this damaged; I’m still paying for it.’
‘I don’t think it’s going to come to that, Amar,’ said Shepherd.
Singh switched off the engine. ‘So what do you need?’
‘I’ve got a guy who went round to see a girl last night. Her name’s Nadia. His phone’s off and so is hers. I need him back home now but I can hardly go knocking on the door claiming to be a friend of his.’
‘Because he’s Asian?’
‘Partly. But if it makes you feel any better it’s because, like you, he’s young and good-looking.’ He looked at his watch. It was just after nine-thirty. ‘We need to get a move on. We’ll go into the building, you go up to the door and have a listen. See what’s happening. Then knock. Assuming she opens it, ask if Harvey’s there.’
‘Harvey?’
‘Short for Harveer. Harveer Malik. Studying for his master’s in Business Administration at the London Metropolitan University. You can say you’re on his course; it’s not too much of a stretch. If he’s not there ask her when she last saw him. Try to get a look around if you can.’
‘And how do I know where he was?’
‘You were with him in Stoke Newington when she sent him a text last night. Her name’s Nadia.’
Singh nodded. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘And you don’t think I need to borrow your gun?’
‘I’ll be close by,’ said Shepherd.
The two men climbed out of the Mercedes and walked round the corner. The building was a purpose-built apartment block that looked as if it was council-run. There was a main entrance with two glass doors and beyond it a tiled reception area with two sets of metal lift doors. There was an entryphone system but no CCTV camera. The flat they wanted was on the fourth floor. Singh pressed the button for one of the flats on the sixth floor, but there was no response. He tried another flat and this time a woman with a heavy East European accent asked who it was.
‘Postman, can you buzz me in, please, darling?’ said Singh, and within seconds the lock buzzed.
Shepherd pushed the door open and as they got into one of the lifts he pressed the button for the fifth floor. When they got out they walked down one floor.
‘It’s 4G,’ said Shepherd. There was a fire door leading to a corridor with doors to the flats on either side. ‘I’ll stay here.’
‘And I shout if I need you?’
‘I’ll be watching you, Amar. If there’s a problem I’ll be with you in seconds.’
Shepherd unzipped his jacket as Singh opened the fire door and walked down the corridor. The flat was on the left. Singh took out a ceramic contact microphone from his pocket. There were white earphones connected to it, giving the equipment the look of an iPod. He popped the earphones into his ears and gently pressed the microphone against the door. There was a small dial on one side that allowed him to change the frequency being listened for and a dial on the other side. Singh jiggled both dials as he listened intently. At first he thought the flat was unoccupied but then he heard a voice. A man. His frown deepened as he realised that it wasn’t English.
He stood stock-still with the microphone pressed against the wood. After almost a minute he heard a woman’s voice but again he didn’t recognise the language.
He put away the microphone as he walked back to the fire door. He didn’t say anything until the fire door had closed behind him. ‘There’s something not right,’ he said.
‘Tell me.’
‘There’s a woman in there but she’s not speaking English. Not Urdu and not Hindi either. Your guy, where’s he from?’
‘British Pakistani,’ said Shepherd.
‘So Urdu, right?’
‘I’m not sure. I’ve never heard him speak anything other than English.’
‘Well, whatever they’re speaking it’s not Urdu. It didn’t sound like general conversation either. More like she was giving orders or instructions. But that’s just a feeling because I didn’t understand a word.’ He ran a hand over his hair. ‘There was something else too. The guy groaned.’
‘Groaned?’
‘That’s what it sounded like.’ He shook his head. ‘Like I said, it feels wrong. Anyway, there’s definitely someone in there but I’m not sure that knocking’s the right thing to do.’
Shepherd looked at his watch. ‘We don’t have time for anything fancy,’ he said.
‘You don’t think we need back-up?’
‘In a perfect world, yes, but this is a far from perfect situation,’ said Shepherd. He reached into his jacket and slid the Glock from its holster.
‘Spider, I’m not trained for this. I’m an equipment geek.’
‘You’re an MI5 officer, Amar. And a bloody good one.’
‘Wearing a fifteen-hundred-pound suit,’ he said. ‘Don’t suppose you’ll let me go home and change?’
‘This is what we do,’ said Shepherd. ‘You knock and give them your best smile and ask for Harvey. See how they play it. They might well not open the door. Was there a viewer, a peephole thing?’
Singh shook his head. ‘No.’
‘That’s something,’ said Shepherd. ‘They’ll have to open the door to check you out.’
‘Okay. And if they open the door, what then?’
‘If there’s a problem in there there’s every chance they’ll just close the door in your face. I’ll step in.’
‘And do what?’
‘Stop them closing the door, for a start. Then we’ll play it by ear.’
‘And what do I do?’ asked Singh.
‘Which side were the hinges on?’
Singh frowned. ‘The left, I think. The door handle’s on the right.’
‘Then I’ll stand on the right. When you see me move, you move to the left.’ He patted Singh on the shoulder. ‘You’ll be fine, Amar.’
They went back down the corridor, walking on tiptoe.
Nadia looked at her watch, then back at Malik. ‘Why are you making this so difficult, Harvey?’ she asked. ‘Do you know how long you’ve been sitting in that chair? Almost twelve hours. Just tell me who you’ve told and the pain will stop. We’re not hurting you for the fun of it. We just want the information, that’s all.’
Malik closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. They had used a dishcloth to gag him when he’d started screaming and his hands were tied behind the chair. He’d lost all sense of time. She’d said twelve hours but she could just as easily have said twelve days. They’d started with threats, then they’d beaten him, then they’d broken two of his fingers and then they’d gone to work on his right foot with a pair of pliers. She knew that he was hiding something from her. Malik didn’t know how she knew but she knew. It was as if she was able to look into his very soul.
She bent down and softly stroked his cheek. ‘We don’t want to hurt you like this, Harvey. No one wants to hurt you. But you have to tell us who you told about The Sheik. You did tell someone, didn’t you, Harvey? Just nod. You don’t have to say anything. Just nod.’
Malik’s cheeks were wet from crying but his tears had finished hours ago. He was exhausted, mentally and physically, but he knew that the moment he admitted anything it would all be over. They would kill him, he knew that for sure. He and Raj had been taken to meet Bin Laden and they had told MI5 and MI5 had told the Americans. They were directly responsible for the death of Bin Laden and if he admitted that then he was sure they would kill him. The one chance he had was to just keep denying that he’d done anything wrong.
His instructors at the al-Qaeda camp in Pakistan had taught him the basics of interrogation. Real secrets had to be buried deep and it helped to visualise them locked away in a safe or a vault. Then the safe was to be put in a deep dark place. That’s what Malik had done. The truth was in an old-fashioned safe with a rotary dial and each time they tortured him he focused on the safe. And he kept repeating to himself that so long as the safe stayed locked they wouldn’t kill him.
What the instructors hadn’t done was prepare him for the pain. In Pakistan he’d been slapped and punched and been made to stand for hours with a sack over his head, but that was nothing compared to what Nadia and her two companions had done to him.
The one with the gun had hit him on the knees with so much force that he was sure the left one had cracked.
