Shepherd knew that he had to speak to Charlotte Button, but it wasn’t the sort of conversation that he could have on the phone. By the time he got back to his flat it was almost one o’clock so he decided to leave it until the next day. He wasn’t happy about hiding the guns and ammunition in the flat but he knew that it would be safer there than in Harper’s hotel. There was a bucket of cleaning supplies in the cupboard under the sink and he hid them there, covering them with sponges, cleaning cloths and a bottle of Domestos.
He showered and went to bed, though he slept fitfully. He’d set his alarm for six but he was already awake when it started to ring. He wasn’t sure what time Button got up but he left it until he was driving up to The Bishops Avenue before calling her on hands-free. ‘The early bird?’ she said.
‘There’s a morning briefing at seven each morning and I like to be there for that,’ he said. ‘But we need to talk.’
‘Can you come to the office?’
‘Let me see what Grechko’s schedule is like,’ said Shepherd.
‘I’ve got meetings back to back,’ she said. ‘It’ll be really hard to get away today.’
‘It’s important, but I’ll call you back in about an hour,’ said Shepherd. He arrived at the gates to Grechko’s house, wound down his window and waved at the CCTV camera. The gate rattled open and he drove through, waving at Yakov Gunter in the guardhouse. Gunter waved back and went back to reading his newspaper. Gunter was one of the recent additions to the security team, one of the bodybuilder types who spent most of their time in the gym. His thick neck and overdeveloped biceps suggested that he was also abusing steroids, but Shepherd figured that was none of his business. He drove through the garage doors and down to the parking area in the basement. He left his X5 next to Podolski’s motorcycle. She had left her black crash helmet sitting on one of the mirrors.
He used his thumb and four-digit code to get into the security centre, where Thomas Lisko was sipping coffee and watching the CCTV screens. Popov was already in the briefing room with Podolski, Dudko and Volkov. Podolski offered Shepherd coffee and he thanked her and took his place at the table. One of the chefs had already dropped off a plate of croissants and rolls and a platter of assorted meats and cheeses. Shepherd took an almond croissant and had just taken a bite when Tarasov walked in and sat down.
Popov handed around printed sheets and began the briefing. Grechko wasn’t planning to leave the house but there were three visitors expected, one of his accountants, a Savile Row tailor and a watch dealer. Popov grinned at Shepherd. ‘Before all this he’d have been going to see them but he’s summoned them here. I think he’s quite warming to the idea.’
‘It certainly makes security a lot easier,’ said Shepherd. Podolski put a mug of coffee down in front of him and he smiled his thanks. ‘The visitors, they’re all long-standing contacts?’
Popov nodded. ‘Mr Munroe has been Mr Grechko’s tailor since before I joined his security team. Mr Adams is a senior partner of the accountancy firm that handles Mr Grechko’s UK companies. And Mr Edwards has been to the house several times before. He is a well known watch dealer.’
‘Sounds good,’ said Shepherd. He looked at his watch. ‘I’ve got some things to do so I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be on my mobile if you need me.’ He went back out to the car, called Button to let her know that he was on his way, then slipped his Bluetooth earpiece into his pocket and switched off his transceiver. He waved at Gunter as he drove out through the gates, then called up Shortt on his hands-free. ‘Jimbo, can we have a meet at your place this afternoon?’ he asked as he drove towards central London.
‘No problem, she’s at golf until five,’ said Shortt. ‘Shall I get snacks?’
Shepherd laughed. ‘Don’t go to any trouble,’ he said.
He called McIntyre and told him that Charlotte Button had given him the green light.
‘That’s great news, I’ll tell them where to stick their job,’ said McIntyre.
‘I’ll fix you up with a room at the house. Have you got a suit?’
‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘I was just asking, Jock. We have to wear a suit and tie. Black if you’ve got it.’
‘I’ll dig out my funeral suit. What other gear do I need?’
‘A few changes of clothes. We can buy whatever else you need. Just pack a bag and I’ll pick you up at Paddington station in a couple of hours.’
‘I’m on my way,’ said McIntyre.
Shepherd’s final call was to Harper and he arranged to collect him from Bayswater later that morning.
The traffic was heavy and it took him almost an hour to get to Thames House. It was only after Shepherd had signed in that he remembered that he was still carrying his Glock. He smiled apologetically at the woman who had checked his credentials. ‘I’m sorry, I have a weapon,’ he said.
‘That’s all right,’ she said briskly. ‘You can leave it in our secure room. I’ll get Brian to take you through.’
A young man in a grey suit took Shepherd into a room with metal lockers covered by two CCTV cameras. Shepherd took off his jacket, then slipped off his shoulder holster and put it in a locker with the two extra ammunition clips. He was surprised to see a key in the lock; he’d been expecting something more high-tech. He took the key, slipped it into his trouser pocket and put his jacket on, all the time under the watchful eye of Brian and whoever was monitoring the CCTV.
He took the lift up to Button’s office. Her secretary explained that she was busy and kept him waiting for a full thirty minutes before the door opened and two earnest young men in shirtsleeves walked out carrying armfuls of files. She smiled when she saw him and apologised for keeping him waiting. Her secretary put down a cup of tea for her and asked Shepherd if he wanted anything. He declined and sat down while Button went back behind her desk.
‘I had something of an epiphany last night,’ he said.
‘That’s good to hear.’
‘This Sasha Czernik. You think he was murdered after the bungled car bombing?’
‘I’m trying to get the body exhumed but it’s an uphill struggle. The Russian authorities aren’t being cooperative.’
‘But you think he was murdered, right?’
‘It’s possible.’
‘So we have a killer who killed two oligarchs and is after a third.’
‘Assuming that Czernik was murdered, yes.’
Shepherd rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Look, it doesn’t seem likely that the Kremlin is going to use a sniper that can’t hit his target. Suppose it’s personal. Maybe the killer wants to get close when he kills. He wants the victim to know who his killer is.’
‘But that doesn’t gel with a sniper, does it?’
‘Here’s the thing,’ said Shepherd. ‘Maybe the sniper isn’t missing. Maybe he’s aiming at the bodyguards.’
‘A killer with a grudge against bodyguards of the world’s richest men?’
He grinned at her sarcasm. ‘Suppose that, as you say, the killer has a personal reason for killing these oligarchs. For some reason he wants them dead. But he wants them to know who has killed them and why. He wants them to see his face. He never intends to kill them with the rifle, or a bomb, because then they wouldn’t know why they were dying. The first attempt is set up to deliberately fail so that he can get his man on the team and use him to get the intel he needs to get in close.’
Button tilted her head to one side and nodded thoughtfully.
‘Hurting a bodyguard, or almost blowing up a car, shows up shortcomings in security. So what does your regular neighbourhood oligarch do when he thinks his security has failed? He brings in more bodyguards.’
‘So our assassin shoots a bodyguard and then joins the security team? Becomes the inside man?’