‘And like I said, that’s not much of a plan.’
‘The security services are on full alert and they will be for the foreseeable future,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s a lot of surveillance going on; internet chatter and emails are monitored; GCHQ eavesdrop on phone calls. We’ve got CCTV, we’ve got all sorts of technological advantages that the terrorists don’t have, and we’ve got right on our side.’
‘That gives you an advantage, does it? Having right on your side?’
‘It means that there will always be people like you who want to do the right thing, Raj. No one is totally alone. Everyone has friends, relatives, workmates, neighbours. Providing there are people who are prepared to do the right thing, the terrorists will always be identified, sooner or later.’
Two middle-aged women in matching raincoats, one with a spaniel, the other with a red setter, walked by. The woman with the spaniel glared at Shepherd with open hostility. He smiled at her and winked, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust and tugged hard at her dog’s lead.
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Chaudhry.
‘And what about you, Raj? After all this is over. What do you plan to do?’
Chaudhry frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘MI5 can use guys like you.’
‘Brown-skinned Muslims, you mean?’
‘I meant intelligent, self-motivated individuals who want the best for our country. You could go far, really. And not because of your ethnicity.’
‘My dad would. .’ Chaudhry laughed. ‘Actually, I don’t know what my dad would say. But my mum, she’d freak out. She always wanted my brother to be a doctor and she went apeshit when he announced that he wanted to be an architect. The only thing that calmed her down was me saying that I wanted to study medicine. If I were to change my mind now. .’
‘I think you’ll make a great doctor,’ said Shepherd.
‘I bet you say that to all your. .’ Chaudhry smiled. ‘What are we to you, John? How do you describe us?’
‘You’re an agent,’ said Shepherd.
‘I thought you were the agent.’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘I’m an officer. An MI5 officer. You’re an agent. Or an asset.’
‘An asset? That’s good to know.’ He smiled thinly. ‘I just wish this was over, John.’
‘I know. It will be soon.’
‘I just keep thinking that Khalid knows what we’re doing.’
‘He doesn’t.’
‘He’s under surveillance, right?’
Shepherd nodded.
‘Would he have been followed tonight? To the restaurant?’
‘I would think so.’
‘I didn’t see anyone,’ said Chaudhry.
‘You wouldn’t. The people we use are real professionals. And if we even suspected that he knew you were talking to us we’d pull you out immediately. But that’s not on the cards, Raj. The fact that he wanted you to meet Lateef and Faisal shows that he trusts you. You’re his golden boys.’
Chaudhry shrugged. ‘I guess so.’
‘There’s no guessing about it. He recruited you, he sent you to Pakistan for training, now he’s getting ready for the big one. He’s never going to suspect you because you’re on the inside; he’ll see any threat coming from the outside. That’s why you and Malik are so important in all this. You’re on the inside.’
‘You’ve been in my position before, right?’
‘Lots of times.’
‘It’s scary, isn’t it? Lying all the time?’
Shepherd smiled. ‘It can be. But you get used to it.’
‘I don’t want to get used to it,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I just want it to be over.’
Shepherd opened his eyes and was disorientated for a few seconds until he remembered he was in his bedroom in Hereford. He’d driven up the previous morning, then taken Katra to watch Liam play rugby. Liam’s team had won, and afterwards they’d taken him and half a dozen of his teammates for pizza. Shepherd shaved and showered and dressed in a polo shirt and black jeans before heading down to the kitchen. Katra was already up and by the time he’d picked up the newspaper from the hallway she had a cup of coffee ready for him.
‘Breakfast?’ she asked. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt over cargo pants and had tied her brown hair back with a scrunchy.
‘Egg and bacon would be great, Katra. I’ve got a busy day.’
‘Working on a Sunday?’ she said, taking a frying pan from a cupboard.
‘No rest for the wicked.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ she said as she began to cook his breakfast.
‘Of course,’ said Shepherd.
Katra had worked as his au pair for more than four years and he thought of her more as family than as an employee. Over the years she had lost most of her Slovenian accent though her love of soap operas meant that her pronunciation was a blend of north of England and the East End of London, with the occasional Australian twang thrown in for good measure.
‘Now Liam’s at boarding school and you’re in London so often, I was just wondering if you really still needed me.’
‘Of course we need you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Liam’s here between terms and at most half-terms too. And the house still needs looking after.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, who would cook breakfast for me? And I really don’t want to be ironing my own shirts.’
She laughed. ‘I like ironing,’ she said.
‘Then you’re not going anywhere. Plus, I don’t know how long I’ll be in London. My situation can change at short notice.’ He put down his newspaper. ‘Everything’s okay, right? You are happy here?’
Katra turned round to look at him, the spatula in her hand. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I have been happy ever since I started working for you.’
‘That’s fine. You’re happy, we’re happy, everyone’s happy.’
‘But what if you get married?’
Shepherd laughed. ‘Trust me, Katra, marriage isn’t on the cards, not at the moment. And if I do meet someone it’ll just mean twice as much ironing.’
Katra nodded, reassured, and went back to cooking his breakfast.
An hour later and Shepherd was pulling up in front of the Stirling Lines barracks at RAF Credenhill, home to the SAS. He was driving an MI5 Range Rover that had been registered in the name of his Garry Edwards legend. He wound down his window. ‘Dan Shepherd, here to see Major Gannon,’ he told a young trooper.
The trooper consulted a list on a clipboard and nodded. ‘Can you show me photo ID, please, sir?’ Shepherd took out his wallet and showed him his driving licence. The trooper looked at it carefully, handed it back and then wrote down the registration number of the car. ‘If you could park by the shooting range, Major Gannon is expecting you,’ he said, raising a boom barrier so that Shepherd could drive through.
The Major, dressed in a black Adidas tracksuit, was waiting for him in front of the shooting range. He grinned as Shepherd got out of the car. ‘Traded in the BMW?’ he asked.
‘Nah, this is a pool car. More in keeping with what an arms dealer would drive, apparently.’ Shepherd walked round to the rear and opened the tailgate.
‘The guns are inside,’ said the Major, nodding at the double doors that led to the range. ‘I’ve got you three Yugos, but there’re more if you need them. I thought there were six but three have been signed out.’
‘Three’ll be fine,’ said Shepherd. He followed the Major through the doors into the range. He wrinkled his nose at the acrid smell of cordite.
At the far end of the range was a line of terrorist targets in front of a wall of sandbags. There was a table close to the entrance in front of a rack of ear protectors, and on the table was a wooden crate and a metal ammunition case.
‘So I’ve been hearing stories about you from a couple of Navy Seals we’ve had embedded with us for a few weeks.’
‘Just make sure they’re careful where they’re pointing their weapons,’ said Shepherd.
‘They do have a reputation for friendly fire, don’t they?’ agreed the Major. ‘Friendly fire ranks right up there with military intelligence in the tautology hit parade, doesn’t it?’
‘You know there are two thousand active Navy Seals? Hardly special forces, is it? I mean, how special can they be to let that many in?’