Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘What?’

‘I want to check your jacket.’

Shepherd took off his coat and handed it to him. Ben went through the pockets. He examined Shepherd’s mobile and flicked through the contacts file. ‘You have only my number in this phone?’

‘I bought the Sim card to call you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want you tracing me.’

Ben handed the phone back. ‘Lift up your pullover, please.’

‘Why?’

‘I want to reassure myself that you are not recording our conversation.’

‘You think I’m a cop?’

‘I don’t know who you are. But if you don’t lift it, I’m walking away.’

Slowly Shepherd did as the man asked, revealing the Kevlar vest.

Ben frowned. ‘What is that?’

‘A bulletproof vest.’

Ben’s frown deepened. ‘Why?’

‘Because I thought you might shoot me.’

‘Why would I do that?’

‘You might have thought a bullet was cheaper than thirty grand. I’m not wired for sound. I just want my money.’

Ben held out his hand. ‘Give me your wallet.’

‘Fuck you.’

‘I need to see who you are.’

‘It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m the man with what you want, and that’s all you need to know.’

‘Your wallet,’ repeated the Asian.

Shepherd cursed again, then pulled it out of his jeans and gave it to the man. Ben opened it and flicked through the contents. He pulled out a driving licence. ‘Anthony Corke?’

‘Tony to my friends.’

‘And you live in Dover?’

‘I’m a sailor. I used to work the ferries. Look, do you see a warrant card in there? No. So give me my wallet back and let’s get on with this.’

‘Why did the police let you go?’ asked Ben, examining a Visa card.

‘I’m on bail. If I run, I lose my house.’

‘They’ve charged you?’

‘I was up before a magistrate and I’m back in court in two weeks. I had the house so I got bail. But my solicitor’s costing me an arm and a leg so I need the thirty grand.’

Ben sat down on Shepherd’s left and gave him back his wallet. ‘First let me see the cans.’

Shepherd pushed the rucksack towards him. Ben unfastened the straps and took out a can, looked at it closely, then set it on the ground. He checked the other two, running his fingers over the caps and seams, then put them back into the rucksack.

‘Satisfied?’ asked Shepherd.

Ben reached into his coat. Shepherd tensed but he knew there was next to no chance that the man would pull a gun in a public park, not when he’d have to run with a heavy rucksack. Ben’s hand reappeared with a Nokia mobile. He made a call and said a few words in Bengali, then cut the connection.

‘You’d better not try anything,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you do I’m out of here.’

‘What happened to the boat?’

‘Customs caught it.’

‘What about the people on board?’

‘The asylum-seekers? Immigration have got them. If they play it right and claim asylum they’ll be back on the streets within days and have passports in three years.’

‘And you?’

‘Six months behind bars. Three years if I’m unlucky. Maybe a suspended sentence and a fine. Depends on the judge.’

‘Why did Rudi Pernaska not wait until he was released? Why did he talk to you?’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘I want to know.’

‘Customs and Immigration went through the boat, but they were only interested in the passengers and crew. They weren’t looking for contraband. I was put in a cell with Pernaska and he heard I was getting bail. He didn’t know how long Immigration were going to hold him, and he wasn’t sure they’d grant him asylum. His passport was fake, I think. He told them he was from Kosovo but really he’s Albanian. I guess he was scared that either they’d send him straight back to Albania or that someone would open the cans before they let him out. Anyway, he gave me your number and asked me to phone you.’

‘And the thirty thousand pounds was his idea?’

Shepherd grinned. ‘I thought as I was doing you a favour I ought to get something out of it.’ He saw an Asian man emerge from one of the pedestrian tunnels. He was almost six foot tall and had a long, loping stride. He was wearing a green anorak with the hood up, the sleeves several inches too short for his arms, and carried a black Adidas holdall.

Ben looked across at him. ‘He has your money,’ he said.

‘No tricks,’ said Shepherd.

‘There won’t be any,’ said Ben. ‘We want what’s in those cans. You want your money. We exchange bags and go our separate ways.’

‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Shepherd.

‘What?’

Shepherd patted the rucksack. ‘You took a risk, giving them to an asylum-seeker. Why not just bring them in yourself?’

‘Because all luggage on planes is X-rayed. The Eurostar, too. And Customs make spot-checks on the ferries. Asylum-seekers avoid all such checks.’

‘Not on my boat they didn’t.’

‘That was bad luck,’ said Ben. ‘The chance of it happening was one in a million.’

‘You do it a lot, then – bring cans from the Continent?’

Ben’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you so interested?’

‘I might be able to help. What’s in the cans?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘I’m assuming drugs.’

‘You can assume what you want. It’s none of your business.’

The second Asian man drew level with the bench. Ben spoke to him in Bengali and pointed at the rucksack.

‘I’d prefer it if you spoke English,’ said Shepherd.

‘I said that the cans are in good order,’ said Ben.

The second man sat down on the other side of Shepherd and pushed the sports bag towards him. Shepherd unzipped it and peered inside. It contained bundles of twenty-pound notes held together with thick rubber bands. Shepherd glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then pulled out a note at random. He checked the printing, the silver foil strip, then held it up to examine the watermark. ‘Looks fine to me,’ he said. He put the note back into the bag, then counted the bundles. There were thirty. He flicked through several as if to assure himself they were all made up of twenty-pound notes.

‘Satisfied?’ asked Ben.

Shepherd zipped up the bag and put it on his lap. ‘We’re done,’ he said, and paused. ‘I could help you bring more in, if you wanted,’ he said quietly.

‘Why should we trust you?’ said Ben.

Shepherd lifted the holdall. ‘Because we’ve just done a deal. You’ve got what you wanted and I’ve got my money. You had to pay me because your brilliant smuggling idea came a cropper. What if I could offer you a foolproof way of bringing in as many cans as you want?’

‘Nothing is foolproof,’ said Ben.

Shepherd grinned. ‘I’ve got a boat that’ll outrun anything in the Channel,’ he said. ‘I can get from the Continent to the English coast in under forty minutes.’

‘A speedboat?’

‘Faster than a speedboat, mate. It’ll do eighty, and I’ve got night-vision gear, which means I can go out on a moonless night.’

‘Where is it?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ said Shepherd. ‘First we’ve got to talk about how much you’re prepared to pay. And I need to know what you’ve got in those cans.’

‘Why does it matter?’

Shepherd sneered. ‘Because if it’s heroin, I’ll be taking a much bigger risk than if it’s cannabis. I need to know what the risk is before we talk about the reward.’

The tall Asian said something in Bengali, but Ben cut him short with a wave. ‘Let me think about it,’ he said.

‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ve got my mobile number, yeah?’

Ben nodded. ‘You are an experienced sailor?’