Stephen Leather - False Friends

‘Is it made in Yugoslavia?’ asked Kettering.

Shepherd shook his head. ‘Nope, but that’s where we’ll be getting them from. We know a supplier there. They’re made by a Swiss company for the British but they sell them around the world. It’s an L109A1 and the British Army have been using them since 2001. It’s filled with RDX explosive and the steel shell does the damage. When it goes off it produces thousands of fragments that are designed to go through Kevlar body armour.’

Kettering took a deep breath. ‘Okay, let’s do it,’ he said.

Shepherd took Kettering’s hand and showed him how to hold the grenade so that the lever was held in place. He pointed at the ring at the top of the lever. ‘When you’re ready, pull out the pin. So long as you hold the lever in place, nothing has changed; you can stay like that for as long as you want. But as soon as you release that handle the grenade is live. A non-reversible chemical reaction starts that culminates in an explosion after three or four seconds. So here’s the thing: once the handle is off there’s nothing can stop it. There’s no changing your mind.’

‘Understood.’

‘And don’t freeze. It can be quite stressful and you might find your hand tightens up, so stay focused. Check the direction you’re going to throw it, pull the pin, and throw. That counting to three is strictly for the movies. Pull, throw, count to three while you run and drop on three.’

‘And it can kill anything within a hundred feet, is that what you said?’

‘I said the fragments will go that far, but they’re only deadly within about sixty feet. Further than that and they’re more like airgun pellets. They’ll hurt but won’t do much damage. The closer you are to the explosion, the more the damage. If it goes off while you’re holding it there won’t be much left of you, let’s put it that way.’

‘Got you,’ said Kettering. He took another deep breath and nodded. ‘Okay.’ He laughed nervously. Beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead and Shepherd hoped that his hands weren’t as sweaty because the last thing he wanted was a live grenade rolling on the ground.

‘And as soon as it’s gone off, we’re in the cars and away,’ said Sharpe. ‘No hanging around.’ He slammed the Range Rover’s tailgate shut.

‘You’ll call when you have a delivery date?’ asked Kettering.

‘Yeah, and we’ll be dealing with you direct from now on,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no need for Ian to be involved.’ Shepherd wanted Ray Fenby out of the loop so that there’d be less chance of Kettering and Thompson blaming him when the shit hit the fan. He pointed towards the slope. ‘Off you go, and whatever you do don’t try to see it go off. If you can see it the shrapnel can rip through your eyes. Remember that.’

‘Good luck,’ said Roger. ‘Rather you than me. And, if you don’t mind, I’ll wait behind the Jag.’ He headed off towards the car.

‘Piece of cake,’ said Kettering, and he walked away.

Shepherd looked over at Thompson. ‘If he blows himself up we can still sell the stuff to you?’ he said.

‘Sure, we don’t really need him,’ said Thompson. Roger and Sean laughed out loud.

‘I heard that!’ shouted Kettering. He carried on walking and stopped about fifty yards away from them. ‘How’s this?’ he called.

Shepherd gave him a thumbs up. ‘Go for it,’ he called. ‘Just remember to throw it down the slope.’

‘Do we need to cover our ears or something?’ asked Thompson.

‘Not out in the open,’ said Shepherd. ‘In a confined space, maybe.’

‘And we won’t get hurt?’

‘Would I be standing here if there was even a chance of that?’ said Shepherd.

‘You’ll be fine,’ agreed Sean. ‘Unless he fucks up and throws it the wrong way.’

‘Here we go!’ yelled Kettering. He pulled out the pin, threw the grenade in a high arc down the slope, then turned and ran up the hill. After three paces he dropped face down on to the grass and a second later there was a dull thud that Shepherd felt in his stomach and through the soles of his feet. There was a cloud of white smoke at the bottom of the slope and a brown patch about five feet wide that smouldered though there was no fire. In a fraction of a second the small metal globe had been transformed into thousands of small deadly fragments.

Grenades were nasty weapons. Shepherd had never had to throw one in anger during his army days, and he was grateful for that. He’d shot men, and women, and on a few occasions he’d used a knife. He regretted none of the killings, but there was something basically unfair about a grenade. If you shot a man then there was a chance that he might fire first. In hand-to-hand fighting the more skilled fighter won. But there was no defence against a grenade. If you had one and the enemy didn’t, and you threw it, then he was dead and you weren’t.

Kettering was already up, jumping up and down and punching the air enthusiastically. ‘Did you see that!’ he shouted.

Thompson stared at the rapidly dispersing cloud of smoke. ‘Fucking awesome!’ He turned to look at Shepherd. ‘Was that fucking awesome or what?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, awesome.’

Kettering hurried up the slope. ‘That was amazing, Garry. My heart was pounding when I pulled the pin out, it really was.’ He shook his head. ‘I want to do it again.’

‘We need to go,’ said Shepherd. ‘The sound carries. No one’s going to mistake a grenade for someone out shooting crows.’

Kettering looked disappointed, like a child who’d been told his time at the funfair was over and that he had to go home.

‘Cheer up, mate,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once you’ve bought them you can throw as many as you want.’

‘I might do that,’ said Kettering. ‘You know what would be cool? Throwing one in the canal. I bet there’d be one hell of a splash.’

‘So we have a deal?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Fuck, yeah,’ said Kettering. He held out his hand and Shepherd shook it.

‘Cash on delivery,’ said Sharpe.

‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Kettering. ‘Give me forty-eight hours’ notice.’

‘Fancy a drink to celebrate?’

‘You know a place?’

‘There’s a decent pub a few miles from here. Don’t know if they have bubbly but we can give it a go.’

Kettering slapped him on the back. ‘Garry, lead the way. And you’re buying.’

The pub did have champagne. It was only Moet but it was cold and cost about a third of the price they’d pay in a London bar. Shepherd paid the barmaid and carried it and six glasses over to a table by a shoulder-high brick fireplace. They were the only customers inside, though half a dozen farm workers in overalls and heavy coats were standing outside drinking pints and smoking.

Shepherd popped the cork and poured the champagne. The men clinked glasses and drank.

‘So what do you think?’ asked Kettering. ‘A week? Ten days?’

‘Thereabouts,’ said Shepherd.

‘Excellent.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ said Shepherd.

‘Anything but algebra,’ said Kettering. ‘I was always crap at algebra.’

‘Why do you need so many guns? And the grenades?’

‘Do you always ask your customers what they’re going to do with the stuff they buy?’ asked Kettering.

‘It’s not every day that I sell forty AK-47s.’ He shrugged. ‘If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine. I’m just interested, that’s all.’

‘Best you don’t know,’ said Thompson.

‘He’s right,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once we know, we’re accessories before the fact.’

‘You a lawyer, James?’ asked Kettering.

‘I’ve known a few in my time,’ said Sharpe.

‘You’re not planning a race war or something, are you?’ asked Shepherd.