Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

‘And I’ll owe you one,’ said Shepherd.

‘So you’ll let me have my television back in my bedroom?’

‘Don’t push it.’ Shepherd grabbed him and began to tickle him.

Liam writhed on the bed. ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘I give in, I give in!’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes!’

Shepherd released him and stood up. ‘And I want all your homework done by the time I get back,’ he said, ‘or I’ll tickle you again.’

‘I’m too old to be tickled.’

Shepherd lunged at him again and the boy squealed. ‘Okay! I’ll do it!’

The boat was moored at a berth in a small marina on the outskirts of Southampton, rented in the name of Tony Corke and backdated for twelve months. Salik and Matiur stood on the wooden jetty as Shepherd pulled the faded blue tarpaulin off the boat and rolled it up.

‘Come on, climb aboard,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m not good on boats,’ said Matiur. ‘I get seasick.’

‘A rib doesn’t roll like a normal boat,’ said Shepherd. ‘It cuts through the waves. It’s more like a car than a boat.’

Matiur put his hands up. ‘I’ll stay here,’ he said.

Shepherd looked at Salik. ‘What about you?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘I’ll just show you how it works so you can see for yourself how simple it is.’ He helped Salik climb in, fired the engine and told Matiur to release the moorings. He coiled the ropes, then eased the boat away from the jetty.

‘He liked you,’ said Salik, as Shepherd headed out to open water.

‘Who?’

‘Kreshnik. He said you were professional.’

‘Did he tell you what he did to me?’

‘What?’

‘His men hit me over the head and put me into the boot of a car at gunpoint.’

Salik seemed genuinely surprised. ‘They did that?’

‘Kreshnik’s a heavy guy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Dangerous.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Salik.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ said Shepherd. ‘Okay, sit down and hold on to the rail. I’ll show you what this baby can do.’

As soon as Salik had slid on to the seat, Shepherd pushed the throttle forward and the boat accelerated away from the marina, reaching planing speed within seconds. Salik’s jaw dropped.

Shepherd guided it through a flotilla of small dinghies, then accelerated to forty knots.

‘This is amazing,’ yelled Salik, squinting against the slipstream. ‘And we can’t be seen on radar?’

‘We’re virtually invisible,’ shouted Shepherd.

‘Amazing!’

Shepherd put the boat through a couple of tight turns, enjoying the alarm on his passenger’s face, then spent half an hour showing off what it could do and eventually took Salik back to the marina.

The brothers helped him tie up and cover the boat with the tarpaulin.

‘How was it?’ Matiur asked his brother.

‘Amazing,’ said Salik. ‘Like a sports car on water.’ He slapped Shepherd on the back. ‘We’ll do it for real tomorrow.’

‘What?’ said Shepherd.

‘Tomorrow. We have already paid Kreshnik.’

‘That’s a bit sudden, isn’t it?’

‘The sooner the better,’ said Matiur.

‘What about you? Are you coming too?’

‘We’re not, but we will send someone with you,’ said Matiur.

‘To keep an eye on me?’

Salik smiled. ‘It is a lot of money, Tony. You can understand our reluctance to let you bring it over alone.’

‘Just don’t make it one of the Albanians,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t want a bullet in the head.’

Salik patted his arm. ‘Don’t worry, they trust you now. As do we. But just because we trust you doesn’t mean we stop being careful.’

‘Where do I collect the stuff from?’

‘We’ll tell you tomorrow.’

‘And where do I deliver it to?’

‘Tomorrow.’

Shepherd smiled. ‘You love keeping me in the dark, don’t you?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Salik repeated. He put his arm round Shepherd’s shoulders and hugged him. ‘Everything’s going to be fine, Tony. We’ll make a lot of money and become good friends. We’ll meet again here tomorrow, as soon as it gets dark. Inshallah.’

Shepherd phoned Hargrove, using the hands-free kit, as he drove the Land Rover back to London. ‘They want to do it tomorrow night,’ he said.

‘You’re okay with that?’ asked the superintendent.

‘Providing the back-up’s in place at both ends, I’m easy,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’ll talk to Europol now,’ said Hargrove. ‘The snag is, we won’t know where the stuff’s being collected. Are you okay being wired?’

‘I guess so,’ said Shepherd. ‘They didn’t pat me down this time.’

‘We’ll know where the boat is from the tracking device, but not where you’re going.’

‘You realise they might not tell me in advance?’

‘We’ll have the Albanians under surveillance, and the Uddin brothers under the microscope here. The wire will be a fallback position.’

‘Will it work at sea?’

‘Let me talk to Singh,’ said Hargrove, ‘see what he’s got in his box of tricks. We’ll meet in Southampton tomorrow at four.’

When Shepherd got home Liam was sitting at the kitchen table with Katra, chewing at a pencil and frowning at an exercise book. ‘Dad!’ he shouted, throwing down the pencil and rushing to hug him.

‘Homework?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Science,’ said Katra. ‘Do you know anything about trees?’

‘The brown things with leaves on them? Sure.’

Liam laughed. ‘Photosynthesis, Dad,’ he said. ‘They turn sugar into starch in their leaves. I have to write an essay and Katra says I can’t use the Internet.’

‘Why would you want to?’

‘To download stuff. It makes it easier.’

‘You’re supposed to do it yourself,’ said Katra. ‘The Internet’s cheating.’

Liam looked at his father, hoping he’d contradict her, but Shepherd said, ‘Katra’s right. The teacher wants to know that you understand the science, not that you can download someone else’s work off the Internet. And you’re in enough trouble at school as it is.’

‘You’re so old-fashioned,’ said Liam, scornfully. ‘Everyone uses the Internet.’

‘Yeah, and everyone uses calculators, these days, which is why no one can add up in their heads any more. Remember when I made you do the times tables?’

Liam sighed. ‘Yes.’

‘And you didn’t like doing it at the time, right?’

‘It was boring.’

‘Sure it was boring. But now you know all the times tables, right? What’s nine times seven?’

‘Fifteen,’ said Liam, straight-faced.

‘What?’ said Shepherd.

‘Just joking,’ said Liam. ‘Sixty-three.’

‘See. You can do that because you learned your tables. Sometimes it’s better to do things the old-fashioned way.’

‘It’s hard,’ said Liam.

‘Nothing worth having comes easy,’ said Shepherd.

‘It’s okay for you – your memory’s perfect.’

‘But it never helped me write essays,’ said Shepherd. ‘The teacher wants to know that you understand what you’ve learned, not that you can repeat parrot-fashion what someone else has written. Having a good memory doesn’t make it any easier to understand things. And being smart is about understanding stuff, not just memorising it.’ He pointed at the exercise book. ‘So, get writing, yeah?’

Liam sat down.

‘Do you want coffee?’ asked Katra.

‘Please.’

‘What about something to eat?’

‘I’ll make myself a sandwich.’

As Katra made coffee, Shepherd took butter and ham out of the fridge. ‘I’ll be away tomorrow night,’ he said. ‘Just for the one night.’

‘Dad, we’re going to Gran and Granddad’s, remember?’