Stephen Leather - Hot Blood

She went over to the whiteboard. Five of the photographs were grouped together, head-and-shoulder shots in colour, all the faces staring, unsmiling, at the camera. They appeared to be blown-up passport or driving-licence photographs. ‘These are the five guys you’ll be meeting. One is the Branch’s man, but they’re not prepared to say which.’

‘What?’ said Shepherd.

‘They’re insisting, and I’ve agreed,’ said Button. ‘It’s not that unusual a request. We did similar deals in Northern Ireland all the time. Sass, Army Intelligence, RUC, MI5, everyone wanted to protect their resources.’

‘Yeah, but this isn’t Northern Ireland,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’re not going to blow anyone’s cover, are we?’

Sharpe studied the photographs. Under each was a printed label with the man’s name and details of height and weight: Asim, Salman, Ali, Hassan and Fazal. Asim and Salman shared the same family name.

‘I know this is a bit obvious, but can’t you just run checks on these five guys?’ said Sharpe. ‘The new SOCA database would give you an idea of who’s been naughty and who’s been nice. It’s so packed with information that I hear Santa Claus has started using it.’

‘It’s a matter of trust, Razor,’ said Button. ‘You’re right, of course. If we wanted we could run the names, but I’d assume that the anti-terrorism boys will have already covered for their man. But leaving aside the matter of trust, I see their point of view. If anything goes wrong, the fact that you don’t know who the agent is means he can’t show out.’

‘Which means we can’t protect him,’ said Sharpe.

‘He doesn’t need our protection,’ said Button. ‘All you’re doing is handling the weapons side. They’re Islamic fundamentalists so they won’t be getting into bed with you. We have to respect their wishes. And remember, the day might come when you want to keep your anonymity. This sets a precedent.’

‘When and where?’ asked Shepherd.

‘They’ll make contact tomorrow,’ said Button. ‘They’ll be given the Graham May phone number. Play hard to get – you don’t like dealing with people you don’t know, where did you get the number. You know the drill. You make contact and you go in unwired. Just a meet-and-greet. If they’re not spooked, we use the warehouse again, wired for sound and vision. That’s if they go for it. If they want to choose the turf, run with it. You’ll be the outsiders, so let them make the running.’

‘Do we go armed?’ asked Shepherd.

Button looked pained. ‘I’d rather you didn’t.’

‘It fits in with our cover. We’re arms dealers.’

‘These guys aren’t professionals, so far as I’m told, just hotheads who want to go out and commit mayhem.’

‘Sounds like they’ve already got enough to charge them with conspiracy,’ said Shepherd.

‘The Branch wants more,’ said Button, ‘and the chance to distance their man. A Muslim undercover agent is like gold these days. They want him away clean before they bust them.’

‘Makes sense,’ said Sharpe.

‘Why, Razor, I’m so glad you approve,’ said Button. ‘Any questions?’

Shepherd tapped the whiteboard. ‘These names, are they real?’

‘They’re the names the Branch gave me with the photographs,’ said Button.

‘If we don’t know them, what’s our connection? Who’s going to make the call?’ said Shepherd.

‘The agent is going to be putting your name forward tomorrow, but on the basis that a friend of his says you might be in a position to supply weapons. One of the gang members will make the call.’

‘So the man who calls won’t necessarily be the agent?’ said Sharpe. Button gave him a withering look and he held up his hands. ‘Just thinking aloud,’ he said.

‘What sort of weapons?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Submachine pistols,’ said Button. ‘The intel suggests they’re planning an attack on a shopping mall.’

‘What the hell are they thinking?’ asked Sharpe.

‘It’s terrorism,’ said Button. ‘They’re probably not thinking about anything other than causing the maximum amount of terror. And shooting families out shopping is as good a way of doing it as any.’

‘And we’re going to supply the weapons, are we?’ asked Shepherd.

‘You make contact and set up a buy. Once the buy is set up we’ll decide how to play it.’

‘We’ll decide, or the Branch?’ asked Shepherd.

‘It’s their operation,’ said Button.

‘That’s my worry,’ said Shepherd. ‘If it’s a SOCA operation, we have control. Suppose they decide we sell the guns, then something goes wrong and people die? Which fan is the shit going to hit? I don’t want it heading in my direction.’

‘Let’s take it one step at a time, Spider. I’ll be watching your back.’

Shepherd hadn’t been working with Charlotte Button long enough to trust her as a matter of course, but she was his boss and he had no choice other than to give her the benefit of the doubt.

‘Okay, then,’ said Button. ‘Give me a call as soon as you have a meet set up. Everything else okay?’

‘No problems here,’ said Sharpe.

‘Everything okay in your life, Spider?’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.

‘Nothing on your mind?’

Shepherd wondered if she was getting at something, then decided she was simply checking on his welfare. ‘The sale of my house is taking for ever, but other than that everything’s just fine.’

‘You know what they say, moving house is just about the most stressful thing you can go through. That and bereavement.’ A look of horror passed over her face as she realised what she’d said. She reached out to touch his arm. ‘I’m sorry, I said that without thinking. I’m an idiot.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Caroline Stockmann said the same thing. People can’t tread on eggshells around me for ever. And you’re right, moving house is stressful. But it’s going okay.’ Selling his house had been hard, but it hadn’t come within a million miles of the pain Shepherd had felt when Sue died. He wouldn’t tell Button that, of course. He wouldn’t tell her about the nights he’d cried himself to sleep either, or that the worst moments came when he’d wake up after dreaming about her, only for the memory of her death to hit him again. Each time it happened was like the first. But as the years passed the dreams had become less frequent and the pain had numbed. He would never forget Sue, he had loved her too much for that, but he had meant what he’d said to Button. He didn’t expect people to pussyfoot around him. His wife had died. He had dealt with it and his son had dealt with the loss of his mother. End of story. They were moving on now, and selling the house was part of the process.

‘I won’t be putting any more cases your way until the Branch operation is over,’ she said, ‘so work your move round that.’

‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd. He felt a twinge of guilt at not mentioning Geordie’s kidnapping, but at least he hadn’t lied.

‘Oh, and Caroline was impressed with you,’ said Button. ‘Very impressed.’

There were two pots of coffee on the hotplate. One regular and one decaffeinated. Shepherd poured himself a cup of regular. He had never seen the point of removing caffeine from coffee. It made as much sense as taking the alcohol out of whiskey. ‘Get me one, Spider,’ called O’Brien, who was spreading strawberry jam over a croissant. Armstrong and Shortt were sitting at the long table, flicking through the day’s newspapers. Whenever they came across an article about Mitchell they ripped it out and stuck it on one of the whiteboards. An ashtray filled with cigarette butts sat in front of Armstrong.

Shepherd poured coffee for O’Brien and gave it to him. He picked up one of the torn-out articles. It was from the Daily Telegraph, a report on the Foreign Secretary’s reaction to the kidnapping. ‘This is a very, very difficult and very worrying situation,’ said the politician. ‘We remain in touch with his family.’ He had been speaking at a press conference and had been asked if the government would be prepared to pay a ransom for Mitchell’s release. His reply had been emphatic: ‘The government of the United Kingdom does not pay ransoms.’ According to the article’s author, sources close to the Foreign Secretary were convinced that the militant group intended to kill Mitchell, come what may.