turned and ran up the hill. After three paces he dropped face down on to the grass and a second later there was a dull thud that Shepherd felt in his stomach and through the soles of his feet. There was a cloud of white smoke at the bottom of the slope and a brown patch about five feet wide that smouldered though there was no fire. In a fraction of a second the small metal globe had been transformed into thousands of small deadly fragments.
Grenades were nasty weapons. Shepherd had never had to throw one in anger during his army days, and he was grateful for that. He’d shot men, and women, and on a few occasions he’d used a knife. He regretted none of the killings, but there was something basically unfair about a grenade. If you shot a man then there was a chance that he might fire first. In hand-to-hand fighting the more skilled fighter won. But there was no defence against a grenade. If you had one and the enemy didn’t, and you threw it, then he was dead and you weren’t.
Kettering was already up, jumping up and down and punching the air enthusiastically. ‘Did you see that!’ he shouted.
Thompson stared at the rapidly dispersing cloud of smoke. ‘Fucking awesome!’ He turned to look at Shepherd. ‘Was that fucking awesome or what?’
Shepherd nodded. ‘Yeah, awesome.’
Kettering hurried up the slope. ‘That was amazing, Garry. My heart was pounding when I pulled the pin out, it really was.’ He shook his head. ‘I want to do it again.’
‘We need to go,’ said Shepherd. ‘The sound carries. No one’s going to mistake a grenade for someone out shooting crows.’
Kettering looked disappointed, like a child who’d been told his time at the funfair was over and that he had to go home.
‘Cheer up, mate,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once you’ve bought them you can throw as many as you want.’
‘I might do that,’ said Kettering. ‘You know what would be cool? Throwing one in the canal. I bet there’d be one hell of a splash.’
‘So we have a deal?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Fuck, yeah,’ said Kettering. He held out his hand and Shepherd shook it.
‘Cash on delivery,’ said Sharpe.
‘Wouldn’t have it any other way,’ said Kettering. ‘Give me forty-eight hours’ notice.’
‘Fancy a drink to celebrate?’
‘You know a place?’
‘There’s a decent pub a few miles from here. Don’t know if they have bubbly but we can give it a go.’
Kettering slapped him on the back. ‘Garry, lead the way. And you’re buying.’
The pub did have champagne. It was only Moet but it was cold and cost about a third of the price they’d pay in a London bar. Shepherd paid the barmaid and carried it and six glasses over to a table by a shoulder-high brick fireplace. They were the only customers inside, though half a dozen farm workers in overalls and heavy coats were standing outside drinking pints and smoking.
Shepherd popped the cork and poured the champagne. The men clinked glasses and drank.
‘So what do you think?’ asked Kettering. ‘A week? Ten days?’
‘Thereabouts,’ said Shepherd.
‘Excellent.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ said Shepherd.
‘Anything but algebra,’ said Kettering. ‘I was always crap at algebra.’
‘Why do you need so many guns? And the grenades?’
‘Do you always ask your customers what they’re going to do with the stuff they buy?’ asked Kettering.
‘It’s not every day that I sell forty AK-47s.’ He shrugged. ‘If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine. I’m just interested, that’s all.’
‘Best you don’t know,’ said Thompson.
‘He’s right,’ said Sharpe. ‘Once we know, we’re accessories before the fact.’
‘You a lawyer, James?’ asked Kettering.
‘I’ve known a few in my time,’ said Sharpe.
‘You’re not planning a race war or something, are you?’ asked Shepherd.
Kettering stiffened and he stared at Shepherd with unblinking blue eyes. ‘What makes you say that, Garry?’ he said quietly.
‘Yeah, come on, that’s a bit personal, innit?’ said Sharpe.
Shepherd ignored his partner. He knew he was pushing it, but Button wanted to know what Kettering and Thompson were up to and the best way of getting that information was from the horse’s mouth. ‘We met you through Ian, and Ian’s as BNP as they come, isn’t he? Kill the blacks, gas the Jews and burn the Pakis. England for whites only and all that. So when he first said that you and Paul wanted a meet, we naturally assumed. .’
‘That we were going out to shoot niggers and Pakis?’
Shepherd shrugged again. ‘You can see why,’ he said. ‘But then we saw you with Conteh at the boxing and we didn’t know what to think.’
‘Leave me out of this,’ said Sharpe. ‘I couldn’t care less what you’re doing with the guns, so long as your money’s good.’ He flashed Shepherd a warning look but Shepherd pretended not to notice.
‘Let me get this straight,’ said Kettering. ‘You don’t think I should have said hello to John Conteh, one of the biggest characters in the world of boxing, because he’s black?’
‘No, I’m not saying that,’ said Shepherd. ‘But Ian said you were, you know, in the EDL and all that.’
‘Yeah, I’m a patriot, Garry. We all should be. Family, friends and country, that’s really all that matters in life. But being a patriot isn’t about colour. It’s about country. You heard Conteh speak that night; he’s as Liverpool as they come and as British as you and me. I’ve plenty of black friends, Garry. And I’ve been with my share of black birds.’
Thompson smirked. ‘I can vouch for that.’
Sean and Roger nodded. ‘He is a sucker for that old black magic,’ said Roger.
‘So none of that racist nonsense, okay?’ said Kettering. ‘I know Ian’s full of it and that’s why we don’t hang out with him too much. He’s a good guy and that and we have a laugh but he’s not one of us and never will be.’
‘Message received and understood,’ said Shepherd.
‘Now don’t get me wrong,’ said Kettering. ‘The ones that are flooding into this country, they’re the ones that should be sent packing. I get as annoyed as anyone at these families from the arse end of nowhere who are given mansions to stay in and benefits and LCD TVs and all the trimmings. Them I would put up against a wall and shoot. But it’s not them that’s the problem. It’s the bastards that are ruining our country that are the ones to blame.’ He drained his glass and Shepherd refilled it for him.
‘Who are you talking about?’ asked Shepherd. ‘The politicians?’
‘You know who I mean, Garry,’ continued Kettering. ‘They want to control us all, they want us to be passive consumers, obedient taxpayers, working our whole lives to pay for their bloated lifestyles.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ asked Sharpe. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘You don’t see it, do you? You really don’t see what’s happening to this country? To the whole of Europe? Do you think this recession was an accident?’ Kettering shook his head. ‘It’s all part of the great plan,’ he said. ‘They want to take our savings, our pensions, our assets, because then we have no choice other than to work for them.’ Sean and Roger nodded in agreement.
‘Them?’
‘The faceless bureaucrats who run our lives. The unelected elite. The men and women who control the money and make us dance to their tune. It’s slavery, that’s what it is.’
‘An international conspiracy? Is that what you’re saying?’ asked Sharpe, leaning forward.
‘The biggest conspiracy that the world has ever known,’ said Kettering. ‘With the aim of producing a one- world government with a single currency ruled by a very small elite while everyone else spends their whole lives being controlled and told what to do.’ He waved his glass around. ‘It’s happening already. That’s what the EU is all about. The EU and the United Nations. They’re just steps on the way to a world government. And the bastards that are running this country, Labour and Conservative alike, are helping them, working towards the destruction of Western civilisation. By mass immigration. By destroying the trade unions. By weakening the state education system to produce a population with IQs lower than that in most Third World countries. By ruining the healthcare
