Stephen Leather - False Friends

Shepherd got to his feet, sweeping the cabin with his Glock.

Thompson was standing by the stairs leading up to the bridge. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said.

‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ said Shepherd. Kettering sank to his knees, blood gushing over his shirt, his mouth working soundlessly.

Thompson moved towards the table but Shepherd fired close to the man’s foot. ‘The next one goes into your chest,’ he said. Thompson straightened up and raised his hands.

‘Does the captain have a gun?’ Shepherd asked. Thompson shook his head. ‘If you’re lying I’ll shoot you first,’ said Shepherd.

Kettering fell forward and thudded face down on to the deck.

‘He doesn’t,’ said Thompson. ‘I swear.’

Shepherd gestured with the gun. ‘Up the stairs. Try anything, even look at me wrong, and I’ll put a bullet in you.’

Thompson went slowly up the stairs to the bridge. Shepherd stayed well back in case Thompson tried to kick out but Thompson just did as he was told. The captain smiled when he saw Thompson but his face fell when he saw Shepherd and the gun in his hand.

‘I need you to take us back to the marina,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t have time to mess about so if you fuck around I’ll shoot you in the leg. Do you understand me?’

The captain nodded and immediately started turning the boat to starboard.

‘Take us back to the jetty,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m just looking after the boat,’ said the captain. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’

‘Just take us back. You can talk to the cops there,’ said Shepherd. He waved the gun at Thompson. ‘Back downstairs,’ he said.

He followed Thompson down the stairs into the cabin. ‘Down on your knees and put your hands behind your neck,’ he said. ‘While you’re at it, cross your ankles. See how you like it.’ Thompson obeyed sullenly.

Shepherd looked over at Sharpe. ‘Razor!’ he shouted.

Sharpe groaned.

‘Can you get up?’

Sharpe groaned again.

Shepherd kept the gun aimed at Thompson’s face as he fished his mobile out of his jacket. He tapped out Charlotte Button’s number with his thumb. The boat continued to make a sweeping turn to the right. Klaus stopped moaning. He crawled into a foetal ball and sobbed quietly. Shepherd knew that he’d done a lot of damage with his fingers and that Klaus would be losing at least one of his eyes.

The phone rang and Button answered. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘All good,’ he said. ‘One dead, two under control and one who’s going to need medical attention. We’re heading back to shore.’

‘There’s a police boat heading your way. You’re sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. He looked over at Sharpe, who was starting to come round, moving his head and moaning. ‘Razor’s going to have a sore head for a few days.’

‘Well done, Spider. I have to confess that my heart was in my mouth for a while there.’

‘I was worried myself,’ admitted Shepherd. ‘I’m just glad he didn’t go for a head shot. And tell Amar I owe him a drink. His vest was a lifesaver.’

He ended the call and went over to Sharpe, keeping his gun trained on Thompson. Sharpe struggled to sit up. He put his hand against his temple and it came away bloody. He groaned loudly and looked up at Shepherd. ‘Who am I?’ he said.

‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd.

Sharpe grinned. ‘Had you going,’ he said, getting unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at Kettering. Blood was pooling around him on the polished wooden decking. ‘Was it him that hit me?’

Shepherd gestured at Thompson. ‘It was him.’

Klaus sobbed and his whole body shuddered.

‘What’s his problem?’ asked Sharpe. ‘Did you shoot him?’

‘Clawed his eyes out,’ said Shepherd. ‘He started it.’

Sharpe walked slowly to the galley, picked up a tea towel and pressed it against his wound. He looked out of a window and pointed. ‘There’s a launch heading this way with four guys in it. I hope they’re on our side.’

‘They are,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you okay to cover Thompson while I go up to the bridge?’

‘Now you trust me with a gun?’

Shepherd chuckled and handed the Glock to Sharpe. He picked up the gun that Klaus had been using. It was a 9mm Beretta and he checked that it was loaded and that the safety was off. ‘I figure you’d have trouble with the stairs,’ he said. ‘If he gets off his knees, shoot him.’

‘Will do,’ said Sharpe.

Shepherd went up the stairs to the bridge. He was fairly sure that Thompson hadn’t been lying about the captain being unarmed but he felt more comfortable with the Beretta in his hand. He needn’t have worried. The captain had both hands on the wheel and they were heading straight for the marina. In the distance Shepherd saw a small launch. There were four men in casual clothes standing at the prow and as the wind whipped at their jackets he caught glimpses of guns in shoulder holsters.

‘I had no idea what was going on,’ said the captain. ‘You’ve got to believe me.’

‘Tell that to the cops,’ said Shepherd. ‘I need you to cut the power.’ He pointed at the launch. ‘Those guys are going to board us.’

The captain did as he was told and the boat slowed.

‘I didn’t do anything. I just drive the boat.’

‘What did they tell you was going to happen to me and my friend?’

The captain swallowed but didn’t reply.

‘You knew they were going to kill us, right?’

‘I’m just the captain.’

‘And you knew there was a body down there?’

The captain nodded.

‘Well, that’s the body of a cop, mate. So maybe you should just keep quiet until you’ve got a lawyer.’

Chaudhry was walking down the Strand to King’s College when he first suspected that he was being followed. It wasn’t any of the signs that he’d been taught to watch out for, it was much more subtle than that. It was a feeling, a sense that he was being looked at that actually made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. It happened first as he walked out of Charing Cross tube station and the feeling was so strong that he turned and looked behind him, but he didn’t see anyone who was obviously tailing him.

Chaudhry usually cycled to college but it had been raining when he left the flat so he’d taken an umbrella and made the journey by tube instead. The rain had died down by the time he arrived at Charing Cross and it was barely spotting so he’d left his umbrella in his backpack and made do with pulling up the hood of his duffel coat.

He shivered again as he passed McDonald’s, then he remembered what he’d been taught about doubling back so he did a quick U-turn and headed back to the entrance. As he reached McDonald’s door he made eye contact with an Asian man in his twenties wearing a dark-blue Puffa jacket and brown cargo pants. The man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened a fraction but then he clamped it shut, looked away and thrust his hands into his pockets.

Chaudhry forced himself to show no reaction. He went inside, joined the queue and bought himself an Egg McMuffin and a coffee and sat down at a table by the window. He pushed down the hood of his duffel coat and pulled his tablet computer out of his backpack. As he took a sip of coffee and switched on the tablet the man in the blue Puffa jacket walked back on the other side of the road, talking into his mobile phone.

Chaudhry’s stomach was churning and he didn’t feel like eating but he forced himself to take a bite of his McMuffin, then chewed slowly as he pretended to read. The man in the blue Puffa jacket didn’t return. When he’d finished the coffee and the McMuffin he cleared his tray and headed out of the door. He stood on the pavement and looked around casually as he pulled up his hood again. The street was busy but there was no sign of the Asian man. He was starting to wonder if he’d imagined it. The hairs were no longer standing up on the back of his neck. Perhaps the guy had just been startled by eye contact with a stranger; maybe Chaudhry was being oversensitive.