Stephen Leather - False Friends

‘And you don’t know anyone from there? Anyone at the university?’

‘Not that I know of. Why?’

‘Something I want to do,’ said Shepherd. ‘What about Harvey?’

‘He’s here now. I’ll ask him.’ Shepherd heard a muffled conversation and then Chaudhry came back on the line. ‘He says no. What’s going on, John?’

‘I want to run you through a training exercise, show you a few anti-surveillance techniques, and I want to do it in a place where no one knows you. What are you doing on Thursday?’

There was another short muffled conversation. ‘We’ve both got lectures but we can duck them. Why do we need to do this?’

‘There’re a few tricks of the trade I want to run by you, that’s all,’ said Shepherd.

‘Has something happened?’ asked Chaudhry suspiciously.

‘No, everything’s good,’ lied Shepherd. ‘I just want to keep you both sharp. Here’s what I want you to do. On Thursday morning I want you both to get the train from Paddington to Reading. The trains run throughout the day and the journey takes about half an hour.’

‘Be easier for Harvey to drive,’ said Chaudhry.

‘This isn’t about getting there, it’s about knowing whether or not you’ve got a tail,’ said Shepherd. ‘I want you to get to Paddington, then get on the train. When you get to Reading, I want you to go to the Novotel. It’s about half a mile from the station. Take whatever route you want. Once I’m in the room I’ll give you the number so you can go straight up.’

‘That’s it? What’s the point?’

‘The point is that I’ll have you followed. The guys who’ll be following you won’t know your destination, so if you can throw them off and get to the Novotel without them following you, you’ll get a gold star. If you can’t throw them off then I want you to describe anyone you spot.’

‘And who are they? Who’ll be following us?’

‘Professionals,’ said Shepherd. ‘They do it for a living, for MI5.’

‘We’re going to be followed by spies?’

‘That’s the plan. It’ll be good experience.’

‘But why’ve we got to trek across London to Paddington?’

‘Because I want you to get the feel of moving across the city knowing that you’re being followed. Then I want you in Reading so that I can run you through a few exercises without any chance of you bumping into someone you know. Trust me, it’ll be worth doing.’

‘If you say so. And you’ll cover our expenses?’

‘Of course,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll have a brown envelope with me. See you on Thursday.’

Shepherd ended the call. He’d bought half a dozen salads from Marks amp; Spencer and he took out a nicoise. He was about to make himself a coffee but then changed his mind and took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and poured himself a glass. He carried the salad and wine through to the sitting room and sat down opposite the television. It was five-thirty and he’d promised to call his son on Skype at six, so he switched on the television and watched the BBC rolling news as he ate his salad and drank his wine. At six o’clock he switched on his laptop and went through to his Skype program. Liam was already online.

Shepherd put through the call and almost immediately Liam appeared on screen, his tie at half-mast as usual, his hair unkempt. ‘You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards,’ Shepherd laughed.

Liam ran a hand over his hair but it didn’t make any difference. ‘Rugby practice,’ he said. ‘We’ve got a big game on Saturday.’

‘How’s the rugby going?’

‘It’s brilliant, Dad. I thought football was the best but I’m really into rugby now.’

‘I’ll try to make it,’ said Shepherd.

‘Cool,’ said Liam.

‘And what about the climbing?’

‘Yeah, that’s good fun. I’m getting really good on the wall and next month the instructor’s taking us out to some crag that’s about a hundred feet high.’

‘Good luck with that. We’ll have to do some climbing together some time.’ Shepherd sipped his wine.

‘Are you drinking?’ asked Liam.

‘It’s wine. With my dinner.’

‘It’s a bit early to be drinking, isn’t it?’

Shepherd laughed. ‘What are you, the alcohol police? I’m in for the night, I’m not driving anywhere, so let your old dad have a drink, why don’t you?’ He raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

‘Where are you?’ asked Liam. ‘You’re not home, are you?’

‘London still,’ said Shepherd.

‘When are you seeing Katra again? Do you think she can come to the match?’

‘Maybe,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I can get the timing right I can go to Hereford, pick her up and come to your school.’

‘Please try, Dad.’

‘I will. Of course I will.’

‘You’re not going to sack her, are you?’

Shepherd put down his wine glass. ‘Why do you say that?’

Liam shrugged and looked away, embarrassed. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Come on, spit it out.’

Liam sighed. ‘You don’t seem to be at home much. And I’m at school all the time. So maybe you’ll decide that you don’t need her.’

‘That’s crazy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Someone still has to take care of the house. You’re at home for the holidays. And I’ll be back once this job is done and dusted. Trust me, I’m as fond of Katra as you are. As long as she wants to work for us, she can.’

‘Great,’ said Liam. He looked back at the screen, grinning broadly.

‘And what about maths? How are you getting on? Didn’t you have a test today?’

Liam’s face fell. ‘Can’t we talk about something else, Dad?’

Shepherd grinned. His son was still young enough to read like a book.

The Al Nakheel on the top floor of the Al Khozama Centre was generally regarded as the best restaurant in Riyadh. It certainly had the best view, and the tables on its panoramic terrace were almost always fully booked. Fully booked or not, Ahmed Al-Jaber was always guaranteed to be given a table. His connections to the Saudi royal family were second to none and, even in a country of billionaires, Al-Jaber’s wealth was revered. Al-Jaber was sitting at his regular corner table when Bin Azim walked into the restaurant. The lunchtime clientele was almost exclusively male and dressed in either made-to-measure suits or the full-length white Saudi robes and checked shemagh headdresses. Al-Jaber was a traditionalist and always wore a robe and shemagh, even when he was overseas. As always he was accompanied by bodyguards, large men in black suits and impenetrable sunglasses. Two of them stood at the far end of the terrace, hands clasped in front of their groins, and there were two more by the doors that led to the kitchen. Bin Azim walked over slowly, favouring his left leg. He would soon be turning seventy-five and the last five years had not been good to him. Diabetes, arthritis and a worrying tendency to forget people’s names. Bin Azim preferred a well-cut suit to a flowing robe and he always found the shemagh an annoyance, but he wore them out of respect for Al-Jaber.

Al-Jaber smiled when he saw Bin Azim walking towards him. In terms of money and status Bin Azim was a pygmy compared to Al-Jaber, but he was ten years older and, out of respect for his age, Al-Jaber stood up and held out his hands in welcome. It was Bin Azim who initiated the kissing, a soft peck on each cheek, before they sat down.

‘I’m not eating,’ said Al-Jaber. ‘But please order whatever you like.’

‘Coffee is fine,’ said Bin Azim, adjusting his robe around his legs. A hovering waiter asked him what sort of coffee he wanted and Bin Azim ordered an espresso. His doctor was constantly asking him to switch to tea but coffee was one of the few pleasures that Bin Azim had left in his life and he intended to enjoy it until his last breath.