False Friends

I ever did.’

He stood up and showed Button to the door.

‘I’ll get Sam to call you, then,’ she said, heading downstairs before he had time to worry about whether to shake her hand or accept a peck on the cheek.

Shepherd watched the battered black Golf GTI pull into the car park and drive slowly around before parking in the bay furthest away from the M1 motorway. London Gateway services, between junctions two and four north of the capital, was perfect for clandestine meetings. It was a place full of transients: everyone was a stranger and everyone was on the way to somewhere else. London Gateway was just a stopping-off point for a coffee, a toilet break or an expensive and badly cooked meal. Businessmen with mobile phones glued to their ears, chav housewives shepherding unruly broods towards the bathrooms, bald-headed white-van drivers chewing gum and knocking back cans of Red Bull, they all remained the centre of their own universes and showed little if any interest in the people around them.

Miles to the south, moored on the Thames in the centre of the city, was the museum warship HMS Belfast. Shepherd had read somewhere that the warship’s guns were aimed so that their shells, if fired, would fall directly on to the service centre. It was a nugget of information that his perfect memory kept locked away for ever, but for the life of him he had no idea why the centre had been targeted, and could only assume it was a comment on the drab architecture. Or maybe someone had once eaten a bad sausage roll there.

Shepherd climbed out of the Volvo, a three-year-old model from the office pool. He locked the door and walked over to the Golf, whistling softly to himself. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his eyes and he kept his head down. He tapped on the rear window of the car and the two men inside jumped as if they’d been stung, then they relaxed as they recognised him.

Shepherd opened the rear door and got in. ‘Harvey, when are you going to get yourself a decent motor?’ he asked, clapping the driver on the back.

‘This, it’s a classic, innit?’ said Malik. It was cold in the car and both men were bundled up, Chaudhry in his duffel coat and Malik in his green parka jacket.

Shepherd pulled on the handle to close the door and it threatened to come away in his hand. ‘It’s a piece of shit,’ he said.

‘So how about your bosses pay for a new motor, then?’ said Chaudhry. ‘There was a reward for Bin Laden, wasn’t there? Twenty-five million bucks. How about sending some of that our way, John?’

John Whitehill was Shepherd’s cover name. It was the only name they would ever know him by. ‘I’ll ask, but the Yanks are taking the credit,’ he said.

‘Yeah, but they know the information came from us, right?’ said Malik, twisting round in his seat.

‘What do you think, Harvey? You think we’ve been shouting your names from the rooftops?’

‘No, of course not,’ said Malik, his cheeks reddening. ‘But Obama knows, right?’

‘Of course Obama doesn’t bloody well know,’ said Shepherd. He ran a hand through his hair, trying not to lose his temper. He forced himself to smile. ‘If the President knew then at least a dozen other people would know, and Washington leaks like a bloody sieve. All the politicians are hand in glove with the media so it wouldn’t take long for the info to go public and then the two of you would be well fucked. I presume you don’t want your names splashed across the New York Times.’

‘But someone knows, right?’ said Malik. ‘We get the credit, right?’

‘We know, Harvey. That’s what matters.’

‘And who is “we”, exactly?’ pressed Malik.

Shepherd’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’m fine,’ said Malik. ‘I just want some reassurance here that someone else isn’t taking credit for what we did. We found Bin Laden. We found the man the whole world was looking for. And we told you and then the Americans went in and killed him. And nowhere do I hear that it was anything other than an American operation.’

‘Which is what we want. That sort of disinformation keeps you safe. What do you want, Harvey? You want to go and shake hands with Obama in the White House and have him tell you how proud he is?’

‘What I want, John, is a piece of the twenty-five-million reward that the Americans promised.’

‘That was up to twenty-five million,’ said Shepherd. ‘If they do pay it then it’ll be split among everyone involved.’

‘Including the Seals?’ asked Malik.

‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

‘You know the Yanks paid thirty million dollars to one informant who gave up Hussein’s kids,’ said Chaudhry. ‘Uday and Qusay. Remember? The Yanks went in and blew them away too. And like I said, they handed over thirty million dollars to one man.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Shepherd.

‘Google,’ said Raj. ‘It ain’t rocket science.’

‘So do we get a piece of the reward, or not?’ asked Malik.

‘I’ll put out some feelers, Harvey.’

‘Yeah, well, make sure you do. I just worry that what me and Raj did is going to get lost in all that Yank back-slapping.’

‘What you did won’t be forgotten, you have my word.’

‘That and a quid’ll get me on a bus,’ said Malik, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

‘You’re not saying you’re doing it for the money, are you?’

‘Fuck you, John!’ spat Malik. ‘Fuck you and fuck MI5. We put our lives on the line, Raj and me. We spent three months in Pakistan and if we’d put a foot wrong they’d have killed us without blinking an eye. But we went into the lion’s den and we walked out and now it’s like we don’t fucking exist.’ He grunted and pounded his fists against the dashboard.

‘Bloody hell, Harvey. Steady, mate, or you’ll set off the airbag,’ said Shepherd.

Malik grunted again but then began to chuckle. He shook his head as he laughed.

‘You okay, brother?’ asked Chaudhry anxiously.

Malik nodded. ‘Aye, brother, I’m fine.’ He looked over his shoulder. ‘I’m fine. It’s been a bit stressful, you know?’

Shepherd patted him on the shoulder. ‘Mate, more than anyone I know what you guys went through and as far as I’m concerned the sun shines out of your arses.’

Chaudhry gestured at the service centre. ‘Can we go and get something to eat? I’m starving.’

‘Not with me,’ said Shepherd. ‘Can’t take the risk.’

‘No one knows us this far out of London,’ said Malik.

‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Shepherd. ‘We need to keep our heads down for the next few days. Everyone’s going to be ultra-sensitive so I don’t want anyone spotting us together in a coffee shop or on the Heath.’

‘So we have to drive out here whenever we want to meet?’ asked Malik.

‘Here or somewhere just as safe,’ said Shepherd. ‘Just for the next week or so until it dies down. Look, it’s Sod’s Law: the time you think you’re safest is the time when you bump into someone who recognises you. So we’ll stay right where we are and you can go and have a coffee when I’ve gone.’

‘Why don’t you get us a safe house?’ asked Malik. ‘You people always use safe houses, don’t you?’

‘Horses for courses,’ said Shepherd. ‘But if you were seen going into a strange address then you’d be screwed. This way is best. Not much can go wrong in a service station car park.’ He tapped the side of his head. ‘Touch wood.’

‘You know what? I’d really like to see inside the MI5 building,’ said Chaudhry. ‘What’s it called again? The one by the Thames?’

‘That’s MI6’s HQ,’ said Shepherd. ‘Vauxhall Bridge. MI5 is at Thames House, in Millbank. It’s not as impressive. Why would you want to look round it?’

Chaudhry shrugged. ‘Dunno. Just be interested to see what the place is like, that’s all.’

‘It’s easily arranged,’ said Shepherd. ‘But best to wait until this is over.’

‘And what happens then?’ asked Malik. ‘When we’re done with this?’

‘What do you mean?’