False Friends

Klaus was groaning, his hands clasped over his face, blood trickling down through his fingers.

Still lying on his back, Shepherd grabbed the Glock and pulled it from its holster. All he could see was Klaus, rocking back on his heels and wailing like a banshee. He pulled his leg back, put his foot in the centre of Klaus’s chest and kicked him hard. Klaus fell backwards.

Shepherd brought his left hand up to support his right wrist, his finger tightening on the trigger as he looked for a target.

He found Kettering in his sights, standing by the table, his eyes wide and confused. Kettering cursed and looked to his right. Shepherd realised what he was looking at: Klaus’s gun on the table.

‘Don’t move!’ shouted Shepherd, but Kettering was already reaching for the gun. ‘Freeze!’ Shepherd yelled.

Kettering grabbed the gun and began to swing it round. He said something but Shepherd couldn’t hear him above the sound of Klaus’s screams. Shepherd fired once, hitting Kettering six inches below his Adam’s apple. Kettering stiffened and the gun dropped from his fingers, clattering back on to the glass table.

Shepherd got to his feet, sweeping the cabin with his Glock.

Thompson was standing by the stairs leading up to the bridge. ‘Don’t shoot,’ he said.

‘Keep your hands where I can see them,’ said Shepherd. Kettering sank to his knees, blood gushing over his shirt, his mouth working soundlessly.

Thompson moved towards the table but Shepherd fired close to the man’s foot. ‘The next one goes into your chest,’ he said. Thompson straightened up and raised his hands.

‘Does the captain have a gun?’ Shepherd asked. Thompson shook his head. ‘If you’re lying I’ll shoot you first,’ said Shepherd.

Kettering fell forward and thudded face down on to the deck.

‘He doesn’t,’ said Thompson. ‘I swear.’

Shepherd gestured with the gun. ‘Up the stairs. Try anything, even look at me wrong, and I’ll put a bullet in you.’

Thompson went slowly up the stairs to the bridge. Shepherd stayed well back in case Thompson tried to kick out but Thompson just did as he was told. The captain smiled when he saw Thompson but his face fell when he saw Shepherd and the gun in his hand.

‘I need you to take us back to the marina,’ said Shepherd. ‘I don’t have time to mess about so if you fuck around I’ll shoot you in the leg. Do you understand me?’

The captain nodded and immediately started turning the boat to starboard.

‘Take us back to the jetty,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’m just looking after the boat,’ said the captain. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’

‘Just take us back. You can talk to the cops there,’ said Shepherd. He waved the gun at Thompson. ‘Back downstairs,’ he said.

He followed Thompson down the stairs into the cabin. ‘Down on your knees and put your hands behind your neck,’ he said. ‘While you’re at it, cross your ankles. See how you like it.’ Thompson obeyed sullenly.

Shepherd looked over at Sharpe. ‘Razor!’ he shouted.

Sharpe groaned.

‘Can you get up?’

Sharpe groaned again.

Shepherd kept the gun aimed at Thompson’s face as he fished his mobile out of his jacket. He tapped out Charlotte Button’s number with his thumb. The boat continued to make a sweeping turn to the right. Klaus stopped moaning. He crawled into a foetal ball and sobbed quietly. Shepherd knew that he’d done a lot of damage with his fingers and that Klaus would be losing at least one of his eyes.

The phone rang and Button answered. ‘Thank God,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’

‘All good,’ he said. ‘One dead, two under control and one who’s going to need medical attention. We’re heading back to shore.’

‘There’s a police boat heading your way. You’re sure you’re okay?’

‘I’m fine,’ he said. He looked over at Sharpe, who was starting to come round, moving his head and moaning. ‘Razor’s going to have a sore head for a few days.’

‘Well done, Spider. I have to confess that my heart was in my mouth for a while there.’

‘I was worried myself,’ admitted Shepherd. ‘I’m just glad he didn’t go for a head shot. And tell Amar I owe him a drink. His vest was a lifesaver.’

He ended the call and went over to Sharpe, keeping his gun trained on Thompson. Sharpe struggled to sit up. He put his hand against his temple and it came away bloody. He groaned loudly and looked up at Shepherd. ‘Who am I?’ he said.

‘Are you serious?’ said Shepherd.

Sharpe grinned. ‘Had you going,’ he said, getting unsteadily to his feet. He looked down at Kettering. Blood was pooling around him on the polished wooden decking. ‘Was it him that hit me?’

Shepherd gestured at Thompson. ‘It was him.’

Klaus sobbed and his whole body shuddered.

‘What’s his problem?’ asked Sharpe. ‘Did you shoot him?’

‘Clawed his eyes out,’ said Shepherd. ‘He started it.’

Sharpe walked slowly to the galley, picked up a tea towel and pressed it against his wound. He looked out of a window and pointed. ‘There’s a launch heading this way with four guys in it. I hope they’re on our side.’

‘They are,’ said Shepherd. ‘Are you okay to cover Thompson while I go up to the bridge?’

‘Now you trust me with a gun?’

Shepherd chuckled and handed the Glock to Sharpe. He picked up the gun that Klaus had been using. It was a 9mm Beretta and he checked that it was loaded and that the safety was off. ‘I figure you’d have trouble with the stairs,’ he said. ‘If he gets off his knees, shoot him.’

‘Will do,’ said Sharpe.

Shepherd went up the stairs to the bridge. He was fairly sure that Thompson hadn’t been lying about the captain being unarmed but he felt more comfortable with the Beretta in his hand. He needn’t have worried. The captain had both hands on the wheel and they were heading straight for the marina. In the distance Shepherd saw a small launch. There were four men in casual clothes standing at the prow and as the wind whipped at their jackets he caught glimpses of guns in shoulder holsters.

‘I had no idea what was going on,’ said the captain. ‘You’ve got to believe me.’

‘Tell that to the cops,’ said Shepherd. ‘I need you to cut the power.’ He pointed at the launch. ‘Those guys are going to board us.’

The captain did as he was told and the boat slowed.

‘I didn’t do anything. I just drive the boat.’

‘What did they tell you was going to happen to me and my friend?’

The captain swallowed but didn’t reply.

‘You knew they were going to kill us, right?’

‘I’m just the captain.’

‘And you knew there was a body down there?’

The captain nodded.

‘Well, that’s the body of a cop, mate. So maybe you should just keep quiet until you’ve got a lawyer.’

Chaudhry was walking down the Strand to King’s College when he first suspected that he was being followed. It wasn’t any of the signs that he’d been taught to watch out for, it was much more subtle than that. It was a feeling, a sense that he was being looked at that actually made the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. It happened first as he walked out of Charing Cross tube station and the feeling was so strong that he turned and looked behind him, but he didn’t see anyone who was obviously tailing him.

Chaudhry usually cycled to college but it had been raining when he left the flat so he’d taken an umbrella and made the journey by tube instead. The rain had died down by the time he arrived at Charing Cross and it was barely spotting so he’d left his umbrella in his backpack and made do with pulling up the hood of his duffel coat.

He shivered again as he passed McDonald’s, then he remembered what he’d been taught about doubling back so he did a quick U-turn and headed back to the entrance. As he reached McDonald’s door he made eye contact with an Asian man in his twenties wearing a dark-blue Puffa jacket and brown cargo pants. The man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened a fraction but then he clamped it shut, looked away and thrust his hands into his pockets.

Chaudhry forced himself to show no reaction. He went inside, joined the queue and bought himself an Egg McMuffin and a coffee and sat down at a table by the window. He pushed down the hood of his duffel coat and pulled his tablet computer out of his backpack. As he took a sip of coffee and switched on the tablet the man in the blue Puffa jacket walked back on the other side of the road, talking into his mobile phone.

Chaudhry’s stomach was churning and he didn’t feel like eating but he forced himself to take a bite of his McMuffin, then chewed slowly as he pretended to read. The man in the blue Puffa jacket didn’t return. When he’d finished the coffee and the McMuffin he cleared his tray and headed out of the door. He stood on the pavement and looked around casually as he pulled up his hood again. The street was busy but there was no sign of the Asian man. He was starting to wonder if he’d imagined it. The hairs were no longer standing up on the back of his neck. Perhaps the guy had just been startled by eye contact with a stranger; maybe Chaudhry was being oversensitive.

He started walking towards the college, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. Part of him wanted to do another double-back but he knew that would be too obvious. He checked reflections in the shop windows but the angles were wrong and he couldn’t get a clear view directly behind him.

It wasn’t until he’d reached the entrance to King’s that he had the opportunity to glance to his right, but he could do it casually for only a second or two and there were simply too many people to register them all.

He walked inside, showing his student ID, and then took out his mobile phone. Standing with his back to the wall he pretended to make a call. Through the window he watched businessmen and shoppers walk to and fro, all of them moving purposefully, getting from A to B as quickly as possible. Jobs to get to, shopping to be done, appointments to be kept. Then he saw him. His hands still in his Puffa jacket, walking slowly and looking around as if trying to work out what went on inside the building. Chaudhry turned away and went up to the canteen, his heart pounding, the silent phone pressed tightly against his ear.

Shepherd had just returned from a run on the Heath when his John Whitehill BlackBerry rang. It was Chaudhry. ‘Yes, Raj, what’s up?’ he said, tossing his weighted rucksack on to a kitchen chair.

‘I think I’m being followed,’ said Chaudhry.

Shepherd was about to open the fridge door and grab himself a bottle of chilled water but he stopped, his hand outstretched. ‘Tell me what happened,’ he said.

Chaudhry explained what had happened in the Strand and at the college. ‘What should I do?’ he asked.

‘First, you need to take it easy,’ said Shepherd. He could hear the stress in the man’s voice, the clipped words and the ragged breathing. ‘You’re safe where you are, so even if there is a tail nothing can happen while you’re at King’s. What about Harvey?’

‘I don’t know. He’d already gone when I left the flat.’

‘I’ll talk to him,’ said Shepherd. ‘Have you got lectures all day?’

‘Pretty much.’

‘So what time would you normally leave?’

‘Five-ish. What are you going to do?’

Shepherd sat down and took off his boots. ‘I’m going to sort this out, Raj, don’t worry. Stay where you are and just carry on as normal. I’ll put together a team to watch over you when you go home tonight, then we’ll know for sure.’

‘But what if they. .’ He didn’t finish the sentence.

‘What, Raj? Spit it out.’

‘I don’t want to end up dead,’ said Chaudhry. ‘What if this is al-Qaeda? What if they know what I’m doing? Maybe it’s time to call it a day.’

‘Raj, you’re getting ahead of yourself. You need to relax. If there’s a tail that’s all it is, a tail. If they wanted to take you they’d have done it as you left the flat. Or lured you somewhere quiet. If you are being followed then you’re not in any danger.’

‘What do you mean “if”? Don’t you believe me?’

‘You’re under quite a lot of stress at the moment, Raj; you might be a bit oversensitive, that’s what I’m saying. But by this evening we’ll know for sure. Until then you need to carry on as usual.’

‘I’m shitting myself here,’ said Chaudhry.

‘I know you are, Raj. But there’s no point in counting chickens. I’m on the case so you’ll be followed every step of the way from college to your flat and if there’s any hint of a problem we’ll pull you out.’

‘You swear?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘Raj, mate, there’s no way I’ll put you in harm’s way. I promise. Now get on with being a student and keep your phone on. I’ll fill you in once I’ve got everything sorted. And don’t leave the campus, for any reason, until you hear from me.’

Shepherd ended the call. He dialled Malik’s number but it went straight through to voicemail. Shepherd didn’t leave a message. He shaved, showered and put on a blue polo shirt and black jeans, then tried Malik’s number again. It went through to voicemail again and this time Shepherd left a message asking him to call back.

Malik returned the call as Shepherd was in the back of a black cab heading towards Thames House.

‘Where are you, Harvey?’

‘University,’ said Malik. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Probably nothing,’ said Shepherd. ‘But Raj thinks someone might have been following him this morning.’

‘Oh fuck,’ said Malik.

‘It might be nothing — it’s easy to start jumping at shadows when you’re under pressure,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’m going to get some of our people to follow Raj home and then we’ll know one way or another. What about you, Harvey? Did you notice anything today?’

‘No, but I wasn’t looking for it. What should I do?’

‘Can you stay where you are until later this evening?’

‘I was planning to hit the library anyway, so yes.’

‘How about you stick to that? Stay put until you hear from me this evening. If we find that Raj does have a tail we’ll put a counter-surveillance team on you as well.’

‘This is bad, isn’t it, John? We could be fucked.’

‘Or it could be nothing. We’ll take it one step at a time. But if you see anything that worries you over the next few hours, you call me straight away.’

‘Bloody right I will,’ said Malik.

‘Harvey, it’s going to be just fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I give you my word that nothing bad’s going to happen.’

He ended the call as the taxi pulled up in front of Thames House, wishing that he felt as confident as he sounded.

‘So, you a spy, then?’ asked the taxi driver.

Shepherd had been deep in thought so he missed the question. ‘Sorry, what?’

The driver jerked his thumb at the building. ‘MI5. You a spy?’

Shepherd took out his wallet and handed the driver a twenty-pound note. ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,’ he said.

‘They all say that,’ said the driver. ‘Everyone I drop here pretends to be James bloody Bond.’

‘He was MI6,’ said Shepherd. He nodded at the note. ‘Keep the change,’ he said. ‘And can I have a receipt?’

The driver laughed. ‘See, that James Bond, you never see him asking for receipts, do you?’

There was no name on the door, just a number, but Shepherd knew that it was the office of Luke Lesporis and he knocked twice before opening it. Lesporis looked up, pushing his wire-framed designer spectacles up his nose as Shepherd came in.

‘You sounded rushed on the phone, Spider, what’s up?’ The jacket of his Hugo Boss suit was draped over the back of his chair and he’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

‘Remember the two guys I took to Reading, the ones you helped arrange the training exercise for?’

‘Sure, Raj Chaudhry and Harvey Malik, right? The guys we followed to St Pancras.’

‘Yeah. I need to run counter-surveillance on Raj. He’s a student at King’s College in the Strand. That’s where he is now.’

‘What’s the story?’ asked Lesporis, picking up a pen.

‘He thinks someone followed him from the tube station. Asian man, blue Puffa jacket, brown cargo pants.’

‘Professional, you think?’ asked Lesporis as he scribbled on a yellow legal pad.

‘I’m tempted to say no because Raj is a complete amateur. But he might just have been lucky. He did a backtrack and almost stumbled over the guy.’

‘How long have we got?’

Shepherd looked at the clock on the wall. It was just before ten. ‘He’s got lectures all morning. We could send him home at lunchtime, or I could get him to stay in the building all day. Whatever works best for you.’

‘The latter,’ said Lesporis. ‘I’m really pushed today. We’ve got three ongoing operations and I’ve just had to put together a rush job on a Saudi diplomat who’s arriving at Heathrow in an hour with a million euros in a suitcase.’

‘If it makes it any easier he’s going to be travelling home on the tube so we won’t need vehicles.’

‘Home being the flat we started at last time?’

