False Friends (23 page)

‘You’re not planning on shooting anybody, are you?’ asked Sharpe. He grinned slyly.

‘Just you, you soft bastard.’

‘You think you could take me?’

‘One-handed,’ said Shepherd.

Shepherd was making himself a coffee when his John Whitehil phone rang. He had spent three hours drinking with Sharpe and while he was far from drunk he was stil a little light-headed. It was Chaudhry.

‘Hey, Raj, how’re things?’ he said, speaking slightly slower than usual to make sure that he didn’t slur his words.

‘I’ve something to tel you,’ said Chaudhry.

‘Go ahead, I’m al ears,’ said Shepherd, pouring milk into his coffee.

‘Can we meet?’

‘Tonight?’

‘I don’t want to forget anything and I don’t want to write it down,’ said Chaudhry. ‘My memory’s not as good as yours.’

‘You’re a medical student. You have to memorise mil ions of facts,’ said Shepherd.

‘Which is why there’s no room for anything else,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Look, I just met with Khalid. There’s some stuff you need to know.’

‘I can see you, but I can’t drive,’ said Shepherd.

‘I’l come to you. I can see you on the Heath.’

‘Two guys on Hampstead Heath at night? Not sure that’s a good idea.’

Chaudhry laughed. ‘Don’t worry, John, you’re not my type. Look, I can cycle over and I’l be careful. No one’s going to fol ow me on the bike.’

Shepherd took a sip of his coffee. ‘Okay, come to the east side of the Heath. There’s a petanque pitch there.’

‘A what?’

‘That game where you toss bal s.
Boules
, the French cal it. It’s near the bandstand, fairly close to the road. I’l get there first. If everything’s okay I’l be wearing a basebal cap. If I’m not wearing a cap don’t come near me. Just go back home and wait for me to contact you.’

‘You think someone might be fol owing you?’

‘No, but it’s always a good idea to have a fal back position.’

Shepherd ended the cal . He finished his coffee, picked up his coat and a basebal cap off a hook by the door, and headed out.

He spent fifteen minutes strol ing around the Heath making sure that he wasn’t being fol owed. He did get two very nice smiles, one from a sixty-year-old man in a cashmere coat and a trilby, another from a teenager in a black leather motorcycle jacket.

He did a quick walk round the petanque pitch, then sat down on a bench and put on his cap. Chaudhry was on time, pushing his bicycle. He was wearing his duffel coat with the hood up. He leaned the bike against the bench and sat down.

‘Are you okay, Raj?’ asked Shepherd.

‘I’m fine,’ said Chaudhry. He grinned at the basebal cap. ‘You real y don’t suit that,’ he said. He pul ed his hood down. ‘You’re about ten years too old for it.’

Shepherd took it off. ‘Yeah, I was going to suggest holding a newspaper but as it’s dark I thought that would just look plain sil y. So what’s up?’

Chaudhry folded his arms. ‘Khalid wanted me and Harvey to talk to a couple of young guys who are on their way to Pakistan. We had dinner.’

‘Nice,’ said Shepherd.

‘They’re off to a training camp next week. Not the one that we went to, a new one.’

‘Do you know where it is?’

‘Closer to the border, he said. These guys are from the mosque. Khalid has recruited them the way he recruited me and Harvey. He did the same with us, introduced us to a couple of veterans before we went out to Pakistan. Now we’re the veterans.’

‘That’s how it works,’ said Shepherd. ‘Making you al feel part of the process, you against the world. It binds you together.’

‘They’re both students at South Bank University. Sociology, would you believe? One is Lateef Panhwar. The other is his pal, Faisal. Didn’t get his surname. They’re both from Derby, up north. And they’re flying out next Wednesday on PIA.’

‘That’s terrific, Raj. Thanks.’

‘What wil you do?’

‘We’l see if anything’s known about them. Then we’l arrange to have them fol owed in Pakistan, and hopeful y nail down the location of the training camp.’

‘They’re nutters, John. Serious nutters. They were talking about shooting down planes at Heathrow.’

‘Now that they’re on our radar we’l be on their case twenty-four seven,’ said Shepherd.

‘So I did good?’

‘You did great, Raj. Real y.’

‘What they’re doing is so wrong,’ said Chaudhry. ‘People like Khalid, they’re evil. They’re twisting the Koran to make it sound like we should be kil ing non-believers and that our religion has to go into battle against al others. You know what jihad means, right?’

‘Struggle,’ said Shepherd.

