‘You keep calling it a rib,’ said Shepherd.
‘Stands for rigid inflatable boat. Basically an inflatable with a hard hull.’
‘It’s the perfect smuggler’s boat,’ said Shepherd.
‘Good job I’m one of the good guys, isn’t it?’ said McConnell. He winked and laughed, a bellowing guffaw that had several heads turning in his direction.
‘Do you get asked to bring stuff over?’
‘All the time,’ said McConnell. ‘Usually by guys in sharp suits down from London who think I’ll drop my trousers for a few grand. If they really piss me off I pass them on to an undercover Customs guy I know, otherwise I just let them ply me with drink then bid them farewell with a few choice words.’
‘What about being followed by planes or helicopters?’
‘On a daytime run they could pick you out of all the rest of the cross-Channel traffic maybe, but not at night.’
‘Range?’
‘At a steady ten knots the engine burns through eight gallons of fuel an hour. Once you’re up on the plane, you burn eleven gallons an hour but you’re doing forty knots or more. Pretty much four times more efficient. The fuel tank holds fifty-five gallons so you can do two hundred nautical miles or thereabouts. More than enough for a Channel run. And it’s no trouble to carry another fifty-five gallons in cans.’
‘There’s just the one engine?’
‘The biggest outboard on the market. Three hundred horsepower. A beast. Fifteen grand’s worth of motor.’
‘Reliable?’
‘Just don’t run over anything and it’ll be fine.’
‘What if it breaks down?’
‘It won’t.’
‘Have you got a manual I can read?’
‘If anything does go wrong, I don’t want a bloody amateur tinkering with it,’ growled McConnell. ‘You have a problem, you call me. Now, I’ve a question for you. What will you be carrying?’
‘Hargrove didn’t tell you?’
‘I wouldn’t be asking if he had,’ said McConnell. ‘I don’t play silly mind games, life’s too short.’
‘Sorry,’ said Shepherd, not wanting to offend the man. ‘I just assumed he’d filled you in. Cash. Counterfeit euros. Maybe a couple of passengers.’
McConnell nodded. ‘At least it’s not drugs.’
‘Does it matter? Doesn’t Hargrove give you a “get out of jail free” card?’
McConnell chuckled. ‘It’s not as easy as that,’ he said, ‘but you know as well as I do that villains who deal in drugs are at the nasty end of the spectrum. The people-smugglers are a bad bunch, too. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you. Or my boat.’
‘I’m a big boy, Gordy,’ said Shepherd. ‘Besides, the guys at this end are sweethearts.’
‘And the ones in France?’
‘I’m not sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘Could be Albanians.’
McConnell grimaced. ‘Now they can be heavy bastards,’ he said. ‘Albanians and Serbs are worse than the Russians.’
‘Yeah, but it’s currency, not drugs.’
‘Still worth killing for,’ said McConnell. He gestured at the notepad. ‘Okay, let’s run through a few things and then I’ll go over the charts with you.’
After two runs across the Channel in close to complete darkness, then seeing the dawn come up as they brought the boat back into Southampton, McConnell decided they needed refuelling, which meant going back into a pub for a full English breakfast: fried eggs, bacon, black pudding, beans, potato pancakes, tomatoes and two slices of fried bread.
‘So, have you got any questions?’ asked McConnell, through a mouthful of egg and bacon.
‘How do you earn a living down here?’ asked Shepherd.
‘I meant about handling the rib,’ said McConnell. He twisted the top off a bottle of HP sauce and poured it over his fried bread.
‘I’m fine on the boat,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m trying to work out where you stand in the grand scheme of things.’
McConnell scratched his ear. ‘I’m a sort of consultant,’ he said. ‘Your old mob uses me from time to time, and I’m a regular visitor to Poole.’
Poole in Dorset, headquarters of the SBS. Shepherd had twice been on courses there during his days as an SAS trooper.
‘Ribs are used for all sort of things these days – interception of craft at sea, boarding oil-rigs, getting people into places with the minimum fuss. I do a fair bit of training.’ He grinned. ‘And in my spare time, I take merchant bankers out deep-sea fishing.’
‘Really?’
‘Pays well and I get stock tips to boot. You wouldn’t believe the size of my portfolio.’
As Shepherd laughed, his work phone rang and he fished it out of his pea coat. It was Hargrove. ‘How are you getting on, Spider?’ asked the superintendent.
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. He nodded an apology to McConnell and went outside the pub. ‘Gordy’s a good teacher,’ he continued. ‘Hell of a crash course he’s given me.’
‘Think you can handle the boat?’
‘I can’t guarantee a smooth crossing, but I can get there and back,’ said Shepherd.
‘On your own, or do you want him with you?’
‘I think the brothers are more likely to be spooked if I bring in someone else,’ said Shepherd, ‘but I’ll play it by ear when I speak to them. He’s a character, though. No way they’d think he was any sort of law-enforcement official.’
‘A maverick?’
‘Definitely.’
‘You’re probably getting on like a house on fire, then,’ said Hargrove. ‘Are you done there?’
‘We did two trips in the dark. We’re going back out this morning and then I’ve asked him to give me a rundown on maintenance and stuff in case I get asked awkward questions.’
‘Did he tell you there’s a tracking unit on the boat?’
‘He didn’t, but that’s good news.’
‘We’ll know where you are every step of the way. And we’ll have both ends covered.’
‘You sound like you’re worried.’
‘It’s a big stretch of water and I didn’t want you to think you’d be on your own out there,’ said Hargrove.
‘I’ve already proved I can swim,’ said Shepherd.
‘No question about that,’ said the superintendent. ‘When you get back to London, Charlotte Button wants to meet with you.’
‘A job interview?’ said Shepherd.
‘A chat,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll text you her number. She’s expecting your call.’
‘Have they said when you’ll be leaving?’
‘Sooner rather than later.’
‘What about this operation? They won’t pull you off it before it’s done?’
‘I can’t guarantee that won’t happen, Spider. I’m sorry.’
‘I’m putting my life on the line here, and some desk jockey decides that my safety-net gets taken away?’
‘If I’m pulled off, Button will be fully briefed and she’ll take over. I guarantee you won’t be put in harm’s way.’
Shepherd cut the connection. He waited outside the pub until the text message arrived, then called Charlotte Button. She was brisk and to the point, and asked him to meet her for tea at the Ritz the following day at three o’clock. He smiled as he cut the connection. ‘No time for chit-chat, then,’ he muttered.
He went back inside. McConnell was waving at a barman and ordering two more slices of fried bread.
Shepherd was an hour outside London when his personal mobile rang. It was Katra, and she was clearly upset. ‘Dan, you have to go to the school now,’ she said, voice shaking.
Shepherd’s stomach lurched. ‘What’s happened? Is Liam okay?’
‘There’s some problem, but they won’t tell me what it is. The office of the headteacher called and said you have to go to the school right away.’
‘He’s not hurt, is he?’
‘No, but there is a problem. I think he’s done something wrong.’
‘What?’
‘They wouldn’t tell me because I’m not a relative or his legal guardian. Only you.’
Shepherd looked at the clock on the dashboard of the Land Rover.