Spider Shepherd 11 - White Lies (26 page)

The man sprang forward and slapped Shepherd across the face, hard enough to rattle his teeth. Shepherd tasted blood in his mouth and he hawked and spat bloody phlegm on to the floor.

The man screamed at Shepherd in what sounded like Arabic. Shepherd had opened his mouth to tell the man to go screw himself when the butt of an AK-47 smashed into the back of his head. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.

Charlotte Button scanned the faces of the people walking into the arrivals area, then at her wristwatch. Tazam Bashir’s flight had landed an hour earlier. ‘Maybe the baggage is late,’ said Amar Singh. ‘It’s never great at Terminal Three.’ Singh was in his early thirties and one of MI5’s top technical experts. Button sighed. ‘I just hope they didn’t give us the wrong flight. It wouldn’t be the first time,’ she said.

‘I checked the flight manifest, he was definitely on board,’ said Singh. He adjusted the cuffs of his immaculate white shirt. Singh was overdressed for the Terminal 3 arrivals area in his black Armani suit and gleaming Bally shoes. Button was wearing a long black coat and had her hands in her pockets. To her right was a line of taxi drivers and chauffeurs holding up signs with the names of their allotted passengers. Arrivals emerged from the doors to the customs area in clumps of a dozen or so. Button scanned their faces. An Air India flight had landed an hour earlier and the majority of the passengers coming through the doors were Asian, as were most of the friends and family names gathered to meet them in the arrivals area. Every now and then there were shrieks of joy, along with shouts and waves.

‘There he is,’ said Button. Bashir was pulling a wheeled Samsonite suitcase and had a Nike holdall over one shoulder. He was wearing dark glasses and had his head down so clearly he wasn’t expecting visitors. He was heading in the direction of the taxi stand and Button moved to intercept him.

‘Taz?’ she said.

He looked up, frowning.

‘Tazam Bashir?’

‘Yes. Do I know you?’ He was wearing a purple Puffa jacket over a pale blue suit, and had loosened his tie.

‘My name’s Charlotte Button. I’m from Five. We’re here to meet you.’

Bashir looked at her, then at Singh, then back to her. ‘What’s going on?’

‘There’s nothing to worry about, Taz, we just need to debrief you as a matter of some urgency.’

‘I don’t work for you, Miss … I’m sorry, what was your name again?’

‘Button. Charlotte Button. No, I know you don’t work for me but I’ve spoken to Jeremy Willoughby-Brown and he’s in the loop.’

‘He didn’t say anything to me.’

‘It’s all very short notice, I’m afraid. You’d probably already left for your flight.’

‘You won’t mind if I call him, then?’

Button smiled sweetly. ‘Go ahead,’ she said.

Bashir put down his suitcase and took an iPhone from his jacket pocket. He switched it on, then walked away to make the call. He stood looking at Button as he put the phone to his ear, then turned his back on her.

‘He’s not a happy bunny,’ said Singh.

‘He’s worried, isn’t he?’ said Button.

‘Definitely.’

‘Good.’

Bashir was clearly unhappy at whatever Willoughby-Brown was saying to him, and he began to pace up and down, waving his free hand in the air.

‘Not very good at hiding his body language, either,’ said Singh.

Bashir ended the call and put the phone away. He forced a smile as he walked back to Button. ‘Seems like he’s OK with it,’ said Bashir. ‘I don’t understand why Five is involved.’

‘I’ll explain once we’re at the house,’ said Button.

‘House?’

‘This might take some time,’ said Button. ‘I’ve arranged somewhere where we’ll have some privacy.’

‘A safe house? You’re taking me to a safe house? What the hell’s going on?’

Singh picked up Bashir’s suitcase. ‘Let me give you a hand with that,’ he said.

Button and Bashir walked towards the entrance. Singh followed, pulling the suitcase.

‘How long do you think this will take?’ asked Bashir. ‘I was hoping to go to the office.’

‘Not long, hopefully,’ said Button. She took him outside where her black Lexus was waiting and climbed into the back with him while Singh put Bashir’s case in the boot. Singh got into the front passenger seat and the driver pulled away from the kerb. Button looked out of the window, making it clear to Bashir that she didn’t want any conversation in the car. He folded his arms and sat back, looking out of the other window.

