The cocaine he’d taken with Smith still had all his senses in overdrive and he took slow, deep breaths to steady himself as he watched T-Bone take out a handful of banknotes and hand them through the front passenger window of the Range Rover. Harper tensed. If it was going to happen it was going to happen now. His right hand tightened on the gun and his left reached over for the door handle. He’d already decided what he was going to do – if they shot T-Bone he’d be out of the car before his friend hit the ground, two quick shots at the driver through the windscreen as he walked towards the car and then he’d have to play it by ear, making each of the remaining four shots count. The gun began to tremble between his legs and he took another deep breath.
T-Bone’s hand reappeared, this time holding a small box. Harper caught a flash of white teeth and then T-Bone nodded and turned back to the Porsche. After a few steps the Range Rover’s lights came on full beam, blinding Harper. He flinched and turned away, expecting a hail of bullets, but they never came. The headlights dipped and the Range Rover edged towards the exit.
Harper shoved the gun in his pocket as T-Bone pulled open the door and slid into the driving seat. He slammed the door shut and tossed the box of Russian cartridges into Harper’s lap. He looked down at the footwell and saw the scraps of plastic from the ammunition box. ‘You OK, Harpic?’
‘All good, T-Bone,’ said Harper.
‘You don’t need to be paranoid all the time. There are some good people out there.’ The Range Rover blipped its horn and turned into the main road.
‘Just because I’m paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not out to get me,’ said Harper, pulling up the hood and settling back in his seat.
Shepherd’s mobile rang and he groped around for it. He was lying on his sofa watching an old Van Damme movie on Sky. Van Damme was undercover but no one seemed to care that he had a Belgian accent or a very dodgy haircut. Shepherd squinted at the phone’s display but the number was being withheld. ‘Yeah?’ he said.
‘It’s me,’ said a voice. Lex Harper.
‘Hello, you.’
‘I need to see you.’
‘Bloody hell, it’s almost midnight.’
‘I’ve got something for you. Can’t have them hanging around my place, there’s some very shady characters staying there.’
‘I’ve got to be up at six.’
‘You’re way past the stage of needing your beauty sleep. It’ll only take a few minutes.’
‘No offence, mate, but I’m not over the moon about you popping around to the flat late at night. Once was OK but it’s not cool to make a habit of it. I’ve got neighbours and there’s a little old lady opposite who’s big with the Neighbourhood Watch.’
‘No problem. I can meet you on the Heath.’
‘At this time of night? They’ll think we’re cottaging.’
‘I’ll see you at Preacher’s Hill,’ said Harper. ‘It’s well away from Jack Straw’s Castle so no cottaging there. I’m here now and there’s no sign of George Michael. Put on your running gear and pop over. And don’t forget your rucksack full of bricks.’
Harper ended the call. Shepherd groaned and rolled off the sofa. He was wearing a polo shirt and jeans so he quickly changed into an old sweatshirt and baggy tracksuit bottoms and pulled on the old pair of trainers. His rucksack was still in Hereford but he had a small Nike backpack in his bedroom and he put that on before heading out. Preacher’s Hill was just a few minutes from his flat, a small triangular section of woodland separated from the main Heath by East Heath Road.
Harper was already sitting on a bench, not far from a children’s playground, smoking a cigarette, his face obscured by the hood of his parka. Shepherd sat down next to him. ‘Yeah, this is good, two men sitting by a kiddies’ playground, that won’t attract attention,’ he said.
‘It’s midnight, all the kids are safe home in bed,’ said Harper. ‘Anyway, this won’t take long. Take your bag off.’ He flicked ash on to the path.
Shepherd took off the bag and unzipped it. Harper took a furtive look around then slid his hand into his right pocket and took out a plastic bag. He gave it to Shepherd, who shoved it into the backpack. Harper took another package from his left pocket and that too went inside the backpack.
‘What are they?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Smith & Wesson 629s, they’re .44 Magnums.’
‘Six in the chamber,’ said Shepherd.
‘Yeah, but six Magnums. Hit a guy in the arm and the arm comes off. One head shot and there’s nothing else.’
‘Bloody loud, too.’
‘Spider, mate, will you stop looking a gift horse in the mouth. There’s three grand’s worth of chrome in there.’ He looked around again before reaching into his inside pocket and pulling out two boxes of ammunition. ‘Four-fours for the Magnums, and rounds for the Makarovs.’
Shepherd slid the boxes into the backpack and zipped it up.
‘When are we going to do it?’ asked Harper.
‘We need to have a sit-down with Jimbo and Jock.’
‘Sure, but you and me are pulling the trigger, right? We’ve got more invested in this.’
Shepherd nodded. ‘I guess so.’
‘There’s no “guess so” about it,’ hissed Harper. ‘Three of my muckers died out there, shot in the back. And he killed Captain Todd right in front of you.’
‘I know, but Jimbo and Jock are involved.’
‘Yeah, well, it’s the difference between the pig and the chicken.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Breakfast, mate. Eggs and bacon. The chicken’s involved but the pig’s committed. I’m committed to this. And I think you are too, right?’
‘Sure.’
‘You don’t sound convinced.’ Harper leant forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his left hand cupping his right. His cigarette smouldered and the smoke made Shepherd’s eyes water. ‘We have to do this, you know that?’
‘I’m not disputing that. He shot me, remember? Damn near killed me. But we have to do this right.’
Harper took a long pull on his cigarette and blew a tight plume of smoke across the grass. ‘Have you done anything like this before?’
Shepherd took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Yeah.’
‘In cold blood?’
‘It’s never in cold blood. But shot someone when they weren’t a direct threat? Yes. I’ve done that.’
‘And we’re not talking about sniping?’
Shepherd shook his head. ‘No. More recent.’ He sat back and folded his arms, a physical manifestation of how uncomfortable the conversation was making him feel. ‘But in a way, this is like sniping. If I’d had Khan in my sights back in Afghanistan, I’d have pulled the trigger and thought nothing of it. Half the kills I had in Afghanistan weren’t a direct threat to me. Most of them wouldn’t even have known what hit them. What we’re going to do is payback. It’s as if I pulled the trigger back in 2002, it’s just that the bullet has taken more than a decade to arrive.’
‘Sniping’s too good for him,’ said Harper. ‘I want him to see who puts the bullet in his head. I want him to know who’s taking his life and I want him to know why. I want to put the first bullet in him, Spider. You can do what you want, but the first shot is mine.’
‘It means that much to you?’
‘He killed my mates. Shot them in the back. Yes, it means that much to me.’
Shepherd stared at Harper. He could see the hatred burning in the man’s eyes and for the first time he understood just how Harper felt. Harper wanted revenge, and revenge wasn’t always a dish best served cold.