’s the MR556 made in Newington, New Hampshire.’

‘They’re making Hecklers in the States now?’

‘Have been since 2008,’ said the Major. ‘They started with the HK45 pistol but now they’ve moved into rifles.’ He gestured with the one he was holding. ‘This is the MR762, based on the HK417.’

‘Why would anyone want to buy guns like these?’

‘Because civilians will soon be buying them in the good old U S of A, which means that before long the gangbangers over here will be waving them around. The powers-that-be want a report, which, no doubt, will be filed away and forgotten about.’

‘Why would anyone want to buy an HK416?’

‘For hunting, apparently.’

Shepherd grinned. ‘Yeah, you’d want to go after deer with one of these. Don’t they have enough guns in America?’

‘Apparently not,’ said the Major. ‘At least it can’t be fired on fully automatic. But as to them being manufactured in the States, it’s only fair to point out that the HK416 was just an improved version of Colt’s M4 carbine in the first place. Delta Force helped Heckler develop the new carbine and they were among the first to use it. The big difference between the HK416 and what you’re holding is that the HK416 comes as a complete firearm or as an upper receiver kit that fits onto any AR-15 type lower receiver. The civilian version is only available as a complete weapon.’

‘Special Forces wannabes are going to be buying them, right?’

‘And other assorted nutters,’ said the Major. ‘Do you want to fire off a few, tell me what you think?’

Shepherd nodded and pulled on a pair of ear protectors. He fired half a dozen shots at a paper terrorist target at the far end of the range. The Major monitored his progress through a pair of binoculars, and nodded his approval. ‘You’re low and to the right but you could cover them with a coffee cup,’ he said.

‘The sights are probably off,’ said Shepherd, removing his ear protectors and placing them on a metal table.

‘Probably,’ agreed the Major.

‘I wouldn’t have thought the cops would be happy about villains getting hold of these.’

‘Not much they can do about it. As soon as they go on sale in the States some bright spark will find a way of getting them over here.’

‘I suppose their one saving grace is that they’re so big they can’t be hidden.’

‘Yeah, but imagine what would happen if a few Muslim hotheads got hold of them and laid siege to a shopping mall or a hotel. You could kill a lot of people with a weapon like this – in a very short space of time. Five reckon it’s only a matter of time before we get a Mumbai situation in the UK.’ Shepherd made the weapon safe and placed it on the table next to the ear protectors. The Major did the same with his gun. ‘Ready for your run?’ asked the Major.

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.

‘Please don’t tell me you brought your bricks with you,’ said the Major, as they walked outside.

Shepherd opened the CRV and picked up his rucksack. ‘Habit,’ he said. ‘Doesn’t feel right without it.’

‘At my age, I’m happy enough to do a few miles without having a cardiac episode.’

Shepherd grinned as he slung on the rucksack. The Major might be a decade older than himself, but he was still fitter than most men half his age. He slammed the car door. ‘Five miles?’ he said. ‘Or ten?’

‘How about I meet you halfway? Seven and a half.’ The Major winked and sprinted down the road towards the guardhouse. Shepherd hared after him. The Major vaulted over the red and white pole and headed to the right.

Shepherd ran around the pole and hurtled after him, running at full pelt. The rucksack banged against his back and he knew he wouldn’t be able to catch up while the Major maintained his breakneck pace, so he settled down to match him stride for stride. After fifteen minutes the Major left the road, leaped over a ditch and raced through a patch of woodland. Shepherd followed. The Major glanced over his shoulder and grinned. Shepherd grinned back but his chest was aching and his feet were starting to hurt. He kept a close eye on the ground, knowing how easy it would be to trip over a root or slip on a patch of wet leaves. The sunlight flickered as he ran, and he ducked as a bumblebee flew close to his face. His feet crunched on twigs and he had to jump over a moss-covered log.

Shepherd increased the pace slightly and began to gain on the Major. He gritted his teeth and his arms powered back and forth, finding a rhythm that his body was happy with. Then they ran out of the trees and around the edge of a newly ploughed field. The rough soil made it hard going and both men slowed. The Major slipped and grunted as he regained his balance. ‘Careful you don’t break a leg!’ Shepherd shouted.

The Major slipped through a hedge and cut across a sloping grass field. He looked over his shoulder and slowed to a jog. Shepherd caught up with him and matched his pace. They jogged side by side for a while, until the Major started to walk. He was panting and his shirt was sweat-stained. He grinned at Shepherd, who had barely broken into a sweat. ‘I spend too much time at a desk, these days,’ he said.

‘Stamina’s just about putting in the miles,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m probably only about half as fit as I used to be.’

‘We’re getting older.’ He bent down and rubbed his right knee. ‘Remember when we’d do the Fan Dance, have a few hours’ sleep and be raring to do it again? Now my knee’s playing up after a few miles.’ The Fan Dance was how the SAS tested its recruits and involved running to the top of Pen y Fan, the tallest peak in the Brecon Beacons, fully loaded with kit and rifle, then down the other side, then back up and down again. Shepherd had no doubt that he could manage the Fan Dance, but it would probably take him at least twice as long as it had when he was twenty-five. ‘I’m going next week,’ said the Major. ‘To Ireland.’

‘How?’ asked Shepherd.

‘How?’

‘If you’re planning on flying, you have to know that you’ll be tracked.’

‘I’ll take the ferry.’

Shepherd stopped walking. They were standing at the edge of a field of rape bordered by a thick hedgerow. ‘Using what vehicle?’

‘What is this? A quiz?’

‘I just want you to be aware of the pitfalls,’ said Shepherd. ‘If the Fox brothers are killed, the first thing the police’ll do is draw up a list of everyone who wanted them dead and then they’ll check the whereabouts of every person on that list at the time of death. If you’re found to be in the North, it’ll be open and shut.’

