Stephen Leather - False Friends

‘Forgive me if that doesn’t inspire me with confidence,’ said Shepherd. ‘Our borders still leak, we both know that. Known terrorists have walked into the country without anyone batting an eyelid.’

‘That’s a bit harsh.’

‘And GCHQ listening for chatter didn’t stop the London tube bombings.’

‘Exactly,’ said Button. ‘That’s why what Chaudhry and Malik are doing is so important. They’ve got the inside track on a major terrorist attack that no one, absolutely no one, is aware of. We need them, Spider. We need their intel.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘You’re right.’

Button grinned. ‘That’s good to hear,’ she said. ‘Look, I understand your concerns, but I think the chance of anyone connecting them to what happened in Pakistan is remote. If it makes you feel better, why not give them a security briefing, give them some tips about what to watch out for. That’s why I wanted you involved, to share your expertise. They’re virgins at this and you’ve been around the block a few times.’

‘That’s the truth,’ he said. ‘Okay, let’s do that. But you really need to keep your ear to the ground, Charlie. Any intel at all that they might be at risk and we pull them out, right?’

‘Absolutely,’ she said. ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

After the meeting with Button, Shepherd went up to the sixth floor to talk to Damien Plant, one of MI5’s top dressers. Plant was a one-stop shop for everything needed to back up a legend. He could supply any paperwork from a driving licence and passport to a utility bill or credit card, in any name and with any address and date of birth. His department also supplied homes and offices, vehicles, furniture, clothing and jewellery. There was almost nothing that Damien and his team couldn’t provide.

Plant shook Shepherd’s hand and waved him to a chair. He was in his early thirties, with sunbed-brown skin and a shaved head, and he was wearing a black linen jacket and blue Versace jeans. His desk was piled high with catalogues and fashion magazines and his walls were lined with reference books.

He sipped from a bottle of Evian and swung his feet up on to his desk. ‘You’re not here to complain about your flat, are you?’ he said. ‘I was working to a very tight budget and you can’t blame me for that. And when we set it up we had no idea the operation would go on for as long as it has.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Shepherd.

‘I know, but there’s barely enough room to swing a cat. If I’d known you were going to be there for a year I would have tried to fix up a bigger place. Within budget, of course.’

‘I’ve not been there much over the last few months, the operation had gone quiet,’ said Shepherd. ‘But on the plus side, it’s great to be so near the Heath.’

‘I love Hampstead,’ said Plant. ‘Used to go cottaging there in my misspent youth.’

Shepherd wasn’t sure if Plant was joking or not. ‘Funnily enough I was in the Willie not that long ago,’ he said.

‘You should have told me you were on the turn,’ said Plant, raising one eyebrow. ‘I could have taken you out and shown you the ropes.’

‘It’ll be a cold day in hell before I go down that route,’ said Shepherd. ‘It was a business meeting. About this job, as it happens. Basically I’m an arms dealer, so pretty much none of the John Whitehill props work, especially the clothing. The job’s actually for the Met but Charlie’s fixed it up so she’ll sign off on it.’

‘I trust you, Spider,’ said Plant and he reached over to pick up a clipboard and pen. ‘Full wardrobe?’ he asked, the camp act completely forgotten.

‘I guess, but I’m probably going to be in character only a couple of times so no need to go overboard on the number of outfits.’

‘Suits?’

‘One suit. A name. Whatever you think.’

‘Paul Smith should work. I’ll see what I can get in the way of a leather jacket. Shirts? Ties?’

Shepherd sighed. He hated the feel of a tie round his neck but there were some times when it was necessary. ‘Maybe. What do you think?’

‘We could do Miami Vice and put you in a T-shirt, show off your abs. Well-cut suit over it.’

Shepherd grimaced. Given the choice between a tight T-shirt and a tie, on balance he’d prefer the tie. ‘Tie, I guess. And good shoes.’

‘Bally, I think,’ said Plant. ‘What about jewellery? That watch has to go, of course.’

Shepherd held up his left hand. He was wearing a cheap Casio, which was the sort of watch that a freelance journalist would wear but it wouldn’t do for an arms dealer with criminal connections. ‘I’ll wear my own Submariner,’ he said.

Plant looked pained. ‘I’d advise against the Submariner,’ he said. ‘You’ve got the steel model, with the black bezel, right?’

Shepherd nodded. It was the watch that he’d worn ever since he’d been with the SAS.

‘See, that screams military. You’d be stressing the action-man aspect when you’re playing a villain. With villains it’s all about show so I’d go for a gold Cartier. Or a Patek Philippe. Something that says you’re wearing twenty or thirty grand on your wrist and you don’t give a shit.’

‘Okay,’ said Shepherd.

‘And I’m thinking a gold chain for your right wrist. Maybe a ring?’

‘And a money clip,’ said Shepherd. ‘Something gold.’

Plant scribbled on his clipboard again. ‘And what’s your legend? English? London?’

‘Yes. Former soldier; did some contracting work out in Iraq six or seven years ago, now self-employed.’

‘Car?’

‘You know, I think we can leave that. There’s no need to overcomplicate things. I’ll be with a Met guy so he can take care of the transport.’

‘I do have a new Maserati that I’m trying to get a few miles on.’

Shepherd laughed. ‘I’ll pass, but if things change I’ll definitely let you know.’

‘So we don’t need accommodation?’

‘It won’t be an issue. I won’t be having the bad guys round for drinks.’

Plant scribbled on his clipboard. ‘Paperwork?’

‘I doubt I’ll be asked for ID but I might as well have a driving licence.’

‘Same date of birth but we’ll knock a couple of years off,’ said Plant. ‘Name?’

‘Garry Edwards. Double r.’

Plant frowned. ‘In Edwards?’

‘In Garry.’

Plant looked at him over the top of his clipboard. ‘I have to say, I don’t see you as a Garry.’

‘I’ve played the part before,’ said Shepherd. ‘No one’s complained.’ Edwards was a former soldier who worked as a security contractor in Afghanistan and sold weapons on the side. The legend was one that he’d used once before when he’d worked for Hargrove’s police undercover unit and it would withstand close scrutiny.

Plant passed a sheet of paper across the table and Shepherd scribbled a ‘Garry Edwards’ signature and passed it back.

‘Anything else?’

‘I think we’re good,’ said Plant. ‘What’s the time frame?’

‘No great rush, but as always the sooner the better.’

Shepherd left Plant’s office and headed for the agency’s training department. He had something he needed to run by them.

Shepherd caught the tube to Hampstead and walked back to his flat, taking a circuitous route to make sure that he wasn’t being followed. He had spent all afternoon with the training department arranging an exercise for Chaudhry and Malik. He let himself into the flat and tapped his security code into the burglar alarm console. He switched on the kettle and then called Chaudhry on his BlackBerry.

‘Couple of questions for you, mate,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do you know anyone in Reading? Anyone at all?’

‘Never been,’ said Chaudhry.