Spider Shepherd 10 - True Colours (48 page)

Monotok picked up his gun and pointed it at the man, his finger tightening on the trigger.

‘He’s got a gun!’ screamed Grechko in the darkness.

The man crouched, dropped the phone and reached for the gun in the holster but Monotok had all the time in the world to aim and pull the trigger twice.

The man staggered to the side and fell into the pool with a loud splash.

Monotok grinned. He took off the night vision goggles and put them and the gun back on the lounger. He picked up the flashlight and switched it on. He panned the beam around and found Grechko, crouched like a frightened animal with his back to the wall, as naked as the day he was born.

He bent down and picked up the knife. ‘Now where was I?’ he said. ‘Before we were so rudely interrupted.’ He smiled. ‘Ah yes, now I remember. I was about to kill you.’

Shepherd’s eyes were stinging from the chlorine in the pool and he blinked several times. The pool wasn’t much more than six feet deep and his feet brushed the bottom. The vest had done its job but he still patted his chest with both hands to make sure that neither of the bullets had penetrated.

The Glock was still in its holster, his fingers hadn’t even touched it before the rounds had hit him. They had been two good shots. One just above the heart, one below it. If it hadn’t been for Amar Singh’s vest, Shepherd would have died instantly.

He wafted his arms up to drive himself down to the floor of the pool, then pulled the Glock out with his right hand. The gun would still fire, he knew that there was no way that water could get into the cartridge. The only danger was if the barrel was full of water when he pulled the trigger. He kept the barrel of the gun pointed down as he braced his feet against the bottom. He would only get one chance at this so he had to get it right. He moved his left hand across to support his right around the butt of the Glock, then pushed down hard with his legs.

His mind was totally focused on what he needed to do. He had to keep the barrel down until it was in the air. He had to aim in the general direction of the killer. If the torch was back on he could make the first shot a killing shot. If the pool room was still in darkness then the first shot would have to go high and in the light from the gun he’d see the target and his memory would have to help him go for the kill with the second.

He powered up through the water and burst through the surface, his eyes wide open. He brought up the gun. The torch was on, illuminating Grechko, who was curled up against the wall, covering his face with his hands. The killer had his back to Shepherd, outlined by the light from the torch.

The killer started to turn at the sound of cascading water but Shepherd had already started to pull the trigger. The first shot hit the man right between the shoulder blades. The second was a few inches lower. Shepherd managed to get off a third shot, catching the man at the base of his spine, before he crashed back into the water.

He kicked with his legs and swam to the ladder to climb out. He crawled over to the torch and picked it up. The man he’d shot was lying face down on the floor, blood pooling around his chest.

The knife was by his side and Shepherd kicked it away and then put his Glock back in its holster.

The emergency light by the door flickered into life. Popov must have fixed the circuit, but the main lights stayed off.

Grechko got to his feet and wrapped his towel around his shoulders. ‘You killed him,’ he said quietly.

He was in shock, Shepherd knew. But there was nothing he could do for him, right now. He put his hand to his earpiece but realised it was missing.

Grechko walked over to Monotok’s body and sneered at it. ‘Call yourself a killer?’ he said. ‘Look who’s laughing now. I’m here and you’re dead so fuck you and fuck your mother.’ He hawked up saliva and spat on the body.

‘We need to get upstairs,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ll have to use the stairs, the lifts aren’t working.’

Grechko pointed at the door to the changing rooms. ‘I need to get dressed,’ he said.

Shepherd nodded and they went together to the changing rooms. There was another emergency light there with just enough glow to see by. There was a pile of towels on a shelf and Shepherd grabbed one and patted himself down, but his shirt and trousers were still soaking wet and his shoes squelched as he walked. Grechko pulled on his trousers and shirt but didn’t bother with his shoes and socks. They went to the stairwell. Before Shepherd opened the door, he warned Grechko about Koshechkin’s body. The emergency lighting illuminated the stairwell and the Russian stared in horror as he stepped over the corpse.

‘What happened?’ he asked Shepherd.

‘Knife,’ said Shepherd.

Grechko shivered, knowing how close he had come to meeting the same fate. ‘You saved my life, Tony,’ he said as they headed up the stairs.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Shepherd.

‘Anything you want,’ said Grechko.

