‘I’m a cop,’ said Shepherd, but a hand hit him in the middle of the back and pushed him against the car.
Another man was rooting through the back of the X5 while a fifth bodyguard had appeared with a mirror on the end of a metal pole and was using it to examine the underside of the car. It was Max Barsky, the youngest member of the security team and one of the new arrivals. He was tall and thin and his suit was slightly too small for him so that his white socks were clearly visible below the hems of his trousers. He was wearing Ray-Bans that were too big for his face, giving him the look of an ungainly stick insect.
Another man patted him down again, paying particular attention to his legs. They didn’t seem to notice the vest that he’d put on underneath the shirt. ‘OK, turn around,’ said the man. Shepherd did as he was told. It was Boris Volkov, tall and skinny with a shaved head, his eyes hidden behind impenetrable Oakleys. A former Moscow policeman, according to the file that Shepherd had committed to memory. ‘Boris Volkov,’ said Shepherd.
Volkov frowned and put his face closer to Shepherd’s. Shepherd could smell garlic on the man’s breath. ‘You know me?’
‘I’m here to see Dmitry Popov,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you know that, of course.’ He held out his hand. ‘Now stop pissing around and give me back my wallet and my gun.’
‘No one gets in with a gun,’ said Volkov, his English heavily accented.
‘You realise I’m a cop, right?’ said Shepherd.
Serov ejected the clip from Shepherd’s Glock.
‘You break it, you pay for it,’ said Shepherd. Serov ignored him and slotted the clip back in.
To the side of the gate was a brick gatehouse with a thick-glassed window and above it a white metal CCTV camera. Shepherd realised that someone was watching him from the gatehouse, a big man with a weightlifter’s build and the standard wraparound Oakley sunglasses. It was Dmitry Popov. He was standing with his arms folded, and Shepherd nodded, acknowledging his presence. His ears were slightly pointed, giving him the look of an oversized elf.
Popov turned away from the window and a few seconds later stepped through the doorway. Serov held out the Glock. ‘Pistolet,’ he said.
Popov took it from Serov and looked at the gun as if it had just appeared from a cow’s backside. ‘Plastic,’ he said. ‘I never liked plastic guns.’ He jutted his chin at Shepherd, emphasising the ugly scar on his left cheek. It looked as if someone had taken a broken bottle and ground it into the flesh. ‘Guns are not allowed on the premises.’ Like the rest of the bodyguards he had a Bluetooth earpiece in his left ear.
‘I’m an SFO, a specialist firearms officer, and I’m authorised to carry my weapon anywhere in the British Isles,’ said Shepherd.
‘This is private property,’ said Popov. He took Shepherd’s wallet and flicked through it. He paid particular attention to the warrant card.
‘How about you and I have a quiet word,’ said Shepherd, gesturing at the guardhouse.
Popov nodded, turned his back on Shepherd and walked inside. Shepherd followed him. The door opened into a small room with two plastic chairs facing the window. There was a line of grey metal lockers on one wall and a whiteboard on which were written various car registration numbers, times and dates.
Another door led into a windowless office in which there was a desk with a computer terminal and behind it another whiteboard. Under the whiteboard was a line of charging transceivers. Popov walked behind the desk, placed the Glock and the wallet next to the terminal and sat down. He waved Shepherd to a chair on the other side of the desk. Shepherd sat down and crossed his legs. He said nothing as Popov picked up the wallet, opened it and scrutinised the warrant card again before going through the rest of the cards. He tossed the wallet towards Shepherd and it thudded on to the desk, but Shepherd ignored it. Popov picked up the Glock, ejected the clip and checked there wasn’t a round in the breech. ‘You like the Glock?’ he said.
‘It does the job,’ said Shepherd.
Popov reinserted the clip and leaned over to put the gun next to the wallet.
Still Shepherd said nothing. Popov leaned back and put his hands behind his bull neck. He stared at Shepherd with pale blue eyes. ‘You said you wanted a word,’ he said eventually.
‘Are you done?’ said Shepherd.
‘Done?’ repeated Popov.
‘Done. Finished. Have you finished showing me how on top of things you are? Because I’m assuming that’s what that little charade out there was all about.’
Popov put down his hands and leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk. He opened his mouth to speak but Shepherd beat him to it.
‘First let me say that I understand what happened out there,’ said Shepherd. ‘You wanted to demonstrate that security here is good, and I got that message loud and clear. There’s a few things we need to put right but I can see that you’re on top of things.’
Popov inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the compliment but his face remained impassive.
‘And I understand your need to let everyone see that you’re the top dog here. Having me brought in like this, it suggests that you’ve somehow failed, so by giving me a hard time, you show everyone that you’re still in control. I understand that, which is why I’ll let today pass.’ Shepherd smiled thinly. ‘But make no mistake, Dmitry, if you ever disrespect me like that again, I’ll destroy you.’
Popov’s eyes hardened but still his face remained neutral.
‘I’m sure you’ve got the right working visa but I can have the immigration authorities all over you. I gather you’re in the UK more than ninety days a year so I’ll have you audited by the Inland Revenue – they’ll squeeze you so hard that your eyes will pop. I’ll make a call to a contact of mine who works for Homeland Security in the States and I’ll have you put on the no-fly list which means your flying days will be pretty much over. And that’s before I get through telling your boss what a liability you are.’ He smiled easily. ‘But I’m sure it’s not going to come that. We both need the same thing, Dmitry. We want to make sure that nothing happens to your boss. So no more pissing around, OK? We work together, we help each other, we make each other look good.’
Popov nodded slowly. ‘I understand.’
Shepherd smiled. ‘Just so we’re clear, I’m running the show while I’m here. It has to be that way, I don’t have time to run everything by you or to waste time massaging your ego. I’ll be respectful and I’ll include you as much as I can, and wherever possible I’ll make suggestions rather than issue orders, but at the end of the day I’m in charge. If something does happen and I tell you to jump, I need you to jump. On the plus side, if this does turn to shit it’ll be down to me and everyone will know that.’ He leaned over, picked up the Glock, and slid it into his holster, still smiling.
Popov stared at him for several seconds and then forced a smile. ‘Agreed,’ he said. ‘And I apologise for the overenthusiasm of my team.’ He held out his hand and Shepherd reached over and shook it. Popov squeezed hard as they shook, but not hard enough to hurt.
‘Dmitry, mate, if our roles had been reversed I would have done exactly the same to you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Except I’d have had them gloved up and giving you an internal examination.’ He stood up and pocketed his wallet. ‘Right, why don’t you give me the tour?’
Peter Grechko’s mansion was the biggest home that Shepherd had ever seen. He’d been in five-star hotels that were smaller and less luxurious and it took the best part of an hour for Popov to give him the lie of the land. Popov took Shepherd into the house through the garage. They had driven towards the garage doors in Shepherd’s X5 but as they rolled up it became clear that the garage was actually the entrance to the lower levels of the house. The ramp curved around and opened into an underground parking area large enough for a dozen cars. They climbed out and Popov took Shepherd over to a lift. The lift doors opened as they approached. There was a keypad to the right of the door and Popov tapped out a four-digit code and touched his thumb to a small sensor on the keypad before pressing the button for the second floor. Shepherd frowned at the buttons. ‘There are five floors?’ he said.