‘That’s it. But this time there’s no chance of a vehicle; he’ll take the tube to Manor House and walk to the flat.’

‘Easy-peasy,’ said Lesporis. ‘Tell you what, I’ll pitch in myself. It’ll be good to be on the pavements again.’

‘Could do with a check throughout the evening, though. See if there’s anyone hanging around outside the building.’

‘That’s easy enough. I can put a BT technician in the street and run a PCSO by now and again. I’ll have a guy waiting at the Stoke Newington end so one other and me should be enough in the Strand. Do you need pictures?’

‘That would be great, Luke. There’s a snag, though. If Raj is being followed then I’ll need Harvey checked out too.’

‘Where’s he?’

‘He’s at the London Metropolitan University — Holloway Road, Islington. He’s in the business school today and I’ve told him to stay there all day. I know it’s all short notice but if Raj is hot then there’s a chance that Harvey is too.’

Lesporis nodded thoughtfully. ‘Not a problem,’ he said. ‘If Raj is tailed from the Strand I’ll know pretty quickly, so once we’ve identified the tail I can peel off and head up to Islington. I’ll get in place and the others can join me as and when. Do you have any idea who might be after him?’

‘He said Asian so my worry is al-Qaeda.’

‘They have some real pros, but they also have a fair number of amateurs,’ said Lesporis.

‘The guy Raj thinks was following him was almost on top of him, so not a pro. But it’s not the one he saw that I’m worried about; it’s the ones he didn’t see.’

‘Understood,’ said Lesporis, scribbling a note on his pad. He smiled, showing perfect teeth. ‘Consider it done. I’ll give you a call as soon as I know anything.’

‘You’re a star, Luke. Thanks.’

Shepherd’s mobile rang. It was Button. ‘A little bird tells me that you’re in the house,’ she said.

‘I’m in with Luke, fixing up some counter-surveillance on Raj and Harvey.’

‘Problem?’

‘I’m not sure. We’ll know in a few hours.’

‘Can you pop up to my office on your way out?’

‘I’ll be right up. Luke and I are done,’ said Shepherd.

Button was sipping a cup of tea when Shepherd walked into her office. She flashed him a smile and asked if he wanted anything but he shook his head and sat down. ‘I just wanted a chat about what happened on the boat,’ she said.

‘All good,’ he said.

‘You were shot, Spider.’

‘I was wearing a vest.’

‘Thank God.’

‘Actually, God had very little to do with it,’ said Shepherd.

‘You nearly died.’

‘I’ve been shot before, Charlie.’

‘I’m just saying you were in a very violent situation and I wanted to check you were okay.’

‘Physically or mentally?’

She smiled. ‘You know what I’m going to suggest.’

‘A sit-down with Caroline Stockmann?’

‘I think it’s called for. I’ll get her to give you a call and fix it up.’ She ran a hand through her hair. ‘It’s a pity that it went the way it did,’ she said.

‘You’re telling me.’

‘I meant in terms of the investigation. We really needed to know what Kettering and Thompson were planning.’

‘Thompson will talk,’ said Shepherd. ‘With Kettering out of the picture he’ll sing like the proverbial.’

‘The problem is that Kettering was the top dog. And the fact that he’s dead means his European contacts will go to ground. We’ll sew up the UK end, that’s a given, but my feeling is that they were part of a bigger plan and that plan is probably going to go ahead no matter what happened here.’

‘I think you’ll find that Thompson knows a lot about what was going on,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was the one always mouthing off about the global conspiracy. He’d be the one pushing for coordinated action with the Europeans, I’m sure of it.’

‘We’ll certainly give it a go,’ said Button. ‘I tell you, it’s hard enough dealing with the Islamic fundamentalists but when we have home-grown right-wingers threatening terrorist outrages as well we’re going to be stretched resource-wise.’

‘I don’t know. Penetrating groups like Kettering’s is a lot easier than trying to get into the Islamic cells.’

‘No argument there,’ said Button. ‘If it wasn’t for Chaudhry and Malik we wouldn’t have achieved a fraction of what we’ve managed so far.’

‘I just hope it doesn’t come back to bite them,’ said Shepherd.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Charlie, they gave up Bin Laden. And by dropping that bloody map the Americans have put their lives on the line.’

‘Is that what the counter-surveillance is about?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘Raj thinks he’s being followed. He might just be jumping at shadows. We’ll know by tonight.’

‘Keep me in the picture.’

‘Soon as I know, you’ll know,’ said Shepherd.

Malik looked at his watch. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and his last lecture had just finished. He went to the library, which was almost empty, and sat down at a table by the window. He pulled a bottle of water from his backpack and took a sip. He had three essays to write but couldn’t drum up the enthusiasm for starting any of them so he opened up his laptop and started browsing through YouTube, listening through headphones so as not to disturb the other library-users.

He started off looking at music videos but soon got bored with that. He searched for ‘suicide bombers’ and began looking through the videos, mainly news footage of attacks in Iraq, Israel and Pakistan. There were some comedy videos too, though Malik failed to see why anyone thought it was acceptable to make fun of terrorists.

A girl sat down opposite him and he hurriedly closed the YouTube window, even though she couldn’t see the screen.

‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?’ She was in her twenties with shoulder-length black curly hair and a wide smile.

Her skin wasn’t quite as dark as Malik’s and though she had a definite accent he couldn’t place where she was from.

‘Sure, yeah, no problem,’ he said. He’d been so busy watching videos that he hadn’t noticed how the library had filled up and now most of the tables were occupied. ‘I’m only skiving really.’

She leaned over the table towards him, her voice a low whisper. ‘Yeah, me too,’ she said. ‘I left my key in the flat and my flatmate won’t be back until eight so I thought I’d just hang out here.’

‘Yeah, it’s one of the few places left in London where you can sit for free,’ he said.

She gestured at his laptop. ‘Were you watching a movie?’

‘Just browsing through YouTube,’ he said. ‘Nothing special.’

‘What’s your name?’

‘Harvey. Well, it’s Harveer but everyone calls me Harvey.’

‘Harveer? Is that Indian?’

‘Pakistani,’ said Malik.

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

‘It’s no big deal. What about you? Where are you from?’

She grinned mischievously. ‘Guess.’

‘Guess?’ He sat back and linked his fingers. He studied her olive skin, her dark-brown eyes and her jet-black curly hair. Not Asian, he was fairly sure of that. Her skin was too light. Her English was good and there was a trace of an American accent, which probably meant that she’d gone to an international school somewhere. She wasn’t oriental and she wasn’t dark enough to be from the Philippines or Indonesia.

Her smile widened. ‘Do you want a clue?’

‘I’m thinking Lebanese,’ he said. ‘Or one of the Gulf states.’

She raised one eyebrow. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘Qatar. No one ever gets where I’m from.’

‘I’ve never been,’ he said. ‘What’s it like?’

‘Hot in the summer. Dusty. Nice restaurants. That’s pretty much it. I prefer London.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ he said.

‘And you study here, right?’

Malik nodded. ‘I’m doing an MBA in Business Studies.’

‘And what was your degree?’

‘Computing.’ He pulled a face. ‘Hated it, but my dad’s a programmer so he pushed me into it.’

‘So you’re going to work in the City?’

Malik frowned. ‘The City?’

‘That’s what guys with MBAs do, isn’t it? Work for a bank or a broker. Become a master of the universe.’

Malik shook his head. ‘I’m going to open a sushi restaurant. The best sushi restaurant in London. Top end. I’m going to fly in the best fish from around the world and employ only top Japanese chefs.’

‘I love sushi,’ she said.

‘Then you can come to the opening night.’

‘You’re really going to do it? It must cost a fortune to set up a restaurant.’

‘I’m working on the finances,’ said Malik. ‘But it’s going to happen.’ He leaned forward. ‘So you know my name, what’s yours?’

‘Nadia,’ she said. ‘Hey, are you good with computers?’

‘I studied them for three years,’ said Malik. ‘What’s the problem?’

‘My laptop keeps freezing but I don’t know why. Maybe you could have a look at it some time.’

‘Sure.’ He nodded at her bag. ‘Have you got it with you?’

‘It’s at home. Can I call you?’

‘You want my number?’

She smiled prettily. ‘That’s normally how it works, Harvey.’ She took out her mobile phone and looked at him expectantly. He grinned and gave her his number. He hadn’t been thrilled at the idea of spending the evening in the library, but it was turning out to be the best place he could have been. ‘What are you smiling at?’ she asked.

‘Just pleased to meet you,’ he said. ‘I hadn’t planned to be here but I’m glad I came.’

She smiled and nodded. ‘I was thinking exactly the same thing,’ she said.

Chaudhry left King’s at just after five o’clock. He walked along to the tube station at Charing Cross with the hood of his duffel coat up, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. He went down to the platform, took out his Galaxy tablet and began reading, just as he did most days when he was on the tube. John’s instructions had been clear. No looking around, no backtracking, no looking for a tail. And no looking for the counter-surveillance people either. When the train arrived he managed to find a seat in the middle of the carriage. And he kept his eyes on his tablet.

He stuck to his instructions, and the only time he looked left or right was when he had to cross a road and even then he made a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with anyone nearby. When he got home he got himself a can of Coke from the fridge. He was halfway through it when his phone rang. He looked at the screen. It said ‘Dentist’, which meant it was John Whitehill calling.

‘How’s the weather?’ asked Whitehill.

For a moment Chaudhry was confused, but then he remembered the procedure. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I was imagining it, right? Just me being oversensitive.’

‘I’m afraid not. You were being followed.’

Chaudhry’s stomach turned over. ‘Shit,’ he said.

‘Two Asians. One in a blue Puffa jacket, just like you said. He was waiting for you outside the university and got on the tube with you. He was in the next carriage. The other guy was waiting for you at Manor House.’

Chaudhry could feel his heart pounding. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ he said. ‘I’m screwed, right?’

‘There’s no need to panic, Raj. You’re at home and we’ve got your flat under surveillance. Nothing can happen to you while you’re there. I’ve got two men with guns in a car round the corner and they can be with you in seconds.’

‘Where’s Harvey? He should be home by now. You said you talked to him, right?’

‘Raj, take it easy. Harvey’s on his way home. All the signs are that he’s not being followed, but we won’t know for sure until he gets back to the flat. When he does get back, make sure you stay in for the night. No popping out for a takeaway.’

‘I’ll be hiding under the bed, mate,’ said Chaudhry.

Shepherd laughed. ‘There’s no need for that,’ he said. ‘Look, it’s probably nothing. Maybe someone that Khalid has sent to check that you’re on the straight and narrow. Make sure you’re not out drinking or letting the side down.’

‘What about the mosque?’ asked Chaudhry. ‘Do you think it’s safe? I mean, I can pray at home, it’s no biggie, but I’d prefer to go to the mosque.’

‘Let’s wait and see what we can find out about your tails,’ said Shepherd.

‘Seriously, I’m shitting myself here.’

‘I understand, Raj. But if there was any question of them intending to harm you it would have happened already. Surveillance is just that. Watching. And like I said, so long as you stay put nothing can happen to you.’

‘And you’re not lying about the men with guns? You’ve got armed cops nearby?’

‘I told you I’d never lie to you, Raj. But they’re not cops. They work for MI5. Different rules. They don’t wear uniforms and they don’t make a song and dance about doing what has to be done. In the very unlikely event of anyone trying to do you any harm they’ll be straight round and they’ll take care of it.’

‘Thanks, John,’ said Chaudhry. He grinned. ‘It’s funny, I know that’s not your real name but I can’t think of you as anything other than John.’

‘John’s fine. A rose by any other name and all that.’

‘Well, whatever your name is, I’m glad you’ve got my back.’ He ended the call and switched on the TV. He had studying to do but he couldn’t concentrate so he lay on the sofa and watched the news and then a very unfunny situation comedy about three Americans sharing a flat in New York that seemed to be about five times the size of the one that he and Malik lived in. He got up and opened the fridge but there was nothing in it that he wanted to eat. He found a packet of pistachio nuts in a cupboard and began to eat them, piling the broken shells on a copy of The Economist.

It was just before eight when Chaudhry heard the sound of a key in his lock. He bolted off the sofa and dashed to the kitchen. He grabbed a breadknife from the sink and stood in the kitchen doorway, his heart pounding. The door opened slowly.

‘Harvey, is that you?’

‘Who the bloody hell are you expecting? Ninja assassins?’

The door opened wide and Harvey walked in, shaking his head. Chaudhry ducked back into the kitchen and returned the knife to the sink.

Malik closed the door and tossed his bag on to the floor.

‘Lock it, will you, mate?’ said Chaudhry. ‘And put the bolt across. Do you want a coffee?’

‘Yeah, coffee’d be good,’ said Malik. He locked the door. ‘Has John called?’

‘A while back. He said he’d call again once they’d followed you.’

‘There was no one following me,’ said Malik, dropping down on to the sofa and reaching into the bag of nuts.

‘You shouldn’t have been looking,’ snapped Chaudhry. ‘Didn’t you listen? We had to come home and not do any checks at all. There were people doing that.’

Malik swung his feet up on to the coffee table. ‘Chill, brother,’ he said. ‘I did what John said. But I was the only one who got on the bus and no one got off with me. So I can’t see that anyone could have been following me.’ He looked around. ‘Where’s the remote?’

‘Why are you so bloody cool about this?’ said Chaudhry. ‘There was someone following me. Don’t you get what that means?’

‘John said it was probably nothing.’ He shelled a nut and popped it into his mouth.

Chaudhry walked towards him, his eyes blazing. ‘Are you retarded? He said that because he doesn’t want us to worry. You know what he told me? He said there are guys with guns waiting round the corner, ready to step in if we get in trouble. Does that sound like nothing, you soft bastard?’

Malik stopped chewing, his forehead creased into deep frown lines.

‘I’m serious, mate. Guys with guns. We could be in deep shit here. Of course John doesn’t want us panicking, but that doesn’t mean we should sit around like all’s well with the world.’

Chaudhry’s mobile rang and both men froze. It was on the coffee table by Malik’s feet. It continued to ring — ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga — so Malik picked it up, then he grinned.

‘It’s your dentist,’ he said.

Chaudhry’s face hardened. ‘That’s John.’

Malik turned the screen towards him. ‘It says it’s your dentist. Relax, will you?’

Chaudhry took the phone from him and pressed the green button.

‘How’s the weather?’ asked Whitehill.

‘As well as can be expected,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Harvey’s just got home.’

‘I know, that’s why I’m calling. There’s good news and bad news.’

‘Okay,’ said Chaudhry hesitantly.

‘The good news is that Harvey was clear. There was no one on his tail.’

‘And what’s the bad news?’

‘The two men who followed you are sitting outside in a van.’

Shepherd checked his rear-view mirror but Malik’s Golf was nowhere to be seen. He slowed to sixty. ‘I’ve lost eyeball,’ he said into his radio mic.

‘Delta One, I have them,’ said the driver of the surveillance vehicle closest to the VW. ‘We’re just coming up to junction three. All clear.’