They drove to a house on the outskirts of Richmond, an ivy-covered former manor house sitting in several acres and surrounded by a high wall. The gate opened electronically as the Lexus drove up and closed silently as the car parked by the front door. The door opened and a young woman in a grey suit emerged. ‘Hello, Laura, could you arrange for some tea?’ Button said as they got out of the car. She looked around for Bashir, who was already standing in the wood-panelled doorway, biting his lower lip. ‘Tea, Taz? Or coffee?’

Bashir forced a smile. ‘Coffee. Please.’

Inside, Laura headed for the kitchen. Button opened the door that led to the sitting room and walked in. The radiators had been turned on full and she took off her coat and threw it across the back of a sofa.

The room was shabby chic, the leather sofas worn and the curtains faded from the sun. There was a bookcase full of leather-bound books along one wall, and a large floor-mounted globe. Button smiled at it. Her father used to have a similar one in his study. She went over to it and pulled it open to reveal a clutch of bottles, mainly whisky. She smiled as the memories flooded back. Her father would always open his globe at seven o’clock on the dot, pour himself a malt whisky, then sit and read in his armchair by the fireplace. Charlie would sit and read on the sofa, and in later years she’d do her homework there as her father read and sipped his whisky. She’d never felt safer or more secure. She heard a polite cough behind her and turned to see Bashir looking at her, clearly uncomfortable. She closed the globe.

‘Have a seat, Taz,’ she said. ‘And take your coat off, we’ll be here for a while.’

Bashir took off his coat and placed it next to hers, then sat on a wooden chair by the French window that overlooked the garden and beyond it a clump of apple trees. Button frowned and looked around. ‘Now where’s my briefcase?’ she muttered. She stood up, went to the door and called for Laura. The woman came from the kitchen and Button asked her where her briefcase was.

‘I left it in the library,’ she said.

Button waved at Bashir. ‘Let’s chat in there,’ she said. ‘It’s cosier.’

Bashir followed her through the hallway and into a book-lined room at the side of the house. There were two winged chairs, either side of a window that overlooked an ornamental pool with a statue of a mermaid in the centre. There was a leather briefcase on a circular oak coffee table by the side of one of the chairs. Button sat down and waved for Bashir to take the other chair.

‘I don’t see why we couldn’t have done this in the office,’ said Bashir.

‘Your office, or mine?’ said Button. ‘Either way, it would set tongues a-wagging, wouldn’t it?’

‘Is there a problem, Miss Button?’

‘Oh, call me Charlotte, please,’ said Button. ‘And no, there isn’t a problem. Well, aside from the fact that one of my people is being held prisoner by al-Qaeda along with a former agent of mine.’

‘Manraj.’

‘Well, we called him Raj. But yes, Raj Chaudhry was a big help to us a couple of years ago so you can imagine how upset we were when he was reported missing in the badlands of Pakistan.’

‘It wasn’t my fault,’ said Bashir. He put his hands up to his face. ‘Shit, I can’t believe I’m being blamed for this.’

‘No one’s blaming you, Taz,’ said Button. ‘We just need to know what’s happened and what options we have in the way of damage limitation. We, as in Five, have come to this late. The first we knew of Raj’s involvement was when he was captured so I’m well behind the curve. How long have you been running Raj?’

‘Just over a year,’ said Bashir.

‘You were his first agent specialist?’ Bashir nodded. ‘But you didn’t recruit him?’

‘He was passed to me by Jeremy.’

‘With what by way of introduction?’

‘That he had successfully penetrated an al-Qaeda cell in London and that we could use him to expose terrorism financing out in the Middle East.’

‘And why Bradford?’

‘We’d been watching one of the imams there. He was getting cash deliveries several times a year but we weren’t sure where they were coming from. We also suspected that the imam was recruiting for training camps in Pakistan.’

‘You were with Raj in Bradford?’

‘I wasn’t based there. We thought it would be too risky, so I stayed in London. If he wanted a meeting I would drive up, but he didn’t need much in the way of hand-holding.’ He forced a smile. ‘Your man Shepherd did a good job training him.’

Button nodded. ‘Yes, I know.’

‘I’m really sorry about what happened,’ said Taz, wringing his hands together. ‘I don’t know what went wrong.’

‘Clearly they knew that the fort was about to be attacked,’ said Button.

‘There was no indication of that when I was first briefed by the military,’ said Taz. ‘They told me that Raj was being held by a small number of Taliban.’

‘Did they have the fort under constant observation?’

