Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘What do you mean “possibly”?’ chided Nasram, setting the platter on the table. A whole fish lay on it, covered with a thick, reddish sauce. He grinned at Shepherd. ‘Don’t listen to anything this man tells you,’ he said. ‘This is what I am famous for. Makher taukari. My own recipe. You will have tasted no fish curry like it.’ He extended a shovel-like hand. ‘Welcome to my restaurant,’ he said.

Shepherd shook it. ‘Tony,’ he said. ‘Pleasure to be here.’

‘Do not let this man lead you astray,’ said Nasram, grinning at Salik.

‘In what way?’

Nasram patted Salik’s ample stomach. ‘He likes his food too much, this man. Moderation in all things is the way to a long and happy life.’

‘I’ll try to remember that,’ said Shepherd.

‘Enjoy,’ said Nasram. He chuckled and headed back to the kitchen.

Salik waved at the food. ‘Please, Tony, start.’

Shepherd spooned some of everything on to his plate, picked up his fork and began on the aloo dom. He raised his eyebrows. It was good.

‘What do you think?’ asked Salik.

‘Excellent,’ said Shepherd.

Salik handed him a platter of naan bread. He ripped off a chunk and dipped it into the aubergine.

‘So, tell me about your boat,’ said Salik.

‘It’s called a rib, a rigid inflatable boat,’ said Shepherd. ‘Virtually invisible to radar, it can cruise at fifty knots.’

‘And it can cross the Channel?’

‘Easily.’

‘Even in bad weather?’

‘We’d try to do it in reasonable weather,’ said Shepherd. ‘It can go out in storms, but why would we?’

‘And how much would you want?’ asked Matiur.

‘That depends on what you’re bringing over,’ said Shepherd. ‘Like I said before, it’s all about risk.’

‘We should be paying you for the trip,’ said Matiur, ‘not for what you are carrying.’

‘Let me put it another way, then,’ said Shepherd. ‘How much do you think you’ll want to bring over?’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Salik.

‘The weight. The boat can carry about a thousand kilos.’

Salik pursed his lips. ‘Probably a hundred kilos. Maybe two hundred. I am not sure.’

‘How can you not be sure?’ asked Shepherd. ‘You buy it by weight, don’t you?’

‘No, not really.’ He said something to Matiur in Bengali and the two men laughed.

‘What’s the joke?’ asked Shepherd. He had to keep playing the part of the slightly stupid sailor. As far as Tony Corke was concerned, the brothers were bringing in drugs.

‘We don’t buy it by weight, my friend,’ said Salik.

‘That doesn’t make sense,’ said Shepherd.

‘It makes perfect sense,’ said Salik.

Shepherd put down his fork. ‘I think I have the right to know what I’m going to be carrying,’ he said. ‘I’m the one whose balls will be on the line.’

‘It doesn’t matter what you’ll be carrying,’ said Matiur. ‘You’ll get your money anyway.’

Shepherd reached for another hunk of naan. ‘I guess that’s true.’

‘It is, my friend,’ said Salik.

‘What about more deliveries in future? Can this be a regular run?’

‘It is possible,’ said Salik. ‘But first things first. The men in France want to see you.’

‘What?’

Salik smiled reassuringly. ‘It is not a problem. They just want to know who they are dealing with.’

‘You can tell them I delivered the first load.’

‘I have. But I also had to tell them that you charged me thirty thousand pounds.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Shepherd. Meeting the French end of the currency ring was exactly what he wanted but Tony Corke wouldn’t be thrilled at the idea of getting involved with foreign gangsters.

‘The men who gave Pernaska the cans to bring over.’

‘And they’re French, yeah?’

Salik shook his head. ‘Albanian,’ he said.

‘Why are you working with Albanians?’ asked Shepherd.

‘They have the money,’ said Salik.

‘What money?’ asked Shepherd, pouncing on Salik’s slip.

Salik and Matiur exchanged a look. Matiur gave a small shrug. ‘Okay,’ said Salik. ‘We’re not bringing drugs over. It’s cash. Currency. And the Albanians have it.’

‘If it’s just money, why not put it into the boot of a car and bring it over on the ferry?’

‘Because Customs have the right to impound any money they suspect is from criminal sources. And anyone doing regular runs on the ferries or who takes their car through the Eurotunnel is flagged. And if you fly or take the Eurostar your bags are X-rayed.’

‘But the money’s good, is it?’

‘It’s fine. We’re just moving it around. We can get a better price for it in London.’

That was a lie, Shepherd knew. But he smiled and nodded. ‘That’s good. At least I won’t be carrying drugs.’ He lowered his voice: ‘Sixty grand a run, right? That’s twice what you paid before but this time I’ll be bringing over a lot more for you.’

‘Sixty thousand is acceptable,’ said Salik.

Shepherd rubbed his hands. ‘And where in France do they want to see me? Do I use the boat?’

‘They said Paris,’ said Salik. ‘You can fly over or take the Eurostar.’

Shepherd couldn’t make it look too easy: Tony Corke wouldn’t want to risk travelling out of the country by train or plane with his upcoming court case. ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ he said. ‘They took my passport.’

‘Who did?’ asked Salik.

‘The police. A condition of my bail. I had to surrender it.’

Salik and Matiur exchanged another look. ‘That’s not a problem,’ said Salik. ‘We can get you another.’

‘In my name?’

‘In any name.’

‘I don’t want to be travelling on a fake passport,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I get caught, I’ll be in so much shit. Plus it’ll look like I’m skipping bail.’

‘It won’t be a fake passport,’ said Salik. ‘It’ll be in the system. You can even renew it after ten years.’

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Shepherd.

‘We have a friend in the Passport Agency,’ said Salik. ‘We give him the photographs and you can use whatever name and date of birth you like. Ten thousand pounds.’

‘Ten grand?’

‘It’s a bargain,’ said Salik. ‘It’s a real passport – you can use it to apply for visas in other countries and it’ll never be spotted. We can take the ten thousand off the money we will be paying you.’

Shepherd pretended to consider the offer. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘A new passport it is. How long will it take?’

‘Forty-eight hours after we have the photographs,’ said Salik. ‘We can take them tonight. There’s a photo booth at Paddington station. We can go there after we’ve eaten.’ He waved at the dishes on the table. ‘Now, please, enjoy the food.’

The van was still parked off Inverness Terrace. Shepherd knocked three times on the rear door, which opened. Hargrove was still sitting on his stool while Singh was listening to a recording on a set of noise-suppressing headphones.

‘Did you get everything?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Everything in the restaurant, clear as a bell,’ said Hargrove. ‘The passport stuff was interesting. We didn’t do so well at Paddington. Your phone was in your jacket, I guess.’

‘They didn’t say much, just took the photographs and told me they’d be in touch. I’ve said I’ll stay in London until the passport’s ready. You definitely want me to run with the passport thing?’

‘Absolutely,’ said the superintendent. ‘If they’ve got a man in the Passport Agency doling out the real McCoy, we need to know who he is.’

‘And what about Paris?’

‘Let me speak to Europol,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll see if they can set up surveillance in France.’