False Friends

Shepherd was sitting on. ‘Lift that up,’ he said. ‘There’s a storage space underneath.’

Shepherd slowly took his hands from behind his head, uncrossed his legs and stood up. He gingerly lifted the bench seat. In the space below there was a body wrapped in polythene, bound with grey duct tape. He cursed and let the seat fall back. ‘You didn’t have to do that,’ he said.

‘Well, I sort of did,’ said Kettering. ‘And I need you to get the body out because we’ll be dropping it over the side shortly.’

Shepherd turned to face Kettering, his hands bunching into fists. ‘Why kill him? He was just a cop doing his job. That’s all any of us are doing. It’s not personal. You’re breaking the law and it’s our job to stop you. You don’t kill someone for doing their job.’

Kettering scowled at Shepherd and opened his mouth to speak. But then he changed his mind and nodded at Klaus. ‘Fucking shoot him, will you? He’s giving me a headache.’

Klaus smiled thinly and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot was deafening in the confined space and the bullet hit Shepherd just below the heart. He fell backwards, his arms flailing.

Amar Singh looked across at Charlotte Button. ‘They shot him,’ he said. ‘The bastards have bloody well shot him.’

Button ignored him. She clicked on her mic and spoke to the leader of the armed teams. ‘What’s happening there, Bill?’

‘We’re waiting for a police launch. It’s on its way.’

‘You heard the shot?’

‘We heard it.’

‘Soon as you can,’ she said.

She bit down on her lower lip as she considered her options. A helicopter was a possibility but it would take time and even then the police helicopters weren’t armed. She could call in the Met but getting an armed response unit out to sea would be a logistical nightmare.

Singh was looking at her fearfully and she managed a small smile.

‘What are we going to do?’ he asked.

‘At the moment I’m just praying that they didn’t shoot him in the head,’ she said. ‘And that if he was shot in the chest your bulletproof vest held up.’

Shepherd lay on his back, his chest on fire. The Kevlar vest under his shirt had stopped the bullet but it had still hurt like hell. His mind raced. If he played dead there was a good chance that Klaus would fire again and this time Shepherd might not be so lucky. His gun was in its shoulder holster but to get at it he was going to have to unzip his bomber jacket. The armed teams would have heard the shot and they would be on their way but it would take them time to get a boat and motor over to the Laura Lee. He was going to have to take care of it himself. His arms were out to the sides so if he made a move for his gun Klaus would see it and have all the time in the world to put another bullet into him.

‘Is he dead?’ Kettering’s voice.

‘I don’t know.’

‘Shoot him again.’

Shepherd heard footsteps. He held his breath, playing dead. If Klaus shot him again it would probably be another chest shot. Civilians tended to avoid head shots, partly because it was a smaller target than the chest but mainly because shooting someone in the face was more personal. Shepherd half opened his eyes. Klaus was walking towards him, the gun at his side.

‘He’s not breathing,’ said Klaus.

‘Shoot him again. Better safe than sorry.’

Shepherd felt his lungs burning but he continued to hold his breath. He was going to get only one chance and he had to choose his moment.

‘He’s dead,’ said Klaus. ‘I shot him in the heart.’ Shepherd heard a dull thud, which he hoped was the sound of the gun being put on the glass table.

‘Looks like he’s gone,’ said Thompson.

‘Then let’s toss him over the side with the others,’ said Kettering. ‘And hurry up. He probably had his people at the marina so we need to get the bodies over the side and ourselves over to France. Wrap all three of them in chains and drop them over the side. The water’s plenty deep enough so no one will ever find them here.’

Shepherd heard footsteps. Then he heard a grunt as someone bent down over him. He opened his eyes. It was Klaus, looming over him. Shepherd reached up and clawed his fingers down Klaus’s face, searching for the eyes. He felt his fingers slide into the eye sockets and he pushed hard. Klaus screamed and fell back.

Shepherd knew he had only seconds to react and that every decision he made was crucial. There were three men in the cabin and another on the bridge. He’d seen one gun and hopefully that was now on a table but that didn’t mean there weren’t more on the boat.

He lay where he was and pulled down the zipper of his bomber jacket with his left hand while he groped inside with his right. His fingers were wet with Klaus’s blood but the Glock had a non-slip grip. There was no safety to worry about either, and there was already a cartridge in the chamber.

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.