Stephen Leather: False Friends

‘I didn’t know what was going to happen,’ said Button. ‘You know that if I had known I’d have told you.’

‘Yeah, I’m not sure that the fact they kept you in the dark inspires me with confidence,’ said Shepherd, as the taxi pulled up at a red light.

‘Be with you as soon as I can,’ said Button, ending the call.

Shepherd’s flat had been supplied by MI5 as part of his cover. He was a freelance journalist and the flat was in keeping with a journalist’s lifestyle: a cramped one-bedroom flat in a side road off Hampstead High Street. The taxi dropped him outside and Shepherd paid the driver. The taxi drove off just as Shepherd realised that he hadn’t asked for a receipt and he cursed under his breath.

The flat was in a block built during the sixties to fill the gap left when two mews houses were demolished by a stray German bomb during the Second World War. Shepherd’s flat was on the second floor with a small sitting room overlooking the street, a bedroom at the back, a small shower room and a kitchen that wasn’t much bigger than the shower room.

He let himself in, tapped in the burglar alarm code and then dropped his kitbag behind the sofa before taking a quick shower.

He was combing his still-damp hair when the intercom rang and he buzzed Button in. He had the door open for her when she came up the stairs, and as always there was the briefest hesitation when it came to greeting her. A handshake always seemed too formal but she was his boss and a kiss on the cheek always seemed somehow wrong. She made the decision for him, putting her right hand on his arm and pecking him just once on the cheek.

‘Good to see you back in one piece, Spider,’ she said, moving past him into the hallway. She was wearing a black suit and black heels and her chestnut hair was loose, cut short so that it barely touched her shoulders.

‘I’ve got wine,’ said Shepherd, closing the door. ‘Or are you driving?’

‘I’m being driven,’ said Button. ‘One of the perks. So anything white would be good, preferably without bubbles.’

Shepherd went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. ‘I’ve got Frascati.’

‘No Pinot Grigio?’ asked Button.

‘Sadly, no. I’m a freelance journo, remember?’

‘Then Frascati it is.’

‘Screw top, I’m afraid.’

Button laughed. ‘Corks are overrated.’ She took off her jacket and sat down in an armchair. It and the two-seater sofa were the only places to sit and there was no dining table. ‘Cosy, isn’t it?’ she said as he walked in from the cubbyhole of a kitchen.

‘It’s close to the Heath so I get to run whenever I want to. And it’s close enough to Stoke Newington so that I can be over there in a hurry if necessary.’

‘Have you fixed up a meet with them?’

‘I will do,’ said Shepherd, sitting down on the sofa with the bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘So, you had no idea that they were going to kill him?’ asked Shepherd. ‘No hint? No clue?’

‘How can you even ask that?’ said Button. ‘I was as much in the dark as you were. All I was told was that we could have one operative on the team. My understanding was that providing Bin Laden wasn’t armed he was to be held for interrogation and eventual trial.’

‘He was unarmed,’ said Shepherd. ‘They all were.’

‘There was no firefight? The Americans are saying they came under fire.’

‘The only shots fired were fired by the Yanks,’ said Shepherd as he poured wine into the two glasses. ‘They shot one of his wives and then they shot him. A double tap to make sure. Then they all cheered and did that stupid whooping thing. They shot an unarmed man and then act like they’re bloody heroes. Twats.’

‘I’m sorry it worked out that way, Spider.’

‘You know, it seems to me that we would have been better off sending in the SAS. I said at the time it was a mistake trusting it to the Seals. They like to go in with guns blazing, kill everyone and let God sort them out.’ He shook his head and sneered in disgust.

‘At least you’re back in one piece.’

‘Yeah, well, no thanks to the Yanks. You heard about the helicopter they crashed, right?’

Button nodded.

Shepherd tapped his chest. ‘Well, I nearly bought it when it came close to crashing into the chopper I was in. Missed us by feet. I tell you, if it had hit us it would have been thank you and good night.’

‘What happened?’ She picked up her glass, sniffed the wine, then sipped it.

‘The pilot got too close to the compound wall and the rotor blast got deflected back. Instant loss of lift and down they went. Lucky no one was hurt. I tell you, Charlie, from start to finish it was a disaster. The plan was to lower us by rope inside the compound. The chopper crashes so we’re on the wrong side of the wall. They tried to break down the gate and when that didn’t work they had to use C4 to blow it. By the time we got into the compound every man and his dog for miles must have heard us.’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry. It just pisses me off how badly organised they are. And after all that they still start shooting unarmed men and women. They killed Bin Laden’s son and he didn’t even have a gun. For all I know he could have been surrendering. It was an assassination, nothing less.’

‘There are those that might say it’s better they didn’t take him alive. Can you imagine what al-Qaeda might have done to try to force the Americans to give him back? At least this way that’s not an option.’

‘Yeah? You think there won’t be repercussions? Because I’ll take any bet you want to place. If Bin Laden had come out firing an AK-47 there might have been an argument for shooting him, but he was unarmed and they put a bullet in his chest and one in his head.’ He forced a smile. ‘At least they didn’t shoot me. I guess I should be thankful for small mercies.’ He toyed with his wine glass. ‘So what now?’

‘Business as usual,’ said Button. ‘I need you to hand-hold Chaudhry and Malik. Especially after what’s happened.’

‘I’ll check in by phone tonight and arrange a meeting.’

‘How do you think they’ll react?’

Shepherd grimaced. ‘They’ll be pleased he’s dead; they both hated him for what he’d done. But they’ll wonder why I didn’t give them a heads-up about what was going to happen.’

‘Smooth their feathers,’ she said. ‘Say whatever’s necessary to keep them on track.’

‘I’m not going to lie to them, Charlie.’

She swirled her wine around the glass. ‘No one’s asking you to lie, or even bend the truth. But they’re amateurs doing a very dangerous job and they need the kid-gloves treatment. For instance, probably best not to tell them you were in Pakistan.’

‘I wasn’t planning to,’ said Shepherd. ‘They don’t know about my SAS background.’

‘That’s the way to play it,’ she said. ‘You’re a regular MI5 intelligence officer with undercover experience pretending to be a freelance journalist,’ she said. ‘Anything else will just overcomplicate it.’

‘Let me ask you something,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do you think killing Bin Laden makes it more likely now that Raj and Harvey are going to be put into play?’

‘They were already in play. They’ve been trained in Pakistan; they met with Bin Laden; they’ve been groomed to commit a major terrorist atrocity. It has always been a matter of when and not if. I’m surprised it’s taken as long as it has.’

Shepherd sipped the last of his wine and then refilled their glasses. ‘I just can’t help thinking that killing Bin Laden is like a red rag to a bull. Especially the way they did it. Shooting him in cold blood and dumping his body at sea. If I was a radical Muslim I’d be getting ready to make my point.’