The superintendent looked pained. ‘That’s the second bit of news,’ he said. ‘I’m moving on. Promoted, finally. And I won’t be in SOCA.’
Shepherd slumped in his chair. The undercover unit had been Hargrove’s brainchild, his baby. He had hand- picked the undercover operatives and had been involved in every assignment. He had personally persuaded Shepherd to join the unit when Shepherd had applied to join the Metropolitan Police, offering him the chance to use his specialist skills rather than pounding a beat. Shepherd had trusted Hargrove from the outset and the superintendent had never once let him down. The sort of work Shepherd did required him to have absolute faith in his controller, and it couldn’t be transferred at short notice. ‘How long have you known?’ he asked.
‘It was first raised last year,’ said Hargrove. ‘As a suggestion. I made my views clear, that we functioned best as an autonomous unit. I was overruled, but they took their time doing it. That was why I was over at the Yard today. You’re the first person I’ve told, Spider.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘I haven’t even told the wife yet.’
‘And the promotion was to make the transfer smoother, was it?’ said Shepherd, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
‘I was due one anyway,’ said Hargrove. ‘Don’t get paranoid on me, Spider. You’ll be up for sergeant before long. Look, I didn’t expect you to be happy about this, but there was no way I could have told you earlier. Button’s appointment won’t even be confirmed until this afternoon.’
‘Button?’
‘Charlotte Button. She’s heading up undercover operations.’
‘Never heard of her.’
‘I’m not surprised. She’s MI5.’
Shepherd groaned. ‘Oh, terrific! A spook and a woman. Anything else I should know?’
‘Only that she’s a damn fine operator. I know you SAS boys tend to be disparaging about women and the intelligence agencies, but Charlotte Button has a track record second to none, both in the field and as a controller. SOCA is only recruiting the best, Spider. That goes for you and for her. Between you and me, three guys in my unit won’t be joining SOCA. They’re not even being considered.’
‘Because?’
‘Because SOCA’s standards are higher. That’s all I’ve been told. I’d put my men up against anyone but MI5 has been positively vetting all of you and three got the thumbs down.’
‘But if I move to SOCA I stay as a cop, right?’
‘Strictly speaking, no. At the moment you’re employed by the Met, same as I am, although the unit has always been answerable to the Home Office. The individual police authorities are funded by local councils. SOCA will be funded by central government.’ He smiled. ‘You’ll become a civil servant, with pay, pension and the like being handled by the new agency.’
‘But the work will be the same?’
‘My understanding is that the various forces around the country will still be able to call on the resources of the undercover unit by making an application to the Home Secretary, exactly as they do now.’
Shepherd watched a crocodile of Korean tourists walk by, following a tour guide holding aloft a furled red umbrella. ‘I suppose I should congratulate you,’ he said, ‘on the promotion.’
‘It’s a big hike in salary,’ said Hargrove. ‘My wife’s been hankering for a villa in Tuscany and it looks like she’ll get it now.’
‘You’re not retiring?’
Hargrove shook his head. ‘I think she plans to be in the villa on her own, actually. I’m being co-opted on to the emergency planning committee – national disasters and all that. Deskbound until the shit hits the fan.’
‘Sounds like fun,’ said Shepherd. ‘This can’t be happening. Why fix something that isn’t broke?’
‘Think of it as an opportunity,’ said Hargrove. ‘A bigger playing-field for you.’
‘It’s a question of trust,’ said Shepherd. ‘If I put my life on the line, I need to trust my back-up one hundred per cent.’
‘You’ll be able to meet Button before you sign up,’ said Hargrove. ‘You’ll see that she’s sound.’
‘You’ve met her?’
‘No, but I know her reputation. She’s rock solid, Spider.’
Shepherd put his head into his hands. ‘I really don’t need this, not now.’
‘It was going to happen one day, we all knew that,’ said Hargrove. ‘Nothing lasts for ever. Especially in the police. They move us around to stop us getting stale.’
‘How do you think the rest of the unit will take it?’
‘About the same as you, I suppose. No one likes change.’
Shepherd sat back in his seat. ‘Maybe it’s time for me to move on, too.’
Hargrove frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve been spending too much time away from Liam – and there was that business on the trawler… If anything had happened to me, Liam would’ve been on his own.’
‘Time for a quieter life?’
‘Maybe,’ Shepherd said. ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’ High overhead a passenger jet banked right and headed for Heathrow. He stared up at the plane. ‘Maybe I need a holiday,’ he mused.
Shepherd caught a black cab back to Ealing. He went upstairs to change into his running gear. As he took off his jeans he realised he still had the mugger’s flick-knife in his pocket. It was about seven inches long with fake pearl insets on either side of the handle and a chrome button on one side. Shepherd pressed it with his thumb. The blade flicked out and clicked into place. It was a vicious weapon, long and sharp enough to kill with one thrust, even in the hands of an amateur. He put it down by the basin. He’d destroy it: a few blows with a hammer would render it useless.
He pulled on an old sweatshirt and shorts, went downstairs and picked up his rucksack. He ran for the best part of an hour, pushing himself harder than usual, and was drenched with sweat by the time he got back to the house.
Katra was in the kitchen, ironing. She laughed as he walked into the kitchen and took off the rucksack.
‘What?’ asked Shepherd.
‘Nothing,’ she said.
‘You’re laughing at something,’ he said, as he took a bottle of Evian water from the fridge.
‘It’s those bricks,’ she said.
‘Well?’
‘In Slovenia they would think you were crazy, running with bricks.’
‘They might be right.’ He twisted the top off the bottle and drank half of it.
‘It makes you stronger?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘But you don’t look strong.’
Shepherd wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You are not big.’
‘Size isn’t everything,’ said Shepherd, looking at her playfully.
Katra looked perplexed.
‘Strength and size aren’t the same thing,’ he explained. ‘A lot of big people aren’t strong. I train for stamina. I want to be able to run long and hard, and the bricks help me do that. They make my heart stronger.’
‘You trained like that in the army, yes?’
‘A lot of the time. Being a soldier is often about moving a lot of equipment from place to place in the shortest possible time. It’s all very well being able to run in shorts and expensive trainers, but in the real world you’re wearing heavy clothes and boots, and carrying a pack on your back.’
‘But you’re not a soldier any more.’
‘Old habits,’ said Shepherd.
‘Old habits?’
‘It’s an expression. Old habits die hard. It means that once you’ve done things one way for a long time, it’s hard to do things differently.’
Shepherd went upstairs to shower and change. He pulled on a denim shirt and black jeans, then grinned as he caught sight of his reflection in the wardrobe mirror: his own taste in clothes pretty much matched Tony
