doubt that anyone’s going to be pulling out a gun. Besides, you’ve got a vest so what are you complaining about?’
‘And what if they shoot me in the head?’
‘No one’s going to shoot anyone,’ said Shepherd. He looked at his watch. ‘Okay, let’s go.’
He climbed out of the Range Rover and zipped up his jacket. It would make it harder to pull out the gun but it meant that it would stay well hidden. He took his mobile phone from his pocket and checked that it was on and working. It was a Nokia, and while it was a functioning phone it was also a tracking device and a permanent transmitter. Amar Singh was one of MI5’s best technicians and the phone was his own personal design. Everything that was said within a ten-foot range of the phone would be transmitted to Singh and Button in Thames House. There were two armed MI5 officers in the hotel and two more in a coffee shop close to the marina. They were also listening to the output from the phone that Shepherd was carrying. They had already agreed a warning phrase. If Shepherd were to say the words ‘I can’t stay too long’ then that meant they were to move in with weapons drawn.
Shepherd locked the car and he and Sharpe headed towards the front of the hotel.
‘That’s them, outside,’ said Sharpe.
Shepherd realised that he was right. Kettering and Thompson were standing to the right of the hotel entrance, smoking cigars. Kettering was talking earnestly and Thompson was nodding. Both men were wearing long overcoats and Kettering had a bright-red scarf round his neck.
Thompson spotted them first and he said something to Kettering. Kettering turned and waved.
‘Garry, James, great to see you,’ he said.
‘No problem,’ said Shepherd, shaking hands with them both.
The two men shook hands with Sharpe. ‘Are we going inside?’ he asked.
Kettering held up what was left of his cigar. ‘Can’t smoke in there,’ he said. ‘And it’s busy. Walls have ears and all that. We’ve got somewhere more private fixed up.’ He slapped Sharpe on the back. ‘Hope you’ve got your sea legs.’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Shepherd. ‘You said the bar.’
‘Like I said, the bar’s busy,’ said Kettering. He started walking towards the marina. Sharpe followed him down the path but Shepherd stood where he was.
‘Where are you going?’ he called, more for the benefit of the MI5 team than for his own information. Kettering was clearly heading to the boats.
Kettering turned round, took a long pull on his cigar and blew a cloud of bluish smoke before answering. ‘The German who wants to meet you has a boat moored here. That’s not a problem, is it?’
Shepherd grinned. ‘It’s fine by me,’ he said.
‘Good man,’ said Thompson, putting his arm round Shepherd and guiding him towards the marina. ‘We’ve got some bubbly and smoked salmon on board.’
‘Who else is on the boat?’ asked Shepherd, again for the benefit of those listening.
‘Just Klaus,’ said Thompson.
Ahead of them were several dozen large yachts and motor cruisers. ‘Which one?’ said Shepherd.
‘The cruiser, the one with the blue stripe,’ said Thompson. ‘The
‘Doesn’t sound very German,’ said Shepherd.
‘He’s chartered it,’ said Thompson. He flicked the butt of his cigar into the water.
Shepherd looked at the boat. It was big, close to a hundred feet long, with a large seating area at the stern and a glass-sided bridge that sloped back sharply. There was a man standing in the bridge looking at them. Short, stocky and wearing a captain’s hat. ‘Is that him?’
‘That’s the captain,’ said Thompson.
‘Who else is on board?’
‘Why?’ asked Thompson. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing’s wrong. I just like to know who I’m dealing with and you seem to be making it up as we go along. First you say you want to meet in the hotel bar, now we’re on a boat and it’s not just your German buddy. For all I know you’ve got Captain Bligh and the Pirates of the fucking Caribbean on board.’
‘There’s the captain and that’s it,’ said Thompson. ‘And I don’t know what you’re so worried about. What is it? You think we’re going to mug you?’
Kettering and Sharpe had reached the boat and they turned and waited for the other two to join them. There was a short gangplank leading from the jetty to the stern and Sharpe walked over it unsteadily, followed by Kettering.
As Shepherd got closer he looked up at the bridge. The captain flashed him a salute. Shepherd stopped and looked at Thompson. ‘Who’s the captain?’
‘The guy that drives the boat. It’s worth a million bucks. He comes with the charter. The owner doesn’t want amateurs crashing his pride and joy, now does he?’
‘His name,’ said Shepherd. ‘I meant who is he? Do you know him?’
Thompson shrugged. ‘Greig something or other. He works for the German.’ He patted Shepherd on the back. ‘Come on, Garry, chill. Think of how much money you’re going to make out of this.’ Shepherd walked over the gangplank and joined the others.
There was a large sitting area with cream leather seats running round the edge. Sliding doors led through to the main cabin, which was larger than the flat Shepherd was using in Hampstead. The floor was gleaming teak, there was a large LCD screen on one wall and in one corner there was a well-stocked bar. Marble and chrome stairs led up to the bridge and beyond the stairs was a stainless-steel galley.
‘It’s one hell of a boat,’ said Sharpe, stepping into the cabin and looking around.
Kettering took off his overcoat and tossed it on to a leather armchair. ‘Make yourselves at home, guys,’ he said.
Thompson slipped off his coat and dropped it on top of Kettering’s. He sat down on a leather sofa and adjusted the creases of his trousers. ‘Take a pew, James,’ he said.
A long glass table on two carved marble bases was surrounded by eight high-backed black leather chairs. Sharpe pulled one out and turned it to face Thompson before sitting down.
‘Where’s this German, then?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Klaus!’ shouted Kettering. ‘Where the hell are you?’
A wooden door slid open and a barrel-chested man appeared. He was wearing a brown leather jacket over a tight-fitting pale-blue V-neck and white jeans. He had a thick gold identity bracelet on his right wrist and a wristwatch with a dial so large that Shepherd could see the numbers on it from across the cabin. His hair was close-cropped, giving him the look of an American marine, and he smiled showing slab-like teeth.
‘This is Klaus,’ said Kettering.
Klaus held out his hand and shook with Shepherd. He had a strong grip but Shepherd’s was just as firm. ‘Good to meet you,’ said Klaus.
‘You don’t sound very German,’ said Shepherd.
‘I went to school in England,’ said Klaus. ‘And my mother is English.’ He shook hands with Sharpe, then headed for the stairs. ‘I’ll tell the captain to get going,’ he said.
Shepherd realised that the engines were running. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Kettering.
‘We’re going for a spin,’ said Kettering.
‘Like fuck we are,’ said Shepherd. ‘You wanted a chat in private, fine. You want to drink bubbly on your boat, all well and good. But I’m fucked if I’m going out to sea.’
‘It’s not the sea, mate,’ said Thompson. ‘It’s only the Channel. People swim across it.’
‘What are you scared of, Garry?’ asked Kettering.
‘I’m not scared. I just don’t like being pissed around. I’m more than happy to talk business with Klaus, and if he wants a demonstration I can arrange that. But I don’t have time to go messing about on boats.’
‘We can talk just as easily here, right?’ said Sharpe, stretching out his legs. He looked around. ‘Where’s the bubbly? Let’s crack open a bottle and get down to business.’
‘Guys, come on now, this is a great boat,’ said Thompson. ‘Let’s just take her out for an hour or so. We can fish.’
‘Fish?’
