Stephen Leather - False Friends

‘Why are you so bloody cool about this?’ said Chaudhry. ‘There was someone following me. Don’t you get what that means?’

‘John said it was probably nothing.’ He shelled a nut and popped it into his mouth.

Chaudhry walked towards him, his eyes blazing. ‘Are you retarded? He said that because he doesn’t want us to worry. You know what he told me? He said there are guys with guns waiting round the corner, ready to step in if we get in trouble. Does that sound like nothing, you soft bastard?’

Malik stopped chewing, his forehead creased into deep frown lines.

‘I’m serious, mate. Guys with guns. We could be in deep shit here. Of course John doesn’t want us panicking, but that doesn’t mean we should sit around like all’s well with the world.’

Chaudhry’s mobile rang and both men froze. It was on the coffee table by Malik’s feet. It continued to ring — ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga — so Malik picked it up, then he grinned.

‘It’s your dentist,’ he said.

Chaudhry’s face hardened. ‘That’s John.’

Malik turned the screen towards him. ‘It says it’s your dentist. Relax, will you?’

Chaudhry took the phone from him and pressed the green button.

‘How’s the weather?’ asked Whitehill.

‘As well as can be expected,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Harvey’s just got home.’

‘I know, that’s why I’m calling. There’s good news and bad news.’

‘Okay,’ said Chaudhry hesitantly.

‘The good news is that Harvey was clear. There was no one on his tail.’

‘And what’s the bad news?’

‘The two men who followed you are sitting outside in a van.’

Shepherd checked his rear-view mirror but Malik’s Golf was nowhere to be seen. He slowed to sixty. ‘I’ve lost eyeball,’ he said into his radio mic.

‘Delta One, I have them,’ said the driver of the surveillance vehicle closest to the VW. ‘We’re just coming up to junction three. All clear.’

Delta One was in a white Transit van with the name of a building company on the side. There were another two MI5 vehicles following Malik and Chaudhry. Delta Two was a middle-aged lady in a Mini and Delta Three was a young man in a suit at the wheel of a Ford Mondeo. All were highly trained in counter-surveillance and took it in turns to get close to the VW and check for anyone following.

Shepherd was in his Volvo and had been ahead of them since they had joined the M1. Prior to getting on the motorway Malik had carried out two simple anti-surveillance measures. He’d gone completely round a roundabout and exited without indicating, and he’d made a left turn after indicating right. Both times the VW had been closely followed by one of the MI5 surveillance team.

By the time the VW had joined the M1, the surveillance team were sure that there was no one following, but they had continued to keep the car under observation while Malik changed his speed according to Shepherd’s instructions: a spell at 80 mph was followed by five minutes at 50 mph. When they had reached junction two he indicated that he was going to leave the motorway but at the last moment changed lanes and continued heading north.

‘Let’s go on to junction four, just to be on the safe side,’ said Shepherd.

‘Delta One, junction four,’ echoed Delta One.

‘Delta Two, junction four.’

‘Delta Three, junction four.’

They carried on up the M1 to the fourth exit. It was starting to rain as Shepherd arrived at the Gateway Services and he switched on his wipers. He parked well away from the main buildings. Five minutes later Malik’s Golf arrived and parked four bays to the left of Shepherd’s Volvo. The rain was falling heavier, pitter-pattering on the roof of the car. Shepherd switched off the engine.

The three MI5 vehicles parked at various points around the car park. In the rear of the van there were two men in work clothes with holstered Glocks.

Shepherd climbed out of his Volvo, turned up the collar of his jacket and hurried over to Malik’s Golf. He got in the back and wiped the rain from his face. ‘Great weather for ducks,’ he said.

‘What does that mean anyway?’ said Malik. ‘I don’t see ducks looking particularly happy when it rains.’

Chaudhry punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. ‘Chill,’ he said.

‘Chill? We’ve had to drive to the arse end of nowhere again. Why couldn’t we meet in London?’

‘Because we don’t want to risk being seen. This way we can wipe your arse and know that no one sees us.’

‘Wipe our arse?’ asked Malik. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s how the surveillance boys refer to anti-surveillance,’ said Shepherd. He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, your arses are clean.’

‘So what’s the story?’ asked Chaudhry.

Shepherd took an envelope out of his jacket. ‘The van was outside your flat for most of the evening.’ He took out a photograph and showed it to Chaudhry. It was of a white van parked in a side street. There were two Asian men sitting in the front. ‘These are the guys,’ he said. ‘They stayed there until the lights went out. Then they drove to Willesden. They’re driving up to Scotland now. We’re tailing them to find out where they go. The good news is that they don’t seem to be pros. We didn’t see any sign of counter-surveillance activity. We’ve run a trace on the van and it’s registered to a trading company in Glasgow.’

‘Why would they send someone from Glasgow?’ asked Malik, taking the photograph from Chaudhry.

Shepherd ignored the question. He took two more photographs from the envelope, head-and-shoulders shots that looked as if they had come from a passport application. ‘Recognise them?’ he asked Chaudhry.

Chaudhry pointed at one of the pictures. ‘That’s the guy I saw,’ he said. ‘How bad is this, John? If it was serious they wouldn’t have gone back to Scotland, would they?’

‘They’re both British-born. Brothers. Their parents are from Pakistan.’ Shepherd tapped the photograph of the older of the two men. ‘Salman Hussain,’ he said. ‘He’s not on any watch lists and he’s not on the PNC, which is why we think they’re not pros.’

‘PNC?’ repeated Malik. ‘What’s that?’

‘Police National Computer,’ said Shepherd. ‘It means he’s never been in trouble with the police.’

He held up the other photograph. ‘This is his younger brother, Asad Hussain. Also not known to the police or the security services.’

Chaudhry frowned. ‘Asad? Asad and Salman?’

‘You know them?’

Chaudhry ran a hand through his hair. ‘Bloody idiots,’ he said. ‘Stupid bloody idiots.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Shepherd.

Chaudhry sighed and slumped back in his seat. ‘My dad’s trying to marry me off to this girl, the daughter of a friend of his. Jamila Hussain. She’s a student at UCL. I’ve been out for dinner with her a few times.’ He gestured at the photographs. ‘These idiots are her brothers. They’re obviously getting all protective over her, checking out that I’m suitable.’

‘By following you?’

‘Checking that I don’t have a girlfriend and that I’m not in the pub every night. Making sure that I’m a good Muslim and that I wouldn’t sully their virginal sister.’

‘And probably making sure that you’re not white,’ said Malik. He grinned at Shepherd. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ said Shepherd. He looked at Chaudhry. ‘You’re sure, Raj?’

Chaudhry nodded. ‘I haven’t met them but she mentioned them a few times. Asad and Salman. Salman’s pretty fundamentalist but his dad keeps him in check. Asad’s more easy-going but they’re both very protective about Jamila. She said she had a real problem convincing them that she’d be okay in London on her own. In their eyes it’s worse than Sodom and Gomorrah.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Wasting everybody’s time.’