Delta One was in a white Transit van with the name of a building company on the side. There were another two MI5 vehicles following Malik and Chaudhry. Delta Two was a middle-aged lady in a Mini and Delta Three was a young man in a suit at the wheel of a Ford Mondeo. All were highly trained in counter-surveillance and took it in turns to get close to the VW and check for anyone following.

Shepherd was in his Volvo and had been ahead of them since they had joined the M1. Prior to getting on the motorway Malik had carried out two simple anti-surveillance measures. He’d gone completely round a roundabout and exited without indicating, and he’d made a left turn after indicating right. Both times the VW had been closely followed by one of the MI5 surveillance team.

By the time the VW had joined the M1, the surveillance team were sure that there was no one following, but they had continued to keep the car under observation while Malik changed his speed according to Shepherd’s instructions: a spell at 80 mph was followed by five minutes at 50 mph. When they had reached junction two he indicated that he was going to leave the motorway but at the last moment changed lanes and continued heading north.

‘Let’s go on to junction four, just to be on the safe side,’ said Shepherd.

‘Delta One, junction four,’ echoed Delta One.

‘Delta Two, junction four.’

‘Delta Three, junction four.’

They carried on up the M1 to the fourth exit. It was starting to rain as Shepherd arrived at the Gateway Services and he switched on his wipers. He parked well away from the main buildings. Five minutes later Malik’s Golf arrived and parked four bays to the left of Shepherd’s Volvo. The rain was falling heavier, pitter-pattering on the roof of the car. Shepherd switched off the engine.

The three MI5 vehicles parked at various points around the car park. In the rear of the van there were two men in work clothes with holstered Glocks.

Shepherd climbed out of his Volvo, turned up the collar of his jacket and hurried over to Malik’s Golf. He got in the back and wiped the rain from his face. ‘Great weather for ducks,’ he said.

‘What does that mean anyway?’ said Malik. ‘I don’t see ducks looking particularly happy when it rains.’

Chaudhry punched his friend lightly on the shoulder. ‘Chill,’ he said.

‘Chill? We’ve had to drive to the arse end of nowhere again. Why couldn’t we meet in London?’

‘Because we don’t want to risk being seen. This way we can wipe your arse and know that no one sees us.’

‘Wipe our arse?’ asked Malik. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It’s how the surveillance boys refer to anti-surveillance,’ said Shepherd. He grinned. ‘Don’t worry, your arses are clean.’

‘So what’s the story?’ asked Chaudhry.

Shepherd took an envelope out of his jacket. ‘The van was outside your flat for most of the evening.’ He took out a photograph and showed it to Chaudhry. It was of a white van parked in a side street. There were two Asian men sitting in the front. ‘These are the guys,’ he said. ‘They stayed there until the lights went out. Then they drove to Willesden. They’re driving up to Scotland now. We’re tailing them to find out where they go. The good news is that they don’t seem to be pros. We didn’t see any sign of counter-surveillance activity. We’ve run a trace on the van and it’s registered to a trading company in Glasgow.’

‘Why would they send someone from Glasgow?’ asked Malik, taking the photograph from Chaudhry.

Shepherd ignored the question. He took two more photographs from the envelope, head-and-shoulders shots that looked as if they had come from a passport application. ‘Recognise them?’ he asked Chaudhry.

Chaudhry pointed at one of the pictures. ‘That’s the guy I saw,’ he said. ‘How bad is this, John? If it was serious they wouldn’t have gone back to Scotland, would they?’

‘They’re both British-born. Brothers. Their parents are from Pakistan.’ Shepherd tapped the photograph of the older of the two men. ‘Salman Hussain,’ he said. ‘He’s not on any watch lists and he’s not on the PNC, which is why we think they’re not pros.’

‘PNC?’ repeated Malik. ‘What’s that?’

‘Police National Computer,’ said Shepherd. ‘It means he’s never been in trouble with the police.’

He held up the other photograph. ‘This is his younger brother, Asad Hussain. Also not known to the police or the security services.’

Chaudhry frowned. ‘Asad? Asad and Salman?’

‘You know them?’

Chaudhry ran a hand through his hair. ‘Bloody idiots,’ he said. ‘Stupid bloody idiots.’

‘Who are they?’ asked Shepherd.

Chaudhry sighed and slumped back in his seat. ‘My dad’s trying to marry me off to this girl, the daughter of a friend of his. Jamila Hussain. She’s a student at UCL. I’ve been out for dinner with her a few times.’ He gestured at the photographs. ‘These idiots are her brothers. They’re obviously getting all protective over her, checking out that I’m suitable.’

‘By following you?’

‘Checking that I don’t have a girlfriend and that I’m not in the pub every night. Making sure that I’m a good Muslim and that I wouldn’t sully their virginal sister.’

‘And probably making sure that you’re not white,’ said Malik. He grinned at Shepherd. ‘No offence.’

‘None taken,’ said Shepherd. He looked at Chaudhry. ‘You’re sure, Raj?’

Chaudhry nodded. ‘I haven’t met them but she mentioned them a few times. Asad and Salman. Salman’s pretty fundamentalist but his dad keeps him in check. Asad’s more easy-going but they’re both very protective about Jamila. She said she had a real problem convincing them that she’d be okay in London on her own. In their eyes it’s worse than Sodom and Gomorrah.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said. ‘Wasting everybody’s time.’

Shepherd put the photographs back in the envelope. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘I’m just glad it had a happy ending. And it shows that the training we did worked just fine. You spotted the tail and we checked it out and no one’s the wiser.’

‘Are you telling me this has all been a waste of time?’ asked Malik.

‘Better safe than sorry,’ said Shepherd. ‘Think of it as another training exercise.’

‘And you’ll pay for my petrol, right?’

Shepherd took his wallet out of his pocket. ‘No problem, Harvey.’

Malik and Chaudhry were sitting on the sofa watching TV when Malik’s mobile rang. He looked at the screen but didn’t recognise the number. He frowned over at Chaudhry. ‘Dunno who it is.’ he said. ‘Do you think it’s Khalid?’

‘Tell you what, brother, why not press the green button and you’ll find out?’

Malik took the call.

‘Harvey?’ It was a girl.

‘Yes?’

‘It’s Nadia.’

‘Nadia?’

‘You’ve forgotten me already? Oh dear.’

Malik grimaced. The girl in the library. ‘Sorry, yes, Nadia, yeah, of course. Hey. How are you?’

‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘But my laptop’s given up the ghost. I couldn’t ask a huge favour. .?’

‘Sure, you want me to have a look at it?’

‘Would you, Harvey? That would be great. I’ve got an essay here that’s got to be in tomorrow and the thing won’t even boot up. You couldn’t come round here now, could you?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Finsbury Park. Is that close to you?’

‘Just down the road,’ he said. ‘Text me your address and I’ll come right round.’

He ended the call and grinned at Chaudhry.

‘Not Khalid, then?’

‘Some bird I met in the library. Nadia. Fit like you wouldn’t believe me.’

‘What does she want?’

‘Why do you think she wants anything, brother?’

‘Because she’s a fit bird and she’s ringing you. I’m putting two and two together.’

‘She wants help with her laptop.’ Malik picked up a thick pullover and put it on.

‘Who’s going to take care of her dog?’

Malik frowned. ‘What dog?’

‘Her guide dog. She’s blind, right?’

Malik scowled. ‘Screw you, brother.’

Chaudhry laughed. ‘Well, that’ll be the only screwing you’ll get.’

‘I’m fixing her laptop. End of.’

‘You told her to switch it off and on again?’

Malik laughed. ‘That’ll be the first thing I try.’ He headed for the kitchen balcony to get his bike. ‘See you when I see you.’

‘You’ll be back for Isha’a?’

‘I don’t know brother,’ Malik called from the kitchen. ‘Maybe. Depends how it goes.’

‘We need to be seen at the mosque every day, brother. It’s important.’

‘I know. I was there this morning.’ He grinned. ‘But don’t wait up, yeah?’

‘You should take a biscuit for the dog,’ said Chaudhry. He was still laughing as Malik wheeled his bike from the kitchen and out through the front door.

Malik looked up at the building where Nadia lived. She was in apartment 4G, which probably meant she was on the fourth floor, so he didn’t think there was much chance of taking his bike up with him. Outside an office he found a run of black railings with a painted metal notice warning that bikes would be removed but the office was in darkness so he figured he’d be okay. He pulled a plastic-covered chain from his pocket and padlocked the rear wheel and frame to the railings. He went back to the main entrance and pressed her bell on the entryphone. It rang out and she answered.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Harvey, computer repairs a speciality.’

‘Come on in, Harvey. Take the lift to the fourth floor.’

The lock buzzed and Malik pushed the door open. The lift was small and seemed to take for ever to reach the fourth floor. He walked along to Nadia’s door and knocked. He waited, switching his weight from foot to foot, and was just about to knock again when the door opened.

She smiled up at him. ‘My knight in shining armour,’ she said.

‘I am here to serve,’ he joked. She opened the door wide and he stepped across the threshold. She was wearing a blue sweatshirt with the word LONDON across the front in alternating red, white and blue letters, and a dark-blue skirt. She’d tied her hair back with a scrunchy and for the first time he noticed the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and around her neck. He realised that she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought. In her thirties, maybe. But still pretty. ‘So where’s the laptop?’

She closed the door. ‘No need to rush,’ she said. ‘We can have a chat first.’

There was a small kitchen to the right, and a door to the left that he assumed led to the bedroom. There was a two-seater sofa in green leather facing a flatscreen TV on the wall. He took off his jacket and sat down on the sofa. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Chatting is one of my favourite things.’

The bedroom door opened and a man walked out. He was Asian, wearing a Chelsea football shirt and holding a gun. Malik started to get up but the man moved quickly and pushed him back down, prodding him in the chest with the barrel of the gun.

‘What is this?’ asked Malik, his voice a frightened squeak. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Like I said, Harvey, we’re going to have a chat. You, me and my two friends.’

A second man came out of the bedroom. Another Asian. This one was holding a knife and a coil of wire.

Malik looked at Nadia fearfully. ‘I haven’t done anything,’ he said.

‘I hope that’s true,’ said Nadia.

Chaudhry’s alarm woke him at six-thirty, which gave him plenty of time to shower and eat breakfast before heading to the mosque for Fajr, the first prayers of the day. He went to the mosque for Fajr most days. Malik tended to oversleep and more often than not performed his prayers on a mat in the bedroom, positioned so that it pointed to Mecca.

After he’d showered and pulled on a clean shirt and jeans, Chaudhry popped two slices of bread into the toaster and then knocked on Malik’s door before pushing it open. ‘Rise and shine, Harvey,’ he said. He flicked on the light. Malik’s bed was empty. Chaudhry grinned. ‘You naughty, naughty boy,’ he whispered to himself.

His mobile phone began to ring and he hurried back into the kitchen. He picked it up, expecting to talk to his friend, but it was a number he didn’t recognise. It was Khalid.

‘Good morning, brother,’ said Khalid. ‘Today is a joyous day because today is the day we carry out Allah’s work.’

‘That’s great news, brother,’ said Chaudhry. His heart began to pound and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

‘I need you and Harveer to be ready to go at five o’clock, brother,’ said Khalid. ‘The same place as last time. You will be collected.’

‘We will be there,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Today we shall teach the kaffir a lesson they will never forget,’ said Khalid. ‘Inshallah.’

‘Inshallah,’ repeated Chaudhry. God willing.

Shepherd was dragged from a dreamless sleep by his ringing BlackBerry. He rolled over in his bed and grabbed for the phone. It was Chaudhry. ‘Hey, Raj, what’s up?’

‘It’s today,’ said Chaudhry. ‘We’re to be picked up at five o’clock.’

Shepherd sat up, suddenly wide awake. ‘What happened?’

‘Khalid just phoned. Pretty much the same as last time. We’re to be picked up outside the restaurant again.’

‘And no indication of what they’re planning?’

‘Same as before,’ said Chaudhry. ‘But there’s a problem. Harvey’s not here.’

‘Where is he?’

‘He went to see some girl last night and didn’t come back.’

‘Have you called him?’

‘His mobile’s off. It goes straight through to voicemail.’

‘Hell’s bells. Does he often do that?’

‘It’s a first. I don’t know what’s going on.’

‘What about Khalid?’ asked Shepherd. ‘Did you tell him that Harvey was AWOL?’

‘I couldn’t,’ said Chaudhry. ‘He’d hit the roof. Look, can you get access to text messages?’

‘Why?’

‘She phoned him last night. Then she sent him a text with her address.’

Shepherd already had Malik’s number. ‘What company does he use?’ he asked.

‘T-Mobile, I think.’

‘All right, Raj, I’m on it. This girl, do you know anything about her?’

‘Just that she’s called Nadia and that she’s fit. What do I do?’

‘We’ve got your back, Raj. Just turn up and we’ll follow you, same as before.’

‘But this time it’s for real, right?’

‘I guess so. It’s very unlikely they’d test you twice.’

‘Can’t you just arrest them now?’

‘We need to get everybody in the act,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ll let you know about Harvey. But if he gets in touch with you first, let me know.’

Shepherd ended the call. He went into his kitchen and switched on the kettle, then phoned Charlotte Button. He relayed what Chaudhry had told him.

‘I’ll get everyone in gear,’ said Button.

‘I need to access a phone,’ said Shepherd. ‘Malik is AWOL.’

‘Is that a problem?’

‘He’s away with a girl. I just need to talk to him and get him back on track.’

‘The best person to talk to is Rob Waterman. He’s our go-to guy with the phone companies. Give me a couple of minutes and I’ll text you his home number. I’ll see you in Thames House.’

The line went dead. The kettle still hadn’t boiled so Shepherd left the phone by the sink and went through to the bathroom and showered and shaved. When he got back to the kitchen with a towel wrapped round his waist there was a text message on his office mobile phone. He made himself a coffee with a splash of milk and then phoned Rob Waterman, who was surprisingly cheerful despite the early hour.

‘No need to apologise. I’m an early riser and I’ve been up since four,’ said Waterman. ‘Charlotte has already called to tip me the wink. Give me the number and if you have the company that would save me a step.’

Shepherd gave him the information and Waterman said he’d phone back. Shepherd changed into blue jeans and a black polo shirt and was just pulling on socks when Waterman called back.

‘Already?’ asked Shepherd.

‘These days it’s as easy as pushing a few buttons,’ said Waterman. ‘The text message was just an address followed by a name, Nadia, and a smiley face. Do you have a pen?’

‘Don’t need one,’ said Shepherd.

Waterman gave him the address of a flat in Finsbury Park. ‘Couple of things you need to know,’ he said. ‘The phone is off now but the last time it was on it looks as if it was in the apartment. It was certainly in the immediate vicinity. That doesn’t mean it’s still there, of course.’

‘And the other thing?’

‘The phone that sent the text message has been very busy. It’s a pay-as-you-go sim card and it’s been operative for only twenty-four hours, but in that time it’s made several calls to Dubai, Palestine and Pakistan. Short calls, never more than a minute.’

‘Any significance in the numbers?’ asked Shepherd.

