Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘I’m not sure,’ he said.

‘But you need time to think it over?’

‘I guess I’m like most people,’ he said. ‘Change is always a bit worrying, even if it’s change for the better.’

‘It’s going to be a big move for all of us,’ said Button. ‘SOCA is new territory, but it’s much-needed. Crime has gone country-wide, global even, so the way we tackle it has to change. It’s an opportunity for both of us to get in on the ground floor. Frankly, I can see the day coming when the local forces are more involved with crime prevention and motoring offences, and all major crime is investigated by SOCA. Murder, robbery, rape, they’ll all be dealt with by a national team. It makes so much sense.’

‘I’m not convinced that just because something is handled nationally makes it more efficient.’

‘Trust me, Dan. Most of the corruption in this country is at local level. Members of Parliament are lily-white, compared with the men and women who sit in our town halls. Policing is just too big an issue to be dealt with locally. The town halls can’t even run our schools properly.’ She smiled. ‘Anyway, this isn’t about politics. This is about you doing what you do best. Being a thief-taker. And you’ll be taking a lot more thieves working with me than you will at the Met.’

‘What about giving evidence?’ asked Shepherd. ‘The way things are at the moment, we do the work but the local force takes the credit so the undercover operatives don’t have to stand up in court.’

‘Same with MI5,’ said Button. ‘And it’ll be the same with SOCA. The undercover unit will be protected. Other officers, from the more visible units, will give evidence under oath. The worst possible scenario for you would be giving evidence in camera or with your identity withheld.’

‘Weapons?’

‘On a case-by-case basis, as now. You have a weapon signed out to you, don’t you?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘A SIG-Sauer.’

‘I’m a fan of the Glock. But I rarely, if ever, carry one.’

‘Mine’s locked away at home most of the time, but there are occasions when I need one at short notice.’

‘Nothing will change there,’ said Button.

‘I don’t want to be signing forms in triplicate and having to justify every round.’

‘I hear you, Dan. Loud and clear.’

Shepherd sipped his coffee. It was full and rich, possibly the best coffee he’d ever drunk. But he doubted that he’d pay regular visits to the Ritz. Charlotte Button, on the other hand, seemed at home in the opulent surroundings. He wondered if she was meeting all the SOCA recruits there, or if he had been singled out for special treatment. And if she pulled the same surveillance trick on all her interviewees.

‘What sort of time-frame are we talking about?’ he asked.

‘Weeks rather than months,’ said Button. ‘Because of the long-term nature of undercover work, people will join gradually, as and when they become available. I gather you’re on a counterfeit-currency case at the moment and that you’re co-operating with Europol.’

‘It’s a complicated one, and I’m right in the middle of it,’ said Shepherd. ‘Albanian Mafia have been using asylum-seekers to bring in fake euros. The euros are being handled by Bangladeshi money-changers in London. We’re getting ready to bust both ends.’

‘How long before it’s wrapped up?’

‘A week, maybe.’

‘So if you decide you want to come on board, I’ll make sure no further work comes your way.’

‘I’ve decided,’ said Shepherd.

‘And?’ said Button, raising an eyebrow.

‘I’m in,’ said Shepherd. He picked up his cup and held it towards her. She smiled and clinked hers against it. ‘I look forward to working with you,’ he said.

‘And I with you, Dan,’ she said. ‘Or can I call you Spider now?’

‘You know about that?’

‘I know everything,’ she said. ‘Except how you got the nickname.’

Shepherd looked shamefaced. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I ate one once.’

‘You ate a spider?’

‘A big one.’ He held out his hand, fingers splayed. ‘About that big. When I was doing jungle training with the Sass. Sort of for a bet.’

Button shuddered. ‘Must have been horrible.’

‘Tasted like chicken, actually.’

Button giggled so much that she spilled tea into her saucer.

The surveillance van was parked in a side-road off Inverness Terrace, less than half a mile from Paddington station. Shepherd knocked on the back door, which opened immediately. He climbed in and Amar Singh pulled the door closed.

Hargrove was sitting on a small stool at the far end, pouring coffee from a stainless-steel flask into a plastic cup. ‘Want some?’ he asked, offering the flask.

‘I’m fine.’

Hargrove screwed the top back on to the flask and put it on the floor. ‘Okay, here’s the situation,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to put anyone else into the restaurant, but we’ll be watching everyone who goes in and out. The main restaurant is on the ground floor and there’s another seating area in the basement, but that’s rarely used. The floors above are apartments. There’s a backyard, which leads out to an alley, and we’ll have that covered but, frankly, I don’t see that there’s anything to worry about, do you?’

‘I’m pretty sure they trust me,’ said Shepherd. ‘If anything was up I don’t think they’d have suggested a restaurant.’

Singh handed Shepherd a Nokia mobile. ‘We decided against a recording device, as it’s only the second time you’ve met them.’

‘Agreed,’ said Shepherd. ‘They patted me down the first time and might well do it again.’ He turned the mobile phone over and examined it.

‘Apparently they checked your phone before so it’s unlikely they’ll look at it again. This one functions as a transmitter as well as a phone.’

Shepherd removed the back cover of his regular phone, took out the battery and slid out the Sim card. He gave the old phone to Hargrove and installed the Sim card in the new one.

‘Providing it’s switched on, we’ll hear everything,’ said Singh. ‘Range is practically unlimited. It transmits through the mobile-phone system rather than an independent transmitter. We’ll be recording here. The microphone isn’t great – ideally you’d want it out in front of you but that’s up to you. You don’t want to draw attention to it.’ He smiled thinly. ‘Sorry. Didn’t mean to start teaching you how to suck eggs.’

‘We’ll see how it goes,’ said Shepherd. ‘Back-up?’

‘I’ve got Sharp and Joyce nearby, but we’ll keep our distance. What’s your rescue phrase?’

‘Does anyone have the time?’ said Shepherd.

Hargrove wrote it down on a piece of paper in capital letters. It was one of Shepherd’s regular phrases. If he used it, Hargrove and his team would move in immediately. ‘Ready?’

‘As I’ll ever be,’ said Shepherd. He put the phone into his pocket and climbed out of the van.

The restaurant where Salik had wanted to meet was in a road off Queensway, which ran parallel to Inverness Terrace. While Inverness Terrace was mainly residential, Queensway was a bustling mix of ethnic restaurants, gift shops and bars, and the pavements were packed with tourists and students looking for a cheap meal or heading for the cinemas in the Whiteleys shopping mall. It was the worst possible area to look for a tail: there were too many people, and too many types – black, white, Asian, Oriental, young, old, male and female, a mass of humanity in which nobody stuck out because everybody was different. The only ones likely to be noticeable were Sharpe and Joyce – middle-class, middle-aged white men in suits.

There were a dozen tables in the restaurant and the Uddin brothers were sitting in the far corner. A big man in a purple suit tried to steer him towards a small table in the window but Shepherd nodded at the brothers. ‘I’m expected,’ he said. He walked towards their table and Salik got to his feet. He was wearing a grey silk suit and a white shirt with an Asian collar buttoned up to the neck. ‘Tony, good of you to come,’ he said.