‘Exactly. Struggle. Yet most of the younger brothers seem to think that it means a crusade. That we have to somehow destroy al other religions.

But that’s not what the Koran says.’

‘I think the majority of Muslims understand, don’t they?’

‘The older generation, maybe. But the young ones?’ Chaudhry shook his head. ‘I’m not so sure. The Americans did themselves no favours when they invaded Afghanistan and Iraq. And whoever thought that Guantanamo Bay was a good idea should be taken out and shot. It produced a whole generation of Muslims who real y do believe that America is evil.’

‘No argument here,’ said Shepherd. ‘But you’ve got to remember that Afghanistan and Iraq were a reaction to Nine-Eleven.’

‘And Nine-Eleven was a reaction to American support for Israel, everyone forgets that,’ said Chaudhry. He grimaced as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. ‘Bloody hel , now I sound like I’m defending al-Qaeda,’ he said. ‘That’s not what I meant at al .’

‘Understanding someone’s motivation doesn’t mean that you agree with them,’ said Shepherd. ‘But your train of logic is spot on. Al-Qaeda resented what Israel was doing in the Middle East and blamed America for supporting them; al-Qaeda carried out the Nine-Eleven attacks; America retaliated by invading Afghanistan and Iraq. Muslims around the world saw that as an attack on their religion and that initiated al the terrorist attacks we’ve seen since – in Madrid, in London, in Algiers, in Yemen.’

‘And what the Americans did to Bin Laden is going to make it worse, right? It makes him the ultimate martyr.’

‘I would think so,’ said Shepherd. ‘Kil ing him was never going to stop al-Qaeda. It’s not like a snake that you can kil by chopping off the head. It’s more like a cancer where the more you attack the tumour, the more cancerous cel s you release.’

‘So why don’t the people at the top realise that?’ asked Chaudhry. ‘If it’s that obvious to you and me, why did Bush invade Iraq? Iraq, which wasn’t even an al-Qaeda stronghold. In fact Saddam hated al-Qaeda more than the West did.’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘I’m nothing to do with policy,’ he said. ‘I’m an Indian surrounded by chiefs.’ He smiled. ‘No offence.’

Chaudhry wagged a finger at him. ‘You don’t want to be confusing a Pakistani with an Indian,’ he said. ‘Even in jest.’

‘Not good?’

Chaudhry grinned. ‘Let’s just say it could end in tears. Me, I’m a Brit first and a Pakistani second, so it’s water off a duck’s back. But even my dad gets upset if he’s mistaken for an Indian, and he’s as laid back as they come.’

‘I’l remember that.’

Chaudhry sighed. ‘Anyway, the answer to my question – why did the US invade Iraq? – you know why, right? Bush Senior couldn’t take Saddam down so his son did, the first chance he got. It was nothing to do with al-Qaeda and nothing to do with terrorism. And now look at the state the world’s in.’ He sighed again. ‘We’re screwed, aren’t we? The West? No matter how this works out.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Shepherd.

‘We stop Khalid and we stop Lateef and Faisal. We arrest everyone and they al go to prison. But there’l be others to take their place, won’t there? They’re already being recruited, right now. Kids and teenagers are being groomed to be the new shahid. Who’s going to stop them?’

‘Hopeful y there’l be someone like you who’l do the right thing,’ said Shepherd.

Chaudhry sneered. ‘That’s not much of a plan, is it?’

‘Fair point,’ said Shepherd. ‘But that’s the way it is, unfortunately. Back in 1984, before you were born, the IRA almost kil ed Margaret Thatcher, the prime minister. They blew up the hotel she was staying in, along with half her cabinet. She was pul ed from the wreckage and the IRA released a statement saying that she was lucky and that she would have to continue to be lucky. But the IRA had to be lucky only once. That’s the situation we’re in now. We need to be lucky al the time.’

‘And like I said, that’s not much of a plan.’

‘The security services are on ful alert and they wil be for the foreseeable future,’ said Shepherd. ‘There’s a lot of surveil ance going on; internet chatter and emails are monitored; GCHQ eavesdrop on phone cal s. We’ve got CCTV, we’ve got al sorts of technological advantages that the terrorists don’t have, and we’ve got right on our side.’

‘That gives you an advantage, does it? Having right on your side?’

‘It means that there wil always be people like you who want to do the right thing, Raj. No one is total y alone. Everyone has friends, relatives, workmates, neighbours. Providing there are people who are prepared to do the right thing, the terrorists wil always be identified, sooner or later.’