‘They’ll need more than proximity, Spider.’

‘Once they have your name in the frame they’ll keep on looking, and eventually they’ll find something. And even if they don’t, you’d be finished, you know that.’

‘So I’ll rent a car.’

‘So you’ll need a driver’s licence and credit card in someone else’s name. Can you get that sorted by next week?’

‘Maybe.’ The Major started walking again.

Shepherd kept pace with him. ‘And what about a weapon?’ he asked. ‘Are you planning to go over with one of the HK carbines?’

‘Of course not.’

‘So what, then? Because if there’s any way of linking the weapon to you, it’ll all be over.’

‘I’ve access to untraceable weapons, Spider. You of all people know that.’

‘There’s untraceable and there’s untraceable,’ said Shepherd, patiently. ‘If you’re thinking about using a gun souvenired from Iraq and Afghanistan, then forget it, because if there’s any suggestion of a link to the armed forces they’ll be looking at you. You need a gun that’s either never been fired or points to someone else.’

‘Someone else?’

‘You take a gun that’s been used in another crime but one that isn’t linked to you in any way. Say you can get a gun that was in the hands of the IRA. If that’s the gun that’s used to shoot the Foxes then suspicion will automatically fall on the boyos.’

The Major’s face broke into a grin. ‘I like that idea,’ he said.

‘Let me talk to Martin,’ said Shepherd. ‘He knows people in the South so he might have an idea. But it’s not just the weapon, it’s everything. You have to have the Almighty with you at all times, right?’

Major Gannon ran the government’s best-kept secret, the Increment. It was an ad-hoc group of highly trained special forces soldiers from the Special Air Service and Special Boat Service used on operations considered too dangerous for Britain’s security services, MI5 and MI6. Wherever he went, he took with him a metal briefcase that contained the secure satellite phone they called the Almighty. The only people who had the number of the Almighty were the prime minister, the Cabinet Office, and the chiefs of MI5 and MI6. When they called, it was life and death and they expected the Major to answer immediately.

‘That’s true,’ he said. ‘But it can’t go to Ireland with me because it’s traceable.’

‘So is your mobile,’ said Shepherd.

‘I could switch them off.’

‘You could, but that in itself will raise a red flag,’ said Shepherd. ‘They have to stay on and they have to stay in a place where you would normally be.’

The Major nodded slowly. ‘You’re right.’

‘Of course I’m right,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s my field of expertise, remember? This needs to be thought out, boss, and planned to the nth degree.’

‘Will you help?’

‘Of course I will. But you have to let me take the lead – for the organising, at least. I need you to wait until all our ducks are in a row.’

‘You’re a star, Spider. One in a million.’ He slapped Shepherd’s rucksack and began to run. ‘Last one back’s a cissy!’ he shouted.

Shepherd laughed and gave chase.

On the way home, Shepherd pulled in next to a phone box. He dropped a pound coin into the slot and dialled the number of Martin O’Brien’s Irish mobile. ‘Hey, it’s me,’ he said, as soon as O’Brien answered. ‘Where are you?’

‘Ireland,’ said O’Brien. ‘What’s up?’

‘Can you get to a landline?’ said Shepherd. ‘A call box?’

‘Give me two minutes,’ said O’Brien.

‘Text me the number, I’ll call you,’ said Shepherd.

He went back to his CRV and sat in it until his mobile phone beeped. It was a text message from O’Brien, a Dublin number. Shepherd went back to the call box, slotted in another pound coin and dialled. ‘Why the Secret Squirrel?’ asked O’Brien.

‘We’re starting to move so I need a favour with the business in the North,’ said Shepherd.

‘Name it.’

‘We need a short, ideally two, something that would point to our friends on one side or the other.’

‘He’s going ahead?’

‘It looks like it. And it would be easier if the short came from there.’

‘Muddy the waters?’

‘He was all for taking something from home. And that would be a big mistake. Can you get me something?’

‘Time frame?’

‘The sooner the better.’

‘Yeah, I can get you a couple. Souvenired them from a cache we turned over in my Rangers days. Kept them for a rainy day.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Outside Dublin. I can get them whenever you want.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I don’t check on them every week, but they’re buried deep. And if they’d been found, I would have heard.’

‘Can you get them, check that they’ll work, then send me a text letting me know that all’s shipshape? We’ll come over on the ferry.’

‘North or South?’

‘If you’re in Dublin, we’ll come there, pick up the shorts and head North. That route will muddy the waters, too. And we’ll need a vehicle. Something unremarkable but reliable, Irish plates, buy it for cash and don’t register it. We’ll drive up and down in it and torch it in the South.’

‘And the shorts?’

‘We’ll be leaving them at the scene. If that’s okay with you. I don’t want anything to tie us in to what’s happened.’

‘Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.’

‘Has to be that way – one wrong move and he’ll lose everything.’

‘Yeah, but you can see his point, right?’

‘No doubt about that,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just want to be sure that he doesn’t get hurt, that’s all.’

‘I could get the whole thing sorted this end, you know that. I’d do it myself if need be.’

‘I know. So does he. But it’s personal.’

‘I hear you,’ said O’Brien, and ended the call.

Shepherd spent Saturday afternoon watching Liam play football with his school team. There were a couple of dozen other parents standing on the touchline, and several of the fathers seemed to be taking it as seriously as a cup final, screaming themselves hoarse, offering encouragement, advice and occasionally insulting the referee. Shepherd stood with Katra. She yelped with joy whenever Liam kicked the ball and jumped up and down and hugged Shepherd when he almost scored. She had Lady on a lead and the dog seemed as excited as she was. ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ said Shepherd, as he watched Liam dribble the ball past one of the opposition.