He glanced in Shepherd’s direction, then averted his eyes when he saw that Shepherd was staring at him. Shepherd suppressed a smile. Whoever the man was, he wasn’t well versed in surveillance techniques. Shepherd made a point of consulting his watch again.
The Asian man was walking slowly, eyes on the ground now – Shepherd could feel the anxiety pouring out of him. He looked around, casually, for anything out of the ordinary. There were no other Asians nearby, but Shepherd regarded everyone over the age of ten as a potential threat. He took in faces, clothing, body language. Nothing. The Asian man had stopped and taken a handkerchief out of his coat pocket to wipe his brow. It was a cold afternoon so Shepherd figured he was sweating from nerves.
Shepherd checked his watch again. It was ten past three. The Asian started walking towards him, hands back in his pockets. Shepherd’s mobile rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and studied the screen. It was Ben. Shepherd frowned and took the call. ‘Hello?’ he said. No one spoke. Then the line went dead. The Asian was still striding purposefully towards him. Shepherd realised what had happened: the Asian was Ben and he’d made the call to check that Shepherd was the man he was supposed to meet, keeping his own phone concealed in his pocket. It was a clever move.
Shepherd watched him walk over. ‘You are Bill?’ the Asian asked.
Shepherd put away his phone. ‘Ben?’ He stuck out his hand and Ben stared at it. ‘You can shake hands, can’t you?’ he asked.
There was no strength in Ben’s grip, and it was damp with sweat.
‘The cans are in the rucksack?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Shepherd.
‘I need to see them.’
‘And I want the money,’ said Shepherd. ‘No thirty grand, no cans.’ He grabbed the rucksack straps.
‘I’m not trying to take them. I just want to check that they haven’t been opened,’ said Ben. ‘For all I know they could be empty.’
Shepherd stared at him, playing the hard man. ‘No money. No cans.’
‘I understand that, but I have to be sure. For all I know you’ve emptied them and filled them with rocks.’
Shepherd continued to stare at Ben, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay, but no tricks. Where’s the money?’
‘My associate has it. Once I’ve checked that the cans haven’t been tampered with I’ll phone him.’
Shepherd glared at him. ‘That’s not what we said. I said I’d bring the cans and you’d bring the money.’
‘We don’t know you,’ said Ben. ‘We didn’t know you had the cans. For all we know you could be working for Customs. Or the police. So I make sure, first. Then I phone my associate. Would you take off your jacket, please?’
‘What?’
‘I want to check your jacket.’
Shepherd took off his coat and handed it to him. Ben went through the pockets. He examined Shepherd’s mobile and flicked through the contacts file. ‘You have only my number in this phone?’
‘I bought the Sim card to call you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want you tracing me.’
Ben handed the phone back. ‘Lift up your pullover, please.’
‘Why?’
‘I want to reassure myself that you are not recording our conversation.’
‘You think I’m a cop?’
‘I don’t know who you are. But if you don’t lift it, I’m walking away.’
Slowly Shepherd did as the man asked, revealing the Kevlar vest.
Ben frowned. ‘What is that?’
‘A bulletproof vest.’
Ben’s frown deepened. ‘Why?’
‘Because I thought you might shoot me.’
‘Why would I do that?’
‘You might have thought a bullet was cheaper than thirty grand. I’m not wired for sound. I just want my money.’
Ben held out his hand. ‘Give me your wallet.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘I need to see who you are.’
‘It doesn’t matter who I am. I’m the man with what you want, and that’s all you need to know.’
‘Your wallet,’ repeated the Asian.
Shepherd cursed again, then pulled it out of his jeans and gave it to the man. Ben opened it and flicked through the contents. He pulled out a driving licence. ‘Anthony Corke?’
‘Tony to my friends.’
‘And you live in Dover?’
‘I’m a sailor. I used to work the ferries. Look, do you see a warrant card in there? No. So give me my wallet back and let’s get on with this.’
‘Why did the police let you go?’ asked Ben, examining a Visa card.
‘I’m on bail. If I run, I lose my house.’
‘They’ve charged you?’
‘I was up before a magistrate and I’m back in court in two weeks. I had the house so I got bail. But my solicitor’s costing me an arm and a leg so I need the thirty grand.’
Ben sat down on Shepherd’s left and gave him back his wallet. ‘First let me see the cans.’
Shepherd pushed the rucksack towards him. Ben unfastened the straps and took out a can, looked at it closely, then set it on the ground. He checked the other two, running his fingers over the caps and seams, then put them back into the rucksack.
‘Satisfied?’ asked Shepherd.
Ben reached into his coat. Shepherd tensed but he knew there was next to no chance that the man would pull a gun in a public park, not when he’d have to run with a heavy rucksack. Ben’s hand reappeared with a Nokia mobile. He made a call and said a few words in Bengali, then cut the connection.
‘You’d better not try anything,’ said Shepherd. ‘If you do I’m out of here.’
‘What happened to the boat?’
‘Customs caught it.’
‘What about the people on board?’
‘The asylum-seekers? Immigration have got them. If they play it right and claim asylum they’ll be back on the streets within days and have passports in three years.’
‘And you?’
‘Six months behind bars. Three years if I’m unlucky. Maybe a suspended sentence and a fine. Depends on the judge.’
‘Why did Rudi Pernaska not wait until he was released? Why did he talk to you?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I want to know.’
‘Customs and Immigration went through the boat, but they were only interested in the passengers and crew. They weren’t looking for contraband. I was put in a cell with Pernaska and he heard I was getting bail. He didn’t know how long Immigration were going to hold him, and he wasn’t sure they’d grant him asylum. His passport was fake, I think. He told them he was from Kosovo but really he’s Albanian. I guess he was scared that either they’d send him straight back to Albania or that someone would open the cans before they let him out. Anyway, he gave me your number and asked me to phone you.’
‘And the thirty thousand pounds was his idea?’
Shepherd grinned. ‘I thought as I was doing you a favour I ought to get something out of it.’ He saw an Asian man emerge from one of the pedestrian tunnels. He was almost six foot tall and had a long, loping stride. He was wearing a green anorak with the hood up, the sleeves several inches too short for his arms, and carried a black Adidas holdall.
Ben looked across at him. ‘He has your money,’ he said.
‘No tricks,’ said Shepherd.