Two middle-aged women in matching raincoats, one with a spaniel, the other with a red setter, walked by. The woman with the spaniel glared at Shepherd with open hostility. He smiled at her and winked, and she wrinkled her nose in disgust and tugged hard at her dog’s lead.

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Chaudhry.

‘And what about you, Raj? After al this is over. What do you plan to do?’

Chaudhry frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘MI5 can use guys like you.’

‘Brown-skinned Muslims, you mean?’

‘I meant intel igent, self-motivated individuals who want the best for our country. You could go far, real y. And not because of your ethnicity.’

‘My dad would . . .’ Chaudhry laughed. ‘Actual y, I don’t know what my dad would say. But my mum, she’d freak out. She always wanted my brother to be a doctor and she went apeshit when he announced that he wanted to be an architect. The only thing that calmed her down was me saying that I wanted to study medicine. If I were to change my mind now . . .’

‘I think you’l make a great doctor,’ said Shepherd.

‘I bet you say that to al your . . .’ Chaudhry smiled. ‘What are we to you, John? How do you describe us?’

‘You’re an agent,’ said Shepherd.

‘I thought you were the agent.’

Shepherd shook his head. ‘I’m an officer. An MI5 officer. You’re an agent. Or an asset.’

‘An asset? That’s good to know.’ He smiled thinly. ‘I just wish this was over, John.’

‘I know. It wil be soon.’

‘I just keep thinking that Khalid knows what we’re doing.’

‘He doesn’t.’

‘He’s under surveil ance, right?’

Shepherd nodded.

‘Would he have been fol owed tonight? To the restaurant?’

‘I would think so.’

‘I didn’t see anyone,’ said Chaudhry.

‘You wouldn’t. The people we use are real professionals. And if we even suspected that he knew you were talking to us we’d pul you out immediately. But that’s not on the cards, Raj. The fact that he wanted you to meet Lateef and Faisal shows that he trusts you. You’re his golden boys.’

Chaudhry shrugged. ‘I guess so.’

‘There’s no guessing about it. He recruited you, he sent you to Pakistan for training, now he’s getting ready for the big one. He’s never going to suspect you because you’re on the inside; he’l see any threat coming from the outside. That’s why you and Malik are so important in al this. You’re on the inside.’

‘You’ve been in my position before, right?’

‘Lots of times.’

‘It’s scary, isn’t it? Lying al the time?’

Shepherd smiled. ‘It can be. But you get used to it.’

‘I don’t want to get used to it,’ said Chaudhry. ‘I just want it to be over.’

Shepherd opened his eyes and was disorientated for a few seconds until he remembered he was in his bedroom in Hereford. He’d driven up the previous morning, then taken Katra to watch Liam play rugby. Liam’s team had won, and afterwards they’d taken him and half a dozen of his teammates for pizza. Shepherd shaved and showered and dressed in a polo shirt and black jeans before heading down to the kitchen. Katra was already up and by the time he’d picked up the newspaper from the hal way she had a cup of coffee ready for him.

‘Breakfast?’ she asked. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt over cargo pants and had tied her brown hair back with a scrunchy.

‘Egg and bacon would be great, Katra. I’ve got a busy day.’

‘Working on a Sunday?’ she said, taking a frying pan from a cupboard.

‘No rest for the wicked.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ she said as she began to cook his breakfast.

‘Of course,’ said Shepherd.

Katra had worked as his au pair for more than four years and he thought of her more as family than as an employee. Over the years she had lost most of her Slovenian accent though her love of soap operas meant that her pronunciation was a blend of north of England and the East End of London, with the occasional Australian twang thrown in for good measure.

‘Now Liam’s at boarding school and you’re in London so often, I was just wondering if you real y stil needed me.’

‘Of course we need you,’ said Shepherd. ‘Liam’s here between terms and at most half-terms too. And the house stil needs looking after.’ He grinned. ‘Besides, who would cook breakfast for me? And I real y don’t want to be ironing my own shirts.’

She laughed. ‘I like ironing,’ she said.

‘Then you’re not going anywhere. Plus, I don’t know how long I’l be in London. My situation can change at short notice.’ He put down his newspaper. ‘Everything’s okay, right? You are happy here?’

Katra turned round to look at him, the spatula in her hand. ‘Of course!’ she said. ‘I have been happy ever since I started working for you.’

‘That’s fine. You’re happy, we’re happy, everyone’s happy.’