‘My guys are checking that now, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. I’m guessing disposable sim cards all round.’

‘Any other calls or texts made within the UK?’

‘No texts. Several calls, all under a minute and all to other pay-as-you-go mobiles. Three phones in all, but that’s including the number you gave me.’

‘What about a location?’

‘It’s off too but was last on at the same Finsbury Park address. In the area, anyway.’

‘You’re a marvel, Rob, thanks,’ said Shepherd. ‘Do me a favour and keep an eye on both phones and give me a call as soon as they go live again.’

Waterman promised he would and Shepherd ended the call. He sipped his coffee and put two slices of bread into the toaster, figuring it was going to be a long day and he’d best stock up with fuel. He ran through his options, then phoned Amar Singh. Singh was also wide awake. He had young children so lie-ins were generally reserved for the weekend.

‘What’s up, Spider?’ asked Singh.

‘It’s a bit embarrassing, but I need someone who looks Asian,’ said Shepherd.

‘And what, I’m the only Asian you know?’

‘The only one I can trust this with, yeah,’ said Shepherd.

Chaudhry stopped combing his hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the sink, wondering if it was possible to see a lie in a man’s eyes. He’d read a couple of books on body language and he knew that there were signs that gave away when a lie was being told. If he was going to get through the day he’d have to conceal all those signs. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he said to himself. ‘Everything is going to work out just fine. By tonight, it’ll all be over.’ He took another deep breath, then gave his hair a final comb. As he walked into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea he began to tremble uncontrollably and he put both hands against the fridge to steady himself. He took slow deep breaths, trying to quell the rising sense of dread that was threatening to overwhelm him. ‘A few hours,’ he muttered to himself. ‘All you have to do is keep it together for a few more hours. You can do it, Raj.’

He switched on the kettle, then picked up his phone. He scrolled through his contacts list until he found Jamila’s number. He had a sudden urge to hear her voice and he pressed the green button. When she answered it was obvious that she had been sleeping and he apologised for waking her.

‘That’s all right, I had to answer the phone anyway,’ she joked.

‘I forgot it was so early,’ he said. ‘Sorry. Just wanted to wish you a happy day, that’s all.’

‘Are you okay, Raj?’

‘I’m fine.’

‘You sound a bit stressed.’

‘I’ve got a test later today. I was up all night studying for it.’

‘Busy, busy boy.’

‘That’s the life of a med student,’ he said.

‘Too busy to see me?’

Chaudhry laughed. ‘Of course not. Can we do something at the weekend?’

‘Let me check my diary.’ She paused and Chaudhry felt his pulse quicken. ‘I’m joking,’ she said. ‘Of course we can. What do you fancy doing?’

‘We could go down to Brighton. Walk along the beach.’

‘Perfect,’ she said. ‘Sunday’s best for me.’

‘Sunday’s great,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I’ll check train times and get back to you.’

‘I can drive us,’ she said. ‘I’ll pick you up.’

Chaudhry felt another wave of panic start to overwhelm him and he gripped the phone so tightly that his knuckles whitened. ‘Jamila?’

‘Yes?’

He took a deep breath. ‘I really like you, you know.’

‘I like you too. Raj, are you sure everything’s okay?’

‘I’ll be okay when this test is out of the way.’

‘Well, good luck with it,’ she said. ‘I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed for you.’

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘I feel better knowing that.’

Shepherd drove to Finsbury Park and found a metered parking space round the corner from the flat where Malik had gone to meet the girl. Fifteen minutes later Singh arrived in a white Mercedes four-door coupe. He had to park on the other side of the road and Shepherd walked over and got in next to him. Singh was wearing a black suit that was clearly a brand name and a blue silk shirt.

‘This is nice,’ said Shepherd, looking round the car. It still had its new-car smell and there wasn’t a mark on any of the surfaces.

‘I wanted the CLK but the wife said we needed doors for the kids,’ said Singh. ‘I said the kids could take the bus but for some reason she didn’t agree.’ He shook hands with Shepherd. ‘Good to see you, Spider.’

‘Thanks for coming, Amar,’ said Shepherd. ‘You didn’t have to dress up.’

‘This old thing?’ laughed Singh, running a hand down his jacket. ‘It’s MI5 and they notice good tailoring. In SOCA they couldn’t care less — it’s all tax inspectors and Customs officers, cheap suits and scuffed shoes.’ He nodded at the zipped-up jacket that Shepherd was wearing. ‘That’s pretty stylish,’ he said. ‘So I’m guessing you didn’t choose it yourself.’

‘Damien picked it out for me,’ said Shepherd. ‘It’s what all the best arms dealers are wearing, I’m told, and it does a decent job of concealing my Glock.’

‘You’re carrying? You didn’t say that I was going to be dodging bullets.’ He gestured at his suit. ‘I don’t want this damaged; I’m still paying for it.’

‘I don’t think it’s going to come to that, Amar,’ said Shepherd.

Singh switched off the engine. ‘So what do you need?’

‘I’ve got a guy who went round to see a girl last night. Her name’s Nadia. His phone’s off and so is hers. I need him back home now but I can hardly go knocking on the door claiming to be a friend of his.’

‘Because he’s Asian?’

‘Partly. But if it makes you feel any better it’s because, like you, he’s young and good-looking.’ He looked at his watch. It was just after nine-thirty. ‘We need to get a move on. We’ll go into the building, you go up to the door and have a listen. See what’s happening. Then knock. Assuming she opens it, ask if Harvey’s there.’

‘Harvey?’

‘Short for Harveer. Harveer Malik. Studying for his master’s in Business Administration at the London Metropolitan University. You can say you’re on his course; it’s not too much of a stretch. If he’s not there ask her when she last saw him. Try to get a look around if you can.’

‘And how do I know where he was?’

‘You were with him in Stoke Newington when she sent him a text last night. Her name’s Nadia.’

Singh nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘And you don’t think I need to borrow your gun?’

‘I’ll be close by,’ said Shepherd.

The two men climbed out of the Mercedes and walked round the corner. The building was a purpose-built apartment block that looked as if it was council-run. There was a main entrance with two glass doors and beyond it a tiled reception area with two sets of metal lift doors. There was an entryphone system but no CCTV camera. The flat they wanted was on the fourth floor. Singh pressed the button for one of the flats on the sixth floor, but there was no response. He tried another flat and this time a woman with a heavy East European accent asked who it was.

‘Postman, can you buzz me in, please, darling?’ said Singh, and within seconds the lock buzzed.

Shepherd pushed the door open and as they got into one of the lifts he pressed the button for the fifth floor. When they got out they walked down one floor.

‘It’s 4G,’ said Shepherd. There was a fire door leading to a corridor with doors to the flats on either side. ‘I’ll stay here.’

‘And I shout if I need you?’

‘I’ll be watching you, Amar. If there’s a problem I’ll be with you in seconds.’

Shepherd unzipped his jacket as Singh opened the fire door and walked down the corridor. The flat was on the left. Singh took out a ceramic contact microphone from his pocket. There were white earphones connected to it, giving the equipment the look of an iPod. He popped the earphones into his ears and gently pressed the microphone against the door. There was a small dial on one side that allowed him to change the frequency being listened for and a dial on the other side. Singh jiggled both dials as he listened intently. At first he thought the flat was unoccupied but then he heard a voice. A man. His frown deepened as he realised that it wasn’t English.

He stood stock-still with the microphone pressed against the wood. After almost a minute he heard a woman’s voice but again he didn’t recognise the language.

He put away the microphone as he walked back to the fire door. He didn’t say anything until the fire door had closed behind him. ‘There’s something not right,’ he said.

‘Tell me.’

‘There’s a woman in there but she’s not speaking English. Not Urdu and not Hindi either. Your guy, where’s he from?’

‘British Pakistani,’ said Shepherd.

‘So Urdu, right?’

‘I’m not sure. I’ve never heard him speak anything other than English.’

‘Well, whatever they’re speaking it’s not Urdu. It didn’t sound like general conversation either. More like she was giving orders or instructions. But that’s just a feeling because I didn’t understand a word.’ He ran a hand over his hair. ‘There was something else too. The guy groaned.’

‘Groaned?’

‘That’s what it sounded like.’ He shook his head. ‘Like I said, it feels wrong. Anyway, there’s definitely someone in there but I’m not sure that knocking’s the right thing to do.’

Shepherd looked at his watch. ‘We don’t have time for anything fancy,’ he said.

‘You don’t think we need back-up?’

‘In a perfect world, yes, but this is a far from perfect situation,’ said Shepherd. He reached into his jacket and slid the Glock from its holster.

‘Spider, I’m not trained for this. I’m an equipment geek.’

‘You’re an MI5 officer, Amar. And a bloody good one.’

‘Wearing a fifteen-hundred-pound suit,’ he said. ‘Don’t suppose you’ll let me go home and change?’

‘This is what we do,’ said Shepherd. ‘You knock and give them your best smile and ask for Harvey. See how they play it. They might well not open the door. Was there a viewer, a peephole thing?’

Singh shook his head. ‘No.’

‘That’s something,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’ll have to open the door to check you out.’

‘Okay. And if they open the door, what then?’

‘If there’s a problem in there there’s every chance they’ll just close the door in your face. I’ll step in.’

‘And do what?’

‘Stop them closing the door, for a start. Then we’ll play it by ear.’

‘And what do I do?’ asked Singh.

‘Which side were the hinges on?’

Singh frowned. ‘The left, I think. The door handle’s on the right.’

‘Then I’ll stand on the right. When you see me move, you move to the left.’ He patted Singh on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine, Amar.’

They went back down the corridor, walking on tiptoe.

Nadia looked at her watch, then back at Malik. ‘Why are you making this so difficult, Harvey?’ she asked. ‘Do you know how long you’ve been sitting in that chair? Almost twelve hours. Just tell me who you’ve told and the pain will stop. We’re not hurting you for the fun of it. We just want the information, that’s all.’

Malik closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. They had used a dishcloth to gag him when he’d started screaming and his hands were tied behind the chair. He’d lost all sense of time. She’d said twelve hours but she could just as easily have said twelve days. They’d started with threats, then they’d beaten him, then they’d broken two of his fingers and then they’d gone to work on his right foot with a pair of pliers. She knew that he was hiding something from her. Malik didn’t know how she knew but she knew. It was as if she was able to look into his very soul.

She bent down and softly stroked his cheek. ‘We don’t want to hurt you like this, Harvey. No one wants to hurt you. But you have to tell us who you told about The Sheik. You did tell someone, didn’t you, Harvey? Just nod. You don’t have to say anything. Just nod.’

Malik’s cheeks were wet from crying but his tears had finished hours ago. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he knew that the moment he admitted anything it would all be over. They would kill him, he knew that for sure. He and Raj had been taken to meet Bin Laden and they had told MI5 and MI5 had told the Americans. They were directly responsible for the death of Bin Laden and if he admitted that then he was sure they would kill him. The one chance he had was to just keep denying that he’d done anything wrong.

His instructors at the al-Qaeda camp in Pakistan had taught him the basics of interrogation. Real secrets had to be buried deep and it helped to visualise them locked away in a safe or a vault. Then the safe was to be put in a deep dark place. That’s what Malik had done. The truth was in an old-fashioned safe with a rotary dial and each time they tortured him he focused on the safe. And he kept repeating to himself that so long as the safe stayed locked they wouldn’t kill him.

What the instructors hadn’t done was prepare him for the pain. In Pakistan he’d been slapped and punched and been made to stand for hours with a sack over his head, but that was nothing compared to what Nadia and her two companions had done to him.

The one with the gun had hit him on the knees with so much force that he was sure the left one had cracked. Later he’d brought the butt of the gun down on Malik’s right hand, breaking his fingers. Then he’d used the pliers. And all the time he’d been smiling as if he enjoyed every second of the torture.

The other man, the one with the knife, had been more precise with the pain that he’d inflicted. He had worked the knife into Malik’s hands with the precision of a surgeon. That was when they’d gagged him. The man would torture him for a few minutes then they would wait for him to stop crying before removing the gag and asking him if he was ready to talk.

He’d pretended to be confused, that he didn’t understand what they were asking. That was the first line of defence, the instructors had said. Play dumb. And if that didn’t work, say nothing. Then, if the pain became unbearable, lie. Lies had to be checked, which meant that the interrogation would have to stop.

The problem for Malik was there was no lie he could tell Nadia that would stop the punishment. She had only one question for him. Who did he tell?

At first he’d denied that he’d gone to Pakistan, but Nadia knew which camp he’d been in and who had trained him. Then he’d denied that he’d been taken to see The Sheik, but Nadia knew when he’d been and who had taken him to the compound in Abbottabad. She knew everything, Malik realised. And that meant she had been sent by al-Qaeda.

At just after midnight the man had stopped using the knife; he had produced a pair of pliers and gone to work on his toes. Malik kept passing out, and each time that happened they would wait until he woke up. The waking up was the worst time, because for a few seconds he’d imagine that it was all a dream and then the horror would pour over him like a cold shower, the realisation that the torture was real and that there was nothing he could do to stop it. Well, there was one thing he could do, of course. He could tell the truth. He could tell them that he was an MI5 informer, that he’d told MI5 where Bin Laden was hiding. If he told her that then the torture would stop. Everything would stop.

The more the men had tortured him, the gentler Nadia had become. She would stroke his cheek, call him sweetheart, tell him that she hated seeing him in pain. ‘Just tell me the truth,’ she’d said to him a hundred times or more. ‘Tell me the truth and I’ll make them stop.’ But Malik couldn’t tell her the truth because he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he did they would kill him.

As dawn broke he was unconscious most of the time and the carpet around his feet was wet with his blood. That was when Nadia had started asking him about Chaudhry. She knew that he had been in Pakistan with him. She knew that Chaudhry had gone with him to the compound in Abbottabad. She began to ask more questions about Chaudhry. Who his friends were. Where he went, who he spent time with. How often he went to see his parents. Malik began to hope that Nadia was starting to believe that he hadn’t betrayed The Sheik and was looking for someone else to blame. Chaudhry. Malik tried to concentrate, tried to work out some sort of strategy that might result in him staying alive. If he could make them think that Chaudhry was the traitor maybe they would let him live. And if he could get away he would be able to get help; he would call MI5 and they would pull both of them out and keep them safe. As the minutes went by and they continued to hurt him and make him bleed he clung to the hope that he might somehow be able to fool them.

‘How long have you known Raj?’ she asked.

‘Since we were kids.’

‘Do you trust him?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you think he would betray The Sheik?’

‘No. I don’t know. Maybe.’

‘What about you, Harvey? Did you betray The Sheik?’

‘No. I swear. As Allah is my judge.’

‘Allah is not your judge today, Harvey. I am. And I do not believe you.’

Then the gag was pushed into his mouth and the man with the pliers began to work on his toes again and he screamed into the dishcloth.

When Malik came to, the man with the pliers was standing in front of him. There was blood on the serrated tips and what looked like pieces of flesh. The man was looking at Nadia and Nadia was staring at the door. Then there was a ringing sound. A doorbell.

