Stephen Leather - Cold Kill

He picked up the trigger, took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He had no doubts, no reservations and no regrets. He closed his eyes. There would be no pain. He wouldn’t be aware of the explosion. It would all be over for him the instant he pressed the trigger.

He jumped as a shot rang out. A piece of plastic had been ripped out of the wall in front of his face. There was a small hole in the door. Someone was shooting at him. Something had gone wrong. Something had gone very wrong.

He heard another loud bang, felt a thump in his right shoulder and saw a black hole in his duffel coat. The trigger dropped from his fingers. He felt blood soaking into his chest, then a dull ache.

His peripheral vision started to go and he seemed to be looking down a long tunnel. He bent to grab for the trigger and found himself smiling, even though he knew he was about to die.

Then his head exploded.

Button walked into the observation room, her mascara streaked. Yokely was on his mobile phone. He flashed her a thumbs-up. ‘Absolutely,’ he said, into the phone. ‘As soon as it’s done I’ll get back to you.’

He cut the connection and beamed at Button. ‘Charlie, you were brilliant,’ he said. ‘Absolutely first class. You’re a natural.’

‘The train?’

‘Your man Shepherd came through. It’s safe. What you did in there was superb. You played him like a one-string fiddle. I couldn’t have done it better myself.’

Button wiped her face, then ran damp hands through her hair. She took two steps towards Yokely. The American reached out to her, anticipating a hug, but Button punched him in the face. She felt a surge of satisfaction as the cartilage shattered in his nose and blood spurted over his lips. He staggered back against the table. Without thinking what she was doing, Button kicked him between the legs, hard. Yokely bent over, gasping for breath, blood-flecked hands clasping his groin.

‘You bastard,’ she said. She raised her hand to hit him again, but managed to hold herself in check. ‘You’re not worth it,’ she said, and stalked out of the room.

The female doctor smiled reassuringly at Shepherd. ‘Your colleague will be fine,’ she said. She was French but spoke English with an American accent. ‘He lost a lot of blood and we’ll keep him here for a day or two but there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘Thanks, Doc,’ said Shepherd. Sharpe was lying in bed, bandages round his neck and shoulder. He was pale and weak but he smiled.

Shepherd looked round to see Charlotte Button standing in the doorway. She smiled at him and gave him a small wave.

Shepherd walked over to her. He didn’t want to shake hands with her. He didn’t even want to talk to her. She was wearing a fawn raincoat and carrying a Louis Vuitton shoulder-bag.

‘Is he going to be okay?’ she asked.

‘Yeah,’ said Shepherd.

‘You did good work today, Dan.’

‘Where the hell were you?’ he snarled.

‘It’s complicated,’ she said.

‘No. Quadratic equations are complicated. A boss being there when her team needs her, that’s basic police procedure. Hell, it’s common fucking sense.’

Button’s face hardened. ‘I know you’ve been through a lot today, but I won’t allow you to verbally abuse me, DC Shepherd.’

‘We don’t use ranks,’ said Shepherd coldly. ‘Ever.’

‘You work for me, Dan. I don’t work for you. Remember that.’

‘Yeah, well, that could change,’ said Shepherd. ‘I needed you today.’ He jerked a thumb at Sharpe. ‘He needed you.’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m responsible for what happened to Jimmy.’

‘There were two of us, unarmed, on a train with four suicide-bombers. We should have had back-up. There should have been armed cops with us.’

‘Dan, let’s not start off on the wrong foot.’

He flashed her a tight smile. ‘We’re not dancing here. It’s not a question of right foot or wrong foot. Four terrorists with bombs could have killed a hell of a lot of people on that train, and you had your phone switched off.’

‘I don’t have to justify myself to you,’ said Button. ‘But I can tell you that I was at the American embassy for most of today, interrogating the man who planned the bombs on the Eurostar. And a lot more.’

‘Who is he?’

‘A Saudi. I was involved in his interrogation and I have to say it was pretty fucking unpleasant.’ She smiled thinly. ‘I’ve had a pretty shitty day myself, Dan. But, unlike you, I don’t come out of it covered with glory.’

Shepherd nodded slowly. ‘Okay. You’re right. I wasn’t aware of the big picture.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I need to get home.’

‘I’ve arranged a plane,’ said Button. ‘There’s a car outside that’ll take you to the airport. I’ll stay here and arrange Jimmy’s transport back to the UK.’

‘What’s happened to the Uddin brothers?’

Button looked uncomfortable. ‘They’re out of the picture.’

‘They were arrested?’

‘We took them in, along with their contact in the Passport Agency.’

‘Will I be giving evidence?’

‘There isn’t going to be a trial. Not in the near future, anyway.’

Shepherd frowned. ‘Why not?’

‘They’re being taken to Guantanamo Bay.’

‘What?’

‘They provided passports to Hagerman. The Americans want to know who else they supplied. They’re putting them on a military flight tonight.’

‘They could be questioned here. Why the hell take them to Cuba?’

‘The Americans wanted them, and the way the world is just now, the Americans get what they want.’

‘The brothers probably don’t even know who Hagerman is,’ said Shepherd.

‘I agree,’ said Button.

‘They’re not terrorists.’

‘In which case they’ll be released.’

‘When? After three years? Five? Ten?’

‘When they’ve proved they’re not terrorists.’

‘How do you prove a negative?’ asked Shepherd. ‘They’re just guys who broke the law. Okay, prison here, that’s fair enough, even though we both know of men who’ve done things a thousand times worse and never been behind bars. But they don’t deserve to be clapped in irons and kept in cages.’

‘I’m not the enemy here, Dan.’

‘Then who is? The Yanks?’

‘It’s the way of the world. The Uddins provided terrorists with passports. That puts them in the terrorist camp. It’s like Bush said, you’re either with them or against them. There’s no middle ground any more.’

‘They probably thought they were helping asylum-seekers,’ said Shepherd.

‘So they can explain that.’

‘They shouldn’t have to explain it to military interrogators in Cuba,’ said Shepherd. ‘We made the case. They should be put on trial here and, if they’re found guilty, a judge decides on a fair sentence. That’s their right, laid down by the bloody Magna Carta. The right to a fair trial. And not to be punished until they’ve had one. It’s bugger all to do with the Police and Criminal Evidence Act or the European Court of Human Rights. It’s what our ancestors fought and died for hundreds of years ago.’

‘The world has changed, Dan,’ said Button, quietly.

‘Too bloody right it has.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, and patted his shoulder as if she was comforting a bereaved relative.

Shepherd twisted out of her grasp and she flinched as if she’d been struck. ‘It’s okay, I’m not-’ he started to say, but saw from the look of sympathy on her face that explanations weren’t necessary. She understood. But there was nothing she could do. Shepherd walked away without looking back.

When Shepherd got home the house was dark. He went upstairs and opened the door to Liam’s bedroom. His son was fast asleep so he went back downstairs, threw his pea coat on to the sofa and went over to the bookcase. A bottle of Jameson’s stood there and he picked it up. He rarely drank whiskey at home, and never when he was alone. He’d drunk wine with Sue, usually chardonnay or pinot grigio, and usually as a prelude to an early night. The Jameson’s was for visitors, especially Sue’s father, Tom, who was a great fan of Irish whiskey.