‘But the money’s good, is it?’
‘It’s fine. We’re just moving it around. We can get a better price for it in London.’
That was a lie, Shepherd knew. But he smiled and nodded. ‘That’s good. At least I won’t be carrying drugs.’ He lowered his voice: ‘Sixty grand a run, right? That’s twice what you paid before but this time I’ll be bringing over a lot more for you.’
‘Sixty thousand is acceptable,’ said Salik.
Shepherd rubbed his hands. ‘And where in France do they want to see me? Do I use the boat?’
‘They said Paris,’ said Salik. ‘You can fly over or take the Eurostar.’
Shepherd couldn’t make it look too easy: Tony Corke wouldn’t want to risk travelling out of the country by train or plane with his upcoming court case. ‘You’re forgetting one thing,’ he said. ‘They took my passport.’
‘Who did?’ asked Salik.
‘The police. A condition of my bail. I had to surrender it.’
Salik and Matiur exchanged another look. ‘That’s not a problem,’ said Salik. ‘We can get you another.’
‘In my name?’
‘In any name.’
‘I don’t want to be travelling on a fake passport,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I get caught, I’ll be in so much shit. Plus it’ll look like I’m skipping bail.’
‘It won’t be a fake passport,’ said Salik. ‘It’ll be in the system. You can even renew it after ten years.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Shepherd.
‘We have a friend in the Passport Agency,’ said Salik. ‘We give him the photographs and you can use whatever name and date of birth you like. Ten thousand pounds.’
‘Ten grand?’
‘It’s a bargain,’ said Salik. ‘It’s a real passport – you can use it to apply for visas in other countries and it’ll never be spotted. We can take the ten thousand off the money we will be paying you.’
Shepherd pretended to consider the offer. Then he nodded slowly. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘A new passport it is. How long will it take?’
‘Forty-eight hours after we have the photographs,’ said Salik. ‘We can take them tonight. There’s a photo booth at Paddington station. We can go there after we’ve eaten.’ He waved at the dishes on the table. ‘Now, please, enjoy the food.’
The van was still parked off Inverness Terrace. Shepherd knocked three times on the rear door, which opened. Hargrove was still sitting on his stool while Singh was listening to a recording on a set of noise-suppressing headphones.
‘Did you get everything?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Everything in the restaurant, clear as a bell,’ said Hargrove. ‘The passport stuff was interesting. We didn’t do so well at Paddington. Your phone was in your jacket, I guess.’
‘They didn’t say much, just took the photographs and told me they’d be in touch. I’ve said I’ll stay in London until the passport’s ready. You definitely want me to run with the passport thing?’
‘Absolutely,’ said the superintendent. ‘If they’ve got a man in the Passport Agency doling out the real McCoy, we need to know who he is.’
‘And what about Paris?’
‘Let me speak to Europol,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll see if they can set up surveillance in France.’
‘The Albanians are tough bastards,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m going to need back-up I can trust.’
‘I’ll take care of it,’ said Hargrove. ‘It’s starting to look like this is a serious currency ring. There’s a North Korean embassy in Tirana, Albania’s capital. If the North Koreans wanted to flood Europe with fake euros, the Albanian Mafia could do it efficiently for them, with Albanian asylum-seekers flooding into Fortress Europe. The Uddin brothers are just a small part of it.’ He rubbed his knee. ‘One thing I won’t miss about this job is sitting in the back of this bloody van. Do you want a lift home?’
‘I’m parked in a multi-storey down the road,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll be fine.’
‘How was the food?’ asked Singh. ‘My mouth was watering hearing that guy run through the menu.’
Shepherd grinned. ‘It was bloody good, actually. The guys like to eat.’
‘You seemed to be enjoying yourself,’ said Hargrove.
‘They’re easy to relax with,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’re not your regular villains – they don’t have that edge so you don’t keep expecting them to fly off the handle.’
‘Not getting soft, are you, Spider?’ asked Hargrove.
Shepherd grunted dismissively. ‘They’re a pleasant change from the drug-dealing scumbags and blaggers I’m used to dealing with. I didn’t say they don’t deserve to be put away for what they’re doing.’ He climbed out of the van. ‘I’ll call you when they give me details of the meet,’ he said, and slammed the door. He turned up the collar of his pea coat and headed towards the car park.
It was Friday morning when Salik rang, a little after nine. Shepherd had just got back from his run. He’d picked up the Daily Mail and the Daily Telegraph from his local newsagent, with a cappuccino and two almond croissants from the delicatessen but had to leave them untouched as Salik wanted to see him within the hour. Speaker’s Corner again.
He showered and shaved, put on Tony Corke’s clothes and drove to Marble Arch. He had decided against wearing the bulletproof vest. He phoned Hargrove on the way but the superintendent confirmed what Shepherd already knew: that there had been no time to put any surveillance in place. The meeting would go unmonitored and there would be no backup.
‘It’s your call, Spider,’ said Hargrove.
‘It’s in the open – if he was up to something he’d have picked somewhere more private,’ said Shepherd.
‘Call me when you’re through,’ said Hargrove. ‘If you feel it’s necessary, I can get Sharpe and Joyce to head your way.’
‘It’ll probably be over by the time they turn up,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. He probably just wants a chat about the boat.’
‘If you change your mind, call me,’ said Hargrove.
Shepherd parked in a multi-storey and took a circuitous route to Speaker’s Corner. Salik Uddin was sitting on the bench where Shepherd had waited for him. He was wearing a camel coat with the collar turned up and peeling an orange. ‘Tony,’ he said, ‘thank you for coming.’
Shepherd sat down. Salik offered him a piece of fruit but he shook his head.
‘Vitamin C,’ said Salik. ‘It keeps colds at bay.’
Shepherd smiled. ‘My mother used to say that,’ he said, ‘but I had just as many colds as the other kids.’
Salik smiled and popped a segment into his mouth. ‘Mothers always know best.’ He chewed slowly. ‘So, where are you staying in London?’
‘A mate’s spare bedroom,’ said Shepherd. ‘His wife walked out too, so we’ve a lot in common. Thanks for the meal the other night. Best Indian food I’ve ever had.’
‘Bangladeshi food,’ corrected Salik.
‘Sorry,’ said Shepherd. ‘Best Bangladeshi food I’ve ever eaten.’
Salik reached into one of the side pockets of his jacket and took out a brand new British passport. He handed it to Shepherd. ‘That was quick,’ Shepherd said.
‘We get fast-track treatment,’ said Salik.
‘That’s why it costs so much, I guess.’
Salik smiled. ‘Ten thousand pounds for a genuine British passport is cheap, my friend. I spent five times that on legal fees for my application and Matiur has spent twice as much and doesn’t even have citizenship yet.’
Shepherd opened the passport and flicked to the back. The photograph he’d taken at Paddington station grinned up at him. The date of birth made him thirty-three and the name was Peter Devereux. Place of birth, Bristol. Shepherd ran his fingers over the lamination, and examined the pages.
‘Don’t worry, it is the real thing,’ said Salik, as if reading his mind. ‘It’s not a copy or a facsimile, or your photograph stuck in someone else’s passport.’
‘If it’s so easy, why doesn’t Matiur just buy one? Why does he bother going through the whole legal process?’