‘I’m checking on the gear,’ said Shepherd.
‘That other stuff we talked about – you know what I mean?’
‘Yeah.’
‘We want some. Can you get ten kilos? And twenty of the things you said were fifty quid.’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd. ‘But it’ll be another eleven grand.’
‘We’ve got the money,’ said Ali. ‘When can you get the stuff here?’
‘Birmingham or London?’
‘London’s fine,’ said Ali. ‘We want it as soon as possible. The other gear, too.’
‘Are you on a deadline?’
‘We don’t want to hang about,’ said Ali. ‘When will it be ready?’
Shepherd rubbed the back of his neck. He had no idea how long he was going to be in Dubai. He could tell the Major he had to go back to London and he would understand, but Shepherd knew where his loyalties lay. ‘A few more days,’ he said. ‘There’s been a hiccup but we’re getting it sorted.’
‘A problem?’
‘Not any more. But this is difficult stuff to move around – we’re not shipping bananas. As soon as I’ve got it in the UK, I’ll call you.’
‘How long?’
‘Not long,’ said Shepherd.
‘You’re not fucking around with me, are you?’ asked Ali.
‘Tom, I want to sell you this gear as much as you want to buy it. Keep your mobile on, I’ll call you as soon as we’re sorted.’
Shepherd cut the connection and cursed again.
‘Problems?’ asked O’Brien, laying more eggs on to slices of bread.
‘Work,’ said Shepherd.
‘How much do they pay you to be a cop?’ asked O’Brien.
‘Not enough,’ said Shepherd.
The transceiver on the kitchen table crackled, then they heard Muller’s voice. ‘We’ve got visitors,’ said Muller. ‘Cops. They’ve pulled up outside.’
‘Shit,’ said O’Brien. ‘Just when I’m ready to eat.’
The Major’s voice came on. ‘What’s the story, John?’
‘They’re locals, just one car. Two guys are getting out now, not drawing their weapons. Looks routine. Make that three guys. Two men and an officer.’
‘Let me know if more arrive,’ said the Major.
Shepherd rushed up the stairs to the servants’ quarters. The Major was already at the door. ‘They’re off the mark quickly,’ he said. ‘Get the old man. Explain to him what he has to say, then take him downstairs.’ He nodded at Armstrong. ‘Gag them all. Quickly.’
‘I’m on it,’ said Armstrong.
Shepherd went through to the bedroom and used his Swiss Army knife to cut the tape from Yazid’s feet and wrists. He helped him to sit up. ‘The police are here,’ he said. ‘You are to tell them that your boss is in Baghdad, with his wife and daughter. You think they’ll be back in a week. You don’t know where they went or where they’re staying. Do you understand?’
The old man nodded.
‘My friends will be up here with their guns. If the police make trouble, people here might get hurt – your wife might get hurt. It will be best for everyone if you make sure that the police go away.’
Yazid nodded again.
‘My friend will be listening to you and he speaks Arabic. If you say anything to the police, he will know. There is one thing you must understand, my friend. If the police force their way in here, they will only care about your boss and his family. They won’t care what happens to you. You and your wife could easily be killed.’
‘I understand,’ said Yazid, rubbing his wrists. He was still wearing his pyjamas.
‘Get changed quickly,’ said Shepherd. He waited while the old man pulled on a pair of brown trousers and a wool shirt.
‘I haven’t shaved,’ he said.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Shepherd took the man’s arm and led him out of the bedroom. Fariq, his wife and daughter were sitting together on the sofa, bound and gagged. Fatima glared at Shepherd as he walked by. The Major was standing at the top of the stairs with Shortt, both holding their Glocks.
‘Okay?’ said the Major.
‘He understands,’ said Shepherd.
‘I will do as you ask,’ said the old man. ‘I will make them go away.’
The Major put the transceiver to his mouth. ‘Sitrep, John.’
‘They’re walking up to the gate. No weapons drawn, it looks like a friendly visit.’
There was a buzzing sound in the hallway. ‘The intercom,’ said the old man.