Shepherd stopped and turned to look at the Russian. ‘Anything?’ he said.

The Russian nodded. ‘Money. Women. A car. Anything. Just name it.’

Shepherd stared at Grechko, his face a blank mask. ‘You know what I want, Mr Grechko?’

‘Just name it,’ repeated Grechko.

Shepherd nodded slowly. ‘I want to know why he wanted to kill you so badly.’

Grechko said nothing.

‘I want to know what you did to him that made him hate you so much. I want to know what drove him to kill Zakharov, Buryakov and Czernik and to go to such lengths to get to you.’

Grechko remained silent but stared at Shepherd.

‘Must have been something pretty important, yeah?’ Shepherd met Grechko’s gaze and the two men stared at each other for several seconds. When it became clear that Grechko wasn’t going to say anything, Shepherd smiled thinly. ‘That’s what I thought.’ He turned and carried on up the stairs, with Grechko following.

When they reached the ground floor, Shepherd used his thumb and code to open the door. He held it open for Grechko, who walked out into the hallway and headed for the study. ‘Where is Dmitry?’ Grechko said over his shoulder.

‘The security centre,’ said Shepherd.

‘Send him to me.’

Shepherd scowled at the retreating figure. ‘Yes, your majesty,’ he muttered. He went back down the stairs to Basement One.

He heard footsteps below him. ‘Who’s that?’ he shouted.

‘Leo,’ shouted Tarasov.

‘Is Dmitry still in the control centre?’

‘Yes,’ replied Tarasov, coming back up the stairs. ‘He managed to get the emergency lights on. Mr Grechko is OK?’

‘He’s fine.’

‘And the killer?’

‘Not so OK,’ said Shepherd. ‘No longer a threat.’

‘I’ll check downstairs,’ said Tarasov.

‘Be careful, Ivan’s down there,’ said Shepherd. ‘He didn’t make it.’

Shepherd pushed open the door to Basement One and made his way over to the security centre. Dmitry was in the briefing room, peering into a large metal panel. He looked over when Shepherd came in. ‘What the hell happened?’ he asked, frowning at Shepherd’s wet clothes.

‘I went for a swim,’ said Shepherd. He grabbed his jacket and slipped it on over his wet shirt.

‘What about Mr Grechko?’

‘He’s OK. He’s in the study. He wants to see you.’ He gestured at the fuses and wiring. ‘What’s the story?’

‘Some of the fuses have been pulled, that’s how I got the emergency lights on. Some of the circuits have been cut so we’ll need an electrician.’ He straightened up. ‘I can’t work out how he knew exactly what circuits to interfere with.’

‘He must have had help.’

Volkov was sprawled across the table, snoring. ‘Drugged?’ asked Dmitry.

‘Looks like it,’ said Shepherd. ‘Alina usually makes the coffee.’

‘She was helping him? So why did he kill her?’

‘So she couldn’t betray him.’ He nodded at the door. ‘You should go and take care of Grechko. He was a bit shaken up.’

Popov nodded at the far corner of the room, behind where Volkov was lying. ‘Your mobile phone signal should be back. There’s a jammer over there, a big one. I switched it off.’

As Popov walked out, Shepherd took out his mobile. He was showing two missed calls from a phone that had withheld its number, and one from Jimmy Sharpe. There was one voicemail message, from Sharpe, and he listened to it. It was short and sweet – ‘Call me back, you bastard.’

Shepherd went back out into the car parking area as he called him back. ‘I’ve got something on Farzad Sajadi that you might be interested in,’ said Sharpe.

‘That case is closed, pretty much,’ said Shepherd. He looked at his watch and realised that he’d missed the RV with Harper, Shortt and McIntyre. They would either have put the operation on hold or gone ahead without him.

‘He’s in witness protection,’ said Sharpe.

It was the last thing that Shepherd had expected to hear. ‘Witness protection?’

‘The whole witness protection thing is now under the control of the National Crime Agency, which is why it wasn’t showing up on the PNC,’ said Sharpe.

‘A witness to what, Razor? The bastard was in Afghanistan.’

‘I haven’t got any details at all,’ said Sharpe. ‘There’s a rock-solid firewall around the database. All I know is that Farzad Sajadi is there. There’s a number you can call where you can speak to a representative, but the problem with that is that all sorts of alarm bells are going to ring.’

