The man with the flashlight went to the van. He tucked the light into his belt and picked up two cans. Shepherd kept the engine ticking over, with just enough throttle to keep the bow on the sand. Hussain jumped off the boat on to the beach, holding the tow rope.
The man with the cans splashed into the water and walked past him. ‘Nice night for it,’ said Shepherd. The man grunted something unintelligible that he figured was probably an Albanian insult. He shrugged. So long as he wasn’t getting his feet wet, he was happy.
Ervin and Artur carried the rest of the cans to the water’s edge and left them there, obviously having decided there was no point in them all getting wet. When the man with the flashlight saw what they were doing he yelled at them, but the two Albanians laughed and went back to the van.
This time the man swore in English, then beckoned to Hussain. ‘You can help me,’ he said, with a strong Albanian accent.
‘He has to keep that rope taut,’ said Shepherd, ‘and I have to keep my hand on the throttle.’
The Albanian swore again as he waded back to the shore to pick up more cans. There were twenty in all. If the three that Rudi Pernaska had brought into the country contained a million euros, the cans on the boat would probably hold closer to seven million. He could see why the Uddin brothers wanted an armed guard on the run.
By the time the last can was in place the Albanian was soaked. Artur and Ervin watched from the beach, their hands on their hips.
‘Okay, Hussain, back into the boat,’ said Shepherd. He gunned the engine to hold it firm against the sand as Hussain clambered on to the prow, then eased himself over the windshield. It was a far from elegant manoeuvre, accompanied by a lot of grunting and groaning. He sat in his seat, gripped the handrail, and Shepherd put the throttle into reverse to pull the hull slowly off the sand. He kept the boat moving backwards until there was several feet of water under it, then turned slowly so that they were pointing towards England. He pushed the throttle forward, but kept the speed to just under five knots. ‘Right, Hussain, where are we going?’ he asked.
Hussain took a scrap of paper from inside his waterproof jacket and handed it to him. Shepherd entered the co-ordinates into the GPS. The computer showed the route. It was a beach about twenty miles east of Southampton. He pulled the night-vision goggles over his eyes and pushed the throttle. ‘Home, James,’ he said, as the boat leaped forward.
‘What?’ said Hussain.
‘Nothing,’ said Shepherd. ‘Hold tight and enjoy the ride.’
It was just after three in the morning when Shepherd cut the engine and fished his mobile phone out of his pocket. He slid the goggles on top of his head and stared out into the darkness as he pressed ‘redial’. Salik answered almost immediately.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Salik.
‘Nothing,’ said Shepherd. The rib rose and fell with the swell.
‘You’re late,’ said Salik.
‘It took longer than we’d thought to load up,’ said Shepherd. ‘The Albanians didn’t want to get their feet wet. Anyway, are you ready?’
‘We’ve been ready for the last hour,’ said Salik.
‘Flash your headlights,’ Shepherd said.
‘Now?’
‘Now,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do it twice.’
Shepherd stared towards the coastline. To his left he saw two beams cut through the night sky, just for a second. Then again. He took a bearing off his compass, then pulled down the goggles and gunned the engine.
He was half a mile from the beach and reached it in less than a minute. He slowed the outboard as he got closer. He could see the Mercedes on the road beyond, and a Transit van. It was the Mercedes headlights that had flashed from the shore. Three men were standing by the van, but they were too far away for him to see who they were.
He repeated the manoeuvre he’d made on the French beach, edging the boat forward slowly. The hull crunched on the pebbles and Shepherd held it where it was. Hussain knew the drill now and climbed over the side with the rope. He held it tight and Shepherd flashed him a thumbs-up.
Salik and Matiur walked over the beach, their shoes slipping on the pebbles. They held their hands out at the sides as they waddled along in their thick overcoats, like a couple of agitated penguins. Two other Asian men, younger and fitter, followed them.
‘Tony!’ called Salik. ‘Everything is okay?’
‘Perfect,’ said Shepherd. ‘Take the stuff off the boat and I’ll get the hell out of here.’
Salik said something to the two young men and they hurried over, grabbed two cans each, then jogged back to the van.
‘You’ve done well, Tony, thank you,’ said Salik.
‘You don’t have to thank me. Just have my money ready tomorrow.’
Salik grinned. ‘Don’t worry, it will be.’
It took about ten minutes to unload the cans, then Hussain tossed the rope into the back of the boat.
Salik waved goodbye. ‘We’ll see you tomorrow. Our office.’
‘I don’t know where your office is, Salik,’ shouted Shepherd.
‘We’ll call you.’
‘You’d better,’ said Shepherd. He put the engine into reverse and edged away from the beach, then turned the boat, pulled on the goggles and made for Southampton.
Shepherd took the boat to its mooring, then drove to the Best Western hotel, where he gave the transmitting equipment to Amar Singh. Hargrove was out with the surveillance team, on the trail of the Uddins.
‘You came over as clear as a bell,’ said Singh. ‘Hargrove called the French and they were there to see the whole thing. Captured it on film with infra-red cameras. Hargrove told me to tell you what a great job you did.’
‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd, putting his shirt back on.
‘You heard he’s leaving, right?’
‘Onwards and upwards.’
‘Hard act to follow,’ said Singh.
‘No question.’
‘You heard about his replacement?’
Shepherd shrugged. Singh was on attachment from NCIS and, as such, wasn’t a full member of Har grove’s team so he didn’t want to say too much. ‘I’ve only just found out he was moving on,’ he said. ‘Why? What have you heard?’
Singh stashed the equipment in his briefcase. ‘Just that he’s going to New Scotland Yard. Office job.’
‘Promotion, right?’
‘Yeah. Chief super. At least we’ll have friends in high places.’
Shepherd drank two cups of coffee and ate a beef-salad sandwich before he drove back to London. It was seven thirty in the morning when he parked in front of his house. Liam was sitting at the kitchen table, eating toast and jam.
‘What happened to the cheesy scrambled eggs?’ asked Shepherd, dropping on to a chair opposite him.
‘I fancied a change,’ said Liam.
Katra appeared at the door. ‘You’re back!’
‘Well, if I’m not, a stranger just stole this kid’s toast.’ Shepherd grabbed a slice off Liam’s plate and stuffed it into his mouth.
‘Hey!’ shouted Liam.
‘I’ll make more,’ said Katra.
‘How were Gran and Granddad?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Okay. They’ve got a PlayStation Two.’
‘What?’
‘And a load of games.’
‘Well, that must be for your benefit. I can’t see Tom and Moira playing video games.’ He frowned. ‘Hey, didn’t I say that losing your PlayStation was part of your punishment?’
‘It wasn’t my PlayStation, it was Gran’s PlayStation,’ said Liam, speaking slowly as if Shepherd was hard of hearing. ‘Anyway, it was a PlayStation Two, not a PlayStation One.’
‘Sounds like you’re going to be a defence lawyer when you grow up,’ said Shepherd. ‘What’s happening about the piano lessons?’ he asked.