‘There won’t be any,’ said Ben. ‘We want what’s in those cans. You want your money. We exchange bags and go our separate ways.’
‘Can I ask you a question?’ said Shepherd.
‘What?’
Shepherd patted the rucksack. ‘You took a risk, giving them to an asylum-seeker. Why not just bring them in yourself?’
‘Because all luggage on planes is X-rayed. The Eurostar, too. And Customs make spot-checks on the ferries. Asylum-seekers avoid all such checks.’
‘Not on my boat they didn’t.’
‘That was bad luck,’ said Ben. ‘The chance of it happening was one in a million.’
‘You do it a lot, then – bring cans from the Continent?’
Ben’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you so interested?’
‘I might be able to help. What’s in the cans?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘I’m assuming drugs.’
‘You can assume what you want. It’s none of your business.’
The second Asian man drew level with the bench. Ben spoke to him in Bengali and pointed at the rucksack.
‘I’d prefer it if you spoke English,’ said Shepherd.
‘I said that the cans are in good order,’ said Ben.
The second man sat down on the other side of Shepherd and pushed the sports bag towards him. Shepherd unzipped it and peered inside. It contained bundles of twenty-pound notes held together with thick rubber bands. Shepherd glanced around to make sure that no one was watching, then pulled out a note at random. He checked the printing, the silver foil strip, then held it up to examine the watermark. ‘Looks fine to me,’ he said. He put the note back into the bag, then counted the bundles. There were thirty. He flicked through several as if to assure himself they were all made up of twenty-pound notes.
‘Satisfied?’ asked Ben.
Shepherd zipped up the bag and put it on his lap. ‘We’re done,’ he said, and paused. ‘I could help you bring more in, if you wanted,’ he said quietly.
‘Why should we trust you?’ said Ben.
Shepherd lifted the holdall. ‘Because we’ve just done a deal. You’ve got what you wanted and I’ve got my money. You had to pay me because your brilliant smuggling idea came a cropper. What if I could offer you a foolproof way of bringing in as many cans as you want?’
‘Nothing is foolproof,’ said Ben.
Shepherd grinned. ‘I’ve got a boat that’ll outrun anything in the Channel,’ he said. ‘I can get from the Continent to the English coast in under forty minutes.’
‘A speedboat?’
‘Faster than a speedboat, mate. It’ll do eighty, and I’ve got night-vision gear, which means I can go out on a moonless night.’
‘Where is it?’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ said Shepherd. ‘First we’ve got to talk about how much you’re prepared to pay. And I need to know what you’ve got in those cans.’
‘Why does it matter?’
Shepherd sneered. ‘Because if it’s heroin, I’ll be taking a much bigger risk than if it’s cannabis. I need to know what the risk is before we talk about the reward.’
The tall Asian said something in Bengali, but Ben cut him short with a wave. ‘Let me think about it,’ he said.
‘Okay,’ said Shepherd. ‘You’ve got my mobile number, yeah?’
Ben nodded. ‘You are an experienced sailor?’
‘Fifteen years, man and boy,’ said Shepherd. ‘I’ve crossed the Channel more times than you’ve had hot dinners.’
‘As I said, I will need time to consider your offer,’ said Ben. He stood up and shouldered the rucksack.
‘I’ll wait for your call,’ said Shepherd. He held up the bag. ‘Thanks for this.’
The taller Asian stood up and the two men walked away. Shepherd sat and watched them go, tapping the strap of the holdall. Thirty thousand pounds. A year’s salary, give or take.
Shepherd waited until the two Asians had left the park, then stood up. He walked towards Marble Arch, checking he wasn’t being followed. Although the two men had left he had to stay in character because there was a chance that he was under surveillance. He walked down Bayswater Road, hailed a black cab and looked out of the back window as it sped west. He couldn’t see a tail but he got out of the cab a mile later, dashed across the road and hailed another going in the opposite direction. He put the holdall on to the seat next to him and stretched. His mobile rang ‘How did it go?’ asked the superintendent.
‘Fine,’ said Shepherd. ‘I think they’ll bite.’
‘He patted you down and went through your wallet.’
‘It wasn’t a problem,’ said Shepherd. ‘I was carrying a full set of ID. He asked why I wasn’t in custody and I spun him the line about my house being collateral. We’ll need to keep the Corke house running in case they check.’ Hargrove had set Shepherd up with a two-bedroomed terraced house in Dover as part of his cover. He’d had several drunken nights there with Pepper and Mosley before they’d taken him on the smuggling run.
‘Not a problem,’ said Hargrove. ‘I’ll get some legal letters and stuff dropped around. A bail receipt as well. These guys, how do you rate them?’
‘They don’t seem like hardened villains,’ said Shepherd, ‘but they did everything right. I’m sure it’s a regular run so they must be making a fortune. But the tall guy was wearing an army-surplus anorak by the look of it, and they both had cheap watches and no jewellery. Where are they headed?’
‘East,’ said Hargrove. ‘Tower Hamlets way. They had a driver pick them up in a brand new Merc and they’re not making it difficult so I think they bought your story. You’re taking good care of the money, I hope?’
Shepherd patted the holdall. ‘It’s right by me.’
‘I’ll have Jimmy drop by and pick it up tonight,’ said Hargrove.
‘The guy who gave me the cash was wearing gloves,’ said Shepherd.
‘I saw that. But we’ll need to check the notes. Good work, Spider.’
‘Let me know what happens,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I don’t hear from them within twenty-four hours, I’ll make the call.’
It was just after five when Shepherd got home. Liam was in the sitting room, on his PlayStation. Shepherd patted his head. ‘Have you had your dinner yet?’ he asked.
‘Katra’s cooking.’
‘What about homework?’
‘Done it.’
‘When?’
‘This afternoon when you were out. I had maths, and I had a book report, and I had to write a poem.’
‘What – “Roses are red, violets are blue”?’
Liam gave Shepherd a withering look. ‘There’s a bit more to it than that, Dad.’
‘I didn’t know you wrote poetry,’ he said.
‘I don’t. But that was the homework. So I did.’
‘Can I read it?’
‘Da-ad!’
‘What?’
‘It’s homework!’
Shepherd dropped down into an armchair. ‘I just like to know what you’re up to at school.’
‘School’s school.’
‘You always say that.’
‘Because it’s true. What was school like when you were a kid?’
