‘No, but you do need time off. There’s no point in you being with Grechko twenty-four-seven if you’re making yourself ill. I understand how stressful this is.’
‘So what are you suggesting? I take a break?’
‘Let me see if I can get someone to share the workload,’ she said. ‘Babysitting Grechko is probably a two-man job until we get the guy that’s after him.’
‘I might know someone,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’m listening.’
‘Former Regiment guy. Jock McIntyre. He’s left the SAS and is working security now but it wouldn’t take much to get him to join me. I could probably get Grechko to pay his wages, too. But he’d need to know that he was on board with your approval because he only trusts his own people.’
‘Why did this McIntyre leave?’
‘He’s put in close to twenty years. Honourable discharge and all that. Bloody good operator, I was with him in Afghanistan.’
‘And he’s up to speed on personal protection?’
‘Like I said, he’s working security at the moment. I can vouch for him.’ Shepherd knew that he wasn’t actually lying to Button, but he was definitely stretching the truth. But she was right, he did need back-up, and it would be useful having McIntyre close by rather than having him running back and forth from Reading.
‘Let me run a background check on him and I’ll let you know. Have you got his date of birth?’
‘I’ll text you later today,’ said Shepherd.
Button nodded and climbed into the car. ‘You take care, Spider,’ she said. ‘And try at least to get a few early nights.’
She closed the door and started the engine. Shepherd waved at the guard in the guardhouse and as the car purred down the driveway the massive black gates swung open.
As Shepherd walked back to the house, he phoned Jock McIntyre. ‘Jock, fancy a bit of real work?’
‘What do you have in mind?’
‘Helping me babysit that Russian I told you about. I can probably get you a couple of hundred quid a day. It means you can stay in London while we handle the other thing.’
‘I’m your man,’ said McIntyre. ‘Anything to get me out of this bloody office block. It’s doing my head in.’
‘OK, first things first. I need your date of birth and your National Insurance number, they’ll want to run a check on you. You haven’t been in trouble, have you?’
McIntyre chuckled. ‘I’ve been as good as gold, mate.’
‘Terrific. Text me those numbers and make sure you’ve got a half-decent suit. I’ll call you when it’s sorted. You can live in, the security guys have their own quarters.’
‘This is getting better by the minute,’ said McIntyre.
Shepherd ended the call and weighed the phone in his hand as he headed around to the rear of the house. He hoped that he hadn’t made a mistake in trusting McIntyre. But at least Shepherd would be able to keep an eye on him while he was based at Grechko’s mansion. And he would be close at hand when the time came to move against Ahmad Khan.
Two days after Shepherd had given the iPad and tracking device to Shortt, he got a late night phone call from Harper. ‘All done,’ said Harper, ‘Are you up for a meet?’
‘Tonight?’ Shepherd looked at his watch. It was just after ten and he’d only just arrived back at his flat.
‘Strike while the iron’s hot,’ said Harper.
‘Can’t we at least meet in a pub?’ said Shepherd. ‘This park thing is getting on my nerves.’
‘I can get a cab to yours if that’s easier,’ said Harper. ‘Got anything decent to drink?’
‘Few bottles of lager and a bottle of Jamesons.’
‘Jamesons will do. With ice. Text me the address and I’ll come on over.’
Shepherd’s door entry system buzzed less than half an hour later and he pressed the button to open the downstairs door. Harper waited until he was in the flat before taking off his parka. He tossed it on a chair and pulled a face as he looked around. ‘Bloody hell, mate, they’re clearly not paying you enough to be a spook.’
‘It’s a cover flat,’ said Shepherd, pouring slugs of whiskey into two glasses.
Harper went over to look at the framed photographs of Shepherd. In a couple he was in police uniform, and in one he was in full CO19 gear. ‘Photoshop?’ he said.
‘Nah, I dressed up for that picture a few years ago,’ said Shepherd, dropping ice into the glasses and adding soda to his own.
Harper went over to study the contents of Shepherd’s bookshelves. ‘So who are you? In case anyone asks?’
‘Tony Ryan, Specialist Firearms Officer with the Met,’ said Shepherd, handing one of the glasses to Harper.
Harper raised it in salute. ‘Nice to meet you, Tony,’ he said, and drank half of it before dropping down on to the sofa. ‘So you have full ID, driving licence, passport, all in the name of this Ryan.’
‘Sure,’ said Shepherd, sitting down. ‘But before you even ask, the answer’s no, I can’t get paperwork for you.’
‘Wouldn’t dream of asking,’ said Harper. ‘Besides, I’ve got my own people for that.’ He reached over to his parka and pulled a folded sheet of paper from the pocket. He gave it to Shepherd and leant back, stretching out his legs. ‘So, Ahmad Khan has a job. He works at an Asian supermarket in Shepherd’s Bush. Big place, a lot of restaurants use it, cash and carry. Jimbo did a walk around and saw him stacking shelves and a while later he was manning one of the cash registers. He got there at eight in the morning and left at seven.’
‘He drove there?’
Harper nodded. ‘Parked around the back in a staff parking area. It’s not overlooked so it’d be a perfect place to pick him up, either first thing when he arrives or later when he’s leaving. We could be there with a van and he’d be in the back before he had any idea what was going on.’
‘What’s his home situation?’
Harper grinned. ‘Yeah, Jimbo did his secret squirrel thing while Khan was at the supermarket.’ He nodded at the piece of paper. ‘The details are there. His daughter was at home and she was happy enough to talk to him. Her name’s Najela and she’s nineteen.’
‘Definitely the daughter?’
‘That’s what she said. And her English is good, Jimbo said. She’s a student studying at a local college.’
‘What about her mother?’
‘Just the two of them. Jimbo asked about the mother but all she said was that she was dead.’
‘And she’s from Afghanistan?’
Harper nodded. ‘Kabul,’ she said. ‘She said her father was a teacher and left after he’d been persecuted by the Taliban.’
‘Well, that’s a crock,’ said Shepherd.
‘Khan isn’t short of money. They’re renting the house and have been for five years or so. Najela works part time at a Citizens Advice Bureau and she’s a translator for the local council.’
Shepherd nodded thoughtfully. ‘Anything else?’
‘That’s it, pretty much. Jimbo said he didn’t want to push it too hard. So we do it, right? We pick him up and we slot him?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘We need ammo,’ he said.
‘Ammo’s not a problem,’ said Harper. ‘I know a man.’
‘It’s got to be totally untraceable,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s no point in using weapons from Afghanistan if the ammo points to Brixton gangbangers.’
‘Give me some credit, Spider. I’m not a virgin at this.’
‘You know about the Makarov specs, right?’
‘You mean 9.22 millimetre? Sure.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not the wet-behind-the-ears Para you knew back in Afghanistan. I’ve come on a bit since then.’
‘Apologies,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you’re sure you can get it?’
‘Russian stuff has been flooding into this country ever since the Soviet Union fell apart,’ said Harper. ‘Cheap, too. Your average gangbanger wants a nice shiny Glock or an Ingram or a Uzi. He thinks a Russian gun isn’t as cool because he doesn’t see them up on the big screen. Now your Bosnians and Serbs are quite happy to use a Russian gun, and London is full of them. Getting ammo will be a breeze. What about the longs? Do you want to use them?’