Nadia waved at the man with the pliers to go into the kitchen. He knelt down and picked up his knife, then hurried over to the kitchen door. The doorbell rang again. The man in the Chelsea shirt aimed his gun at the door and whispered something at Nadia. She shook her head and pointed at the bedroom.

There was a knock on the door, three rapid taps.

The man in the Chelsea shirt disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.

Nadia bent down and put her mouth next to Malik’s ear. ‘Make a sound, any sound at all, and I will slit your throat myself,’ she said. She patted him gently on the cheek, then walked slowly over to the door. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

Malik heard a man’s voice but it was muffled and he couldn’t hear what was said. The doorbell rang again, three short rings followed by a longer one.

Nadia slipped the chain lock on and opened the door a fraction. ‘Who is it?’ she asked. ‘What do you want?’

‘I’m here to get Harvey,’ said a voice.

Singh hadn’t expected the girl to be so pretty, but he could see that she was nervous.

‘This is my apartment. There’s no Harvey here,’ she said. ‘You must have the wrong address.’

She tried to close the door but Singh put up his hand and held it open. ‘Harvey said he was coming here. You’re Nadia, right?’

She frowned. ‘Who told you that?’

‘Harvey did,’ said Singh. ‘He said he was coming to see you. Said he might stay overnight and that if he did I was to pick him up here.’

‘He gave you this address?’

Singh nodded and grinned. ‘How else would I know to come and ring your bell? Now stop messing about, Nadia. If Harvey’s still in bed then tell him to get his trousers on, will you?’

Shepherd listened, his gun pointing up at the ceiling. Singh was ad-libbing brilliantly, making it very difficult for her to close the door in his face. If anything he was doing too good a job because if Nadia did have Harvey captive in the flat there was a strong possibility that she might decide to do something about the man at her door.

‘Nadia, I know what it’s like, family honour and all that, but if Harvey’s there he needs to get out here now, and if he isn’t you need to tell me where he is because his phone’s off.’ He winked. ‘Come on, honey, I don’t care what the two of you got up to.’

Nadia looked over her shoulder, then nodded. ‘He’s in the bedroom,’ she said. She reached for the chain.

Singh looked across at Shepherd and as he did so Nadia’s hand froze. She’d seen the look, Shepherd realised. And now everything had changed.

He pushed Singh to the left, stepped back and kicked out hard with his right leg. His foot hit the door just under the handle and he pushed forward with all his weight. The chain ripped out from its mounting and the door crashed open, banging into the woman. She staggered back into the room as Shepherd stepped across the threshold, bringing his left hand up to support his right as he swung the Glock around. He moved slowly and evenly, any jerking and his shots would be sure to be off target. There were four people in the room. The woman, still staggering backwards. An Asian man standing by the kitchen, holding a bloody knife. Malik, tied to a chair, a strip of cloth around his mouth, his eyes wide and fearful, his right foot hacked and bleeding, blood on his shirt. The door to the bedroom was open and Shepherd glimpsed another Asian man, this one holding a gun. Four souls, three targets, one gun, one knife. Shepherd’s training kicked in without any conscious effort. The man with the gun was the imminent threat. Shepherd brought the gun to bear on the man’s chest. He was in his twenties, tall and lanky with deep-set eyes, wearing grubby cargo pants and a Chelsea football shirt that was flecked with blood. Malik’s blood.

Shepherd didn’t shout a warning. He didn’t have to. Everyone in the room knew exactly what was happening. If the man with the gun had dropped it and raised his hands then Shepherd would have switched his attention to the man with the knife, but that didn’t happen. The man’s finger was tightening on the trigger and even though Shepherd could see that the man’s aim was off he still fired, just once. The bullet hit the man a couple of inches below the heart. The sound was deafening and instantly the stench of cordite assaulted Shepherd’s nose and made his eyes begin to water. The man fell back into the bedroom, a look of surprise on his face, his mouth forming a perfect circle. The gun dropped to the man’s side and then slipped from his fingers and fell on the carpet.

Shepherd stepped forward with his left leg as he swung the gun towards the man by the kitchen. He was aware of the woman’s arms flailing as she tried to regain her balance but she had no weapon so she wasn’t a threat.

The man with the knife was overweight, his hair greasy and unkempt. He had taken off his shirt and was wearing a string vest pulled out over baggy jeans. Clumps of hair sprouted from his armpits and chest hair was poking through the holes in the vest. The man was moving towards Shepherd, the knife raised high, his lips drawn back in a snarl. Again Shepherd said nothing. There was no need. He wasn’t a police officer; no one from Professional Standards was going to be investigating the shooting; there’d be no suspension, no court case, no comebacks. All the man had to do was drop the knife and raise his hands, but he didn’t. He started to run towards Shepherd, growling like a cornered dog. Shepherd shot him in the face. Blood, brain and skull fragments sprayed over the wall and the man fell forward, slamming on to the floor with such force that Shepherd felt the vibration through the soles of his feet.

Shepherd smoothly turned the gun towards the woman, his finger tightening on the Glock’s trigger. She had regained her balance and was already putting her hands behind her neck. Shepherd stared at her and she met his gaze with no trace of fear in her eyes. She knelt down on the floor, her eyes fixed on his. Shepherd kept the gun pointing at her face as she went down, knowing that the slightest increase in pressure on the trigger would send a bullet into her skull. There was a hint of a smile on her face as if she expected him to shoot her. Shepherd was breathing slowly and evenly, totally relaxed.

The woman looked up at him, the movement tightening her neck.

‘Amar, get in here,’ said Shepherd.

Singh stepped into the room and closed the door.

Shepherd gestured at the woman with his gun. ‘Very slowly now, lie face down and keep your hands behind your neck.’

The woman did as she was told.

‘Untie Harvey,’ Shepherd said to Singh. ‘But give me that roll of duct tape first.’

Singh picked the roll of tape off the table and handed it to Shepherd. Shepherd holstered the Glock, then straddled the woman’s legs and used the tape to bind her wrists. He ripped off another length of tape and put it across her mouth.

Singh went over to untie Malik as Shepherd put his ear against the door. He couldn’t hear anything in the corridor.

‘Try this,’ said Singh, and he tossed over the ceramic microphone. Shepherd slotted in the earphones and pressed the microphone against the door. Still nothing.

‘What happens now?’ asked Singh, who was on his knees behind Malik, working at the wires around his wrists. ‘Do the cops come?’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Shepherd. ‘It sounded loud in here but in another apartment it’ll just be two loud bangs and they won’t know where they came from. If they do dial three nines the cops will ask a lot of questions that the caller won’t be able to answer. It might not even get reported.’

Singh nodded at the body in the bedroom doorway, the man who had been holding the gun. ‘But you have to call it in?’

‘To Charlie, yes. Not to the cops. If we’re lucky it can be dealt with in-house.’

He went over to the window and pushed open the blinds so that he could squint down into the street below. The apartment looked out on to the side road where they’d parked their cars but if he pressed his head against the wall he could just make out the main road. Traffic was flowing freely. If the police did arrive then there would be an armed response vehicle and their first action would be to set up a perimeter around the building.

Shepherd went over and squatted down in front of Malik as Singh finished untying him. ‘Harvey, mate, can you stand up?’

Malik stared back at him but didn’t react.

‘Is he okay?’ asked Singh.

‘He’s in shock,’ said Shepherd. ‘Get a blanket round him and make him some tea. With lots of sugar.’ He put his head closer to Malik’s. ‘It’s going to be okay, Harvey. You’re safe now.’ Malik continued to stare at him with blank eyes.

Singh returned from the bedroom with a quilt and he wrapped it round Malik before heading to the kitchen.

Shepherd took out his phone and leaned over the woman. He prodded the back of her neck with the barrel of his Glock and she tensed. ‘You have no idea how hard I’m fighting the urge to put a bullet in your head,’ he whispered. He tapped the gun against her head and then straightened up and called Charlotte Button. She answered on the third ring. ‘We’ve got a problem,’ he said.

The four men in white paper suits with blue surgical caps and blue shoe protectors looked like a police Scene of Crime unit but they were all employed by MI5. They had rolled the two corpses into black body bags and were preparing to take them downstairs to their waiting van.

‘What’s going to happen to them?’ Shepherd asked Button.

‘We’ll have a medic remove the bullets and mess around with the wounds, then we’ll deliver them to a medical school that we use.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Best way of getting rid of a body is to let a group of students dissect it,’ said Button.

A doctor had already checked out Malik and insisted that he be taken down on a stretcher. Malik’s foot was badly disfigured and two of his fingers had been broken. It looked as if his kneecap had been shattered too. When the paramedics carried him out he was still in shock but he managed a weak smile when Shepherd patted him on the shoulder.

Shepherd nodded at the woman, who was lying face down on the carpet with her wrists bound. ‘And what about her?’

Button grimaced. ‘She’s more of a problem. We can’t let her near a lawyer, or anyone else who might spread the word.’

The four men took the bodies out of the flat and along to the lift.

‘What if anyone sees them?’ asked Shepherd.

‘We’ve got a HAZMAT van downstairs and an ambulance, and if anyone asks it’s a virulent TB case. But no one will ask. We’ve got four of our people down there in police uniforms. Everything’s under control.’

The doctor reappeared in the doorway. He was a fifty-something grey-haired man in a rumpled blue suit. He was carrying a medical bag. The paramedics followed him. One was holding a collapsible stretcher.

‘How is he?’ asked Button.

‘His vitals are fine, but he’s going to be in shock for a while. I’ve given him antibiotics and something for the pain but what he really needs is rest. A lot of rest.’

Button pointed at the woman on the floor. ‘Can you put her out for the next hour?’

‘No problem,’ said the doctor. He knelt down beside the bound woman and opened his bag. He rummaged around and took out a hypodermic, then injected the contents into her left buttock.

Shepherd looked at his watch. It was almost midday. ‘What do we do, Charlie?’

‘Chaudhry can go on his own. Once we know what the target is, we move in.’

‘What if they want to know where Harvey is?’

‘He’s out with a girl and he’s uncontactable. I don’t see that as a problem, do you?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I guess they’ll realise it was short notice. But what about Raj? What do we tell him?’

‘Nothing,’ said Button. ‘He mustn’t know what’s happened to Harvey.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because he’ll want to be with his friend. Or it’ll put the wind up him. Either way it’s best that he doesn’t know.’

‘Charlie, we owe him the truth.’

Button’s eyes flashed. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘We owe him our protection. This is the end phase and he has to go into it with a clear head.’

‘So we lie to him?’

‘If that’s what it takes, yes.’ She put a hand on his shoulder and looked into his eyes. ‘It’s for his own safety. You can see that, can’t you?’

‘Sure, of course. But I don’t like the idea of lying to him, not after everything he’s done for us.’

‘In a few hours this will all be over, Spider. And when it is you can tell him everything. But, until then, Harvey stays under wraps and Raj isn’t to know.’

‘She’s under,’ said the doctor, picking up his case. ‘Make sure her airway stays clear.’

‘Take her down, then,’ Button said to the paramedics.

‘What’s going to happen to her?’ asked Shepherd.

‘We’ll take her to Thames House for questioning,’ said Button. ‘A lot depends on who she is and who else wants her.’

‘The Americans?’

‘We’ll see,’ said Button. ‘The important thing right now is that she’s isolated.’

The two paramedics rolled her on to the stretcher, lifted her up and carried her out.

‘I’ll see you back at the ranch,’ the doctor said to Button and she smiled.

‘Thanks again, Will. You’re a godsend.’

‘So where do you want me?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Thames House, same as last time,’ said Button. ‘But first you’re going to have to check on Raj.’

‘And what do I tell him about Harvey?’

‘Tell him that as soon as we know where Harvey is, he’ll know.’

Shepherd sighed. ‘I really hate having to lie to him.’

‘It comes with the job, Spider.’

‘Have you ever lied to me, Charlie?’

She shook her head. ‘No. But then I’ve never had to.’

Abney Park Cemetery was more than just a piece of ground where corpses were buried, though there were some very famous people rotting in the ground, including William and Catherine Booth, the founders of the Salvation Army. It was a local nature reserve and park as well, a place where lovers walked arm in arm and spinsters exercised their dogs. It was also a pretty good place for a clandestine meeting with its twisted pathways, tangled vegetation and ivy-covered monuments and gravestones. Shepherd had made a point of never meeting Chaudhry and Malik on their home turf but today was different. There were only hours to go and Chaudhry needed hand-holding like he’d never needed it before.

The park was a short walk from the flat and Chaudhry reached it first. He waited just inside the gate, his duffel coat buttoned up to the neck and the hood up. Shepherd arrived in his Volvo and managed to find a parking space close to the entrance. As he walked in he saw Chaudhry but ignored him and walked towards the centre of the graveyard down a tree-lined path. Left and right were gravestones so old that time had obliterated most of the carved lettering, though various shapes were still discernible: urns draped in flowers, crosses, angels, wreaths. As the path turned to the right and they were no longer visible from the entrance, Shepherd slowed and Chaudhry fell into step next to him.

‘I thought you said we should never meet in Stokie,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Yeah, well, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that,’ said Shepherd. ‘As a rule the handler should stay well away from the agent’s turf, but the rule book’s been torn up today.’

‘Harvey’s phone is still off. What do I do?’

‘You go ahead without him.’

‘Did you get the text message from his phone?’

It was a good question, Shepherd knew. A good question and an obvious one and if he answered truthfully it would be followed by a host of other good and obvious questions. Did Shepherd go to the address? Did he go inside? Was Harvey there? Was the girl? At some point he was going to have to start lying and the big question was: when?

‘Yeah, it was a flat in Finsbury Park.’

‘And?’

Not a question, just an invitation to supply more information. Shepherd sighed and then cursed under his breath.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Chaudhry.

They walked past a stone angel, its hands clasped in prayer. It wasn’t lying that Shepherd found difficult. He was a good liar, and he knew exactly what he had to do. He had to look Chaudhry in the eye and tell him that he had been round to the flat and it had been empty. There had been no sign of Malik and no sign of the girl. The police were looking for them now and as soon as Shepherd knew where Malik was, Chaudhry would know too. It was a simple lie, easy to tell and easy to back up.

‘I went to the flat,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was there.’

‘What?’

‘The girl he’d gone to see was with two other guys and they were torturing him.’

Chaudhry stopped and turned to face Shepherd. He put his hands on Shepherd’s shoulders and moved his face so that it was just inches from Shepherd’s. ‘Are you serious?’ he hissed.

Shepherd nodded. ‘Yes. He’s in hospital. He’s in a bad way but he’ll be okay.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me right away? Which hospital?’

‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask. But he’s going to be fine.’

Chaudhry let go of Shepherd’s shoulders, walked away and then stopped. He whirled round and pointed a finger at Shepherd’s face. ‘You’re playing me. Handling me — that’s what you called it.’

‘No, Raj. If I was handling you I’d have lied and said that everything was okay. But I told you I would never lie to you and I’m sticking to that.’