‘Understood.’

‘It’s not a call I can make, with the best will in the world,’ said Sharpe.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ve done more than enough.’

Sharpe gave Shepherd the number and ended the call. Shepherd walked outside and called the number. A woman answered. ‘Good evening,’ she said, then remained silent.

‘I was told to call this number for information on an Ahmad Khan,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’ll need your name, position and ID number,’ said the woman. She sounded young and had a Home Counties accent. Shepherd gave her the information. The woman repeated it back to him. ‘And you are enquiring about who?’

‘Ahmad Khan. Now using the name Farzad Sajadi.’

‘Please stay on this number, someone will call you back shortly,’ said the woman, and the line went dead. Shepherd paced up and down. After a few minutes his mobile rang. The caller was withholding the number. This time it was a man, middle aged and with a Welsh accent. ‘Mr Shepherd?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can you confirm your ID number please.’

Shepherd repeated the number.

‘You were asking about Farzad Sajadi aka Ahmad Khan?’

‘I need to know what he’s doing with a British passport and why he’s here under two names,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m afraid there’s a limit to what I can tell you, Mr Shepherd.’

‘It’s important,’ said Shepherd. He was about to say that it was a matter of life and death but realised how clichéd that would sound.

‘I assume it is or you wouldn’t be contacting us,’ said the man. ‘The problem is that I have only a minimum amount of information on my terminal. Most of the information is protected and can only be accessed at a higher level. To protect the principal.’

‘He is under witness protection, then?’

‘That much I can certainly tell you,’ said the man. ‘He came from Afghanistan in 2003 and we prepared the new identity for him. And for his daughter, too.’

‘They have full citizenship? Their passports are genuine?’

‘Of course,’ said the man. ‘All his paperwork, and the paperwork of his daughter, is in order.’

‘Does it say why?’

‘Why?’ repeated the man. ‘I don’t think I follow.’

‘He was a Taliban fighter in Afghanistan. How does a man like that get a British passport?’

‘I don’t have that information in front of me,’ said the man. ‘What I can tell you is that there are two contact numbers on the file. One is for our own Defence Intelligence and Security Centre and the other is for the Defense Intelligence Agency.’

‘The DIA? The Americans?’

‘That’s correct. It’s a number in Washington, DC.’

‘Can you think of any reason why the DIA would be involved with the relocation of a Taliban fighter to the UK?’

‘A Taliban fighter, no. But the relocation of Afghanis with new identities has been going on for years. Usually with translators or Afghan army officers who have been directly threatened. Some politicians have also been relocated.’

‘With new identities?’

‘If their lives have been threatened, yes. It doesn’t happen often but when it does it’s because the person concerned has done this country a great service.’

‘A service?’

‘Risked their lives to save British citizens, for instance.’

‘You think that’s what has happened in Khan’s case?’

‘I’ve no way of knowing,’ said the man. ‘All I have is the information on the screen in front of me. If you want more information you will have to either contact the two agencies I mentioned, or make an official request. But I can tell you from experience that such information is rarely released. Everything is geared towards maintaining the anonymity and safety of the principals.’

Shepherd realised he wasn’t going to get anything else from the man so he thanked him and ended the call.

He tried Harper’s phone and it went through to voicemail. So did Shortt’s. Shepherd cursed. They were almost certainly on their way to the New Forest, with Khan bound and gagged in the back of the van. He looked at his watch and cursed again.

He hurried back to the control room, knelt down by the side of Podolski’s body, rolled her over and went through her pockets. He pulled out her keys and ran to her bike. The crash helmet was sitting on one of the bike’s mirrors. Shepherd pulled it on. It was a tight fit but wearable. He inserted the key, started the engine and twisted the throttle. The engine roared and he headed for the exit.

Harper gave the mobile to Shortt. They were driving through a wooded area and according to the milometer they were close to where they needed to turn off. ‘Switch it on and check out the map,’ he said. ‘It’ll show where we need to turn off.’

Shortt switched on the phone. ‘What about calling Spider?’ he asked.

‘Waste of time,’ said Harper. ‘This’ll be over within half an hour. Khan will be dead and buried and we’ll be on our way back to London.’