Bashir shook his head. ‘They said it was too dangerous. I suggested we get a drone flight over but they said they didn’t want that.’

‘Did they say why not?’

‘I was told that if they saw a drone flying overhead it might spook them. That seemed reasonable so I didn’t press it.’

‘So at some point between the Pakistanis pulling their surveillance and the SSG going in, the Taliban managed to bring in reinforcements with grenades and RPGs.’

‘That seems to be the situation, yes.’

‘And that window would have been how long?’

‘Three days, I suppose. Four at the most.’

‘So something must have happened during that period to have tipped them off. What do you think that might have been?’

Bashir shrugged. ‘I wish I knew.’

Button nodded and smiled sympathetically. She wasn’t interested in Bashir’s replies. She doubted that he had any information that would be useful. All she wanted was to keep him occupied while Amar Singh got to work on his phone.

Singh worked quickly, though he knew Button would give him plenty of time. He placed Bashir’s iPhone on the desk and connected it to his laptop. It took only seconds to dump all the phone’s information on to the laptop’s hard drive, and another thirty seconds to download Singh’s own tracking software on to the phone. The software could be found only by an expert. It turned the phone into a GPS tracker and a live microphone, even when it was switched off.

Singh disconnected the phone and reached for Bashir’s Puffa jacket.

Button sipped her tea and watched Bashir over the top of her cup. He was still nervous but seemed more confident now that he realised he was being debriefed rather than interrogated.

‘What’s going to happen now?’ he asked.

‘In what way?’ She put down her cup.

‘With Shepherd.’

Button shrugged. ‘There’s not much we can do,’ she said. ‘He’s on Pakistani territory. We have to let the Pakistanis handle it.’

‘What about sending in the SAS?’

‘Send them in where, Taz? Do you know where he is? If we had a location then maybe, but there doesn’t seem to be one forthcoming.’

‘So what do we do? Negotiate?’

‘If there’s a ransom demand, we can go down that route, though it would be difficult considering that our stated policy is to never negotiate with terrorists.’

‘There are ways around that,’ said Bashir. ‘Third parties.’

‘It’s a hypothetical discussion anyway,’ said Bashir. ‘There’s no indication that they’re considering a ransom. We don’t even know if he’s alive. For all we know they might have killed him already.’

Bashir nodded. ‘I guess.’ He picked up his teacup. His hand was steadier now. He sipped his coffee. ‘And what about me?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are we good? Is there anything else you want from me?’

‘Is there any other information you have?’

Bashir put down his cup. ‘I wish there was,’ he said.

‘Is there anyone you know who might be able to locate Shepherd? And Raj, of course. Let’s not forget Raj.’

Bashir shook his head. ‘I wish I did.’

‘What about sources in Pakistan? Are you running anyone there who might be able to help?’

‘I have contacts, but they’re mainly in the army and the civil service.’

‘No one in al-Qaeda?’

He shook his head again.

‘Do you have any agents ready to go out for training in Pakistan?’

‘We have six in place in Bradford, Leeds, Manchester and Birmingham but we’re waiting for them to be approached.’

‘Maybe get themselves to push themselves forward a bit.’

‘OK, I’ll run that by Jeremy. I don’t see why not.’

Button stood up. ‘Well, thanks for your time. And for your help.’

‘I wish there was more I could do,’ he said.

‘I’ve a car ready for you. Where do you need to go?’

‘My flat’s in Clapham.’

‘Clapham it is,’ said Button.

She opened the study door and waved for him to go through. He looked uncomfortable having a woman hold the door open for him and he averted his eyes as he passed her.

Singh was waiting for him in the hall with his suitcase. The front door was open and there was a white Toyota with the engine running waiting outside. ‘My coat,’ said Bashir. He hurried through to the sitting room and picked up his Puffa jacket.

‘Thanks again, Taz,’ said Button as Bashir grabbed his suitcase and pulled it towards the waiting car.

‘Pleasure,’ said Bashir. He climbed into the back of the car. As it drove away from the house he took his iPhone out of his pocket and switched it on.

‘How did it go?’ asked Button as she watched the car drive through the gates.

‘All good,’ said Singh. ‘We’ll be able to see where he is, whether or not the phone is switched on. All his calls and text messages will be recorded. And even with the power off we’ll hear everything that’s said in the vicinity. And I’ve put a GPS tracker in his jacket, in case he ditches the phone. The battery’s good for a week or so.’