Chaudhry put his hands up to his head and covered his ears as if he didn’t want to listen to anything that Shepherd had to say. ‘I don’t believe this,’ he said. ‘This can’t be happening.’ He walked away and again turned back after a couple of steps. ‘Who?’ he said. ‘Who tortured him?’

‘We haven’t identified them yet. The woman is presumably the one who sent him the text. They’re all Asians.’

‘Do you think Khalid is behind this?’

‘Probably not. If he was why would he take just Harvey? And why would he call you this morning and tell you both to get ready?’

‘So who, then?’

Shepherd held up his hands. ‘I don’t know, Raj. If I did I’d tell you.’

Chaudhry frowned and began pacing up and down. ‘Is it about The Sheik? Is it al-Qaeda? If it was al-Qaeda why did they take Harvey and not me?’ He stopped pacing. There was a wild look in his eyes and his hands were shaking. Shepherd recognised the symptoms. Shock. Stress. Fear. ‘Maybe they are coming for me. Maybe when they come to pick me up they’ll torture me.’ He walked back to Shepherd and stared at him. ‘You’ve got to pull me out now. And my family. We need protection. What do you call it? Witness protection?’

‘No one’s saying you need protection, Raj.’

‘The fact that Harvey’s in hospital suggests that I do,’ said Chaudhry. ‘If Harvey had been protected he wouldn’t have been tortured would he?’

‘We’ve got the people who were hurting him.’

‘Hurting him? They were going to kill him. And then they would have gone after me.’

‘Raj, they’re out of the picture.’ Shepherd wasn’t going to lie to Chaudhry but he didn’t think it would be a good idea to tell him that he’d personally shot and killed the two men.

‘But what if there are more of them? What if they weren’t alone?’ Chaudhry began pacing again. Shepherd watched and waited for him to calm down. Adrenaline would be coursing through his system and it would take time for it to work its way out.

‘You’ve got to get me and Harvey out of this,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Harvey’s out already,’ said Shepherd. ‘He’s been taken care of. The woman is being questioned so we’ll find out who she is and who sent her.’

‘And what about me?’

‘That’s what I want to talk about, Raj. That’s why I’m here.’

Chaudhry stood and glared at him. ‘Talk? I think we’re way past talking.’ The shaking of his hands had intensified and he looked down at them as if seeing them for the first time. ‘For fuck’s sake, look at me.’

‘It’s stress. It’ll pass.’

‘Don’t patronise me!’ hissed Chaudhry. ‘I’m a med student. I’ll be a doctor soon. I know why I’m shaking. I’m shaking because my best friend is in hospital and it could have been me. I’m shaking because unless I do something I could end up dead.’

‘You’re not going to end up dead, Raj.’ Shepherd took a step towards Chaudhry but Chaudhry put up his hands to ward him off.

‘You can’t say that,’ said Chaudhry. ‘You don’t know.’ He put his hands over his face and swore vehemently.

Shepherd said nothing. He had to wait for the anger to subside.

Chaudhry turned his back on Shepherd and started walking down the path. Shepherd walked after him. For two or three minutes there was only the sound of their shoes squelching on wet leaves.

‘I need to see him,’ said Chaudhry eventually.

‘Sure,’ said Shepherd.

‘Today.’

‘Not a problem.’

Chaudhry turned to look at him. ‘That’s your technique, is it? Agree with everything I say? That’s your way of handling me?’

‘It’s not about handling you. I think you should see Harvey. I think he’d want to see you.’

Chaudhry started walking again, his arms folded, his head down. Every now and again he would shake his head as if trying to clear his thoughts.

They reached the old church in the centre of the graveyard. Abney Park Chapel had been an impressive building in its time, built when churches were meant to stand for centuries. The walls were made of blocks of grey granite and the roof tiles were slate. The chapel had been closed for years and most of the lead flashings had been stolen. Vandals had also damaged many of the slates, with the result that water had seeped inside and caused so much damage that the chapel would almost certainly never again be opened for worship, especially as the percentage of Christians in the area was declining year by year.

Chaudhry stopped and looked up at the spire. ‘How many people have died because of religion?’ he asked quietly.

‘A lot,’ said Shepherd. ‘A hell of a lot.’

‘Why is that? What it is about religion that makes people go out and kill?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘That’s something else that’s above my pay grade,’ he said.

Chaudhry’s shoulders began to shudder and for a moment Shepherd thought that he was crying. Then he heard a throaty chuckle that grew into a full-blown belly laugh. Chaudhry turned round, laughing and shaking his head. ‘Pay grade,’ he said. ‘You’re a funny man, John.’ He pulled his hood down and rubbed his eyes.

‘Just trying to lighten the moment, Raj.’

Chaudhry wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. ‘You really are a piece of work,’ he said. ‘You know, I still can’t think of you as anything other than John Whitehill, freelance journalist. You did a good job with that.’ He sighed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I’m ready. Talk.’

Shepherd nodded. ‘I need you to be there at five. I need you to get into the van so that we can follow you.’

‘They’ll want to know why Harvey’s not there.’

‘You can just say his phone’s off and that you couldn’t reach him.’

‘And what if they don’t believe me? Or what if they know something’s wrong? What if it’s a trap?’

‘It’s not a trap.’

‘You don’t know that, John. Not for sure.’ He bit down on his lower lip, then shook his head. ‘I can’t get into that van on my own,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, I just can’t.’

Shepherd said nothing for several seconds, then he took a deep breath and exhaled. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Maybe there’s a way round this.’

‘Here he comes,’ said Charlotte Button, pointing at one of the twelve LCD screens on the wall. Chaudhry was walking along the pavement towards the restaurant where the van was due to collect him. He had the hood of his duffel coat up, his head down, his hands in his pockets. He walked slowly and purposefully.

Button looked at the clock on the wall. It was five minutes before five. They were in the operations room on the top floor of Thames House and more than a dozen officers were bent over computer screens and talking into Bluetooth headsets. Commander Needham was at his desk, talking animatedly into a headset. He turned, gave Button a thumbs-up and held up four fingers. Four more ARV units on the way. She smiled back at him and mouthed ‘Thank you.’

‘Luke, what do we have in place?’ she asked.

Luke Lesporis looked up from his terminal. ‘Two black cabs in Stoke Newington Church Street; two bikes in parallel streets; two delivery vans, each facing a different direction. I’ve got an outer perimeter with two more bikes and four black cabs all within half a mile. The other vans we identified at St Pancras are all covered too.’

An LCD flickered into life and they had an overhead view of the street. Then the screen went black and all they could see were greenish figures and red spots marking car engines. ‘We have helly telly,’ said a blonde woman in a dark-blue suit.

‘Thanks, Zoe. Tell them we don’t need infrared,’ said Button. ‘And to keep high — no tipping them off.’

‘Will do,’ said the woman.

‘Luke, please tell me that we have eyes on Khalid.’

‘He’s in a terraced house in Tower Hamlets with three other men,’ said Lesporis. ‘Spent a lot of time washing his arse this morning but we had a dozen men on him so we stayed with him.’

‘Has anybody heard from Shepherd?’ asked Button. She sighed when there was no reaction. ‘Well, somebody try his mobile again. And keep trying.’

Chaudhry had reached the Indian restaurant and stood with his back to it, looking down the street.

‘The van’s on its way,’ said Lesporis. ‘The same one as last time. The plumber’s van.’

‘Right, everyone, here we go,’ said Button. ‘We need to stay on top of this. All the signs are that this is the real thing.’

Commander Needham raised a hand. ‘Two more ARVs en route,’ he said. Button thanked him. She had a strong feeling that they were going to be needed.

The van pulled up at the kerb. Harith was in the front passenger seat, bundled up in a thick cloth coat and with a white wool scarf wound twice round his neck. ‘Salaam, brother,’ he said. ‘Where’s Harveer?’

‘He’s not feeling so good,’ said Chaudhry.

‘What do you mean?’ said Afzal, leaning across from the driver’s seat. ‘Is he not coming?’

‘No, he’s coming, but he was just on the toilet. He’s got the shits.’

‘Nerves,’ said Harith. ‘Probably nerves.’

‘No, he’s picked up a bug.’ He looked down the pavement. ‘Here he comes now.’

A figure in a green parka was hurrying towards the rear of the van, the fur-lined hood up, his hands deep in the jacket pockets.

‘Get in the back, brother,’ said Afzal. ‘And make sure that Harveer doesn’t throw up. This is my uncle’s van and there’ll be hell to pay if I return it stinking of vomit.’

‘I’ll watch over him, brother,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Make sure you do,’ said Harith, winding up the window.

Chaudhry went to the rear of the van and opened the door.

‘What the hell is going on?’ asked Charlotte Button as she saw the man in the green parka walk up to Chaudhry. Chaudhry got into the van and the man in the parka followed him. ‘Who is that?’ she said, pointing at the LCD screen. ‘Is that Malik? Malik’s still in hospital, right?’

Nobody answered and other than the police commander everyone in the room avoided eye contact with her.

‘Will somebody please find out if Harveer Malik is still in hospital? If he is then we need to know who is wearing his parka.’ The words had barely left her mouth before she realised that there was only one person who could possibly have stepped in to take Malik’s place. ‘Has anyone managed to get through to Dan Shepherd?’ She was faced with a dozen or so shaking heads. ‘I think we now know why,’ she said.

Shepherd sneaked a look at his watch. They had been in the back of the van for just over half an hour and without windows he had no idea in which direction they were heading. When they first got into the van they had headed south but there had been a number of turns and a roundabout and now with no indication of the speed of the van he couldn’t even calculate how far they were from Stoke Newington, never mind in which direction they were going.

He was sitting on the floor at the rear of the van, facing the double doors. He was about the same height and build as Malik and provided he stayed in that position, with his hood up, the driver and front passenger couldn’t see his face. He’d found a pair of wool gloves in Chaudhry’s flat and he was wearing them to conceal his hands.

Chaudhry kept talking to Harith to keep his attention away from Shepherd, mainly asking questions about what was going to happen. Harith kept telling him to wait, that all would soon be explained.

During a lull in their conversation Afzal looked over his shoulder. ‘Harvey, brother, are you okay? You’re quiet.’

Shepherd grunted and shrugged.

‘He’ll be okay. He’s just got a tummy bug,’ said Chaudhry, leaning forward to get between the driver and Shepherd. ‘So where’s Khalid?’

‘The control room,’ said Afzal.

Harith held up a mobile. ‘He called me on this just half an hour ago,’ he said. ‘This time it’s for real, brothers. This time we change England for ever. From today onwards they will treat us Muslims with the respect that we deserve.’ He looked at his wristwatch. ‘It is time,’ he said.

‘Time?’ repeated Chaudhry.

‘Brothers, it’s time for you to learn what it is that you are to do,’ said Harith. ‘Today will be a glorious day. Today the British government will learn what it means to betray its Muslim population. Today is the day we strike back. Today we teach them to respect us. And to fear us.’ He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sheet of paper. ‘We are going to Westfield shopping mall. There will be more than a dozen brothers there. This is where you need to go.’

He handed the paper to Chaudhry. The sheet was folded in half and Chaudhry opened it, then leaned over and tapped Shepherd’s shoulder with it. Shepherd took it and stared at the hand-drawn map. It was marked ‘First Floor’. There were two crosses by doors that led to a car park.

‘We will drop you at the car park. In the crate next to you are two backpacks. They contain your weapons, ammunition, a chain and a lock. There are also ski masks so that you can cover your face. At exactly six o’clock you are to run the chain through the handles of the doors and use the lock to fasten it.’

Shepherd slowly pulled down the zip of his parka. Underneath he was wearing his leather jacket. The Glock was in his shoulder holster, snug under his left arm.

‘All the doors will be locked and there will be brothers on every level, at every entrance and exit. Then you are to begin shooting. In the backpacks are guns and pre-loaded clips. You are to shoot as many kaffirs as you can, avoiding brothers and sisters wherever possible. Do you understand?’

Chaudhry nodded. So did Shepherd.

‘You will be on the first floor. You are to go straight inside and chain the door shut. And then begin shooting. After ten minutes you are to make you way to Marks amp; Spencer. You can use the internal escalator to reach the ground floor. It has its own exit, separate from the mall. As you move through the store you can drop your weapons and remove your masks and disappear into the crowds. Once outside you can make your way to the tube. There are Oyster cards in the backpacks.’

Chaudhry smiled. ‘It is a good plan, brother.’

‘Are you all right, Harveer?’ asked Harith.

Shepherd waved his gloved hand and grunted.

‘You should look at the map.’

‘I told him not to order the prawn vindaloo,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Never a good idea to go with the prawns. Get a bad one and you’re as sick as a dog.’

‘But you can do this, brother? You’re not going to let us down, are you?’ Shepherd didn’t react. ‘Harvey?’ said Harith.

‘He’ll be fine,’ said Chaudhry.

Harith stared at the hood of the parka. ‘Harveer?’

Shepherd grunted again and waved his hand.

Harith’s eyes narrowed. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a gun.

‘Gun!’ shouted Chaudhry, and he lunged forward, trying to grab it.

Shepherd grabbed for his own Glock as Chaudhry seized Harith’s wrist. Afzal looked over at Harith, his mouth wide open. Harith lashed out with his left hand and smacked Chaudhry across the nose. Blood spurted down Chaudhry’s chin but he refused to let go of Harith’s wrist.

‘What are you doing?’ shouted Afzal. ‘What’s happening?’

Shepherd pulled the Glock from its holster and slipped his finger on to the trigger.

Harith pulled the gun towards himself and screamed at Chaudhry to let go even though they both knew that as soon as Chaudhry released his grip Harith would fire.

Chaudhry managed to get his left hand on the gun and he wrenched it up, but as it jerked it went off and a bullet ripped through the thin sheet-metal roof of the van. The shock made Chaudhry release his grip on the gun and Harith roared and brought the gun down, aiming it at Chaudhry’s face.

Shepherd leaned back and fired two quick shots that both hit Harith in the face. The bullets erupted out of the back of the man’s skull with enough force to smash the windshield. Blood and brain matter splattered across the dashboard.

Chaudhry sat back on his crate, gasping for breath.

Shepherd pointed the gun at Afzal’s head. ‘Pull over,’ he said. ‘Pull over now or I’ll put a bullet in your head. Your choice.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Afzal, trembling. ‘I’m doing it.’

He indicated to the left, ignored the blare of a horn from behind them and stopped at the kerb. Shepherd handed the Glock to Chaudhry. ‘Keep that pointed at his head. If he moves, shoot him.’

Chaudhry nodded nervously as Shepherd pulled out his mobile phone.

‘What just happened?’ shouted Button, frowning at the LCD screen showing the view from the police helicopter. ‘Why did they stop?’

On screen they saw a motorcycle dispatch rider pass the van and a few seconds later Lesporis twisted round in his seat.

‘The front passenger has been shot. There’s blood all over the windscreen,’ he said.

‘I have an ARV thirty seconds away,’ said Commander Needham.

‘Hold off on that, Commander,’ said Button. Her mobile phone rang and she picked it up. It was Shepherd calling. She took the call and held the phone to her ear. ‘What the hell is going on, Spider?’