‘Answer it, and open the gate,’ said the Major. Yazid went down the stairs with Shepherd beside him and Shortt following. O’Brien was in the kitchen, Glock drawn, eating an egg sandwich.
‘Keep the back covered,’ said Shepherd. ‘It looks like there’s only the three coming to the front door, but just in case, yeah?’
‘I’m on it,’ said O’Brien, through a mouthful of food.
Shepherd and Shortt took the old man into the hallway and he showed them where the intercom was. He pressed a button and kept his eyes on Shepherd as he listened to the officer on the intercom. Then he pressed a chrome button. ‘They are coming in,’ he said.
‘They didn’t say what they wanted,’ said Shortt. ‘They just asked to come in.’
Shepherd put a hand on Yazid’s arm. ‘You are not to let them into the house,’ he said. ‘On no account are they to come inside. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
Behind them the transceiver crackled. ‘They’re inside the gate,’ said Muller.
Shepherd hurried into the kitchen and picked up the transceiver. ‘Radio silence until they’ve gone,’ he said, and switched off the device. He got back into the hallway as the front doorbell rang.
Shepherd ducked into the study with his Glock at the ready. Shortt nodded at Yazid and pointed at the door. Then he stood in the corner behind the door, the gun aimed at the old man’s stomach.
Yazid opened the door. Only one of the policemen spoke and Shepherd assumed it was the officer. The old man replied in Arabic. He sounded deferential but firm, and there was a lot of head-shaking. He kept a tight grip on the door. The conversation went on in Arabic for several minutes, then the old man smiled and started to close the door, head bobbing. Shepherd half expected to hear the officer protest and force his way in, but eventually the door clicked shut and Yazid sighed. ‘They have gone,’ he said.
Shepherd looked at Shortt.
‘I didn’t follow it all but they asked for the wife first,’ said Shortt. ‘Then they wanted to know when he’d last heard from the husband. He stuck to the script, as far as I can tell.’
Shepherd patted Yazid on his shoulder. ‘You did well,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’
‘I did it because you said my wife might die if I didn’t,’ he said flatly.
‘I’m sorry about this,’ said Shepherd. ‘I really don’t want to hurt anyone.’
‘Then why are you carrying guns and wearing masks?’ asked Yazid.
Shortt pushed him in the back. ‘Come on, upstairs,’ he said.
‘Hey, easy with him, he’s an old man,’ said Shepherd.
‘If he keeps his mouth shut, I’ll go easy on him,’ said Shortt. ‘And you don’t have to justify yourself to him. We’re doing what we’re doing and that’s the end of it.’
Shepherd wanted to argue, but he knew there was no point. And there was no way to justify what they were doing. Nothing he could say to make their actions morally or legally right. He went back into the kitchen and picked up the transceiver as Shortt and Yazid went to the servants’ quarters. He switched it on and pressed ‘transmit’. ‘All clear,’ he said. ‘They’ve gone.’
Mitchell heard shouting behind the locked door, and the sound of a round being chambered. Then he heard more shouting and a key rattling in the lock. He was sitting with his back to the wall, the paperback book in his lap. His stomach turned over as he realised that his time might have come. There was no shouted command for him to stand against the wall but the door was flung open and one of the men was there, holding a Kalashnikov. He didn’t have his face covered and Mitchell saw rotting teeth and a scar that zigzagged across the right cheek. The man screamed something at him in Arabic. Mitchell had no idea what he was talking about, but his intention was clear.
He struggled to his feet but his left leg cramped and he stumbled against the wall. As he pushed himself up the man slammed the butt of the Kalashnikov into his stomach and he pitched forward, the taste of bile in his mouth. As he fell forward the man hit him again, this time on the back of the neck. Mitchell hit the ground hard and fought to stay conscious. He tried to roll on to his back, but the man kicked him in the ribs. Mitchell grunted and tried to grab his assailant’s leg. The man stepped back and pushed the barrel into Mitchell’s throat. Mitchell lashed out with his foot and caught him in the groin. He fell back and the Kalashnikov went off. The bullet smacked into the concrete just inches from Mitchell’s head. The noise was deafening and his ears were ringing as he rolled on to his front and pushed himself up.