Shepherd demonstrated.
‘If he can’t make the signal for some reason, he’ll yell for help,’ said Hargrove. ‘Inspector Steve Priestley will head up an armed unit dressed as park-keepers. They’ll only move in if Spider’s attacked or if the targets try to abduct him.’
Priestley raised a hand so that everyone could see who he was.
‘We already have three long-range camera units in place covering Speaker’s Corner and the main park exits,’ continued the superintendent.
A large whiteboard had been propped against one wall with a map of the park and the surrounding roads, Park Lane, Knightsbridge, Bayswater Road, drawn on it. Hargrove tapped the area where ‘Speaker’s Corner’ had been written in capital letters. ‘The targets originally suggested Paddington station, but didn’t protest when Hyde Park was suggested, which we think means they’re local. They could, of course, have a car ready or be planning to use Marble Arch Tube station, so we’re not making any assumptions. We have three vehicles ready to go, all with tracking equipment, whose range is up to a mile in the city, three or four miles outside. Our one worry is the Tube, so Blue Team will stay by the station entrance with day tickets for the whole network.’ A man and a woman, who looked like a married couple, nodded.
‘Green Team here.’ Hargrove tapped the exit closest to Speaker’s Corner. ‘Red Team here. Yellow Team here.’ More nodding. ‘As you probably know, a network of underground tunnels connects the various roads around Marble Arch so bear in mind that we could lose the signal from time to time. But no rushing in to get close. We’ll have all the options covered if and when that happens. Just be on your toes, and if I ask you to move, do it quickly. So, once more with the signals, Spider. Everything’s okay and you’re happy to go with them.’
Spider rubbed the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.
‘There’s trouble and you want out.’
Shepherd rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand.
‘Got that?’ asked Hargrove. Everyone nodded again. Hargrove glanced at his watch. ‘It’s ten past twelve,’ he said. ‘Spider’s on show at three, so you’ve got plenty of time to get bedded in. And remember, on your toes. We only get one crack at this.’
Jimmy Sharpe flashed Shepherd a thumbs-up as the surveillance teams filed out of the room.
‘I didn’t realise there’d be armed cops,’ said Shepherd. ‘I just hope no one knows me.’ Shepherd had infiltrated an SO19 unit the previous year after rogue armed cops had ripped off a group of North London drug-dealers at gunpoint. It had been the first time he’d investigated cops and he hadn’t enjoyed it.
‘We’re using local guys,’ said Hargrove, ‘and I cross-checked all the names with your SO19 operation. There’s no possibility of any overlap. Now, how about a room-service coffee? We’ve plenty of time before you head off.’
On a Sunday morning Speaker’s Corner was packed with orators standing on soapboxes or folding ladders, shouting their views on the world to anyone who cared to listen. Others wandered around grim-faced with sandwich boards, letting the written word do the shouting for them. But at three o’clock in the afternoon all the bastions of free speech had gone back to their hostels or lonely bedsits, leaving the park to tourists and joggers who preferred to do their running in the open air rather than sweating away on a treadmill watching Sky News.
Shepherd had the rucksack on just one shoulder. It wasn’t as heavy as the brick-filled one he used to build up stamina on his regular fitness runs but the cans dug into his back. It was a cool day, with a soft wind blowing from the north, and leaden clouds threatened rain. He was chewing gum. It was Corke’s habit, not his.
His eyes scanned the tourists wandering round the park – couples walking hand in hand, Japanese tourists clicking away with digital cameras, parents with nagging children queuing for ice-cream, an old tramp in a stained raincoat with a greyhound on a leash. He didn’t see anyone who’d been at the hotel suite and didn’t expect to. If he could spot them, the men he was going to meet might see them, too. Shepherd was sure that Ben wouldn’t come alone. He’d have back-up – at least one heavy, probably more.
He saw an unoccupied bench and sat down, stretching out his legs and placing the rucksack next to him. It was exactly three o’clock, but that didn’t mean Ben would be on time. If he knew what he was doing, he or someone else would be watching from a distance, until he was sure that Shepherd was alone. But Shepherd had to play the role: Tony Corke would get the jitters if everything didn’t go exactly as he’d planned, so he looked at his watch again, then scanned the park. He saw two park-keepers walking along a path, deep in conversation. Shepherd couldn’t tell if they were the real thing or armed police.
He felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck and a tingle down his spine. He glanced about, trying to work out what had triggered the alarm signals, and saw a man to his left, walking along with his head down and his hands deep in his coat pockets. A squat, almost square Asian, with a fast-receding hairline and slightly bowed legs. He glanced in Shepherd’s direction, then averted his eyes when he saw that Shepherd was staring at him. Shepherd suppressed a smile. Whoever the man was, he wasn’t well versed in surveillance techniques. Shepherd made a point of consulting his watch again.
The Asian man was walking slowly, eyes on the ground now – Shepherd could feel the anxiety pouring out of him. He looked around, casually, for anything out of the ordinary. There were no other Asians nearby, but Shepherd regarded everyone over the age of ten as a potential threat. He took in faces, clothing, body language. Nothing. The Asian man had stopped and taken a handkerchief out of his coat pocket to wipe his brow. It was a cold afternoon so Shepherd figured he was sweating from nerves.
Shepherd checked his watch again. It was ten past three. The Asian started walking towards him, hands back in his pockets. Shepherd’s mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and studied the screen. It was Ben. Shepherd frowned and took the call. ‘Hello?’ he said. No one spoke. Then the line went dead. The Asian was still striding purposefully towards him. Shepherd realised what had happened: the Asian was Ben and he’d made the call to check that Shepherd was the man he was supposed to meet, keeping his own phone concealed in his pocket. It was a clever move.
Shepherd watched him walk over. ‘You are Bill?’ the Asian asked.
Shepherd put away his phone. ‘Ben?’ He stuck out his hand and Ben stared at it. ‘You can shake hands, can’t you?’ he asked.
There was no strength in Ben’s grip, and it was damp with sweat.
‘The cans are in the rucksack?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Shepherd.
‘I need to see them.’
‘And I want the money,’ said Shepherd. ‘No thirty grand, no cans.’ He grabbed the rucksack straps.
‘I’m not trying to take them. I just want to check that they haven’t been opened,’ said Ben. ‘For all I know they could be empty.’
Shepherd stared at him, playing the hard man. ‘No money. No cans.’
‘I understand that, but I have to be sure. For all I know you’ve emptied them and filled them with rocks.’
Shepherd continued to stare at Ben, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay, but no tricks. Where’s the money?’
‘My associate has it. Once I’ve checked that the cans haven’t been tampered with I’ll phone him.’
Shepherd glared at him. ‘That’s not what we said. I said I’d bring the cans and you’d bring the money.’
‘We don’t know you,’ said Ben. ‘We didn’t know you had the cans. For all we know you could be working for Customs. Or the police. So I make sure, first. Then I phone my associate. Would you take off your jacket, please?’
‘What?’
‘I want to check your jacket.’
Shepherd took off his coat and handed it to him. Ben went through the pockets. He examined Shepherd’s mobile and flicked through the contacts file. ‘You have only my number in this phone?’