‘The target is Westfield shopping mall, the one in Stratford. They’re using guns, not explosives. The attack is due to happen at six p.m. They’ll seal all the exits and start shooting. The plan is for the attackers to escape through the department stores because they have exits leading to the outside.’

‘Give me a minute, Spider.’ Button stood up. ‘I need everybody’s attention, right now.’ She looked over at the clock on the wall. It was twelve minutes to six. ‘We are looking at multiple armed attackers at Westfield shopping mall, Stratford.’ She pointed at Commander Needham. ‘We need all your ARVs there now, and any others you can raise.’ She looked over at Lesporis. ‘Luke, maintain surveillance on the other vans. As soon as you can confirm that they are heading to the mall, we need them intercepted and neutralised.’ Button pointed at Zoe. ‘Get the Met helicopter over the mall, now.’ Zoe nodded and started talking into her headset.

A tall man in a black leather jacket looked over at Button, waiting for instructions. She only knew him as Terry and he was her SAS liaison. The SAS had a team outside the house where Khalid was holed up, ready to move in and do whatever was necessary. The SAS weren’t hampered by the same rules and regulations that governed the police so the house clearance wouldn’t turn into a siege situation.

‘Hang fire, Terry,’ she said. ‘Let’s wait until we have them all.’

Terry nodded. ‘Ready when you are, ma’am,’ he said. He was holding a pack of chewing gum and he slid a piece into his mouth.

Button put her mobile back to her ear. ‘What’s your situation, Spider?’

‘All good,’ said Shepherd. ‘The passenger took a bullet; the driver’s under control. I need to get to the mall.’

‘Negative on that. We’ll take it from here.’

‘Charlie, I saw all their faces on the photos at Thames House. I’m the only one that can ID them. Get a bike here and I can be there in minutes. The cops aren’t going to know who to take out. It could get very messy.’

‘We can take out the vans before they get there.’

‘And what about the ones who aren’t in the vans? What about the ones going by tube? Or bus? I need to be there, Charlie. Get me that bike.’

Button looked over the clock again. The seconds were ticking away.

‘What’s happening?’ asked Chaudhry. He turned to look at Shepherd and as he did so Afzal slid his hands off the steering wheel.

Shepherd pointed at the driver. ‘Raj, keep the gun at his head. Afzal, you do anything other than grip that wheel and he’ll put a bullet in you, I swear.’

‘Okay, okay,’ said Afzal. His face was bathed in sweat and his hands were trembling.

‘I’m serious, Raj. He moves, you shoot him.’

Chaudhry nodded. ‘I will do,’ he said. His voice was shaking and he took a deep breath. ‘I will,’ he said, louder and more confident. ‘What are you going to do?’

‘I’m going to the mall.’ He pulled the lid off the plastic crate containing the backpacks and pulled one out. He unzipped it and looked inside. There were two Glock pistols, several dozen filled magazines and two boxes of extra ammunition.

‘I’m coming with you,’ said Chaudhry, keeping his eyes on the driver.

‘You can’t,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’ve been trained,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I can shoot.’

Shepherd slung the backpack over his shoulder. ‘Raj, trust me. There are armed cops from all over London heading towards that shopping mall. The last thing you want to be is an Asian with a gun. Best will in the world, you might as well have a bull’s-eye on your chest.’

‘The world is fucked up, John.’

‘Yeah, isn’t it just?’ He heard the roar of a motorcycle engine and, in the distance, the sound of a siren. ‘Now listen to me, Raj. In a few minutes the cops will be here. Armed cops. They know you’re one of the good guys and they know you’re in the van, but accidents can happen so as soon as they get here you slide the gun to the back of the van and you do exactly as they tell you. They have a procedure to follow and it doesn’t involve them minding their manners. Just grit your teeth and it’ll soon be over.’

‘I hear you.’

A motorcycle pulled up behind the van.

‘I’ve got to go, mate,’ said Shepherd, taking off the wool gloves. He held out his hand. ‘And my name’s Dan,’ he whispered so that Afzal couldn’t hear him. ‘Dan Shepherd.’ Chaudhry reached out with his left hand and awkwardly shook with Shepherd, all the time keeping the gun aimed at Afzal’s head. ‘You did good today, Raj. Really good. But your part’s over now.’

‘I’ll see you again, right?’

Shepherd nodded. ‘You can count on it.’

He climbed out of the back of the van. A group of housewives were staring wide-eyed at the van. One of them was pushing a toddler in a stroller. ‘Ladies, you need to get away from the van for your own safety,’ he said. The siren was louder now. The women hurried away.

The dispatch rider was dressed all in black, his face hidden behind a tinted visor. He nodded at Shepherd and revved the powerful engine. Shepherd climbed on to the pillion. The engine roared and the bike sped off.

‘Right, everybody, status reports, please, and let’s keep them short,’ said Charlotte Button. ‘Commander?’ She looked over at Commander Needham.

‘I have three ARVs heading to Westfield now,’ said the commander. ‘The first one is ETA nine minutes. The second will be there in eleven and we’re looking at twelve minutes for the third. I’ve asked two to go to the main entrance and one to the other end of the mall. All on the ground floor. That’s where we assume most of the shoppers will be.’

Button nodded. ‘That’s three confirmed but more on the way?’

‘I’m working on that now,’ he said. ‘The timing is dire.’

‘I’m sure that’s deliberate,’ said Button. ‘What about the vans?’

‘We are close to the three that we’ve been tailing and can take them out on your word,’ said the commander.

Three of the screens on the wall were now showing floor plans of Westfield shopping mall. Entrances were marked with flashing red squares.

‘Let’s see if we can tell what the drop-off points are going to be,’ Button said. She pointed at the screens. ‘We’re looking at fourteen entrances and exits in all. Several are reached by the car parks so if we can ascertain that any of the vans are heading to particular car parks we take them out and then we’ll know that those entrances are going to be safe.’ She called over to Lesporis. ‘Luke, we do have comms with Spider?’

‘Working on it,’ said Lesporis.

‘Soon as you can,’ she said. ‘And tell your watchers that as soon as they know where their targets are going to pull in they must let us know. And Zoe, that goes for the helicopter. The sooner we know where exactly they’re headed, the sooner we can take them out.’

Zoe flashed Button a thumbs-up as she continued to talk into her headset.

‘Commander, we need regular police in the area because assuming the armed response teams start firing there’s going to be panic. We’ll need to get people moving in the right direction.’

‘Can I suggest an evacuation of the mall and the surrounding shops?’ said the commander.

Button looked over at him. She knew that the commander was covering his back, making sure that everyone realised that the decision to allow the terrorists to continue was her decision and hers alone. ‘As soon as we know that we can neutralise all the shooters, we’ll clear the area,’ she said. ‘If we evacuate now we might tip them into shooting before the six o’clock deadline. But your suggestion is noted.’

Button looked at the clock. Ten minutes to six.

Lesporis raised a hand. ‘Charlie, Tango Two is heading for car park A, at the John Lewis end. Nowhere else it can be going.’

Button turned to the commander. ‘Take out Tango Two, Commander.’

Commander Needham nodded and pressed a number on his console.

Lesporis raised his hand again. ‘We have Spider on comms,’ he said. Button reached for a headset and put it on.

The motorcyclist was a true professional, barely using his brakes as he wove in and out of the traffic. They had already gone through two red lights, taking one at full speed and the other much more slowly with the bike’s hazard lights flashing. With no official markings or siren they were leaving angry looks and blaring horns in their wake.

The driver had had to remove the full-face helmet and pass it back to Shepherd because HQ wanted to talk to him and he needed the microphone and earphone built into it. It was now only the driver’s glasses that kept some of the wind out of his eyes as the bike continued powering east.

‘Spider, can you hear me?’ Button’s voice was coming through the earphone.

‘Yes, I hear you.’ There was no mic switch so Shepherd assumed it was voice-activated.

‘What’s your ETA?’

‘At the rate we’re going four minutes, maybe five.’

‘You’re armed?’

‘I have the guns that Khalid supplied, plus a few dozen clips.’

‘Where were Chaudhry and Malik supposed to go?’

‘They were dropping us at one of the car park entrances that would put us on the first floor. We were to chain the doors, start shooting and then escape via Marks amp; Spencer.’

‘Spider, it looks as if most of the vans are heading to the car parks. We’re taking them down now so the imminent threat is from the terrorists arriving by the tube and by bus. The likelihood is that they will be heading for the main entrances on the ground floor and the lower ground floor.’

‘Which is where I should be?’

‘Exactly. The first ARVs to reach the mall will head for the main entrance too and move in that way.’

Shepherd looked at his watch. It was eight minutes to six. ‘Charlie, you have to give them my description. Blue jeans, black polo shirt, brown leather jacket. I’m wearing Harvey’s green parka but I’ll dump that as soon as I get off the bike. The last thing I need is to get caught in friendly fire.’

‘It’ll be done,’ said Button. ‘We have ARVs en route but most of them are going to be getting there after six so you’re going to be on your own for a few minutes.’

Shepherd’s stomach lurched as a bus pulled out in front of them. The motorcyclist had seen the vehicle and accelerated at the same time as he leaned over to the right. Shepherd leaned in sync and they missed the bus by inches. ‘How’s Raj?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Raj?’

‘Raj Chaudhry. I left him at the van with a gun.’

‘The van has just been secured. We’re taking him to see Malik. Spider, one other thing. We’re going to start evacuating the mall within the next couple of minutes. We’re on to the mall people now and we’re going to start emptying the first and second floors through the department stores.’

‘What about just sounding the fire alarm?’

‘If the terrorists lock the ground-floor doors we’ll just be sending people towards the guns,’ she said. ‘Best you and the ARVs get there first.’

Shepherd looked over the shoulder of the motorcyclist. Ahead of them was Westfield mall. ‘Almost there, Charlie.’

‘Good luck, Spider.’

Button looked up at the screen showing the view from the police helicopter. She could see the motorbike arriving at the main entrance to the mall. ‘Commander, how are we doing with the ARVs?’

‘Two minutes until the first one arrives,’ he said. ‘Two minutes after that we should have a vehicle at car park B.’

‘And the vans in transit?’

‘Two have been stopped without shots being fired. We should have the third within the next minute or so.’

Button looked over at Zoe. ‘What’s happening with the evacuation?’ she asked.

‘I’m having problems getting someone there to approve it,’ said Zoe. ‘No one seems to know who’s responsible for authorising it.’

‘Head of security, presumably.’

‘He’s saying that unless he knows the nature of the threat he’s not prepared to evacuate the building. I’m contacting the owners of the mall as we speak.’ She held up her hand and began talking into her headset.

Button caught the commander’s eye. ‘Do you have any uniforms close by?’ she asked.

‘Two TSG vans already, more on the way,’ he said. ‘No blues and twos and they’re staying in the vans until needed.’

‘I think we need them in now, Commander,’ she said. ‘Tell them to go straight up to the top floor and get people moving through the department stores.’

Zoe waved at Button and Button nodded for her to speak. ‘It’s okay. The CEO is on to the head of security now. He’ll get the security teams to begin moving people out.’

‘Through the stores, not through the main entrances,’ said Button. She looked back at the commander. ‘We still need your people in there, Commander. We need to start getting people out. But discreetly. No panic.’

‘They’re on their way,’ said Commander Needham. ‘They’ve been told to say that there’s going to be a power cut.’

Button looked at the screen showing the overhead view of the mall. Shepherd was standing by the bike, opening his backpack. It was five minutes to six.

Shepherd rested the backpack on the pillion of the motorbike and handed the helmet to the driver. ‘Thanks,’ said Shepherd.

The driver slid the helmet on as Shepherd unzipped the backpack. The guns were both Glocks, similar to the MI5-issued one that he’d left with Chaudhry. He pulled one out, ejected the magazine, checked that it was full and then slotted it back into place.

‘Anything I can do?’ asked the driver.

‘Are you firearms trained?’ asked Shepherd. He slid the Glock into his shoulder holster.

‘Afraid not. Strictly surveillance.’

‘Then thanks but no thanks,’ said Shepherd. He took off Malik’s parka and gave it to the driver. ‘You can hang on to that for me, if you don’t mind.’ He shouldered the backpack and began running towards the main entrance.

Zoe waved over at Charlotte Button. ‘The security guards on the upper floor are now directing people out of the mall and into the department stores.’

‘Excellent,’ said Button. She looked over at the clock. Four minutes to six.

‘We’ve just intercepted the fourth van,’ said the commander. ‘It was heading for car park B. Four men in custody; no shots fired.’

‘And the ARVs?’

‘First one will arrive in about one minute. Second one two minutes later.’

‘Make sure they have a full description of Spider and explain that he is armed. I don’t want any friendly fire incidents.’

‘They’ve been informed,’ said the commander.

Button looked up at the screen showing the overhead view from the helicopter. Spider was running towards the main entrance.

Heads turned as Shepherd ran through the crowds. He scanned the faces, his trick memory comparing them with the photographs he’d seen at Thames House. He slowed to a jog as he reached the entrance. The glass doors were wide open as shoppers poured in. He walked into the mall and checked his watch. There were three minutes to go before six o’clock. That meant that the terrorists were almost certainly already in place. He looked around, breathing slowly and evenly.

Two security guards were standing to his left. They were Asians, wearing black suits and with their identification cards in clear plastic cases strapped to their arms. One was in his forties, dark-skinned and wearing tinted glasses. The other was younger, with lighter skin, and carrying something in his hands. Shepherd moved to the side to get a better look. The man was holding a length of chain and a padlock. The older man looked at his watch. There was a black Timberland backpack at his feet. The two men were standing with their backs to the wall, watching the shoppers walking into the mall. Two middle-aged Chinese women went over and asked them for directions and the younger security guard pointed up to the first floor.

Shepherd walked over, his hand slipping inside his jacket. ‘How’s it going, guys?’ he asked.

‘Can we help you, sir?’ asked the older guard.

Shepherd stood facing them, using his body to conceal the Glock as he pulled it out. ‘I need the two of you to stand facing each other right now,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you don’t I’ll shoot you.’ The younger guard opened his mouth to speak but Shepherd jabbed the gun in his stomach. ‘Don’t say anything. Just do it. I don’t have time to fuck around.’ The men turned to face each other. Shepherd patted them down but didn’t find a gun. He kicked the backpack to the side. It was heavy. He took the chain and padlock with his left hand and gestured with the gun. ‘Put your arms round each other, like you were hugging.’ The men hesitated and Shepherd jabbed the younger guard again with the barrel of the gun. ‘Do it or I swear I’ll shoot you both.’

The two men put their arms round each other. Shepherd kept hold of one end of the chain and let the rest fall to the floor. He draped it over the neck of the younger guard, then, using his left hand, he wrapped the chain round their waists and round their necks; finally he pushed it between them and pulled it hard to tighten it. He fastened the chain with the padlock and pushed the men to the floor. The guards said nothing as they glared defiantly up at Shepherd. He holstered his Glock, picked up the backpack and began to run to the entrance at the far end of the mall. Several shoppers saw what was going on but hurried by, not wanting to get involved. London was a city where passers-by who intervened in violent situations tended to end up in hospital. Or worse.

The mall was so crowded that Shepherd couldn’t manage more than a jog and he was constantly having to change direction. People he banged into cursed and shouted at him but he was so focused on checking faces that what they said barely registered. He was looking for two things: faces from the Thames House surveillance photographs and Asians with backpacks.

He took a quick look at his watch. A minute and a half to go. He barged between a group of teenagers. One of them lashed out with his foot and caught Shepherd’s calf but Shepherd barely felt it. He slowed to a walk, scanning faces. Walking in through the glass doors were two Asians in Puffa jackets, both carrying backpacks. Shepherd’s hand went to his gun. One of the Asians said something and the other laughed. They were too relaxed to be a threat, Shepherd realised. One of them went over to a display of store guides; he took one and unfolded it. The two men looked around, trying to get their bearings. Shepherd took a deep breath, knowing that he had come close to shooting two innocent shoppers.

He moved closer to the doors. A police ARV arrived and it screeched to a halt. The doors opened and three armed officers got out, all holding MP5s. A tall Asian man in a long raincoat walking from the train station whirled round to look at the police car. He had a backpack and he took it off and began to fumble inside it. He turned so that his back was to the approaching policemen. Shepherd caught a glimpse of a pistol. He pulled out his Glock and fired twice, catching the man in the centre of his chest.

The armed police all jumped as if they’d been stung and then crouched low as they covered the area with their MP5s. Shepherd threw down the backpack that he’d taken from the security guards and turned and ran from the doors He didn’t have time to explain to the police that he was on their side. People were screaming all around him and some were running out into the street.

He slotted the Glock back in its holster as he ran towards the escalators that led to the lower ground floor. He stopped and looked down over the balcony. No one on the lower ground floor had reacted to the screaming or to the shooting.

He couldn’t see the doors that led to the outside, but he heard shouts of ‘Armed police’ at the entrance behind him. He hurried on.

As he rode down the escalator he looked left and right, scanning faces, checking for bags. He was almost at the bottom when he saw an Asian man with a backpack facing a shop window and looking at his watch. As the man turned round Shepherd recognised him. He was one of the men from Leeds who had arrived at St Pancras on the tube. The man started to walk away from the shop and Shepherd ran up behind him. He pulled out his Glock and slammed it against the side of the man’s head and he slumped to the ground without a sound. Two middle-aged women screamed and backed away from Shepherd as he holstered his gun. Shepherd looked down at the unconscious man. He’d be out for a while, certainly until the police had arrived in force.

Most of the shoppers in the vicinity seemed unconcerned about what had happened and continued to walk by, looking down at the prone figure but not stopping to help. Even the two screaming women soon fell silent and hurried away.

Shepherd did a full three-sixty turn but didn’t see anyone else that he recognised so he jogged over to the entrance that led to the tube station. He stopped when he saw that an Asian man in a green anorak with the hood up was walking purposefully towards the entrance. Shepherd had seen the man’s face before, in Thames House. It was the Egyptian, Riffat Pasha. Pasha was carrying a backpack in his right hand as he looked at his watch. He looked scared, as if he might be having second thoughts about what he was about to do.

Shepherd ran towards him, pulling out his Glock. Pasha saw him, saw the gun, and then began to grope inside his backpack. Shepherd stopped, steadied himself and took aim. As Pasha’s hand appeared from the backpack holding a gun, Shepherd fired twice, both shots to the chest. Pasha fell backwards and hit the ground hard. Shoppers screamed in terror and began running out of the mall.

‘He’s got a gun!’ screamed a woman with close-cropped hair and a nose ring.

Shepherd looked at her in amazement. ‘I think they know that,’ he said.

The woman pointed at Shepherd. ‘He’s got a gun!’ she screamed again at the top of her voice. She backed away, then turned and ran towards the entrance.

Blood was pooling around Pasha. His legs shuddered and then went still.

‘Armed police! Drop your weapon!’

The shout came from above him. Shepherd looked up. Two cops on the floor above were aiming their MP5s at him. A third armed officer was on the escalator, keeping his weapon trained on Shepherd as he moved smoothly down to the lower ground floor.

‘Armed police! Armed police!’ More shouts, this time from the entrance to his left. Two more armed officers.

Shepherd bent down and placed the Glock on the floor, then straightened up and put his hands behind his neck. He slowly knelt down and waited as the armed police ran towards him. ‘Please don’t shoot me,’ he muttered to himself. ‘I really don’t like being shot.’

Khalid beamed and looked across at Abu al Khayr. ‘It is after six o’clock, brother,’ he said. ‘It has started.’

The two men were alone in the sitting room of a terraced house in Tower Hamlets, home to an Afghan refugee and his family. The man was a diehard Taliban soldier but had claimed to have been a government official who had been forced out of his village under threat of death. In fact al-Qaeda had funded his travel from Afghanistan to the UK and had guided him through the asylum process. Along with him had come his wife and four children. All had been in the country for three years and his council-funded home was often used as a safe house and as a place to store weapons and materials. A false wall behind the water tank in the attic had concealed more than a dozen of the handguns that were being used in the attack on the shopping mall.

The man had taken his wife and children to see a movie and was under instructions not to return before nine that evening. But there were two other men in the house; both worshipped at a mosque in west London and were trusted associates of Khalid’s.

Khalid was sitting on a sofa with a floral pattern and Abu al Khayr was settled in a matching armchair. On a pine coffee table between them were eight cheap Nokia phones lined up in a row. On the wall above the fireplace was an LCD television tuned to Sky News. Khalid knew from experience that the station was almost always the first to cover a breaking news story.

‘How long before we know?’ asked Abu al Khayr.

On the television a blonde woman with unnaturally smooth skin and hair that looked like a blonde plastic helmet was talking earnestly about a car crash on a motorway in the north of England.

‘The first reports should be out within minutes,’ said Khalid. ‘Someone will call the station because they pay for tip-offs. They will check with the police and then they will announce it. But it will take another half an hour or so before they have pictures.’ He rubbed his beard. ‘But as we speak the kaffirs are being killed in their hundreds. It is a glorious day, brother, a day that will live for eternity.’

‘It is a pity that we could not be there to witness it,’ said Abu al Khayr. ‘It would be quite something to see.’

‘There will be CCTV footage of everything and the media will show it,’ said Khalid. ‘The whole world will bear witness to our triumph.’

‘Allahu akbar,’ said Abu al Khayr.

‘Allahu akbar,’ echoed Khalid.

They heard a dull thud from the hallway.

‘What was that?’ asked Abu al Khayr.

Khalid pulled a face. He stood up and as he did so he saw a movement through the lace curtains at the window that overlooked the street. Three men, all dressed in black, their faces concealed. He turned to say something to Abu al Khayr but at that instant something smashed through the window and rolled across the carpet. It was a small metal cylinder and Khalid immediately recognised it for what it was. He closed his eyes and clamped his hands over his ears. The flash-bang was deafening even with his ears covered and he staggered back.

The door to the sitting room was kicked open and a black figure burst into the room, cradling an MP5. The gun kicked twice and Abu al Khayr slumped back with two holes in his chest pumping blood.

Two more soldiers moved into the room and fanned left and right, bent low as their guns swept the room.

Khalid’s ears were still ringing from the explosion but he raised his hands high. ‘I am a British citizen!’ he shouted. ‘I demand to see a lawyer!’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said the soldier.

‘I have my rights!’ shouted Khalid. ‘I am a citizen and I am unarmed. I do not have a weapon.’

The soldier used his left hand to pull out a Zastava M88 pistol from the holster on his hip. He tossed it at Khalid and it bounced off the man’s chest and clattered to the floor. Khalid stared at it in horror.

‘You do now,’ said the soldier. He brought his left hand up to support the MP5 and pulled the trigger twice. The first shot hit Khalid in the chest, just above the heart, and the blood hadn’t even begun to flow from the wound before the second shot hit him in the face. Khalid fell backwards and hit the coffee table hard before rolling off it and ending up on the carpet. Mobile phones were scattered around his body.

Major Allan Gannon pulled down the mask that had been covering his face and he clicked on his radio. ‘Tell her ladyship that we have neutralised the situation, Terry,’ he said into his radio mic. ‘No survivors.’ He clicked off the mic. ‘What the lady wants, the lady gets,’ muttered the Major. He stepped over Khalid’s body, picked up the M88 in his gloved hand and pressed it into Khalid’s lifeless palm.

The doctor finished examining Malik’s mangled foot and replaced the dressing.

‘Will I be able to play the piano again, Doc?’ asked Malik. The doctor smiled but didn’t reply.

‘Well, it’s good to see that you haven’t lost your sense of humour,’ said Button.

The doctor took a final look at Malik’s chart and then left. They were in a private room in Cromwell Hospital in South Kensington. Malik had been booked in under an assumed name.

‘What happens now?’ asked Malik.

‘You stay here until you’re well enough to leave,’ said Button. ‘Then it’s up to you.’

‘I suppose it could have been a lot worse,’ said Malik. He nodded at Shepherd. ‘If John hadn’t turned up.’ He shuddered at the thought of what would have happened if the torturing had continued.

‘Yeah, well, maybe next time you’ll be more careful,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I mean, the fact that a pretty girl seemed interested in you really should have tipped you off that you were being set up.’

‘Yeah, well, twenty-twenty hindsight is a wonderful thing. Who was she anyway?’ Malik asked Button. ‘She isn’t a student, right?’

‘Her name is Alena Kraishan. She was born in Palestine but has spent time in Iraq and the Gulf states under other names.’

‘Is she in al-Qaeda?’

‘She works for pretty much any Islamic terrorist group that pays her,’ said Button.

‘How old is she?’ asked Malik.

‘Thirty-one,’ said Button.

‘She looked good for thirty-one,’ said Malik. He shook his head. ‘Bloody typical. First time a really fit bird fancies me and it turns out she just wants to kill me.’

‘Harvey, focus, will you?’ said Chaudhry. He looked at Button. ‘She knew that we’d betrayed Bin Laden,’ he said. ‘We’re screwed.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Button. ‘The fact that she was interrogating Harvey suggests that she wasn’t sure. If she knew for a fact that you were working for us she would have killed him there and then.’

‘It sounded like she knew everything,’ said Malik.

‘That’s what a good interrogator does,’ said Button.

‘She was going to kill me,’ said Malik.

‘But she didn’t. And now we have her in custody.’

‘But as soon as she gets to a phone she’ll tell them what happened,’ said Chaudhry.

Button shook her head emphatically. ‘That’s not going to happen. She’s being held in Belmarsh Prison. In isolation. No phone. No lawyer. No nothing.’

‘Can you do that?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘We’re MI5,’ said Button. ‘We can pretty much do anything we want. She’s being held under the name she used to enter the country. But the Americans have her under two other names, one of which was involved in a plot to blow up the American Embassy in Islamabad. They’re asking for extradition and they’re going to get it. D Notices have already been issued so there won’t be a word in the press. She’ll be gone within a week and the Americans won’t be letting her near a phone.’

‘Guantanamo Bay?’ asked Malik. ‘Do you think they’ll send her there?’

‘I don’t know for sure what they have planned,’ said Button. ‘But a little bird did tell me that the Americans are keen to rebuild bridges with the Pakistan government and one way of doing that might be to give her to them. The Pakistanis would love to question her about terrorist groups active in Pakistan and when they’ve finished interrogating her they’ll throw away the key. She’s never going to be a threat to you again.’ She looked over at Chaudhry. ‘To either of you.’

‘And the two men with her?’ asked Malik.

‘It’s going to be a package deal,’ said Button. ‘And we’ll be keeping a close eye on you both for the foreseeable future.’ She nodded at Shepherd. ‘John here will be available whenever you need him. And you can have as much security as you need.’

Chaudhry smiled at Shepherd. ‘What do you think, John?’ he asked.

‘I think you’re both in the clear, but you might think about a change of identity. And relocation.’

‘Do you think that’s necessary?’

‘For your peace of mind, maybe. But no, I don’t think they’ll send anyone else. And if they do, you know what to look for.’

Chaudhry grinned. ‘Yeah, pretty girls who want their laptops repaired.’

‘Hey, she was very convincing,’ said Malik.

‘I’m not sure that you’re going to have to do anything drastic,’ said Button. ‘We’ve already started a disinformation campaign to muddy the waters.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Malik.

‘We’ve got the Pakistanis saying that one of Bin Laden’s wives betrayed him. She’s in custody and they’re putting it about that she was getting jealous of one of the other wives.’

‘A woman scorned?’ said Chaudhry.

‘It’s perfectly possible,’ said Button. ‘She was in the compound when the Seals went in. Plus, the Americans are now suggesting that they were helped by the courier that died in the attack. It’s all grist to the mill.’

‘So you think it’s over?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘You’ll still have as much protection as you need, but yes, I don’t think either of you needs to worry overmuch. But if you want a change of identity we can absolutely do that for you. Also, I’ve spoken to my bosses and there’s quite a bit of money coming your way. By way of compensation for what you went through and as thanks for everything you did.’

‘What about the reward for Bin Laden?’ asked Chaudhry.

‘We’re talking to the Americans,’ said Button. ‘I’m quietly confident that at least some of that money will be coming your way.’

‘Too bloody right,’ said Chaudhry. ‘It’s the least they can do. If it wasn’t for us they’d never have known where Bin Laden was.’

‘So when do we get the money?’ asked Malik.

Chaudhry laughed. ‘Bloody hell, Harvey. At least wait until you’re out of bed.’

‘I’m just asking. I want to get started on my restaurant.’

‘I think you’ll find you’ve got more than enough money to do that,’ said Button.

Malik grinned and flashed a thumbs-up at Chaudhry.

‘What about Khalid?’ Chaudhry asked Button.

‘He died resisting arrest,’ she said.

‘Which was convenient,’ said Shepherd.

Button raised one eyebrow. ‘Meaning what?’

Shepherd shrugged. ‘Just that it keeps things neat and tidy. With him being a British citizen it would have been a bit harder to send him off to Pakistan.’

‘Indeed it would have been,’ said Button coldly.

‘So picking a fight with armed cops was convenient, that’s all I’m saying.’ He tilted his head to one side. ‘Was it CO19? Or did the SAS go in?’

‘The latter,’ said Button. ‘But I’d really be happier not discussing operational matters here.’

‘I can quite understand that,’ said Shepherd. He patted Chaudhry on the back. ‘What about you, Raj? Not thinking of going into the restaurant business with Harvey?’

Chaudhry smiled and shook his head. ‘I’m going to be a doctor. And I’m going to be Dr Manraj Chaudhry. I’m proud of what I’ve done and I don’t want to hide.’

‘You should think about working for us,’ said Button. ‘You could do very well in MI5.’

‘Miss Button, that’s not going to happen,’ he said. ‘Not in a million years. I’ve done my bit. I’ll leave the job of fighting terrorists up to you.’